Amal blinked, aghast. He took the strange runic knife and the advice, though it took all of his willpower to not free himself then and there to go and find Emmaline. He glanced at Sir Brenly, the old codger staring in shock at Amal and the snake, and for good reason. The others in the slavehold seemed to pay very little mind except for one or two, and they looked more curious than alarmed or animated in any real fashion. They'd likely given up on freedom days ago. 

"Sir Brenly, I've a confession to make." Amal said in riekspeil as the storm roared over them, wetting the floor ever more with gentle streams of water ebbing down onto the bilge. Amal was used to lying to people all the time. In fact he found it quite charming that Emmaline had made a living off of it, as problematic as some might likely think on his tastes. But when it came to truly honorable aquaintences or even friends, he did feel just a small twinge of guilt lying. 

"I'm not a Satrap. I'm just a lowly thief, named Amal. The Princess is aboard this ship, but she is not a princess. She's a sorceress and my girlfriend. I'm sorry to have lied to you, but we needed passage on the El Cargador. I don't know you too well, but you're a more honest man than I'll likely be." He said, having no trouble admitting it. Being a scoundrel was just too much fun, though sometimes he did feel envious of those people with impeccable codes of honor. "Emmaline and I are leaving this ship. Can I count on you to join us?" 

The portly gentleman glared at Amal with judgemental eyes, weighing him for a moment. The Arabyan kept quiet as the man just looked at him, before Sir Brenly broke the silence. 

"My boy, you could be Vlad Von Carstein and I'd still leave this hellhole with you." He said. 

Amal smiled broadly as the storm buffeted winds hard against the hull. He looked to the small opening and realized with the sloshes of water pouring in that it was time. Amal slowly placed the knife's strange steel along the strange Elvish manacles that held him fast, and to his amazement the medal began to erode. It was a strange feeling as some parts of the iron wore off and others held strong stubbornly for a few seconds before they too dissolved. 

"Allah be merciful," He muttered as he reached for his wrists and felt along them, making sure he wasn't cut too badly. The lack of blood flow was all pins and needles, but it was better than not feeling anything at all. 

"Bloody brilliant..." Sir Brenly breathed, and Amal crept his way over to the older man to help him with his shackles. 
[@Penny]