Lysan sipped at his drink, watching the fights taking place beside him. Drunk after drunk swiping inaccurately at each other. He fought the urge to cry, remembering it was his own fault. He took another swig, then slammed the flagon hard down onto the wooden table. It broke as it hit the surface, shattering into a thousand pieces. He stood up, lifting his chair up with him, to high above his head. He brought it down upon the person closest to him, striking the back of his head. The man turned, a dagger in his hand. Lysan lashed out with his left arm, punching the dagger out of the man's hand. Lysan pulled out his own longsword, stabbing the man in the stomach in one thrust. A look of horror flashed through the drunk's eyes; a terrified look, one that Lysan would not soon forgot. As he pulled his sword out, thinking back to the events that had led to the brawl.
Lysan ran through the city, longsword in hand, chasing the black-clad man. Two hours the chase had been on now, and Lysan was beginning to tire. Despite all his endurance training, the man had nearly got the better of him. Their run had taken them through most of the backalleys of the city - the ones that Lysan knew so well. But now, as they reached the centre of the city; charging through the bazaar, Lysan realised that the man would know this part of the district better. He gave up, deciding to leave the bounty for awhile. He could always come back for him later; he thought.
Taking his usual route through the city, he ended up at the Bloodseal Tavern, where he normally wasted most of his evenings. Here, he ordered a drink, and was just about to sit down when the black-clad man entered; along with two other men. Each was as muscular as the bounty, and Lysan suspected they were both wanted men. He knew they were in the tavern for him, as they weren't regulars, and he knew he'd been followed. He turned around, trying to hide his face from view, but the three had already seen him. They each brandished a weapon - the two henchmen axes and the black-clad man a Morning Star.
At this point, Lysan stood up and walked towards them, unsheathing his longsword as he went. Lysan and the other man nodded to eachother, then the black-clad man spoke. 'Just business - nothing personal.' He swung his Morning Star at Lysan, who ducked instinctively. Lysan replied; 'Good, I'm glad to know my death wasn't personal,' and he dropped his weapon, 'I'm sure we can sort this out with words. No need for weapons,' he added, looking pointedly at the two henchmen who were walking forwards. The black-clad man; the leader, made a signal to them, and they stopped. 'What is your name? I like to know the name of people I'm about to kill; makes the job easier.' He swung again at Lysan, who ducked again, but retaliated with a punch to the leader's elbow. 'I suggest you leave now. I will hurt you if I feel threatened.' said Lysan. The reply was another swing from the mace. By then, Lysan had had enough. In a single movement, he unsheathed his longsword from his waste and slashed it across the leader's chest.
He wasn't a killer - he didn't enjoy it, he saw it as a job; in fact, he thought it was a horrible practise. He avoided it when possible, but Imythess was such murderous place, you had to kill to survive. It was like this when he had killed the black-clad man, it was - as he had said - business. It was a smart move at the time, as the two other men, not wanting to be next to face the sword, ran out through the door, dropping their weapons. Lysan fell to the floor over the man, and uttered a healing spell, one of the only spells he knew. Whilst he was doing so, a dagger whipped past his ear.
Lysan backed towards the door - he was used to the kind of fights that went on in the tavern, and didn't want to be a part of the bloodshed. He rolled towards the door, whilst sheathing his sword.