There's a reason why the "scale pen" is called a scale pen - the tavern owner is now standing behind the high platform, and the barrel behind him is like a bunch of twin brothers, but in his youth, he was a beautiful boy as slender as an elf, sensitive, and personable. Pen, fun, pavilion www. biquge。 Info Of course, Mikoko was a gimmick he put on himself, just as he always claimed to be a prince, and only escaped from the royal capital because he was disgusted with the debauchery and intrigue of the court, and wandered about the country and the city as an unknown bard—and when they heard him say this, they would laugh and laugh, and sometimes they would lift him up to the table, put a plate on his head, bow to him, and call him King of Wheat or Duke of Cider. The tavern owner was always smiling, not at all angry at them for their contempt or mockery.

The tavernkeeper's wife was also inquisitively inquired about, but she knew nothing about her husband thirty-five years ago, and when he saw her, there was nothing but a wet dress, boots, and an old soltri, but she fell in love with him at once, and they fled from under the eyes of the girl's father, and then, while staying in the small city, the tavern master, with a melodious ballad, gained the blue eye of the consul, and was allowed to live here, and they took over. The troubadour's wife made a good stew, and the bard, with his dexterous tongue, borrowed dozens of silver coins, and the industrious birds built their nest.

But his wife's stew was so delicious, and three meals a day were filled with butter, whale fat, or lard, potatoes, mead, and rice, and the result was that the bard swelled violently as if by magic, and his wife said, "Oh, you don't look like a bard." And he said, "But it's a tavern owner." So they took all their savings and expanded their home and turned it into a tavern.

But the bard still wanted to remember his past, so he decided to hang a shiny and large metal scale under the sign of the tavern, with the dent of a quill engraved on it.

So, the tavern master was not one of those uninformed, shallow creatures whom he had never seen, but he had to say from the bottom of his heart that the elves who had made his humble tavern flourish were far more approachable than he had met before, and in any case, no elf would carefully ask his wife what kind of fat was used in her stew, and what spices were mixed in, or potatoes or onions, celery, or the like...... One of them even came down to taste it himself, and instructed him, you know, in the kitchen, his wife is the queen, and she will never listen if it doesn't make sense, but this time...... She listened very carefully. The tavern owner refused to think that it was because he was standing beside her, and he spoke softly as if he had come out of a girl's fantasy, and of course, even though he was now three times as old as before, he was still his wife's favorite and the most beautiful of the opposite sex in her eyes—she listened so intently only because what he said made sense.

Kerryben instructed the human woman to carefully peel off the black film from the fish's body cavity. This film grows in the body of fish, perhaps because of laziness or ignorance, and humans hardly remove it when they handle it, but when such fish are boiled in soup or roasted by the fire, they will be bitter and fishy, so these scaly creatures that grow in lakes and rivers will only be reluctantly tried when there is nothing to eat. But if you do it properly, add ginger and shallots, and its deliciousness is incomparable to that of the fish in the sea, it is a subtle and gentle taste, like the man who told the elf how to deal with the river fish.

The tavernkeeper's wife was so busy that she scarcely dared to look up at the elves beside her, and to be honest, she felt like a blasphemy standing beside him, and the clean kitchen she had always cleaned was a complete defilement to him, but when he insisted, probably no one could go against his will. She fried the fish in a pan until it was browned on both sides, then poured in the boiling water and threw in the spices (ginger and shallots were spices for them), and before that she could smell the smell stronger than ever—even standing in the kitchen, she could hear someone in the tavern asking what was going on inside.

It was only when the contents of the pot had changed from a clear consommé covered with a thin layer of fat to a thick soup as white as milk, that she carefully put the salt in it, and when she lifted the spoon from the soup, she habitually tasted it—the eyes of his wife and mother widened, and she had cooked countless large fish, most of them from the sea, but some of them from the river, but it was the first time she had tasted such a delicious soup, and although it took her the time she could have spent to feed a table, it was worth it. Human women involuntarily shook their heads, sighed and surprised, people say that elves don't touch anything but flowers and fruits, so how do they know how to make such a delicious fish soup?

"The elves of Eya in the Emerald Grove are true," the tavernkeeper's wife was ashamed to find herself unwittingly asking her questions when a melodious saltriol-like voice sounded. But the elves didn't look angry: "The Singh elves of the Silvercrown Forest don't shy away from this. "Just don't waste and squander in vain.

The tavern's wife, who clenched her skirt in embarrassment, didn't know what she should say, whether she should apologize, or say thank you, and finally she asked hesitantly, "...... So...... Do you need anything else?"

"Give me some more leavened bread," said Kerry kindly, "and bake it in the oven like bread, but flat, sprinkled with shallots and sesame seeds, and preferably a little meat sandwiched inside." He didn't know much about it, but at the Vigil in Grey Ridge, Cremar had described it to him, and expressed a strong desire for it—and the juice of ground beans, and hairy tofu— Tofu is something that Kerry had eaten at Master Alva, that kind of food came from Seris, very dry, tenacious, light and tasteless, and a little fishy, but it was indeed a pure plant, but the elves didn't know that it would grow hair, could it be a strange existence that could be transformed between plants and animals?

But the fish soup and the meat-filled pie were still able to do it, and their dinner was just that, except for Lucieu and Eloch, who were the elves of Aya, and their dinner was a bunch of hooks and a few figs.

