Return to Drell
As they approach closer, the guards' identity as half-orcs becomes clear. Neither is familiar to Rallyn (himself a guard member); they aren't natives of Drell.
The pounding footsteps become louder as a full score of armed similarly crimson tabarded footsoldiers race into view. Most of them also carry exotic weapons of one sort or another. Pounding at their heals is a vicious looking wardog, ridden by a halfling. The short humanoid is wearing a bastard sword strapped across his back; it looks far too large for him to wield. Loping alongside the unlikely steed and rider, keeping pace, is the familar sight of Palasant who you haven't seen in days, Likewise, he also has an immense sword slung over his shoulder, scaled as large in comparison as is the halfling's blade.
Further back, not making quite the same speed, is a contingent of guards Rallyn does recognized. Halberd-bearing members of the militia, some of them acquantainces from distant Northport as well as Drell itself.
"Stand down!" Palasant shouts, "they are friends." He waves his arms around at the guardsmen, who lower their weapons.
Palasant gently pushes his way through the returned citizens to speak to the entire group.
"Thankfully you've returned... what happened?"