[The call for help was answered more emphatically than he had hoped or expected. So many came out that short work was made of the creatures — as short as could be made of such things, anyway. Fights may be long but death is so often quick, a last instant, the flash of a blade before it cuts into its target. It’s no different now. The beasts might be loathsome, but they die like anything else, in whatever way death comes to them.
When it’s over, a kind of stillness falls on the scene. He sheathes Longclaw; it will need to be cleaned.
Those who didn’t return to the city within moments of the end of the skirmish are still around, and he begins to introduce himself to them in turn. He offers his forearm to clasp in greeting, meaning to do the same: fellowship.]
ACTION: after the fight (cw some battle description)
When it’s over, a kind of stillness falls on the scene. He sheathes Longclaw; it will need to be cleaned.
Those who didn’t return to the city within moments of the end of the skirmish are still around, and he begins to introduce himself to them in turn. He offers his forearm to clasp in greeting, meaning to do the same: fellowship.]
I’m Jon Snow. You have my thanks for your aid.
Did you fight these creatures before?