they're all still elves and dwarves and shit
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Everyone in New Elfington knew that, if you wanted something good to eat and you didn’t want to bust your wallet, you went to Tostaada’s Cafe and Bakery.
It wasn’t a particularly fancy place—it sat on the first floor of the building that took up the corner of Broadway and Main, built out of old red bricks with windows that were permanently fogged up. The sign above the door was written in both faded Common and Elvish, the letters curling and the paint cracked.
The food, however, was damn good.
A story about finding your way home, and finding out that maybe home wasn't as far away as you previously thought.