A Bad Day|Haven | Ilyamen
Sept 20, 2007 1:07:44 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Sept 20, 2007 1:07:44 GMT -5
"That's twenty coin, sir," the merchant stated as he poured the last measure of grain into the sturdy leather bag.
"Thank you." Ansrax hung the bag on Belaria's saddle and reached into another saddlebag, drawing out the required payment.
"Thank you for your patronage, sir," the merchant said as he was handed the coins, smiling pleasantly.
The bounty hunter just nodded and stepped away, leading the draft Palomino by the reins. Belaria followed placidly, as unruffled as her master by the bustle and crowding of Ilyamen.
It had been a good visit, all things considered: He had been able to clear his head of his last target, pay the rent on his apartment, and visit the graves of his aunt Auriel Kaha and his uncle, Sevi Hadhe. Ansrax wasn't very sentimental, but he still paid his respects whenever he was in Ilyamen. It was his childhood home, after all, and he had dearly loved his relatives.
Someone brushed by him; Ansrax only had a glance at the person's face, but that was enough to confirm it was his lucky day. That person's face had been on a "Wanted" poster that was blowing along the street on the way to Ilyamen. The reward wasn't much, but it was always good to get scum off the streets.
Ansrax calmly unwound his bullwhip and lashed out, drawing screams from surprised people in the crowd, and yanked the criminal back towards him. He landed at his feet, choking. "Mmm. I was hoping to snap your neck," Ansrax coolly noted, drawing his longsword. "You must have drunk a lot of milk growing up."
"Drink this!" the criminal wheezed, and got to his knees as he yanked a knife from his boot, driving it forward. At such close range, Ansrax could have twisted aside, but he didn't: If he had, the knife would have hit Belaria, and he could not allow that. So he allowed the weapon to sink into his stomach; it drew a grunt from him, but not much else as he drove his own blade into the criminal's ribs.
Ansrax calmly flicked blood from the metal and sheathed it, then drew a medallion from under his collar and showed it to the shocked, quiet onlookers. It was etched with an emblem bounty hunters carried to prove they made a living and not a hobby out of killing. "Someone call law enforcement and tell them the Cutting Frost will be collecting his payment shortly," he stated, winding up his whip. "Will someone direct me to the nearest healer?"
That was how Ansrax was found knocking on the door of one Shen Aynaryn. He'd removed the knife and had some healing water on the way, but despite his age and knowledge of first aid, he was not an experienced healer; best to leave it to the professionals to judge the damage.
Besides, the hole in his gut might need stitches, even if it wasn't bleeding much any more.
"Thank you." Ansrax hung the bag on Belaria's saddle and reached into another saddlebag, drawing out the required payment.
"Thank you for your patronage, sir," the merchant said as he was handed the coins, smiling pleasantly.
The bounty hunter just nodded and stepped away, leading the draft Palomino by the reins. Belaria followed placidly, as unruffled as her master by the bustle and crowding of Ilyamen.
It had been a good visit, all things considered: He had been able to clear his head of his last target, pay the rent on his apartment, and visit the graves of his aunt Auriel Kaha and his uncle, Sevi Hadhe. Ansrax wasn't very sentimental, but he still paid his respects whenever he was in Ilyamen. It was his childhood home, after all, and he had dearly loved his relatives.
Someone brushed by him; Ansrax only had a glance at the person's face, but that was enough to confirm it was his lucky day. That person's face had been on a "Wanted" poster that was blowing along the street on the way to Ilyamen. The reward wasn't much, but it was always good to get scum off the streets.
Ansrax calmly unwound his bullwhip and lashed out, drawing screams from surprised people in the crowd, and yanked the criminal back towards him. He landed at his feet, choking. "Mmm. I was hoping to snap your neck," Ansrax coolly noted, drawing his longsword. "You must have drunk a lot of milk growing up."
"Drink this!" the criminal wheezed, and got to his knees as he yanked a knife from his boot, driving it forward. At such close range, Ansrax could have twisted aside, but he didn't: If he had, the knife would have hit Belaria, and he could not allow that. So he allowed the weapon to sink into his stomach; it drew a grunt from him, but not much else as he drove his own blade into the criminal's ribs.
Ansrax calmly flicked blood from the metal and sheathed it, then drew a medallion from under his collar and showed it to the shocked, quiet onlookers. It was etched with an emblem bounty hunters carried to prove they made a living and not a hobby out of killing. "Someone call law enforcement and tell them the Cutting Frost will be collecting his payment shortly," he stated, winding up his whip. "Will someone direct me to the nearest healer?"
That was how Ansrax was found knocking on the door of one Shen Aynaryn. He'd removed the knife and had some healing water on the way, but despite his age and knowledge of first aid, he was not an experienced healer; best to leave it to the professionals to judge the damage.
Besides, the hole in his gut might need stitches, even if it wasn't bleeding much any more.