Despite himself, Faeril gave a smirk at the burrahob's quips. Never missed a chance, that one. As long as it wasn't directed at him, it was mildly amusing. He was more than happy to let the burrahob go first. She slipped just as quietly into the underbrush as any of his fellow Horizon Watchers had. That was something he could appreciate, from a purely professional standpoint. For all of her bravado and sharp tongue, she backed it up with some real skill and the knowledge of when to shut up. Reyvadin's spear wouldn't do them any good in a true fight, but at least the man was doing something to prepare, even if he was prone to long winded statements. 

With 'Petunia' heading into the forest, it seemed their path was decided. Slinking low to the ground and instinctually falling into old habits, he moved along the path with the others. The brush wouldn't be able to provide true cover, given that he wasn't in anything that remotely blended in with the area, but it would at least make him less likely to be seen. He only shook his head at the sight of Emmaline sticking with Radek. She was dead weight, and nothing else. He checked behind him periodically, partially to make sure that there wasn't anyone creeping up behind them, but also to make sure that those who weren't right in front of him wouldn't try to slip away. Fortunately, no one did. They were in this together, for better or for worse. 

Despite his misgivings, Faeril was pleasantly surprised by the group's quiet movements. None of them had revealed their positions. Sure, some of them could use some training in how to move quietly, but at least none of them stepped on a stick. The tall bastard, Lorcan, seemingly couldn't stop himself from singing like an idiot but at least he kept it as quiet as possible. Not everyone could possess the innate knowledge of when to shut the fuck up. 

Reyvadin was proven right when the familiar sights and sounds of a raid reached them, though anyone would have been right with as broad a guess as the man had made. Faeril carefully crept up to the edge of the forest and viewed the sight impassively. These men were scum of the earth, attacking those who could not defend themselves, but they were also armed and dangerous. You don't survive as bandits without being good at violence.

 Even if he was inclined to risk his life for a bunch of strangers who almost certainly had nothing to offer in return, there was nothing they could do. He counted five men outside, plus at least two that had gone inside the house with their victim. Five crossbows. Faeril's hands itched to get one, to feel the comforting weight of a reliable weapon again. He felt naked without one, as if a piece of him was missing. 

It was almost enough to make him throw caution to the wind. But as his gaze fell upon the wickedly sharp arrowheads, his impulse died. He wasn't about to rush five armed men with nothing more than some shitty manacles and prayers. Even if Emmaline proved to be a complete surprise and actually very useful in a fight, they still wouldn't have the numbers. Especially when the two other men came running out at the sounds of combat. Maybe if the prisoners got up and attacked as well, they would have a chance. But seeing how they were bound and accepting of their fate, Faeril doubted they would be any help in a fight. 

He pressed himself against a tree, looking back at the group. "Not our fight." He hissed quietly, trying to quell any stupid heroics. He didn't think the burrahob or Radek would have any desire to save the victims but who knew about the others. "Those crossbows would kill us before we even reached them. We should wait, and scavenge what we can when they leave." Praying fervently to any god that would listen that his companions would see reason, and to Gaerim for those who were about to be executed, Faeril watched the trail behind them. He didn't want any of the bandits friends to catch them by surprise while they were waiting for the bastards to leave. Or whatever had murdered the poor bastard from before, for that matter.

[hider=rolls]

Stealth: 8+1 Faeril is desperately trying to not be seen by the men with crossbows. He likes living.

Perception: 3+1 Faeril is trying to make sure nothing, like more bandits or whatever ate the poor bastard from before, sneaks up on the group.

[/hider]