Silk wondered when the fool would show up, if he showed up that was. He had a long nose, short and scruffy black whiskers, and hair to match. He pulled off the rodent look quite nicely. Belted at his side was a singularly sinister looking shortsword and in his hand he was testing the edge of a long bladed dagger. Stropping it on his belt for a second, he returned to testing the big knife's edge. In the streets, outside of the Drital Qu'ellar Pub, the outlet for the scum of the seaside city, the air was loaded with the scent of the salt air, and the sound of the rowdy drunken barfighting was still very audible. Commerce bustled in the entire town, but the commerce in that particular bar was not very pleasant for the faint of heart, or mind for that matter. Silk had called out a fellow recently, pompous sort who thought himself better than he really was. The city was corupt enough without his sorry self taking residence in it. The bastard amused himself by dropping live puppies into boiling water, the world would be a much sweeter place without his disgusting attitude. Undecided whether or not to kill the man, or just put him in his place, Silk put his dagger back into it's place of concealment. He would meet the challenge unarmed at first, but if things got ugly, the little thief could see and raise trouble like hell was letting out it's in-mates. Almost wanting to have a quick saunter inside for a tankard or two, he decided against it, it was best to have all of your wits about you before you fight somebody. Time ticked by and Silk began to grow impatient. "Bloody pile of rubbish can't even show up for his own funeral on time." he mumbled to whatever was around. It was not long until Silk began to pace in anticipation. Finally, after the eternity it took, there was a new silhouette upon the cobbled pathway that led to the Pub of choice for the underbelly of society. "Finally," he exhaled. "Better be him." said Silk expectedly.

Talen remembered the letter. It was a challenge, and he could not refuse or he would be outcast from everybody. A public humiliation would have been much less insulting than the choice of words used in the letter. He belted on his sword, of course, and then he started out from his usual tavern into the streets. Looking up, he thought it looked like rain, but he could not be certain, exactly. He left his lute at home, he would not need it where he went. Silk was a proficiant fighter, but Talen was a duelist. His footsteps were heavy on the streets and he wished he were in better shape. As he came to the narrow alley that led to the dread pub. He prepped himself. He hoped Silk was not there already, it might be nice to be able to set up a few assassins or an ambush, something that would slow the man down. As he crept slowly up the hill, he peered over. His heart sank slowly as the silhouette was not very tall at all, and the sheath was visible as well. Talen gulped and swallowed his emotions as he made his way all the way up the hill where he knew he might not ever come back from. As he got closer, he became aware that the man on top of the hill was in fact trying to discern who was there. Making his way closer, Talen saw the features of Silk awaiting him at top of the slow incline. He mentally swore amd drew his sword. "Silk, I answer your challenge you mangy son of a -" the next word was clearly insulting and Talen felt it fitting. His outfit was of a maroon, deep red hue, his pants black. The hilt of his sword was red leather and gold filigree, he prayed it would do its job. That last statement may have angered Silk a little bit.

The suspicions confirmed in his mind by the spiky redness of the hair of the silhouette as it emerged into the figure of Talen, the amateur. His choice of words made Silk's eyebrow raise, then go back to his regular narrow-eyed appearance. He would regret that one. "Well then, which would you rather swallow first? Your words or my knife?" asked the little thief. At first, Silk decided not to waste any energy by rushing out to greet his 'Old Friend', but he was getting bored, and his patience was wearing out. Plus, knowing his enemy, he did not want to give Talen the chance to run away. Granted, he thought, I could just as easily have him tailed, but why waste the time, effort and good money? Silk walked at a steady pace right down the same path that walked the 'bard'. Sighing, he drew his long bladed dagger in place of his shortsword. His intentions obviously not set on a friendly old reunion hug, he assumed a mental defence. Talen was not as stupid as Silk could hope, but there would be absolutely no challenge if that were the case. When he got into a considerable range, about five to ten feet, he assumed a low to the ground fighting stance, dagger held low. "Come on then, you want to act big, then you'd better fight big too." it may have been comical to see such a short man using the word 'big' like that, but his appearance was decpetive to the core when it came to his skills at combat. Not only good with blades, but without any weapons at all, Silk was as formidible an opponent as anybody.

Talen was, by blood, a berserker, a trait he never led on, due to the fact that he never went battle-mad, and especially due to his slim and speed reliant weapons, his longsword of choice in particular. Sweeping blade from scabbard and snarling with rage, Talen lunged at Silk shouting. "What would you know about the word 'Big', huh Silk?" he shouted in response to the little man's big words. His rapier skills were honed finely, but Silk had more experience under his belt. Remembering his training, he was about to attempt a 'Stop Thrust', a move that would render the victim incapable of fighting anymore due to a bad case of sword-through-the-neck, but he could not do it at this range. He feinted right and went left, hoping Silk would miss the move and jump right into the way of the blade.

Silk was angry, but not so angry that his thoughts were clouded. Talen was clearly not as competent a fighter as he led people to believe. The rushing of the waves sounded oddly clear on this night. Talen was too much prefection and form and not enough guts, he placed way too much on ideals and principles.He always tried to assert himself with flashy moves that intimidated the weak and the stupid. But Silk was not as stupid as Talen may have hoped, his glamout and flash left nothing to the imagination, yet it was unsuccesful against a fighter who knew what he was doing without all of the superfulous flamboyance. Almost as a demonstration of this unchained skill, as the feint took place, Silk lowered the arm with the dagger and flipped the long blade so it pointed down. As the sword's needle-like point came rushing towards his heart, Silk ducked the blow, took his knife and slashed vertically from the pit of the Talen's stomach. The results would become fairly messy if it were succesful, the dagger Silk had sharpened himself was as keen as a razor and would not just cut, it would rip and tear through flesh as easily as it would parchment.

Overconfidence being his own downfall, Talen smirked with rage as his feint would surely pierce the heart of his little foe. His smirk quickly became a face of complete and utter chagrin, however, as Silk ducked the thrust move and flipped his dager into cutting position. His sword extended, there was nothing he could do to fight off the tiny attacker. Nothing he could do as Silk's god awfully sharp dagger bit into his gut, piercing deep, tearing flesh as it went. Silk shot his arm up, like one would hurl an uppercut punch and the dagger tore up through his internal organs and even sliced deep into his sternam. The lead taste of blood rushed in an out of his mouth, crimson gushing out like a waterfall onto the cobblestones. He coughed a few times and held his hand to the church door that now stood sharply in his torso, he put his hands on the cut to keep what was inside from coming out, Silk had gutted him like the fisherman does his catch. His eyes rolled back into his head and he fell back as his death's shroud washed down over him like a wave, and the blackness enfurled him, wrapping him like a blanket, comforting as the stinging pain in his body flew away into the sky. Some day, perhaps somebody might bring his spirit back into the tomb of flesh and bone, but for now, he was finally free. His life was not one of greatness, nor of bliss, he lived a shallow life, filed with many hollow years, now his wait for sleep was satisfied as he fell to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and all faded to black.