Dusk finally harbored the internal schism of mice and men, as the feline soon transformed, behind unseen walls, into its acquainted and most predicated prey. Ogling Brannor and comparing the fetters binding both the ferine champion and Leosin, the shapeshifter, benefiting from eyes above, quickly scurried, with tantalizing tail whipping close, covered by the brightness of dirty darkness, to the tent’s outskirts, now shouldering the bemused paladin. 

He must be the first to be free. Then the monk.

The apparent quarantine seemed more of a humble trap, allowing the prisoners to roam in their confines as guards judged from afar. However, such allegorical ploys were far more effective, to the bard’s experience, at catching unwanted hands reaching into unexpected places than actually snaring wayward rodents. The chanced meeting with Krets scorned Xaron, though, a once neglected but now considered uneasiness, as her furry shape brushed upon the boots of Greenest’s champion. The angsty apprehension effervesced, mostly due to the physical liberty permitted to roam within the encampment, as if the lax cultist’s intention subsisted to enumerate and capture all along, entirely those incorporated in this Faustian rebellion.

This potential danger flowered red flags, within her partnered pirate’s cerebrum, aware of the proverbial rhododendron and rhubarb, sprouting such symbolic perils of treacherous pitfalls ever ahead. The trick to bridge the corporeal gap, between all the missing pieces to the party’s jigsaw, would be full of thorns. Nothing could come of a floundered escape, save the satisfaction of future sacrifices to the glorious Tiamat. To flatter this double jeopardy, the murky avian swirled and circled the manacled martial artist, again and again, to the pattern of an ominous carrion swooping over a soon to be carcass, aspiring to scavenge flesh and feast, whilst simultaneously noting the surroundings. 

Then, once reconnaissance was surveyed, the aerial scout would seek the Hin, the half-blood and the priestess exact whereabouts.

A caress and squeak, intentional and abrupt, spurred the black rat’s slight trek to now beeline away and back again, leading the golden eyes from soiled steeple to shoe, suggestive of the commonality between the charcoaled rascals.

Hopefully, the man would follow the mouse, in this dead of night. 

[Hider=Mechanics]
The cat becomes a mouse, carefully invading into the prisoners’ tents. Once there, Torus remains by Brannor’s feet, lingering to see whether the warrior can free himself and escape without overt assistance or distraction.
[/Hider]
[@The Harbinger of Ferocity][@Hekazu][@Ryonara][@Norschtalen][@Lucius Cypher]