“The ale’s one gelt a mug or four gelt a pitcher, that’s five mugs’ worth of ale. What’ll it be?”

“The fish ‘n spuds and a pitcher of ale, then,” he decided, fishing up his one copper coin and another silver for a total of twelve gelt. Two gelt for a single portion was considerable, about as much as one could expect to pay at an inn far nicer than this one. He only hoped the food would be worth the cost, rather than just being price-gouged to high heaven.

The barkeep snatched up the payment, promising “It’ll just be a minute.” before he disappeared into the kitchen.

Makhus returned to their table, making no mention of his footing half the bill. Just as he sat down, he heard Sigmund’s stomach growling.

Sigmund looked to him, asking, “What’d you order?”

“They’ve got fish ‘n potatoes or cabbage soup. Take a guess.”

“I like fish. Hope it ain’t pickled.”

And so, they waited.

No more than fifteen minutes passed before the barkeep’s larger-than-life cheerfulness arrived straight to their table, balancing three plates on his left arm while carrying a large pitcher and another plate with the other.

“There you are, fresh off the stove,” he said, laying out the plates before he placed the pitcher down. “I’ll bring you mugs, just a moment.”

With that, he walked off towards the bar, returning moments later with four large, tin mugs in tow, which he wordlessly planted on the table.

The metal plates held surprisingly generous portions of both fish and potatoes, covered in some sort of white, creamy sauce that smelled strongly of fresh herbs. The cutlery was almost buried underneath the fish, yet the fish fell apart when she pulled the fork from under it. No bones.

The four of them exchanged looks, poured themselves a mug of ale each, and took to eating. Immediately, it was obvious that this food was not just good. It was great, exceptional even. Both the fish and potatoes were soft, but not mushy, generously spiced and flavored by the tangy, refreshing sauce. The ale flushed it all down with a smooth finish, and before any of them knew, they had cleaned their plates. Makhus took the pitcher and topped off everyone else’s mug, then drank the rest of its contents directly, waving it at the barkeep to grab his attention.

He smiled and gave an affirmative nod before he disappeared into the kitchen, carrying three empty plates on each arm.

Although Zelsys felt nothing wrong, something made her stir in her seat. She felt like she had something to do here, like something vital to her goals was in plain sight, yet she couldn’t quite pick it out of the unfamiliar backdrop of the inn. Leaning back in her seat and taking a swig of ale, she leisurely looked about, scanning the inn left to right, up and down, her gaze meandering back and forth, until… She saw it.

The notice board, at the other side of the inn.