Alsten quickly takes notice of the familiar catgirl, and gets the rest of his party's attention. "Looks like this little catgirl just keeps coming up, let's see about getting our translator back, maybe convince them to hand her off to me." He moves towards the lead rider, his repeating heavy crossbow loaded, held ready, but not in an aggressive stance, ready to block the their approach and play haggard survivor. Still bearing the scabbed over scratches and and many colorful bruises from the riot earlier.<br/><br/>"Hold and stand ready guardsmen," he calls out, his voice commanding their attention as they lead back the column of chained, beaten and bruises catgirls. His stance is wary of danger, his visage dark but not quite evil, not quite good, driven more than anything else a force to be reckoned with if they should seek violence at his approach. His clothing shredded, his cloak thrown back over his shoulders as not to reveal it's nature seems more a grey featureless cloak that any traveler might wear, it's edges worn with time well spent in journeys long last. His blackened mithril breastplate shows many silvery lined scratches through the surface coating to reveal slashes mithril in the fading light.