The sun had already started to set and lights were being turned on in various buildings, giving the city an eerie appearance in the dieing light. Fitting, for this was the fabled city of illusions. One lone mercenary followed a drykas girl through the streets, somewhat oblivious to the sight. He was visibly struggling to stay awake, but the man's wounds and exhaustion were slowly, but surely, taking their toll on him.
The stranger kept looking at the girl, the look in his eyes suggesting shame, for some hidden thoughts of his, as he slowly raised his hand, clumsily lifting his shroud over his face, completely concealing his rough features. He was heroicly hiding any signs of pain, though the wounds he had received were anything but light, displaying a surprising amount of stubbornness and self-discipline, quite uncommon for a mercenary. He smiled a bit as the girl touched him, but his smile would have been concealed by the shroud that covered his face. "I am sorry. Just reminded of past failures." He spoke to her in a tone that betrayed his severe condition, unable to hide just how weakened he was, regardless of how much he tried. Right now, the only thing that was keeping him from falling off the horse was his own stubbornness.
"Yes. I need help." He answered in the end. "I can not resist this very long. I tried, but must be the loss of blood." He spoke slowly, ashamed that he had to admit his own weakness to a woman, especially one that was raised in a warrior culture. He looked hesitant, not wanting to upset her in any way, like any man would behave around a womn he liked. But despite him being obviously atracted by the girl, he kept his distance, for unknown reasons, almost as if he was afraid of insulting her, or worse, even harming her in some way or another.
In the end, he struggled to dismount the horse and took him a few moments to steady himself when they reached the healer. He clumsily reached for his purse to pay the healer, a slightly overweight old man with a serious face which held a pair of curious eyes. "What happened here?" The healer asked in common, looking at the mercenary. "Long story. There was a fight with mercenaries. Then street thugs." Severn replied with only a few words in his own badly accented common as the healer's assistant grabbed hold of him just as he was about to collapse.
The mercenary slipped 5 gold mizas into the hand of the assistant and then slowly tied his purse at his belt, finally resting his hand on the hilt of his old, worn scimitar. "Sword was old. Will need better one. I had another, but left with someone else. I know not where it is now." He spoke, almost delirious by now, to the old healer as he was rushed inside the building. The sun slowly set on the city, as another ordinary day has passed. Another ordinary day when blood was spilled on its streets.