Will

Present Day

The world wouldn't stop spinning. Round and around, around and round everything went. His head wouldn't stop aching. Somehow, he made it up the wooden stairs, each step creaking under his heavy, mud-caked leather boots.

He pounded at the door with his scarred right hand, rattling the ancient loose thing loudly. It opened almost as soon as he pulled his fist back, and the pretty young girl standing behind it ushered him in excitedly.

A few minutes later, they were in the bedroom, both of their clothes piled up on the floor. Hers in a neat pile, his strewn carelessly across the room. His sword was disrespectfully abandoned in some corner. Then they were in the large bed, and he crawled on top of her, caressing her breasts with surprising gentleness. She bit her lip, obviously pleasured, and that was the pin in the loincloth for him. He made love to her, like an aggressive deer in heat, and their joint voices rose up into the silent night sky.

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The next morning, he was on the move again. That was his life since "the incident", never stationary - and the woman in the tavern never popped up into his mind again. Like nothing happened.

He drank, he fucked, he slept. He mourned. Always mourned. Mourned his family.

Mourned himself.

But you know what they said. No gain no pain... Or was it no pain no gain? He never gave the idea any thought, never had a clear enough mind to bother. Some outworldly force was working against him, and his situation wasn't in his hands anymore. That comforted him, so he stayed in his pathetic idling state, wading in his own knee-deep pile of shit and tears.

One day, he was at another village, at another tavern- drinking, of course, it seemed he would die at the young age of forty-three due to kidney failure - when a bunch of hooligans swaggered into the building. He wasn't drunk, not yet, and his dulled senses still felt the dangerous edge in the air. It was something from his past that just wouldn't let go.

The pungent odor of sweat and breath wafted through the air, replacing the smell of wine and roasted chicken. The scented candles flickered at the breeze of wind that crept through the open door. The conversation quieted down, all eyes fixed on the newcomers. Yet they didn't seem surprised.

The thugs that entered were all armed to the teeth, circling the innkeeper like a pack of rabid dogs. One of them even had sharpened teeth to fit his dog attire, jagged fangs that were probably painfully sharpened by a blade. The goons, four in total, crowded against the innkeeper, who - inconveniently - had left her place behind the counter to pass some drinks and food. The tavern had a guard, some blond, scrawny fellow in an oversized breastplate who scrambled to the side of his employer.

Will drained his drink in one go, relishing the burning sensation trailing down his throat. This wasn't something he wanted to be around for. The sooner he could find somewhere to stay (and a pretty girl to fuck, of course) the better. The wicked curved scimitar at his waist was mostly for show these days. It did better wooing women than fighting, anyway, and its once razor sharp edge was now dull and almost blunt. To his standards, of course. To someone else the wicked blade would look (or feel) very sharp.

He put his glass on the table just as the guard was shoved into a wall and crumpled to the floor. The two combined noises, the clink and the clang, echoed through his head. No more. He was leaving, before he got any heroic thoughts.

The boards creaked under his boots as he marched towards the exit, eyes fixed on the door.

A hand shot out from no where, grabbing him from the shoulder and yanking hard. He toppled backwards, falling right onto his ass. It seemed his ass was getting a lot of unwanted attention lately. He was only afraid of what could come to it next.

Two of the thugs, the man with the sharpened teeth and a woman with tattoos all over her face, stood over him.

"Going somewhere, old man?" shark teeth asked, gnashing his fangs together.

"Since we're so generous, we'll let you leave. But first, all of your money and valuables," the woman added, smirking.

Will sighed, shaking his head.

"Look, kids. You don't want to do this. I don't want to do this. But I need this money to buy more booze. And you probably want your heads. So let's make peace and go our separate ways, eh?"

The two looked at each other, then burst out into laughing.

"Did you hear that, Orion?" tattoo face wheezed, tears pooling up in the corner of her eyes. "He's gonna kill us? This drunk with a child's toy! HAH!"

"Is that blade even real?" Orion, the thug with the sharp teeth, asked, hunkering down next to Will. "Can it cut through cheese?"

He reached out to touch it, and Will snapped. Fast as lightning, his hand shot towards his scimitar, partly drawing it and jerking the exposed steel in the direction of the thug's curious hand.

Two severed fingers hit the ground with a sickening thud, and Orion stumbled back, a look of shock and terror on his face.

"Whoreson cut off me fingers!" he wailed, shaking his diminished hand in the air. Blood spurted from it like a fountain, splashing onto his partner, who looked just as shocked.

