You hear the loud squealing of unoiled door hinges in the room ahead, to the north.
"Ready your weapons," Oloc whispers. "We're about to have company!" Oloc draws his daggers for throwing.
Duran notches his arrow and tries to maneuver to make sure he has a clear shot as the threat appears.
Gaven straightens his helm and adjusts his shield and readies his spear. He whispers, "Shall we charge or wait?"
"Wait for them," says Varros. "Let Duran get as many clean shots as he can and Oloc can throw. You and I and our friend Stan will clean up the rest."
From where you stand you cannot see far enough into the room ahead to determine who, if anyone is there, and if so, how many.
Five awkward minutes pass. Stan and Ollie start to fidget nervously, troubled by the silence. Then, from the dimly lit room you hear a harsh guttural voice, calling out to you roughly in the common tongue:
"I don't know who you are, or how you got rid of my guards. But you have one chance. Back off and leave this place now. Otherwise I'll feed your entrails to my dogs. The beasts sound pretty hungry to me!"