Archibald raised his eyebrow for the umpteenth time that day. Well. At least one of the princes had a brain. He stood up and wandered over to Alvin at the map, placing a gloved hand on his chin. "Well...you have a point there," he conceded as he yanked the arrow out of its housing, revealing the mark which displayed their current location. "I suppose if we set up an ambush here," he said, pointing to a valley around a river, "we could catch them unawares, set up a noose and strangle the life out of them." There was a definite if in the air. It was just that no-one wanted to give voice to it. Archibald, of course, did not give a rats arse about it. "Thats of course, if you believe we'd help you with it," he said, fixing Alvin with his eye. A bandit's life was one full of betrayal, treason and backstabbing. One had to choose their friends wisely. If one was not known in the thieves' cant and coven, they had little to zero chance of recruiting their services. Course, Archibald's merry band wasn't your standard bandit group.

"However, I cannot, in good consciouness, leave these people to starve, along with my lads and lasses," he said after a bit, shrugging,"I'll lead an expedition to intercept this caravan. You can feel free to join us if you please." There was another pause. "But if you screw up...don't expect a bailout. We've shown you enough hospitality already by not shooting you on sight."