The Hungry Troll erupted in a familiar cacophony as Adonis pushed open the creaky door. A chorus of greetings and good-natured jabs washed over him.
"Well, if it isn't our Ice Boy!" bellowed Borog, a hulking warrior whose beard was crusted with the remnants of what appeared to be yesterday's stew.
"Back for another scorching helping of Hilda's infamous Chili of Doom, are we?"
Adonis chuckled, the nickname a constant reminder of his ice magic.
"Maybe later, Borog," he replied, dodging a playful swipe at his shoulder.
"Just here to refuel before another guild mission maybe."
A gaggle of waitresses, their aprons stained with gravy and ale, giggled amongst themselves. Their gazes, filled with a playful admiration that Adonis had come to expect, followed his progress toward a vacant table. He knew the drill. A charming smile, a polite greeting, and a firm but gentle "just here for a meal, ladies" were all it took to politely deflect their flirtatious advances.
He settled into his usual spot, a corner table tucked away from the main throng. Hilda, the proprietor, a stout woman with a booming voice and an even bigger heart, appeared before him in a whirlwind of activity. He adores women, but that doesn't imply he'd leap at every opportunity that presents itself. He has his own preferences and a firm stance.
"The usual, Ice Boy?" she boomed, wiping down the table with a rag that looked vaguely suspicious.
Adonis grinned. "Spicy Dragon Stew, extra hot, and a mug of your finest ale. Make it a double."
He knew Hilda's cooking well – her meals were legendary for their potency and flavor, capable of warming even the coldest adventurer's soul. A double serving of ale wouldn't hurt either, considering he was really hungry and wouldn't probably not eat anything else tonight.
As Hilda lumbered off to fulfill his order, Adonis surveyed the scene. A young mage, face flushed with excitement, was recounting a tale of facing down a pack of kobolds in a dusty dungeon. A grizzled old dwarven hunter, his face a roadmap of wrinkles, held court at a nearby table, regaling a group of wide-eyed newbies with tales of legendary beasts and mythical lands. The air crackled with a vibrant energy, a symphony of shared dreams, near-death experiences, and the unbreakable spirit of adventure.
This was the lifeblood of The Hungry Troll, the very atmosphere that drew Adonis back time and again. It was a place where stories were born, friendships forged, and courage replenished. Here, amidst the clatter of plates, the clinking of mugs, and the boisterous laughter of his fellow adventurers, Adonis would fuel his body and spirit, preparing for the challenges that awaited him at the guild.
While waiting Adonis remembered his past fights, using them as a reference to do better next with his new spells, before he knew he order had arrived.
The spicy aroma of the Dragon Stew hit Adonis first, making his nose twitch and his stomach rumble in anticipation. Hilda, true to her word, had delivered a monstrous portion. A mountain of tender meat, simmered in a rich, fiery sauce with chunky vegetables, sat nestled amongst a bed of fluffy mashed potatoes. It was a meal fit for a king, or at least a hungry adventurer with a penchant for scorching his taste buds.
Across from him, a bard with a lute strapped to his back strummed a jaunty tune, his voice rising above the din in a merry ballad about a lovestruck goblin and a fire-breathing princess.
Tap~ Tap~
Adonis found himself tapping his foot along, a smile playing on his lips. The atmosphere at The Hungry Troll was infectious, a constant reminder of the lighter side of life, the moments of joy that punctuated the often perilous existence of an adventurer.
As he tackled the stew, his tolerance for spice legendary amongst the regulars, snippets of conversation drifted his way. A group of mercenaries debated the merits of different weapons, their voices rising in mock competition. A lone scholar, hunched over a thick tome, muttered to himself, his brow furrowed in concentration. And at a nearby table, a group of adventurers, their armor scuffed and their faces etched with weariness, recounted their recent encounter with a particularly troublesome band of orcs.
Adonis listened with half an ear, his mind already swirling with plans for his upcoming guild mission. It was said the D-rank quests were typically straightforward, more about honing basic skills than facing earth-shattering dangers. But even the simplest mission could turn deadly, and he wouldn't underestimate the potential for trouble. He needed to be prepared, both physically and mentally.
Hilda reappeared, her face creased in a warm smile.
"Another ale, Ice Boy?" she inquired, holding aloft a foaming tankard.
Adonis hesitated for a moment. He knew the importance of staying sharp, especially on a mission. But the warmth of the ale, the atmosphere here, and the sheer exhaustion of the day all argued in favor of a little indulgence.
"Why not?" he finally conceded, a grin spreading across his face.
"Just one more, Hilda. Then I'm off for a good night of sleep!"
The rest of the evening passed in a comfortable blur. He finished his meal, his taste buds pleasantly singed, and enjoyed the camaraderie of his fellow patrons. As the first stars began to glimmer in the twilight sky, Adonis rose, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. He thanked Hilda for the hospitality, the warmth of the food, and the company.
With a final wave goodbye to the boisterous crowd, Adonis stepped back out onto the bustling street. The night air felt crisp and invigorating, a welcome change from the stifling heat of the tavern. He took a deep breath, the lingering scent of spices and ale mingling with the city's nighttime musk.
Tonight, he would sleep soundly, his body fueled and his spirit bolstered.