The Earthen Cup

A small, neatly maintained livery stable before entering a shop whose intricate stonework sign declared it to be the Earthen Cup. As I pushed open the door and glanced around the dim, smoky interior, I was surprised to see that there were several Humans among the shorter, mostly bearded clientele.

At the long stone counter along the back, I ordered myself a large cup of mead and then turned to look for likely sources of information while I waited for the publican to bring me my drink. Three grizzled old campaigners looked promising, sitting at a battered round table nearby, where they could keep an eye on the door and yet have easy access to the long counter. Their table nearly groaned beneath the weight of a feast that might have been the match of the Caliph’s own A’tar-Day dinner, and my mouth began to water despite the hearty meal I had already eaten. There were platters of juicy meats, piles of small vegetables and roots, and long, steaming loaves of rich brown bread. Towering over everything were several goblets of intricate design and beautiful craftsmanship overflowing with the frothy bitter brew of the north.