The man whirled his way around the blades pointed to his neck, tearing the blades that had him pinned with brute strength, and took a wild swing with his sword, missing the woman as she deftly maneuvered out of the way.
"Aaah, another heffer wants their guts strewn, do they?" the man growled as he pointed his long sword at his attacker. By the hybrid chain-mail and plate armor he wore, it was clear that the man was part of the city's guard. His movements were too clean and drilled to be the wild flailing a of a drunk or a robber.
The woman looked ready to attack again, but before she could, the elder shop keep-- walking up so calmly and mildly that the enraged soldier didn't even notice him out of the corner of his eye-- lashed out with his left hand and brought it down on the soldier's wrist.
Blood spurt on the ground, and the woman the soldier had been choking fell to the floor and began to sputter for air.
The soldier didn't even both to look down at the hideous black dagger that was jammed perpendicularly into his wrist like a nail in a board. He had moved beyond ill temper now-- he had moved beyond fury. When he turned to face the diminutive old man standing before him, he bellowed like an angry bull, and acted with as much thought. He pulled sword back and thrust it through the old man's chest.
The old man looked at the brute, and let his gaze follow downwards to the blade that was stuck in his chest. He was smiling. Even as blood began to dribble on the bastions of his lips, he still smiled as though the man had done him a great service. He thought of his home town. He thought of his old friends. He thought of himself as the young, spry he once was.
Then his body slid off the soldier's sword and landed to the ground with a hard, inanimate thud.
The solider reared around back to the woman who had attacked him with a maniac's glare. He roughly grabbed onto the dagger that was lodged onto his wrist and pulled it out. His hand had already turned blue from the lack of blood flow, and felt so numb he almost couldn't feel it anymore.
"I'm gonna kill you," he seethed, throwing the dagger down to his feet.
"I'll cut your head right off your shoulders, and--"
THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP
Even over the screams in the bazaar, the soldier heard the heavy thudding sounds rushing up to him in such a sudden manner he automatically turned his head. He turned in time to see an Orc the size of a bear almost on top of him. The haft of the largest and most evil looking maul was swung over his left shoulder.
Eyes redder than blood glared violent frenzy, and the soldier had just enough time to think: 'A demon. I'm looking at a demon.'
There was no time to physically react. The Orc swung his hammer downwards without a word or sound. The hammer made contact with left leg of the soldier, and the physical force literally snapped the leg off as if it had been cut with a sword. The force of the stroke continued on into the other leg and smashed it into unrecognizeability, but was stopped short of snapping it off as well. The soldier was swept onto his back so quickly that he didn't even feel the blood flowing out of until after the back of his head had hit the ground. His vision was too blured by the concussion to see the Orc wheel his shoulders around and bring the hammer down again right on top of his head.
There was a wet smash that echoed in the bazaar.
