A couple of bandits making a panicked escape drew Jakar's attention towards the front of the carriage, where he saw the leader of the thugs lying in a pool of his own gore. Had that waif of a tiefling really done that? If so, he had severely underestimated her.  Whatever had happened exactly, the sudden terror and flight of several bandits at the death of their leader provided an excellent opportunity to resolve this conflict without further bloodshed. Outlaws like this could be anything from hardened, merciless criminals to local farm boys out to cause trouble in the hopes of alleviating some of the monotony of their existence. Those of the latter type often lacked their own initiative and would turn tail at the first sign of real resistance. Perhaps with a little push, the few stragglers could be... persuaded to join their less courageous fellows. Jakar nocked another arrow and drew back his bow, aiming for the nearer of the crossbowmen in the undergrowth.

	"Listen, you skulking vermin," he roared, "your leader has been struck down, and lies in his blood. Your miserable companions have abandoned you. Follow their lead now, and you may yet keep your lives!"