Taryon Darrington had decided that adventuring was considerably more glamorous in the books.

Still, the cozy little tavern had its charms. The fire crackled, the drinks were expensive enough to be respectable, and—most importantly—there was no blood anywhere. Thus far, an excellent evening.

He settled deeper into his chair, adjusting his coat with a satisfied flourish as he surveyed the room.

“Honestly, Terry,” he muttered to himself, “this is precisely how heroes meet their future companions. In a tavern. Over drinks. Possibly amid a dramatic misunderstanding.”

He took a sip, grimaced at the taste, and discreetly pushed the glass aside.

“Though perhaps not this drink.”

Taryon glanced around again, already wondering who would be interesting enough to interrupt his evening.