While everything was all and quiet amongst the three, another man was having quite a different problem.
Within the forest, this man, named Quentin, found himself hanging upside down from a tree. He was donned in what looked to be leather armor, covered in a black cloak, which was hanging towards the ground due to his position. He hung there with his eyes closed. If he so much as moved, another trap would trigger that would certainly mean his end. He opened one eye and looked around, and could see the dim firelight in the distance. "No, I won't involve whoever they are," he thought to himself rejectedly.
He had been stuck there for quite some time, and figured if nothing had come for him yet, it wasn't going to until much later. With great dexterity, he lifted himself up, and using a sharp blade he had tucked up under his sleeve, easily cut the rope holding his feet. As he fell, he flipped over to land on his feet. Just as he did, a rope was pulled that moved a layer of leaves and vegetation to reveal poison-tipped sharp edges jutting up from a small hole in the ground. Quentin outstretched his legs and caught himself on the edge of the hole, then flipped backward away from it to land safely on two feet.
Just as he did, what looked to be orc hunters leapt from the bushes at Quentin. As they leapt, Two blades launched out from the man's sleeves, impaling the first two. Two more lept out. Quentin grabbed the hilts of the blades sticking out from his sleeves and parried both their attacks, then drove his blade through both of them. The sounds of fighting could be heard from the small camp and any other passerbys. The four orcs lay dead, and the blades retracted back up Quentin's sleeves. He pulled his cloak securely around him, and raised his hood, turning now to the fire, wondering if anyone heard the commotion.