A Fun Night at the Lazy Dragon

The door of the Lazy Dragon crashed open and a sudden silence followed suit. The whole tavern turned to face the person who had opened the door with such energy, and as they stepped into the light the tavern sighed with frustration. James Mockingbird, here to drain the bar of all it’s alcohol, and drink until he couldn’t drink any more. This was going to be a fun night. He stumbled forward through the aisle that the other drinkers had created in fear he’d just walk straight through them. Nothing could get between him and booze. Hamish, the owner of the tavern, quickly cleared the bar of all empty glasses as he knew from experience that if he didn’t, James would sweep them off to make way for his own booze.
“Get me booze and get me it fast!” James slurred as he swung his legs around onto the bar stool.
“Aye aye, Cap’n.” Hamish muttered under his breath as he filled a pint glass with his worst quality beer. James was already drunk, he would never notice.
As Hamish stood back up to serve the drink to James, a mish mash of coins hit the surface in front of him. James nearly always overpaid, as he was always drunk by the time he came in, which is why Hamish didn’t mind him coming in like this. James downed the drink in one fluid motion, and as Hamish began to fill it up again, he heard a voice shouting from the left of the bar.
“You there! Mockingbird, isn’t it? You owe me money. I have given you plenty of time to return it, but this is the last straw. Either return it here and now, or get ready to meet your maker.” A voice bellowed from the shadows.
“Well, I need my money to spend on booze, don’t I? Let’s take this outside and settle this like men. I’ll let you choose your weapon.” James responded between swigs of beer.
Hamish sighed. He didn’t mind drunken bar brawls, but weapons? Duels? It was too much. Every time he tried to break up the two men, they just talked over him. After several long minutes of bad mouthing in preparation for the drunken duel, they moved outside followed by a large audience. A circle was made in the ground to ensure that the audience were safe, and Hamish stood in the ring to lay out some ground rules. Sword fights don’t happen often, but when they do he has to make sure that nobody gets seriously injured.
“First up, no killing. James has paid, but you haven’t.” He gestured to the other man who James owed money. “Secondly, to win the duel your opponent must either step out of the circle, or must tap out. Got it?”
The two men nodded. Hamish was dreading what was to come next, James was absolutely drunk, and the other man who had challenged James was seemingly fully sober. Hamish stepped out of the circle as the men brandished their swords. They began circling each other as they waved their swords around like mad men. James almost tripped over a chunk of dirt, and it was at this point his opponent took the time to strike. He jabbed his sword, aiming right at James’ chest, however James quickly rolled under the sword, standing up almost right next to his opponent. He sliced the tip of his sword against the sleeve of the shirt of his opponent, leaving a large rip and bloodstain. In reaction to the pain, James’ opponent lashed out with a menage of movements. James, surprisingly, managed to avoid all of the attempts on his life.
After his matrix-esque dodges, he had ended up on his hands and knees, with his sword laying on his right foot. His opponent neared him, pure hatred burning in his eyes. As he pointed his sword at James’ throat, James did a tricky bit of footwork. His opponent hadn’t registered what was happening, and believing the illusion that he had won the duel he dropped his sword onto the ground next to James. Little did he know that James had not conceded yet.
James held his trusty sword between his boots, and flicked it into the air. It spun in an almost physics defying manner before landing back in his hand. His opponent, slightly dazed from what he had just seen, only just had time to grab his own sword before he felt the point of James’ infamous blade touch his neck. He quickly knocked the blade to the side after moving millimetres away from what could have been a life or death situation. Hamish had said that no killing was allowed, but neither man seemed to be abiding by this rule.
The two began circling each other once again, with the occasional slice or jab at one another. The audience slowly began to disperse as the duel became more boring, however immediately returned as soon as some excitement built up. James’ opponent had begun some fancy footwork, and had stepped up his game slightly since the beginning of the duel. Several drinks may have aided him there.
James had finally decided he’d had enough waiting and ran at his opponent, blade in tow. He slashed wildly at a speed comparable to that of light, leaving several gaping holes in his opponent’s shirt. His opponent attempted to parry James’ wild sweeps, but failed miserably. Losing his balance in his desperate attempt to block the attacks, he crashed to the floor, his sword being flung way out of reach. James leant over his opponent and pointed his sword straight at his neck.
“Time to tap out, don’t you think? Now, what was it you said about me owing you money?” James jested.
“Just… just forget it.” James’ opponent breathed out as he was helped up.
James stumbled back into the tavern and sat back down on to his bar stool. Hamish filled up a large flagon of beer.
“Cheers, mate. How much?” James had obviously sobered up a bit since he originally came in, as he never asks how much a drink is.
“It’s on the house after that fight. You clearly need it!” Hamish chuckled.
After several more hours of drinking and laughter, the final dregs of Hamish’s customers had fallen unconscious. James quietly left the other tavern-goers to return to his ship, and loot some more rich men who think they’re better at sword fighting than they actually are.