The Wood Elf listened intently to everything that was being said, relegating herself to standing in the shadows and sipping at her ale from time-to-time, her eyes flickering back and forth between the assembled sell-swords in a somewhat absent minded manner. Some might think that she was nervous and on edge in the company of so many, and they would be right! She had never liked spaces surrounded by walls - not even toppled and ruined ones - and certainly held no love for being squashed together with such an assemblage of bodies, armour and weapons as this.

"Arassel," she offered to those about her, and to the self-proclaimed Captain, her voice like the tinkling of glass pieces or wind-chimes in a breeze, "archer, tracker and woodsman."

Apart from that she was loathe to offer anything to the current discussion, partly because she was too busy staring at the Elf from her distant kindred who spoke before the flaming Dwarf, and secondly because she couldn't care any less for the lives of this 'lord' or his underlings, in fact she would have been quite happy to sacrifice them all if it helped them get rid of the bandits afterwards.

Taking another draught of ale, and becoming quite used to the rather beige taste - not like Elven ale...not at all - she knew that if anyone wished to address her then they would; until then she would go back to her silent vigil at the rear of the group.