As the roar of the pub brawl rose, it seemed as if a bubble of calm formed around me. It was as if the noise of the melee just slipped past me without noticing.
Only a short while earlier, it all started as a typical night in the pub.
The knights were at their usual table, comparing the lengths of their swords.
The cutpurses were trying to be inconspicuous as long as the knights were still sober.
The bard was only on his second beer, so his songs were not up to his peak abilities.
The barmaids were delivering steins of luke-warm beer as fast as they could draw them.
And then it happened.
Someone said something unforgivable. I never heard what, who said it, or to whom.
The first punch might have gone unremarked, if it weren’t made with a fist full of darts. The second punch included a barstool. The current occupant of the stool objected to being used as a blunt instrument, and started to speak their mind, somewhat bluntly. And without any concern for how many factions were in the room.
Me, I did the only thing I could do. I sat here and watched. You might say, it is what I do. I’m a watcher. But not much of a listener, since me head is entirely filled with cotton wool. I didn’t see it begin, but I had a front row seat as it flashed from a simple spat over honor to a full-scale brawl.
I am what I am, and it is my fate to simply watch.
And watch, as that lantern comes right at me.
And watch, as the lamp oil splashes and sets my stuffing on fire.
I guess it was my fate to be involved after all.