[i]Drip[/i]... 

[i]Drip[/i]... 

First Amal felt the aching in his limbs. Next his head began to throb as he tried to move it. The Arbyan groaned and at last opened his eyes. There was a cough across the room and a small wail closer to him. He felt the chamber was both dark and yet too bright at the same time, understanding it was likely a side effect of him being clobbered on the head. Squinting, he saw the room was filled with men, and even some women, chained to the walls and bound by the feet. Above Amal on the opposite wall was a small opening that shined in the sunlight the soft sloshing of the sea as the ship sailed. 

He felt wet on his feet and buttocks. At first he feared he wet himself but it turned out the entire floor was soaked with fetid seawater. When his mind caught up with him, he looked around for Emmaline, but to no avail. He felt a bit too weak to try and pick his way out of the manacles that held him, but he wasn't certain he could even if he was at full vitality. His fingers feeling about the lock told him it was an alien device that was much different than the ones in Araby. 

"Satrap Ahar? By Sigmar is that you?"

Amal blinked and turned from where the familiar voice came from. As he lived and breathed, he never thought he'd see Sir Brenly the Empire man again. Amal's jaw dropped, and he had to keep himself from laughing triumphantly! The old codger was drenched and sickly looking, but he was alive. Chained just as Amal was, four prisoners down. His mustache was so drooped, he had the look of a downtrodden schnauzer. 

"Sir Brenly? How..." Amal tried to find the right words. "How long have you been on this ship?" 

"Since the sinking of the El Calgador, I'm afraid. Or a day past that. I was floating for awhile..." He said, and Amal was shaking his head. This old man had lived through the storm, the sea, and on a ship of torturous Dark Elves for near 10 days. Another drop of water splashed along Amal's head, causing him to look above him past a myriad of hooks with strange parchments hanging upon it. The Dark Elves likely kept the 'cargo' hold in disrepair just to mess with their captives. "It does my heart well to see you alive." 

"Did anyone else live from the storm?" Amal asked him. All of the other prisoners were asleep or two driven by fear to speak, looking between Brenly and Amal with horror in their eyes. Amal was about to find out why. 

"Yes, my lord." The old knight replied drearily. "Captain Diego and a few of the lads were afloat with me and ended up on the ship. They were in here same as us until the dark ones thought they might have a bit of sport. They..." Sir Brenly trembled, just after Amal had the theory that nothing could daunt the old man. "They did unspeakable things to them, my boy. Unspeakable. I almost wouldn't have been able to believe it myself even after seeing it, had they not left a reminder."

Amal's brow furrowed, confused. He saw Sir Brenly looking up at the center of the ceiling, Amal following his gaze until he spotted the hooks again. They looked like a crude chandelier with parchments hanging on the hooks. Parchments about headsized, with five holes in them and some protrusions. Amal blinked again and looked hard at the one nearest to him. The thief had seen many things in his life, but he felt a chill run down his spine when he realized what he was looking at. 

He was looking straight at Captain Diego's shorn off face. 

"We're heading north now, I believe." Sir Brenly said. "And once we reach the Black Ark they speak of...there will be no escape." 
[@Penny]