The fight had been shorter than Kazahk’s temper; the guards had nary a chance and they’d bitten off far more than they’d ever been able to chew. It had gone from simple bar brawl to Sigur deciding to carve apart the men with his ridiculously sized blade, which Varzhul would never be in a rush to meet in battle. While Varzhul was fast, skilled and seamless with the blade, it would be a tough fight to overcome that amount of raw, brute strength especially with a blade that large being swung. He almost sighed with disappointment at the first sign of blood being spilt, now he felt silly for having not gutted the fool that had come at him with the sword. A wry smile briefly flittered across his face as the guard cried out for who they are and Sigur sent a melodramatic yet mildly amusing reply to the man. His somewhat nonchalant comment after a hearty laugh that broke the melancholic silence of the room, caused a pang of worry in his mind as the half-orc seemed to be taking it somewhat less seriously then he should be. 

He watched silently, emotionlessly as Masef set about providing for the tavern wench’s escape from the subsequent wroth that would fall upon the town after this incident. A brawl would’ve raised few eyebrows but a slaughter would be raising alarms all along the land; a reinforcing of the guard would be inevitable and as such in order to recover Brand’s body, time would surely be of the essence. He nodded as Masef suggested they take the guard with them, as he readied himself to reply, Kazahk interrupted before he had the chance.

He shifted his gaze towards to the somewhat out-of-place drow, he’d been the cause of this whole violent affair, not that they necessarily would’ve fought without him but the drow had gone and forced the issue. Not to mention that after starting it he’d done little else but drink, abandoning his step-brother like a coward, he’d merely been entertained by the whole affair while endangering them all; albeit not a great amount of danger. None of the emotions played a hint across his face, instead burying them under a mountain of willpower and emotional guards built up over a lifetime of emotional management. His presence here was a wildcard of unimaginable proportions; he was unpredictable, violent and most of all a kinslayer. He alone of the brood had spilt the blood of a fellow brood member and it’s something he would ever really be forgiven for, not even if he slew every kingsman involved in the death of Brand; not that Varzhul would allow him to do that, his own blades cried out for blood and they would be sated. 

He refrained from immediately answering Kazahk’s query, he wanted to gauge the reaction of the room to the drow’s presence even though he knew well what they had to do.  When Lysandra suggested the use of the hunting cabin and Quinn agreed with her, Varzhul was quick to add his own approval, by saying [b]“We definitely need to lie low after this bloodbath. Although we should strike fast to recover father’s body before reinforcements arrive which will surely occur. I can take the guard with me, Torst, my warhorse, can easily take the extra weight of him; it’ll be easier than any of you carrying him through the forest now.”[/b]