Whisper wasn't running from the Watch because he had stabbed somebody. No, Whisper was running from the Watch because that fat wench of a bartender was screaming her lungs out that he had. Honestly, her screaming was more of an offense to his skills than anything else. All he had done was have the business sense to watch everyone else stab each other in that horrible little bar, and then loot them. Only two of the surviving brawlers had to get hit upside the head to finish the collection of their money, all the better for business.
"This has turned out to be an interestingly bad day," Whisper wheezed as he sprinted through the working folks of the day, long, dark hair and brown cloak flowing behind him. Luckily the average folks in these parts cared for the watch about as much as he did, which gave him a good head start.
A muddy puddle splashed Whisper's trous