The door shrieked against hinges that had long been neglected as it opened, the stale stench of stagnant rotten air oozing out like a giant's sigh. The noise brought back memories and nightmares, but Tare busied himself with his own preparations. At his side hung a sword that had taken two years to buy and beg from the guards that occasionally peaked in on this miserable crew, a simple thing, the standard one provided to most guards but better than the ones that were usually thrown to them. The which he had been making the arrows for was the only weapon he still had from before he had been through in this here pit, old as it was careful tending saw it still in working order, its large sweeping bends gleaming in the light. Finally, with Glen's help he donned a heavy shirt of maille which was tightly clinched at his waist. It would not save you from crushing blows of bigger opponents but at least he would not spill his guts from a glancing blow. As he was tightening his leather gauntlets he heard that scrawny boy, Ben, call out.
"Old man?" Tare grumbled darkly under his breath as he stepped to glare out of his hut. After a moment of considering ignoring the lad he spotted the object the boy was holding, the piece of parchment catching his attention enough to tempt him out into the open. A map, truly a rarity down here, especially considering what it was showing. It could give them a bit of an advantage if they were clever about it. With a furrowed brow he listened to Ben, nodding silently to himself as he studied the map. His hand drifted to pick it up but Stormdeath was quicker, but he would remind himself to grab another good look at it later, that is if it wasn't crushed and sliced to nothing from being tucked inside that man's tunic. Glen also peered at the paper for as long as it was kept out, her eyes flicking across the sheet with an unusual amount of interest, the rat on her shoulder also following along with her gaze, however to many people's relief the other rats had disappeared as soon as the doors had started to creak.
As Tare made his way to a small spot over looking much of their prison, his bow in hand an arrow already laid across the string, Glen on the other hand had extracted herself from the commotion as easily as oil from water. Silent bare feet padded back towards her little hut were after a bit of rummaging she extracted a pair of old leather shoes. Under her breath there was a tuneless humming that buzzed in her throat and on her face was a cunning smile of someone who thought that had a plan much more clever than it truly was. Oh what a brilliant plan, she knew of dark cramped places that few dared ventured, the rats were her teachers and from them she had learned how to hide and how to move. It was these things that made Tare worry about his little charge, one day she would squeeze herself into a corner that not even she could escape.
(My router was fried for a couple days sorry for the pause. I think we should just continue, we seem to be doing pretty well without Spook. So on that note do we have any preference for first attacker?)