Sitting in a damp booth of an unremarkable tavern aptly named "The Watering Hole," young Timitheous carefully surveyed his surroundings while holding a mug to his closed lips. He was well-versed in the art of misdirection, using the pretense of becoming drunkenly unaware to scan every minute change around him.
He noticed the scantily dressed maiden blushing at the bar, trying to hide her connection to the foul-smelling woman flirting with patrons by the fireplace. The two likely had a scheme in which one would flirt and get a man drunk, and the other would step in to deliver the pleasures promised by the first.
Timitheous attention was also drawn to a small stable mouse, which had snuck behind a large barrel of ale on the counter to sample the bread the barkeep served with meals. The tavern was filled with the raucous cheers of drunken adventurers, and the clanging of steel rang loudly as their armor-clad arms collided in a jubilant display of might and euphoria. Yet amidst this chaos, Timitheous could still hear the hushed, almost whispering conversation tones a few meters away.
Three older men in soldiers' garb sat nearby, looking like they hadn't shaved or bathed in days. One wore an eyepatch over his left eye, and his tattered uniform was stained with old blood. Judging by how the others addressed him, he seemed to be the leader of their trio. They spoke obscurely about their plans to acquire loot from their latest endeavors, discussing details that hinted at the capture of a king.
At the mention of the king, one of the lower-ranking soldiers anxiously looked around, his gaze lingering too long on a small group of travelers a few booths away. Beads of sweat formed across his brow, indicating his nervousness about his role in the abduction and his uncertainty about expressing his reluctance to participate. The second subordinate tightly gripped the hilt of a dagger concealed beneath his breastplate. Although he wore an officer's uniform, he was clearly accustomed to taking orders rather than giving them. His narrowed eyes and hardened expression signaled a man familiar with conflict who wasn't afraid to engage again.
Timitheous could almost hear the leader's words clearly: "Now!" At that command, the second man drew the dagger and hurled it through the air with the speed and precision of a seasoned warrior. As Timitheous witnessed the projectile launch, conflicting thoughts flooded his mind. He had no intention or responsibility to intervene. Despite knowing that these men were either thieves or criminals, he felt no obligation to see them brought to justice.
His teachers had emphasized the importance of staying out of petty quarrels that plagued the land. The Fah-ahrae, though born of the light elder gods and goddesses, were not to be trusted. Conversely, the Dah-acrae, born to serve the darkness elder gods, were both mysterious and deadly. Then there were men like these, who, despite their technological advances, remained reliant on mages, witches, wizards, and warlocks for their daily needs.
Timitheous concluded that the foul-smelling man launching the dagger was purely motivated by greed. This reason alone was enough to spur the young warrior to action. Channeling arcane energy through his limbs, he fixed his gaze on the incoming dagger. In the blink of an eye, he leaped out of his chair and stood before the dagger, positioning himself between it and its intended targets. He gave a slight nod to the women at the table before returning to face the dagger. With a swift downward swing of his arm, he knocked it aside effortlessly.
"Why, that young man just saved one of our lives!" shouted Chinera, a beautiful young woman sitting at the table. But before anyone could respond, the tavern erupted into an all-out brawl.