[h3]Jaelnec, Freagon, Irah, Lhirin, Nabi, Yanin, Jordan and Madara – Forest north of Borstown, Bandit Farm[/h3]
Contrary to the bandit's demands, Freagon very specifically did not throw down his weapon, nor did he lower it or point it anywhere but directly at the villain's sternum. His lone eye narrowed slightly as he shot the other his grimmest, most baleful glare to wordlessly communicate the sheer sense of impatience and annoyance he felt in that moment. But he did not move or speak.
Standing still, the old knight played through numerous scenarios in his head to determine a way he, with a realistic set of natural movements, could disable or kill the man... but he could not think of any way to do it without making it extremely likely that Bren would be stabbed in the neck. Part of him wanted to just accept that outcome and murder the bandit anyway, since he knew they had an iriao present that could easily mend a stab-wound in the neck... or any kind of damage the bandit could inflict with the dagger for that matter. Iriao were miraculous healers at the cost of inflicting immense divine taint, as he knew very well, so the danger of Bren dying would be minimal. Even so he figured the others would probably not approve of him showing even such calculated disregard for Bren's life.
Freagon's eye narrowed in his grimmest, most baleful glare as he stewed in his impatience and annoyance. Other people were such a bother; had he been alone, this vile creature would have been dead before he could have spoken his first word.

Out of the corner of his eye, Freagon registered familiar movements where he knew Lhirin was standing, but made no attempt to see what he was actually doing. Even from his peripheral vision Freagon could tell that it was some kind of subtle hand-gestures, which either meant he was secretly trying to cast a spell – which would be altogether foolish since the bandit could see Lhirin's face, which meant he would see his lips moving to whisper the incantation – or, more likely, a repeat of the way he had covertly communicated with Irah back at the manor. It did not annoy Freagon as much this time due to the situation possibly actually calling for subtly... though it was still a bit frustrating to know that even if he had been looking at it directly, he still would not have been able to interpret it.

Irah spoke to the bandit, beseeching him with a naivety that the nightwalker immediately dismissed as fake to surrender.
“I'll tell you what happens next, bird-brain,” the bandit growled at her as he moved further out of the doorway and started awkwardly moving sideways to his right, all while dragging Bren with him and keeping his dagger firmly pressed against his throat. “I'm going to leave, and you are going to let me. If either of you or the black-eyed freak tries to stop me, the healer dies. If you follow me, the healer dies. And if I catch even a [I]hint[/I] of the guy with the rune sword trying anything cute, the healer dies. Let me go, and I'll leave this sorry bastard somewhere out of sight, no worse for wear.”