Amal rolled into the room, knowing even if he were to attempt to lurk in silently, the orcs face one another and one would always have its peripheral vision on their entrance. Instead, Amal made sure the one who saw him would have only a split second to warn his comrade. It was too quick for the bewildered orc, but not for the cutthroat. Orcs were tough and brutally strong, but Amal was as swift as a zephyr. His dagger planted into the back of the orc's neck just as it had started to turn from its companion's warning. 

A crossbow bolt bloomed in the eye of the remaining orc, and Amal whistled quietly at the marksmanship. The two brutes were dead, but the shadow of the ogre still lingered as it strode down the hallway, angrily searching for prey that did not exist. 

"Quickly!" He whispered as loudly as he dared, rushing to the barrels and leaving Charynrae to the crates. Amal pried one open, and then another. There were dates and dried, salted meats used for travel, likely meant for whatever army this necromancer was cooking up. Amal grabbed what he could and shoved it in his pack, taking the tarp and wrapping it around his shoulders to serve as a cloak. If Charynrae grabbed the other, they might be able to cut the two and make some more insulated garments. 

Pity, he had been looking forward to seeing her in her priestly robes under daylight.  

He kicked the door open, sunlight flooding in and making the small torchlight seem bland and gloomy. "Come on, let's get to the treeline so we can make a fire!"