 “So… Here’s the situation right?” Tanismore said between beakfulls. The two of them had found a relatively nice restaurant in the market quarter of Ifrendare. The pub had turned out to be a terrible idea, Handy discovered. It was one thing to be offered drinks by random griffons off the street, it’s another thing when the barkeep offered to virtually throw the entire barrel of ale at you while everyone else swarmed you. Drunk griffons were an inherently funny concept, but the reality was rather a lot to contend with personally. Handy only wanted a meal and a quiet drink. “Me and Godfrey go to this shindig in Densdun, some big party organised by a pony, right?” he continued.