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As soon as Afra saw Lucie, she knew where all the bad feelings she had for the strange female elf came from - she clearly had a warm love for her guardian, and although Afra had never heard Lucire's name or description in Cremar's mouth, she also knew that the other soul in the body of the black-haired dragonborn was a soft, forgiving good man, who was not accustomed to refusing any kind hospitality, and who was stupid enough to find ways to give back more. Of course, aside from Afra's devotion, tsk, he simply avoided it. Afra knew why, though the soul she loved didn't want to say anything, but the former immortal didn't have such kindness - but it was ridiculous, Afra's father was Gülen, a thief, and he was the one Afra loved with his soul, and she didn't even think about becoming his daughter!

There is an age barrier between them, but isn't it ridiculous for a couple with a life as long as a dragon to say this? Sixty and sixteen years old sound shocking to mortals, but is there any difference between five hundred and sixty years old and five hundred and sixteen years old? Mortal reputation, law, and morality are as insignificant to them as a light of nothingness, and sometimes Afra really finds it difficult to understand what the adult is thinking—why is he always so worried? They have great power, and do they want to give up their low-hanging happiness in order to succumb to the thoughts and sights of the weak?

But maybe it was because of this that he reached out to that young, humble, mediocre-looking child...... Afra closed her eyes, she chewed on the name Cremar, which didn't mean well in the dragon language, but the one with this name had already broken the chains of the curse and flew high into the air, but those who had despised him, humiliated him, abused him, and wanted to kill him had fallen into the dirty mire.

There was a knock on the door of the room, and a hint of displeasure crossed Afra's heart, but she did a good job of hiding her emotions under a calm face, and she glanced at her cohabitant, and saw that she was also looking nervously at her, and the thief's daughter smiled and walked to the door, where she still clearly recognized the familiar smell of the pavement that was often on the table when she had the opportunity to dine with Cremar.

Afra pulled the door open inwards almost in a fit of joy, but to her disappointment, it was the tavernkeeper's wife standing outside the door, holding the fish soup, not the person she expected to see. But then she was happy again, and she didn't want him to see Lucieux too much.

The fish soup and the leavened cake with the meat were placed on the small table in the room, and in order to avoid trouble, the elves did not go down to eat, and decided to stay here for the night, and wait until dawn before leaving, there were not many rooms in the tavern, Raven, Lucieu, and Afra were arranged in a room as the only three women, but because Raven had something to do with the temporary departure, only the little girls were left in the room (at least it seems).

As Afra sat down, she was not so pleased to find that Lucieu, though she looked a little childish, was not so in some parts of her, and Afra looked at the bulge unobtrusively as she considered whether she should add something like papaya to her meal—as the Seris say, and perhaps the Emerald Grove was full of papayas, otherwise it would be impossible to explain why these elves could grow like this without even drinking broth.

Lucieu's attention was not on Afra at all, she felt a little disgusted when she saw the dead fish head in the soup, but she endured it, she moved her eyes to the hook, these small bright fruits still had a charming aroma at first, but as soon as the fish soup came, she could only smell the fish soup, although it didn't seem to smell so bad...... But......

When Afra found this, she stirred the fish soup with a spoon with a little malice, and lifted the whole fish head, and when she saw that Lucieu's face began to turn blue, she said slowly, "My guardian likes this very much. She put the head back and began to drink the soup one bite at a time: "He likes this, and I often drink it with him - the chef of Krefa learned how to cook this fish soup under his teaching." It's delicious, how about it, would you like to try it?"

The rejection was on Lucie's tongue, but an even stronger emotion forced her to give up her original idea, she wanted to taste the soup - if it was indeed something that the black-haired Dragonborn liked, then she should too.

She took Afra's spoon.

As Lucieu vomited uncontrollably, Afra burst out laughing.

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Raven only left for a moment, but when she returned to her room, she was stunned and dazed to find that the room was already in disarray because of the battle between the two children.

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The soul of the other world stared at the fermented cake with meat, and the fish soup, which he didn't remember ever mentioning...... The elves' memories are terrible, and it thinks about it as it lifts its spoon, perhaps because of the fact that it has put too much pepper, and it always feels a little like crying......

as well as sneezing......

Kerry had been in a room with him, and they were the only ones, and after the tavern master had taken the bowls and plates, even the otherworldly spirits, who had been a little dull in this regard, knew that Kerry had wanted to talk to him alone—and it felt an indescribable irritability. But it also knew that Kerry had no ill intentions, and it would be more accurate to say that he had come here for the sake of Cremar...... Even if Cremar had deceived him, he was still an undead in the past tense. He was still willing to trust the black-haired Dragonborn, to embrace him, to help him, to guide him - but a soul from another plane had never wished they could leave immediately.

They had been to the White Tower, but the undead cohabitants had never expected to meet the elves they were familiar with, and the greatest attempt of the otherworldly soul was to look in the shadow of the spire to see the winged ships gliding on the Starlight River, and the nimble figures on board...... That's enough, enough, not like it is now...... More than I imagined...... It's so much that it can't breathe...... If it says that there is one percent joy in its heart, then the rest is about forty-nine percent sorrow, and forty-nine percent fear—and a shame that is difficult to eliminate.

"I should probably say sorry," to the surprise of the otherworldly soul, it was not himself, but Kerryben, who sat on the bed with a serious expression and clasped his hands together on his knees, "but I have to." ”