Camilla followed little of the exchange between the Skaven, their language to debased to be recognizable. It wasn't as though there were a lot of happy outcomes they might be discussing in any case. One of the shaven snapped its chisel like fangs within inches of her face and she cringed back, which seemed to be the desired result. Whatever her eventual fate was to be, was evidently forestalled as she was thrust roughly into a cage made of lashed together lengths of wrought iron. Belatedly she realised they must once of have been elegant gates of some kind, cannabilized by the rat men for their own use.

She landeded heavily among a pile of filthy rags whose purpose she could not discern. For a few minutes she simply sat weeping quietly, too overcome with terror to think. These things would torture her, she was sure, the stories always lingered on maps made of human skin and twisted bodies impossibly alive despite their agony. STOP IT she commanded herself. You will not die here! The thought gave her a measure of relief, although she wasn't sure if she completely believed it. If she wasn't going to die than she needed to escape this place. That seemed impossible, there was no way to make it through the sea of vermin, and even if she could she could never outrun them to the surface.

First thing was first, all the impossible objects could come later. With little need to feign tears she lay down in the filthy rags and sobbed quietly. Attention seemed to be away from her in the moment in favor of some other argument between some of the larger rat things. Camilla had been trained as a child in the arts of acrobatics, the better to please potential clients. It wasn't much of a skill to throw up against murderous monsters from nightmare, but she needed to start somewhere. Slowly she steadied her breathing and began to rotate her shoulder. It was an old trick, the sort of thing kids did to make each other squirm, but with slow deliberation she dislocated her shoulder and slid her arm awkwardly over her head. It hurt alot more than she remembered it doing, but she kept lithe with a daily regime of stretches and it didn't do any real damage. With a faintly audible pop she slipped her shoulder back into joint. With her hands now infront of her she began to work at the knot that bound them.

While she worked the Skaven grew more agitated. There was a sound from the tunnels behind the hall, visible through the dim light and much cruder than the elven workmanship. Something was coming up from below. Quickly she tore the Skaven's knot free. Knot work was another skill of hers from more congenial times that was proving to be surprisingly useful. The daggers she had tucked into her belt were still there, unnoticed amongst Cydric baggy shirt. Instead of reaching for them she put her hands back behind her body and looped the disgusting rag she had been bound with around her wrists, giving the appearance she was still confined.

Madame Ritizaoli would be proud.
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