As Alianor exited the cave sanctuary, she was noticed by a few of the bandits who had been slacking off from chopping firewood nearby. The nudged each other, chuckled a bit, and gave Alianor a few leery looks before one of them eventually had the courage to stride boldly over and grab clumsily at Alianor's hand. By all accounts he was introducing himself with the manners one might expect of a gentleman greeting a lady, however his grip - tight, clenched, slightly painful - told a different story. He smiled to Alianor, gave his name, and said that he and his fellows over by the firewood might be interested in entertaining her now that the 'stick-in-the-mud' Ronan had left her alone. His eyes had a keen, foreboding menace about them, as if every word he spoke had been carefully examined and re-examined to give him the best chances at manipulating his conversation partners. A moment later however, his grip ceased and he was plunged head-first into the dirt.

[b]"Hey! Watch it-"[/b] he began, until he saw the hulking frame of Gort looming over him. The giant man grabbed the bandit by his neck and hoisted him into the air. The bandit's friends protested for a little while, but fell quiet when Gort gave them an intimidating glare. [b]"Hey, man, I'm sorry, I... I didn't know you were keen on her... I mean... Gort, man, don't turn me into a meat puppet, man, I don't want to know what that's like..."[/b]

Gort threw him down, and the man scampered off. The two bandits who were with him hastily returned to their assigned duties, not daring to look towards Gort and Alianor again. Gort sniffed slightly, then looked to Alianor. [b]"If someone you don't trust talks to you, kick the side or back of their knee as hard as you can. It'll snap. I'll fix them later."[/b] he grunted, before wandering off again - a queer ashen smell following him.

A few moments later, Ronan appeared. He frowned at Alianor, not knowing quite how to talk to her. Eventually he decided the direct approach would be most appropriate - thrusting a bow and a quiver stocked with arrows into her hands.

[b]"One of our lads has taken sick, so we're short-handed. I'm [i]told[/i] it's traditional for court women to take up target archery, so you're hunting with us. Do you need some trousers, or will our ladyship be wearing her gown tonight?"[/b] Ronan waved his hand around in a flowery, mocking way.