Finding Judge was easy enough for Kestlona, even in the slowly thinning smoke that clung tenaciously to its airspace within the Quicksand. His size and dark-tinted armor made him stand out even in the chaos, a veritable rock in a sea of panic. He had not moved from his spot at Alabaster's side after putting the Blade out, observing all the chaos around him with a strange stillness.
There had been an explosion, so people were panicking. That was a proper chain of events. Some were seeking to escape, some to aerate the establishment, and a handful were crying out for healers. All valid responses to the situation at hand. The bomber herself had fled as well, as such a person is wont to do.
What was bothering him was how long it was taking for the smoke to disperse. When the doors were opened, the smoke was to spill out and dissipate. However, either due to the layout of the establishment itself or lack of air flow, it was lingering for far too long. It was a problem, and therefore needed to be rectified - it was only proper.
With a creak of metal, Jredthys rose to his feet - his visored gaze peering through the gloom. A hand went to the huge blade strapped to his back - its size and the detailing of its cross-guard and fuller making it look vaguely reminiscent of a judge's bench that had been pulled out of a courtroom and sharpened to a deadly point. It slipped from its holster with a clicking of clasps being pulled loose, and he held it out in front of him with surprising ease with one hand.
"DOWN." The single word echoed with a vague power as it rumbled out of the depths of the armor. It was both suggestion and command, hinting what one should do it and implying that one would do it. He waited a beat before grasping onto the hilt with his other hand. If his statement wasn't enough to motivate those still near to get down or move away, even the vaguest sight of towering metal behemoth with a blade as wide as a counter-top out certainly would.
And it was the blade's width that Judge would use here. Circling it once over his head for momentum, he swung the blade flat-wise in a wide horizontal arc in front of him. The resulting pressure wave would carry the recalcitrant smoke towards the doors Klynzahr had propped open. And potentially bowl over anyone not expecting such a powerful swing. And gods help them if they were in the arc of the blade itself.
Then again, if they had failed to heed his warning - then it was only proper they suffer the consequences, no?
~