The inside of the elven tavern didn't look much different from a human one.
People of all sorts sat around, chatting, laughing, and drinking some type of alcoholic beverage. Warm wooden beams were scattered around the ceiling, and faint incense mixed with the smell of roasted meat. Lanterns swayed gently overhead, casting golden light on the polished tables and worn floorboards.
But there was one visible difference in comparison to the human taverns Edward had been to.
The moment he entered, everything went quiet. Every pair of eyes locked onto him. Even the laughter that had just echoed moments before now died down, replaced with whispers and uneasy glances.
The innkeeper frowned, a short, stout elf with a greying beard and eyes that had seen decades of tavern brawls and secret dealings.
His gaze shifted between Edward and Elarien.
"Elarien, please tell me you have a good reason to—" the innkeeper began, but before he could finish, Elarien cut in.
"Elandir's dead."
