(( RP Highlights ))
Despite the wafting scents of spiced wine and the distant aroma of baked bread, Suramar's seasonal festivities did not quite reach every resident of the cold city. Lanterns had been strung throughout the most central districts but as one retreated from the singing and the revelry, a certain unwelcome chill seemed to rise. It was not a physical sensation, but it was indeed difficult to avoid.
Esgaldir had strolled through the center of the seasonal merriment, had stalked past loud merchants and smiling citizens, inhaled the hearty scents of festive wines and ales yet he had felt nothing for this display of euphoria. The air was warm and full of laughter but his heart was stone - a heavy weight in his chest. Idly, he found himself rubbing the back of his left hand as he wandered through the masses, feeling the scarred flesh and recalling the pain of the lingering wound.
Jade optics scanned his surroundings, a harsh fel glow emanating from their endless depths as his blackened pupils took stock of the landscape. Gradually, as though he did not even intend to do so, he was drifting further from the center district and strolling slowly through more abandoned regions. Few homes were lit, most of their residents taking part in the seasonal merriment only a short distance away.
Now distanced from the joyous cacophany, the sentinel could feel himself begin to relax and it was a visible reaction too. The tension in his wiry frame was evaporating somewhat and he was able to release his wounded hand, folding his arms behind his back and arching it - correcting his posture whilst huffing out a heavy sigh. Now he strolled more comfortably, still analyzing his surroundings but now it was an occupational act as opposed to one of caution and mistrust.
A few stragglers still lingered in these streets but most were on their way to the festival, regarding the felborne sentinel with either veiled wariness of averting their gaze entirely. Esgaldir regarded them in turn but for the most part, he ignored their abhorrence and continued on his way. His regalia was clearly Nightwatch but his other features were difficult to ignore. The fel runes, the eerie glow - it was a remnant of a time that had recently passed and few were sure of how to deal with such remainders.
Both arms were now reaching for the cruelly sharpened halberd sheathed within an ornamented harness. The weapon seemed to unleash a hissing breath as it swung free from this prison, held with loose dexterity in one nimble hand whilst the sentinel began to follow after the incensed arcanist. Deft digits curled around the hilt of the halberd, gathering very deliberate tension in both hands and the rest of his densely muscled frame. It was a practised act and practically automatic. Esgaldir was a well-oiled machine when it came to his duties and this was the exact image he displayed now whilst traversing the short distance toward his new objective.
Tiny slivers of black slunk through the cold jade abyss of his gaze, rapidly assessing his surroundings primarily but also the svelte aristocrat granting orders. A difficult man to read, his conclusions concerning the distressed arcanist couldn't truly be discerned - his judgements kept under firm lockdown. It didn't take long for the scene of the crime to present itself to him, the trio of delinquents absorbing his attention immediately. Analytical focus was brought to their features and their weapons, scrutinizing every available visual detail and upon realizing that the woman's spellwork was indeed going to be upheld - he loosened a portion of the tension that had been collecting in his seasoned figure.
Purposeful strides were taken toward one of them, peering into the visage of the closest ruffian and inspecting the other man further, plucking at clothing and otherwise confirming the identity that he assumed.
"You've done good work here," the gruff sentinel spoke in his usual gravelly timbre but there was a mote of respect lying beneath the grumbled tones, "Two of these are wanted men. The third however, is unknown to me."
As he spoke, Esgaldir was unceremoniously curling a nimble hand around the first man's back and shoving the bladed point of his halberd into the helpless assailant. Fel enchantments ensured that the wound would become immediately infected on the instant that he was released from his temporal prison, ensuring his death. Another of the delinquents was treated in the same manner, a cold gaze and the harsh termination of his life. The third was almost spared, a dextrous cyan hand reaching idly for the restraints kept at his belt but after a moment of hesitation, any possibility of a helpful interrogation was abandoned and this third assailant was given the same treatment as his peers.
With that, the sentinel was turning and beginning the act of cleaning his blade, regarding the immobile criminals in a calculating manner - ensuring that their wounds were placed in a manner that would result in their death as soon as the arcanist's spellwork had ceased.
"The Nightwatch appreciates your assistance," there was a pause after this, trailing off somewhat as though struggling to recall a name or a title that could be used to refer to his newfound ally, casting a dull glance toward her. "Miss Shavatir, was it?"
A thin blue square of cloth had been plucked from some recess in the man's armaments, used now to wipe away the rivulets of fresh blood coating his blade. Miraculously, the cloth itself was absorbing none of the thick red liquid whilst simultaneously serving to clean the blade with precise efficiency. Some kind of enchantment had clearly been placed upon it, indicating that it was impossible to determine how long he had been using that particular scrap of fabric to clean his weapons and his armor in the field.
"I have not, but I am glad to now know a woman of your stature," he responded bluntly, pocketing the square of fabric and subsequently locking his halberd into its sheath at his back. The weapon was either so light or his strength so profound that he was able to hoist it around with ease. Deft digits worked to swiftly lock it into the fastenings, pressing it into its prison.
"It is perhaps distasteful but still entirely necessary, ma'am," Esgaldir spoke in a simple manner, dull clarity ringing through the harsh tonality of his speech, gravelly tones rolling together as though conveying an honest fact, "I have absolute trust in the stamina of your spellwork but I would rather waste no time in exterminating filth."
