You come to with a pounding headache, as though an angry blacksmith has used your head for an anvil. Your mouth and throat are dry and sour. A rhythmic creaking fills your ears, a lullaby sung in time to the rocking of the cradle you are lying on. Back and forth, back and forth, the wooden floor beneath you sways, never stopping, until you can't be sure whether the floor is level or tilted at any particular moment. The smell of brine and wet wood invades your nostrils.<br/><br/>As the pain in your head dulls to a more tolerable ache, you open your eyes and find yourself in the dark. A quick check later you discover that you have been stripped of all your possessions save the clothes on your back, and with the outer layers like cloaks and coats gone too, at that. You also notice that you are leaning against something warm - or someone. It appears that you are not alone in captivity.