<strong>Burdock</strong>did indeed sense something awaiting them.  It smelled of refuse and waste, of blood and deprivation.  In a strange and revolting way, it may have reminded him of his home in the slave pits.  Your orc sense of smell, subdued by your time in the spits and thinned by the mixing of your race, could not distinguish the type of what lurked in the underbrush.  Goblinoid, perhaps, if you had to guess.<br/><br/>Just as Burdock was about to get a bead on whatever it was that awaited them in ambush,<strong>Tinalia</strong>spoke in the wagon in the front.<br/><br/>Then there was movement.<strong>Colin Whoreson, the Rat of Neverwinter</strong>, made some small commotion and began to approach the dead horses on the road.  It seemed like a stupid thing to do, but one should never underestimate the rat.  As he turned to speak, he caught sight of a goblin skirmisher, staring at him.  The Rat, of course, did not make eye contact, and the goblin skirmisher did<strong>ROLL</strong><em>not</em>catch that he had been made.  Additionally, as he neared, the Rat discovered that these dead horses belonged to his employer, Gundren Rockseeker, and his bodyguard, Sildar.<br/><br/><strong>Amara</strong>approached the first wagon.<br/><br/>Still, no movement.  What was the enemy waiting for?