The afternoon reached its peak of absurdity with the Ceremonial Food Tasting.
Eris sat in the Lesser Hall, surrounded by a circle of eager Nevarethian attendants and a very expectant Master of Revels. Tradition dictated that the bride-to-be sample the "Delicacies of the Tundra" to ensure her palate was attuned to her new home.
A silver platter was placed before her. On it sat a mound of *fermented seal liver* cured in glacial salt and topped with a garnish of bitter sea-lichen.
Eris stared at the grey, translucent mass. It smelled like the underside of a pier that had been abandoned for a century. She felt the heat in her blood rise in a reflexive protest.
"A specialty of the North-Reach," the Master of Revels beamed. "It provides the fortitude of the bear."
Eris glanced at the attendants. They were watching her with the intensity of scientists observing a rare specimen. She knew what they wanted: a flinch, a grimace, a Southron delicate-ness they could mock over tea.
