Jerod was speaking with some merchants over supplies of some sort or another. The list wasn't really his concern, he had been asked to go deal with the stuff by the local innskeeper of the district, in return, his room and board would be reduced. It was a helpful thing, considering he was a bit strapped for funds at the moment, damned religious naga worshippers had been a pain in his arse, constantly trying to sway him and otherwise condemn him, made finding work hard in most places. But, just as the merchant turned him away, he heard some commotion. Turning, he quickly analyzed the situation. Three, no, five men, ambushing some lad who looked too young to be holding that sword and fancy magic book of his. None watching their backs from intervention. Well, that simply wouldn't do, and he rested his hand on his sword, starting his run towards the combat.

"Oi, ye brazen nutters! Over 'ere!"

The sound of footsteps, fast footsteps, and the unsheathing of a sword was evident and two of the men turned in time to see a mail wearing warrior, brandishing an iron sword in a two handed grip, charging right into their attempted ambush. The man charging was tall, easily taller then the highest standing of the cravens ganging up on a youthful boy, even as armed as he was. Beneath the weather worn traveling cloak was a mail vest, lighter than the plate favored by man professional soldiers, but it provided protection enough for the man's purposes. He bore no mark of status, no identifying insigna as to some well known hero or villain, but he acted anyways. A swift, strong kick to the midriff sent one man stumbling back, and he locked sword against axe with the other, half grinning despite the situation.

"No restin' lad, still got three of the sodders on yer end." A hard cross draw broke the stalemate, leaving a cut, not lethal, on the face of the man he had been locked blades with. The other fellow he had put the boot to was on his feet and re engaging, and Jerod moved fast, far faster than his frame would have belied, parrying and knocking him away again, turning to backstep from a downward swing, sparks flying from the mail coat as it caught the tip of the enemies weapon. A counter stroke was made, not felling the man yet, but at two of the lad's assailants were more then preoccupied right now, and given time, he would certainly best both of them. That much, Jerod was certainly confident about. So far, momentum and speed had carried the man, and he pressed this advantage, either striking or knocking away one foe or the other, alternating between the two to keep their focus on him. Three on one was bad enough, but five on one from two directions? Not fair at all, so Jerod was leveling the playing field for the young lad.