"No, no. That won't do."
Thinking to himself, Jarrik frowned under his visored helmet, disappointed that he hadn't delivered the killing blow. No worthy tales would be added to the name Jarrik de Avalos today, but perhaps he ought to be thankful to his ragtag saviors for his life. While wrestling his helmet free, he leaned heavily on his spear for support, suddenly aware of how tired he truly was. The normally brilliant red plume now a little tattered and matted. With the obstruction removed, a black mane of hair framed a darkly tanned face littered with piercings along his ears, eye brows and lips.
"Heh, I sincerely hope that's the last of them." He addressed the group as a whole, waiting for the injured to rise or settle themselves. "I'm not sure how much longer I would have lasted without your mostly timely of assistance. But come, tell me of who you are so that we might toast and sing of these deeds proper."
He looked back and forth among them, appraising some armed for battle and all skilled fighters in their own ways, but otherwise carrying little else. "Are you brigands driven into the city by 'spawn? I fear you'll find little sanctuary here." Gesturing around, he drooped a little on the spear.