Bless the naivety of the holy order. Arastoph smirked smugly to himself as the knight was baited onto his lure. For now, he was under the knight's protection. He just had to hold on for the knight to eliminate the swordsman so that he may be on his way. Peering through the cracks of his cover, he watched the duel. At first, it was nothing more than two grown men making fun of each other. However, eventually the looter did make his move and charged forward. The knight met the charge with his own, but instead of clashing with him, he ran him over full-force, and trampled the swordsman as he went.

Arastoph had hoped that was that, but to his ever-increasing annoyance, the swordsman stood back up with difficulty. He immediately recognized his expression as one of rage. Contempt. Blood-thirsty anger. From this, and from the reputation of looters in general, there was no way the swordsman was going to hold up his end of the bargain. As he made the hand sign, and as Arastoph noticed the movement of the looter with the flail, he sprung to action.

"Fuck!"

He likely wasn't going to save the knight in time, but it wasn't [i]his[/i] life that Arastoph was concerned about. He tossed his pouch of ammunition over the ruins and where its trajectory would land it between the man with the flail and the crossbowmen. The merchant spun on his heel around the corner and traced the airborne pouch with his dragoon, and when it fell into position, pulled the trigger. A dozen bullets shot through the air toward the pouch. Even if not one of the pellets struck it, the spread should at least be enough to hit at least one of the looters.