A perhaps familiar Mordentish man in blackened armour is seen making nightly patrols around the streets of the Ouvrier, whistling an old sailor's tune as he does. The rabble of brigands, ruffians, calibans and whatever else that would attempt to accost the man would be quickly dispatched by the monolithic double-edged axe upon his shoulder, pressing onwards without much of a second thought.
Whilst this sight itself wasn't unusual, it appeared on some nights he would linger longer than usual, his gaze watching the destitute rooftops above in search of something else, or someone else. Whatever it was, however, he clearly hadn't seem to find it.