Mal had no problem stealing either, other than the incarceration that could follow. He was glad she at least knew an assassin was not typically smiled on by normal folk, though there was no shortage of men in need of a good blade for hire.

The handsome wizard pursed his lips and shrugged. He supposed she was right, they could go after a few bandits. But they would be difficult to find and likely difficult to kill, especially if he doesn't have a spellbook. Then again, they might have a bandit wizard with one he could requisition for himself...but that also complicated things. Malcador would rather not be turned to stone or hit with a fireball. But, he supposed if they ran into them, it couldn't be helped. Admittedly he [i]would[/i] kill for a proper bed and some food. Bandits might have those too, even if they were in a cave. 

He stroked his fine chin, contemplating her suggestions, before she turned back around and mentioned murdering the family, and he looked at her for a long moment. 

"...Let's not do that." He told her, as if he had been on the fence about it.  

Before Serphia had a chance to debate the topic, the most unlikely thing on Toril happened. The two of them heard a distant noise, a deeper reverberating noise that shook the very ground. It was followed by a myriad of screeches and wailing calls that sent a shiver up Malcador's spine. Arloke peeked out from Serphia's pack, his multitude of eyes as confused as Malcador felt. He was still not used to the drow and her pet, but they were at least familiar. [i]Gods be good, what in the nine hells could those sounds that be now[/i]? He shared a look with Serphia, and the two of them kept from the door and went for the ladders leading up to the second story of the barn. They climbed up quickly, and knelt beside the openings all barns had to ventilate air. 

"Mystra curse me," He muttered, as the two of them beheld utter pandemonium. Across the field, they saw men, women, and children running out of houses and sprinting for their lives as black armored figures and devils, (they had to be devils!) chased them with wings, claws, and whips of serrated steel. Malcador watched a man was pounced on and ripped apart by two spiked devils just as a family was rounded up and put to the sword by faceless men in black brigandines. A kilometer to the left, there was an explosion of coruscating colors, and Malcador could tell a spellcaster was defending himself. A handful of armored cavalrymen rode out of the tables, lances and swords at the ready. They were defenders of the town, peeling off to chase different monsters and groups of men, but they were far too few.

There had to be two hundred of the black armored men, and maybe a hundred devils. The townsfolk outnumbered them, but the sheer surprise and the lack of armaments with the average citizen likely spelled their doom. Even if Malcador had his spellbook and all fully prepared spells, he doubt he could turn the tide himself. 

"We need to help them or..." He stopped, wondering what they could do. He shook his head, knowing Serphia was not likely going to risk her neck for the townsfolk. He was hesitant to as well, he had to be honest. "This is our chance, if we can kill a few of those attackers, we can loot them and take their equipment. I might can find a spellbook." He hoped his reasoning would be seen as sound to her. "Feel up for a quick fight?" 

Without her, he'd be killed immediately without his magic.