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While the cart was traveling towards the watchtower, the archer team was getting into position in the treeline. Ceri frowned as she stepped through the undergrowth, careful to watch her feet with the lowlight making it more difficult to see. She stopped as she reached the edge of the trees and tilted her head to look up at the watchtower. The crossbowmen were just visible since she knew where to look - but it would be hard to take them out from where they were. Especially from the low height, she was at. But it did have the advantage of making it easy to stay hidden. 

"It's not going to be easy to hit them from here," she commented quietly, narrowing her eyes towards the tower. "And I'm going to need to get higher to even have a chance."

Morag-Nog nodded. The bait group had it [i]easy[/i], all they had to do was ride a cart. Meanwhile, Morag-Nog and the archers are out here barely navigating using the night sky. The first thing that Morag-Nog was going to do was invent an efficient light source. However, she sneered at Ceri.

"I'd be surprised if one of us lands a shot from here," Morag-Nog whispered. 

Ceri could easily climb up a tree and shoot from there if she had time to get up there. Her gaze moved from the watchtower to the cart that had just been stopped. "We won't have much time to properly get into position before the fighting breaks out."

"We'll just have to make the most with what we got, won't we?" Morag-Nog said with a grin as she raised her custom made crossbow, the Tusk... and realized that she probably couldn't see it.

Scrapbeak was remaining quiet, keeping his crossbow at the ready, intently focusing on the watchtower, adjusting his vision for the dark. The only sound he was making was a low, repeating inhale-exhale. He disappeared from the other two, eyeing one of the large sycamores. It was an ancient tree, probably a hundred or so years old, with white branches that nearly scraped the sky. Scrapbeak nodded in silent thought, his dole black eyes darting from branch to branch. Then he knelt and began to fiddle with his leg. 

"You're right," Ceri nodded. She squinted her eyes against the darkness as she pulled her bow off her back, hands easily finding an arrow and nocking it without needing to look. She decided against trying to get higher and moved to a spot where she had some cover, but could still see. Well, as much as she could in the darkness.

Morag-Nog followed her... keeping her distance if they use magic or explosives. She wasn't perfect at gauging distances but she guessed that she was at least five meters away from Ceri. The Tusk was primed with merely a single action... Morag-Nog was just waiting for the signal.

It was the sounds of the battle breaking out from the cart that alerted them to things starting. 

Ceri raised her bow, pulling the string taut and aiming for where she was fairly certain she'd seen a bandit in the tower. She let the arrow fly towards her target and quickly nocked another one. From a sturdy bough of the sycamore, a bolt fired. Scrapbeak sat straddling the bough, using the increased distance to fire down at the tower. Where his simple prosthetic normally extended from his stump of a right leg, a sickle-like blade now attached, covered in remnants of bark and sap. 

The very second that Morag-Nog heard the chaos, she aimed for another bandit and cut loose... and the Tusk automatically reloaded and she fired another and another. 

Three arrows flew from the treeline, out towards the top of the watchtower. The bandit guards, watching the road from their posts between the battlements, never saw a thing coming. They laughed to themselves at first as their ground team bullied yet another cart driver laden with goods. Their laughter was caught short by the sound of an arrow striking flesh. Ceri's hit first, piercing the throat of her target. The man cried out, blood gushing from the wound with a horrible gurgle. The other three turned around to see what was the matter, but it was too late. One guard was struck once in the left flank, then again in the center of his chest, just ascent of his breastbone; the bolts of Tusk tore through his cloth armor like it was tissue paper. A third guard turned to run towards the trapdoor leading down into the tower, but before he could get there, a crossbow bolt from Scrapbeak pierced his left temple, running through his head and toppling the man into a heap. The final guard turned to run as Tusk fired again, but the arrow flew off course and struck him in the side of the thigh. He cried out and collapsed, clutching his leg but still very much alive. Slowly, he crawled towards the trapdoor, attempting to flee to safety.