With toughened fingers resting upon the hilt of a markedly aged bronze hilt, one with worn brown leather bindings taut around it, the truly wild eyes of a man far out of place parted through the people of the wounded town. He, the so called "Red", stood out among commoners and adventurers alike just by his choice in garb, be it the battered leather traveler's boots he wore, the truly seasoned sword across his hip, or the fact alone he wore as a hood the skin of a very large lioness, whose tremendous hide draped down his back. But there was no sense in hiding among these people - his demeanor alone, that air of predatory vigor, was tangible - either they would, or would not approve of him and the latter many chose, enough so that he was offered no cover and concealment as he stood beside the stone of a building.

Gritting his teeth lightly, of which displayed the [i]drift[/i]'s touches to his mortal self in their nearly animal pronouncement, he watched intently as a cadre of well armed and armored men seem to set about a small portion of the town. His suspicions, what few he had left at this point, were all but confirmed, as not only had he managed into the city without harassment, but the people were preoccupied with something... namely their guardsmen were.

This was not what caught his keen vision however, it was the unusuality of what transpired in his sight.

As quickly as she stepped out the door of, what at first he assumed to be some collection of casualties exclusively, was a gnome in a unique set of traveling gear. Puzzled was her expression as she spoke to one of the guardsmen who seemingly treated her with some level of respect; a commoner she certainly was not, not with the elongated coat, belts and pouches beneath it, nor the apparent level of conversation she could hold with the soldiering sort. Out of subtle instinct, his head pitched lightly to its right and his eyes narrowed as she left in a huff back through the same door she initially exited.

Strange was it; something about the situation gave him the intuitive sense that she was related to whatever had happened here - whatever evil force he could still smell lingering in the air.

Removing his large, strong hand from the scarred bronze pommel of the scimitar, "The Red" rumbled beneath his breath; [i]"If only this were elsewhere this would be short work."[/i]

With a step to the side, the distinct man seemingly vanished from sight; the guard, having begun to scan the town once more blinked in minor confusion from the sensation of having been watched for some time. His focus elsewhere, the leather clad figure slipped aside and around the building the gnome disappeared within - minding his shadows and silhouette with every fall of his foot. Avoiding the windows as he did, his palm soon found itself to the back door of the hospital, of which was an idea not known to the savage as he allowed himself inside. As quietly as a tiger's footfall he tread in, shutting it behind him.

The world around him was busy and the scent offensive. There was injury and illness in this place, and it tasted vile.

Things became momentarily quiet as many eyes settled upon him, both the injured and the attendees - as though an angel of death had just settled in amongst their midst. Turning to face his witnesses, "The Red" took one slow, deliberate look at their wounded lot, all of whom remained hushed; they were visibly uncertain if he was friend or foe, or even a man at all, wearing the hood as he was. Lingering no longer than he needed, his methodical pace carried him down a hall.

The hunt continued.

[@Dragoknighte][@IcePezz][@The Fated Fallen]