By the time she realized what was going on, her legs were gone from beneath her, and she fell down tattooed face first. She screamed for a split second until her face hit the floor, splattering blood in an uneven circle. Then she fell quiet. The entire room fell quiet.

Will stood up, dusting off his clothes with one hand, clutching his unsheathed scimitar with the other.

"I told you, you don't want to do this," he panted. Maybe now they'd understand and back away, give him some peace.

"Kill him!" screamed Orion, cradling his dismembered hand. Great. Will had almost forgotten there were two other thugs, and they left the terrified innkeeper's side immediately, drawing their swords in unison.

One of them charged immediately, yelling at the top of his lungs with his sword raised in a threatening gesture. Will cut him down with minimal effort, and the man tumbled onto the floor, bleeding from three different places. His blade slid for a little longer, gently hitting Orion's boots and stopping there.

"You want mo-" Will began, until he felt a chill run down his spine. He had forgotten the other thug, who had waited while her partner recklessly charged alone.

Someone gurgled from behind him, and he whirled around, ending up face to face with the last bandit. Will stifled a yelp as she coughed out blood then fell to her knees. The innkeeper stood behind her, a bloody knife in one hand. She looked at the kitchen knife, then at her blood stained apron in horror and disgust. The knife clattered on the floor, and both hands shot to her face, covering her mouth. She was in shock, and Will would thank her later. There was one more bandit to take care of.

He turned towards Orion slowly, his head lowered. With his bloodshot eyes and dead expression, Will supposed he looked quite terrifying. Orion had picked up the blade at his feet, but instead of using it he simply turned around, slipped out of the ajar door, and disappeared into the night, leaving behind him a trail of dark red blood.

It was done. Three thugs lay dead on the floor, one with her legs sliced clean off and her face smashed in, one with three long, ugly gashes running down his torso, and the last with a kitchen knife sized hole in her back. He turned to face the innkeeper and voice his gratitude.

The woman was helping the guard stand again, steadying him with both hands and most of her weight. The scrawny young man looked dazed but otherwise unharmed, a trickle of blood sliding down the side of his face. He had apparently spent the entire fight unconscious.

Will rushed to their side, trying to take the weight of the guard off the innkeeper. She just waved him away and shook her head angrily.

"Stay away from me," she hissed with contempt. "They always come, take part of our money, and leave us alone in peace. You should've played along. These are the Wizard's men, bounty hunter. He'll hear of this, and he'll be here for revenge. My place now has a target on its back. YOU now have a target on your back."

"What are you -"

"Enough," she replied, already giving her full attention to the dazed blond man in armor. "You've done enough harm already. Be on your way. Maybe they'll leave us alone."

Will stood there for a second, unable to say a single word. He couldn't even comprehend what he was feeling. Disappointment? Anger? Relief? Curiosity? Pain?

Silent faces of customers passed by him, giving him a wide berth. One by one, they left the tavern, no one being there to stop them.

Still, Will Paragon stood in the middle of the now empty tavern, the sounds of drinking and laughing like ghosts echoing in the vacant space. The innkeeper helped the young guard into some back room, not even paying Will any attention.

That was when he left, slipping out of the door like Orion had, not even bothering to wipe his bloodstained blade. Not even bothering to clean up the mess he had left behind.

Because the sooner he could get to another village, the better.

The sooner he could wash his sorrows away with booze, the better.

No more fighting and swords and blood. No more guards and bandits and wizards. What he needed was more booze and more women, as soon as possible.

For some reason, he remembered the woman in the tavern a few villages back, the one that had begged for his help. And for some reason, this time, she wouldn't leave his mind.

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Voila. Chapter 1.

If you think I have the slightest clue of what I just wrote, you're wrong. I'm just as shocked as you are.

A friend of mine (looking at you, QReem01) commented that I moved on from "two kisses in an entire novel" to "... This". And I think she's right. This isn't my usual style. I usually write PG13.

This is much more enjoyable, however, and I feel like I can write freely and let out some aggression.

Expect some character development in the next chapter and a new main character being introduced.

Hopefully the next chapters will be a little longer, but I'm not the biggest fan of long chapters. Some people lose interest halfway through.

Thanks for joining me in The Wit- I mean, uh, Bounty Hard. I'm glad the story has managed to keep your attention so far, and I'm hoping I can keep that attention in a birdcage and never let it fly away. Sounds a little cruel when I say it that way, but yeah. Have a wonderful day/evening!