OoC: Wow. That's high praise. o.o Thank you! ^^ That just made my day for a week, I think.
Anyways, onwards to the battle!
BiC:
Lachyn slipped under the man's blade and swung at his feet. In a quarter of a second, the blade was there to block him. Lachyn sidestepped, darted in, ducked and stabbed, leaped, slashed, but the man blocked him at every turn.
"Stop!" screamed the bartender's wife, running towards them but unwilling to come close. Lachyn barely spared her a glance.
"I'll not have weapons drawn in my tavern or my inn!" shouted the bartender, but he, too, was unwilling to take any further measures to stop the fight.
There was confidence in the man's face, too much confidence. He underestimated Lachyn's skill. He was skilled himself, it was true, but Lachyn had learned from experience--one that had nearly cost him his life--that the worst mistake a fighter could make was to believe he could not lose.
Lachyn was faster than he looked; he may have been tall, broad-shouldered, and armored, but he was light on his feet. No one would have known it to look had him. No, he would save
that trick for later.
The door opened, and a cold breeze blew in, carrying rain, making people flinch away and the fire flicker, but no one looked to see who'd come in. They were intent on the battle going on between the minstrel and the stranger.
Lachyn looked, briefly, out of habit alone. He took in a pale-faced young woman, dressed all in black, with bright, yellow-green eyes. Then he returned his attentions to the fight.
"I think you should both stop now," she called across the room. Lachyn would have rolled his eyes if he could risk the half-second he'd be distracted from the fight. The man
did roll his eyes, and that was when Lachyn acted. He was behind the man, and struck out at his calves, then leaped up onto a table and swung at his chest. The man roared and spun, then spun again, and looked down to see the cut that Lachyn had made--barely even a scratch, but deep enough to bleed--diagonal across his chest from his right shoulder to his left side.
"First blood," said Lachyn with a savage pleasure. "Do we end this now, or continue until you're disarmed?"
"End it now," said the woman from behind him.
"Silence, you stupid girl!" shouted Lachyn's opponent, and Lachyn didn't miss the opportunity. He swung at the man's hand. The man screamed with pain, and the sword went clattering to the ground. Lachyn paused and stared at the man's arm, bleeding heavily from the wrist.
The man's hand twitched, the fingers curling as if still grasping the sword, before it went limp.
Suddenly, something white covered Lachyn's hands and arms, binding him securely. The man, too, was bound, the bleeding stump of his wrist bandaged with the stuff.
The young woman walked right between them. "Now," she said, adressing both of them. "Are we quite through? Or will I have to wrap you up like flies in a spider's web?"
OoC: I hope I did an okay job with your character...