Hakim, the old storyteller shook his head. While not an assassin himself, he listened to the tales of those that frequented the establishment and used them to craft tales. The wrinkled figure had heard of this thing, the Grym Man, the very personification of vengeance.
"There are tales of him,
the one they call Grym.
look away, look away,
lest you are the next he slay
When one takes a love away,
two pennies are the price
his purpose will not sway
will not waver
dead and gone in but a trice
The Grym Man comes
Slice, slice, slice."
Erisheth clamored up atop one of the tables, drawing a blade from it's hiding place in a sheathe at her lower back and flung it desperately with a force born of adrenaline. It sunk deep within the breast of the approaching figure, pinning the tattered cloak to the decrepit figure. There was little to no reaction from the figure. The girl's eyes widened. While it wasn't a killing blow a punctured lung would stagger the greatest of men.
"It's not my fault," she proclaimed, "I only did as I was paid to. What any assassin would do! How would I know that the mother would come home early?"
The Grym Man cared not. Her words may have fallen on deaf ears for all the effect they had. The thing stepped forth, reaching for his weapon. In the last moment before he grasped it, a scarce distance of mere finger widths, the gold chased scythe leaped towards the reaching hand as if eager to shed blood. Casually the force spun its blade, adjusting its grip and where it traveled the very air itself bled.
"Somebody," Erisheth called out, "Anybody. I could use some help here! How long do you think it will be until he comes for you next?"
A wooden chair fell over before the Grym Man, almost as if it eagerly desired to flee, to escape the very path of the dark figure and in the blink of an eye the Grym Man was simultaneously, feinting, dodging and striking like the effect of a strobe light but each image happening all at once. Before the very eyes of those present the figure was suddenly two steps ahead of where it was, without traversing the distance between. It made one wonder, despite being able to attest that they hadn't, that they'd somehow blinked.
The Grym Man, ignoring the discussion behind him continued to advance. With another spin of his scythe the Grym Man sliced an entire table in twain even as another blade sunk into his chest. The figure ignored the blade, not even bothering to brush it away. Striding between the two table halves, he continued forward, crimson eyes locked onto his target.