The string of the bow snapped forward, sending an arrow again whistling off into the distance; who knew where it would land now? At best it would plummet into the man and if not, perhaps just to his side or feet ahead of him as one final warning. The huntsman, watching the ever disappearing mark only then lowered the bow and sneered. Perhaps the fleeing man would never trouble them again, the fact he managed to leave with his life maybe kindling a sense of fate in him, but the rugged Brannor had no hopes of this. Reality, at least to him, suggested that the quarry would be off to beg its masters for forgiveness and tell them of coming danger. After all, he had paid no real mind to the capture, or rather the now corpse.

Turning where he stood, slinging the weapon by its string over his chest, he brushed free his gauntlets and stepped through the waving blades of grass to regain his sword; it too was set to its sheath across his back. The fierce eyes paid no mind to the dead men, their prices paid in their blood for their greed. It spoke volumes on these mercenaries, so willing to trade lives and suffering for coin that they would even stoop to being the lackeys of some deranged dragon-cult.

Standing beside Shepherd now, the idle, calm beast of a man looked over her work. He was unsure just when she executed him, but at least cruelty had not become of her descent into the savage. After all, the bear - rather, the apparent druid - and the half blood were all touched by that same or similar ferocity.

"We haven't a spade," Brannor began, looking over then to the furred giant that was the ursine Torus, knowing well he could dig with those tremendous claws, "But in reality, we haven't the time."

"Deception might work, but we would need many more disguises... less bloody ones at that." He continued, kneeling down to the kill's limp body, beginning to rifle it for any added proof; first the weapons, then the pockets, then through and between the armor. Anything and everything that could give the young women added insight, be it the small one or the priestess.

"What did the dead men have to tell?" The golden eyes turned to fall on Shepherd, then to Parum, hands still at work.

Narrowed as they were, a brow of his remained ever so slightly perked. He knew some sort of conversation had been made while he was concentrating elsewhere but he sincerely doubted they would gain anything of use - or what he, a tracker and hunter, would consider of use. He imagined it something inane, given it did not sound like fearful begging or pleading after all, yet what did he know? Perhaps they had gained something as profound as they had with the last prisoner they dealt with...

[hider=Effects]
Brannor fires a final arrow at the last target, hoping to kill it or keep it running for good and not return. He very likely misses on an [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/rolls/4385]8[/url].

After, he returns to the rest of the group over a short walk, reclaiming his greatsword and then preparing to search the body for any obvious evidence that might be of use to those who have intentions other than just killing the cult. If there are any arrows on any of the bodies, he will claim them to help restore his stock.

If there's any hidden items or details, he almost assuredly glances by them with an Investigation (Intelligence) roll of [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/rolls/4387]1[/url].
[/hider]
[@Hekazu][@Ryonara][@Lucius Cypher][@Gordian Nought][@Norschtalen]