Keziah was on his way back to the inn after having somewhat accustomed himself to the terrain. He didn't expect to put that knowledge to use, but better safe than sorry. It was evening and the lights of the taverns illuminated the wide road that all the important buildings in Sylio were on. The laughs and yells, along with some wrestling and tumbling, were a common sight near the taverns closer to the harbor. Not so much further inn, where there were fewer sailors. When he stood before the inn that he and Annette were staying in, he only heard a bard giving a performance.

Entering the inn, he noticed that there was some other sound at some tables further in from the entrance. A fight was brewing. He could almost feel those things now, having been on both ends of such bar fights for years. Most of them were just for the heck of it, to feel the thrill of the fight when no quests were available. Since those years, he had managed to keep his need for the rush of adrenaline in check, but he still very much enjoyed it. Maybe it was because he got older, or maybe he realized the meaninglessness of most of it. Maybe both.

Scanning the room, he took in how most people turned their eyes from the argument. None of them seemed to like or tolerate it, but no one moved to stop it either. He couldn't really blame them. The five men standing around a table with what seemed like three elves didn't exactly inspire confidence in confronting them. Life of work on the sea made their muscles big enough to be visible under their shirts. They didn't seem like the diplomatic type either. The barkeep seemed to keep an eye on them, presumably ready to signal someone to throw them off. He clearly didn't want to make a mess in his tavern by attempting to force them out, but his hand would be forced soon.

Looking in the direction of the bar, Keziah also saw a small figure clutching an empty mug. Annette clearly seemed disturbed by something. He didn't know if it was because of the alcohol or something else, but he needed to have a talk with her about it either way. It wasn't uncommon to drink at her age, but he wanted to make sure she didn't go down the path that so many adventures followed to misery and humiliation.

Stepping toward the group — not knowing exactly why, there was nothing in it for him, after all — he prepared to do what he does best.

Lie.

He pushed through the chairs and tables and with a swift commanding motion, he slapped his hand on the elves' table.

"A brawl!" he yelled, his face a perfect mix of tiredness and excitement. "Two crews are fighting in the Broken Oar! They said to bring every capable hand there. They need help."

The group — visibly intoxicated but still alert — turned their heads toward Keziah, confused and angry at first, but listening once his words were processed in their brains. "Fight? What kinda fight?" asked one of them.

"A big one," Keziah hastily replied. "The crew in the colors like yours is losing. One of them told me to call any with similar colored shirts to come to aid them. He said to come quickly."

The apparent leader of the group eyed him for a bit, but his words, making sense, seemed to convince him. "Where did you say it was?"

"Broken Oar. It's the inn closest to the harbor," he quickly blurted out.

"Right. Let's go, lads." He eyed the three elves. "We have no time for beast-shaggers when our men are in danger."

They walked out of the tavern, not forgetting to spit on the ground in front of the elves and throw racial insults at them. The whole inn seemed to breathe one big, collective sigh of relief once they exited the inn.

Keziah moved to Annette but was stopped by the three elves that sat at the table. One of them — a wood elf, judging by his greenish-tinted skin and pointy ears — tried to thank Keziah for what he had done. He didn't try it immediately, apparently confused by Keziah's act and then quickly realizing what happened once Keziah's posture and facial expressions had changed.

"Thank you for your help, kind stranger," the elf said. "We are used to insults or mimicry, but they were about to get aggressive. I don't know how we would deal with that. We are not warriors." The elf then straightened his back and took a more resolute stance. "How can we repa —"

"Leave coin for my breakfast with the innkeeper," Keziah cut short any attempts of the elf at showing him gratitude. "And yes, that's enough," he quickly added, seeing the elf's mouth open once again

Keziah left the table, feeling slightly uncomfortable by their gratitude. He didn't care what people thought of him as long as the money was right. You can have all the warm words and smiles in the world, but in the end, it's the coin that puts food in your mouth and a roof over your head. He had learned that lesson the hard way, many years ago.

Keziah walked to Annette, who was standing near the bar. The barkeep — who was presumably also the owner by how he carried himself — gave him a nod of thanks, which he returned. Keziah looked down at Annette, who seemed to be an equal mix of relieved and remorseful. He somewhat guessed what she was feeling and patted her head.

"We will talk later. Go to our room and try to get some rest. You need it."

She seemed to be anxious about something again. He didn't really take her for the emotional type as she showed she was more easy-going and taking things in stride well for someone her age when they have traveled together. Maybe it was because of the alcohol. Or maybe he just didn't know her that well yet.

"I'm not going anywhere. I promise," he quickly reassured her. "I will be there in a few minutes. Just let me grab a drink for myself, alright?" he calmly explained.

"Okay." She nodded. His words were seemingly the perfect answer that she was expecting.

Keziah grabbed the mug that Annette had handed him and watched her go up the stairs to make sure she was able to. She wasn't that drunk, only a little tipsy, so she didn't lose her balance easily. He stepped to the bar, handing the barkeep the mug.

"Do you have mead? Or just ale?" Keziah asked the barkeep.

"Mead, ale, wine, some rakida from lemons and cherries," the barkeep listed the available choices of liquors. He was wiping and cleaning other empty mugs with a cloth and sometimes using his apron. "Will it be mead?"

"Yeah, mead is fine," Keziah replied. He watched the man bring Annette's mug to the keg when Keziah remembered something he overheard in Avinea. "You know what? Could you use another mug? I heard that it's unhygienic to drink from someone else's"

"'Unhygienic'? What does it mean?" The barkeep stopped and asked.

"I think it just means clean. I heard it in a city. Apparently, it's really important to try to keep everything as hygienic as possible," he explained to the barkeep.

"City folk these days." He shook his head. "Scared to get a little dirty." He did as Keziah asked, though after some mumbling and complaining. Keziah suspected that if he hadn't saved his inn from a fight, then the barkeep might have ignored his request completely.

Keziah watched the man fill the new mug with mead and his thoughts drifted to Annette's drinking. She wasn't black-out drunk, but she probably would appreciate something nonalcoholic to drink right now.

"Do you have clean water as well?" he asked the barkeep.

The man looked at him, not turning his face from the mug being filled. "If you ask me to clean the floor next time, I might forget that you did me a favor," he warned, but no malice was behind his words.

"No, no." Keziah chuckled. "Just want something to drink for my apprentice to make her feel better."

"Hmph, then I do have water. I'm not sure if it is clean enough for you, but I can guarantee no one has ever complained about it before." He filled the mug with mead and then brought another one to a different keg, presumably the one filled with water.

After a few seconds, Keziah had two mugs before him. He brought out his coin pouch to pay for it, but the barkeep waved it away, citing that it was a fair enough price for what Keziah did. If only all acts of altruism would be met with free drinks, then I might actually try to do them more, was what he thought.

He sipped on his mead, sitting on the tall stools that were at the bar, and watched the people in the inn. The bard played a more happy tune now, and people were more easily swayed to clap along without any disturbances. The visitors of the tavern all seemed to be either locals or travelers and merchants that were looking for a quieter evening than those they would get in other inns in Sylio.

He finished his drink and, after another small talk with the barkeep, left for the room to retire for the night. He grabbed the mug filled with water for Annie and headed for the creaky wooden stairs. Near them, at a table fairly isolated from the rest, he spotted a man in black he hadn't seen before. He was decently sure he got a view of everyone currently in the inn, but this one must have escaped his notice.

He didn't really think anything of it and was ready to just ignore it until he noticed the dog at the dark-cladded man's side. Now he couldn't resist and asked, "Can I pet it?"