Action! I decided not to have the fight in a bar, for once. I know, I know: tradition.
…
The assassin didn’t waste time; the clatter of the cheap tavern door being kicked in had the clunk! of the crossbow bolt as counterpoint. He didn’t bother with reloading, either. He just threw the crossbow at the bed before jumping on it himself, a long-bladed knife now in hand. The assassin lashed out with four deep-driven stabs and quick withdrawals, leaving the knife behind in the ripped-up shambles of the bed after one final blow. Quick, dirty, and the assassin was already leaving, focused on the window to the alleyway outside.
Waylon found himself impressed, as he jumped up from the chair he’d been dozing in, well away from the now-splintered door. Five seconds was a good time for this sort of thing. Too good, unfortunately, to let this guy ever get a second shot.