Patrons were hustling for any exit they could reach as quickly as they could reach it, overcoats and furs forgotten - despite the depth of the winter awaiting them - out of simple desperation. Captain Uthral had someone on the ground with an injury that had ruined his vision. Ulbarich twisted away from a knot of strangers to take a knee at the side of the fallen man. One hard stab with the Katbalger relieved him of the breath of life. Ulbarich swung hard over his shoulder again, almost as though he knew someone was coming. The attacker with the sword made his presence known, then, jumping back and cursing. He was good. Ulbarich could see that much from the way he avoided unnecessary contact. From the way he kept himself low and observant, watching the muscles of Ulbarich's shoulders and chest for the telegraph of the next move.
Who hired a professional to assault a guard captain in a tavern?
His head was full of wool. Reactions were slowing down. His instincts were failing him. Too quickly back on duty from the injuries he'd suffered; not all of those injuries had been healed by magic. Just the ones that were life-threatening or held the promise of future disability. Ulbarich felt that pinch in his side before his opponent noticed it. Instead of lunging forward, Ulbarich's heel jammed into the vacant bench, and he kicked as hard as he could toward his assailant. The wooden bench's legs creaked and finally gave way. A smattering of sound as it bit into the man's ankles. The swordsman had not expected such a dirty blow. Now he was lurching backward.
Ulbarich twisted his sword in his hand. A collective of soldiers streamed in from the out-of-doors, furs concealing the steel plate which nevertheless clattered at each and every step. The only armor you could see were their greaves, and the tips of their gauntlet-drenched fingers, but it was enough. Each and every one of them had a pike. The fellow with the sword smiled, shook his head and stood up straight. His bastard sword fell to the ground. Those hands went up, and clutched the back of his head, as though he knew the way of what came next. Ulbarich supposed he'd been arrested before.
Another ring of steel on steel as the Katzbalger was dropped back into its scabbard. A jerk of his head and his knots of rank - hanging pristine from one shoulder - told the soldiers what to do. Take everyone into gods-damned custody until someone could find out what the hell all of this was about. Fortunately, more soldiers were streaming in, with irons hanging over their arms.