[center][h2]Naraug[/h2]
[h3]The Old Priory[/h3][/center]

Squinting eyes, narrower even than usual, trained on the decrepit building's door and the sentries at its sides, Naraug quietly shifted his bent arms and legs in small motions. It was a hunter's trick that he had found useful more than once: if one kept too still when lying in ambush, their limbs would grow sore, and their joints would snap when next they moved. With his hefty armament weighing on him, the half-orc was less concerned about moving stealthily, but he would rather have had his muscles fresh when it would come to blows. Which, by the looks of it, would be soon.

As the tiefling in the back spoke, Naraug nodded his assent with a low grunt. "'s no good to go in blind." His harsh, guttural accent was fully audible despite his whispered tone. "But I'll wager ya that there's more of the vermins right behind. We make a wrong move, and the lot of them 'ull come pouring out here." Or they would think of something else to do, but whatever it was, it would not be good for the party. Nor for the goblins' captives, if the brutes had not already picked their bones clean.

"I say ya send it to go see." The orc turned his head towards Harrad, sweeping his gaze over his companions. "If there's not too many of 'em close by, we lure those two to the side and strike 'em dead. Else we'll have to draw 'em out a few at a time. What'd you say?"