text: I sit alone in a tavern. It's quiet, almost as if my deeds have echoed through the town, shocking its residents into a disgusted silence. I drink to forget my worries, to forget the things I've done. If I drink enough I can feel normal again, as if I'm just a regular person; I lie to myself. &#x200B; An Orc walks in. His massive body barely fitting through the door. He laughs to himself as he enters loudly. &#x200B; "Give me the largest cup of goblin-dusk you've got!" He shouts at the young girl behind the bar. &#x200B; I take a quick look as I have never heard of this drink. After a quick scan of the board, I see it's the cheapest, and somehow, the strongest ale on the menu. &#x200B; "AHH!" He even makes noise by just sitting down. He sits next to me, his weight barely being supported by the stool. &#x200B; "It's good day to be alive, isn't it?!" this is aimed at me but I get the feeling he doesn't want an actual answer. I force a smile and carry on drinking. &#x200B; "Not much of a talker, eh?" His voice bellows in my ear. &#x200B; I take a look at him, everything about his appearance screams: "please look at me". He makes no effort to hide what he does, who he is. His clothes are covered in spatters of blood. Around his neck sits a necklace made from assorted skulls; I can only assume he wears them as trophies. His large sword on display for all to see. He is everything I despise. &#x200B; "I take it you're a warrior?" I ask him, already knowing the answer. &#x200B; "The best damn warrior!" he exclaims, slapping my back and laughing to himself. I clench my teeth, holding back my anger. &#x200B; "And you? What is it you do?" it always sounds like he's demanding an answer instead of asking for one. &#x200B; "I mainly do work for The Brotherhood" I tell him. I hear whispers through the tavern. I guess I shouldn't have said anything. It's too late now. &#x200B; "Haha. I thought you looked familiar, aren't you?-" He shouts, for all to hear. &#x200B; "No." I quickly cut him off, "I'm no one. I'm new; there's no way you could have heard of me." &#x200B; "Didn't mean to cause offense" he tells me, "but you do look a lot like-" &#x200B; "I doesn't matter" again, cutting him off "I'm not him." I go back to my drink. &#x200B; "OK, OK" he says, chuckling to himself. "People these days; can't say anything without someone taking offense." He takes a few more gulps of his ale. &#x200B; "You know" he continues, "What you and me do ain't that different" &#x200B; "Is that so?" I ask, annoyed by such a asinine comment. &#x200B; "Yeah, think about it. We're killers, respected and feared all over the land." He says, boastfully. &#x200B; "I don't think of it that way." I tell him. &#x200B; "No? You think what you do is better than what I do? Maybe you think you're doing something noble?" He chuckles to himself "A killer's a killer, ain't no other way of lookin' at it." &#x200B; "It's about the process." I tell him. &#x200B; "Huh?" He looks at me with a stupid look on his face. &#x200B; "You go into a village, killing everyone and everything that gets in your way to get what you want. Am I right?" I know that I am. &#x200B; "Haha. More or less, yes." He seems to take pride in the fact that someone knows how he operates. &#x200B; "What I do requires finesse." I try explaining, already expecting him to not understand "It's about knowing when to strike, as well as when not to. Watching a situation, playing it out over and over in your head. Preparing for every scenario. I've won or lost a fight before I even draw my daggers." &#x200B; "Who's got time for that?!" again, not expecting an answers, just shouting his opinions at me. "Just go in, swing your sword and best everyone in your path, face to face. I win fights by knowing that I'm the greatest swordsman. There's no one who can control a sword with such great accuracy, speed and power as I can." &#x200B; "You could be right," I tell him, "but what happens in the situation when you turn out to be wrong? The best never stay the best forever. There'll always eventually be someone stronger, faster and more accurate. What do you do then?" &#x200B; "There'll never be no one who can beat me!" He shouts, naively. &#x200B; He seems to like his double negatives. I think about pointing them out, but I don't think he'd understand. Besides, I can see that he's starting to get worked up and it's blatantly obvious that he's the kind of person who deals with any sort of confrontation with violence. I know that I should just leave it, there's no point in pushing him, I will be met with nothing but aggression. I might be a master at what I do, but fighting a warrior head on is not going to end well for me. &#x200B; "You think you can beat me in a fight?!" he laughs to himself. He phrases this as a joke but I can tell that this is a challenge and he's hoping I say yes. &#x200B; "No." I tell him "I don't expect to be able to do what you do any more than I expect you to be able to do what I do." &#x200B; "Ha! That's what I thought" He smiles to himself, smugly, and goes back to his ale. &#x200B; "Surely you can see my point though?" I ask. I'm not sure why. I don't expect him to see my point any more than I would see his. &#x200B; "No! You talk like a coward. Hiding and waiting. Backstabbing from the shadows. I would never fight like that and I would destroy anyone who tried anything like that on me." I can see that his anger hasn't subsided. &#x200B; "I guess you'll never have a chance to realize the art in what I do." I tell him, as I lean over the bar to grab some napkins. &#x200B; "What the hell does that mean!?" He shouts for an answers, but it is too late. &#x200B; I am back in my seat. I have no need to reply and even if I did; he's in no position to comprehend. His throat is cut. I use the napkins to wipe the blood spray off my face and clothes, as best I can. The tavern staff notice him, they rush over. It's of no use, he'll be dead in seconds. I am gone. The contents of his pockets are now in my possession. Anything that isn't of use is discarded. Many people would see this as an act of theft, but anyone who knows this place like I do knows that anything left in the pockets of a dead man will quickly be taken by the authorities. They claim they take it to the council, I know this to be a lie. &#x200B; I leave the town, there's nothing here for me now. There's no need to stay and take the risk of a witch hunt breaking out. Maybe tomorrow I can go somewhere and try to forget my worries, forget the things I've done. I can let everything go and become normal again, just like a regular person; I lie to myself.