Chapter 237: The Tavern Incident
The Gilded Tankard was less of a pub and more of a cavernous dining hall carved directly into a stalactite. It was the kind of place where a salad cost more than a peasant's house and the ale had a higher alcohol percentage than medical disinfectant.
"This meat is... chewy," Gareth complained, sawing at a slab of roasted reptilian steak.
"It's Rock-Drake," I muttered, stabbing a fork into my potatoes. "You're supposed to let the acidity of the sauce break it down. You're eating it like a barbarian."
The Arcadia team was gathered around a massive stone table in the center of the hall. We were exhausted. The gravity in the Ironhold was about 1.2 times normal, which meant simply walking to dinner felt like a low-intensity workout.
Arthur sat at the head of the table, looking regal even while eating. Elara was picking at a mushroom stew, looking pale. The air quality here wasn't agreeing with the mages.
