Myar sighs slightly upon realizing that refinement was low on the list of things this city cared for. The smell of mead was heavy -- not a bad smell, certainly, but after slogging around after a dragon he really was in the mood for a nice quiet evening with a snifter of brandy and a fine example of literature, instead of a roast leg of animal at a mead hall surrounded by swaggering braggarts going on about how books were for sissies.<br/>It was a common misconception that the "elite" of society were inherently snobbish. The truth was, every society was snobbish to people who were of other social strata.<br/><br/>Well, nothing for it. Myar sniffed the air a few times and broke from the crowd to follow the scent of mead to the nearest tavern. Strike that, make that the nearest tavern that<em>didn't</em>reek of stale booze and vomit. Even if there was no refinement per se to be found, Myar was in no mood to get drunk in a dive. "It will be a quality establishment," he declares to no one. "A place where good drink has aged in casks by a master, where the food is savory and seasoned by a proper chef, where the experience itself is as fulfilling as the writings of a true master."