Maasha Torwold's page

"Greasha! I'm glad I ran into you! I was just browsing the market for some essentials for my next project. I wonder if you would have time to spare to join me? With your mother's permission, of course."

Maasha's face lit up at the sight of Darvesch, and she motioned for Greasha to pile the packages she had gathered into her backpack. "Fortuitous indeed, your Honor! Why with work slow aboard the ship, my poor girl has moping about, looking for something to do."

Shushing an objection that was never given, she shook a finger at Greasha and said, "No, no, I've been handling kitchens and princes since– well, for long enough to handle this in my sleep! Go on now, and help Darvesch, he's a busy man. Oh and if you should get hungry, your Honor, don't you worry, we Torwold women would never see a brave soul go hungry! You can call whenever you like!"

After Darvesch and Greasha have sat down to enjoy dinner together, Maasha calls it an early night. "Ah good appetite, that's what I like to see! Don't worry about cleaning up, I'll handle things in the morning. Good night, your honor, Greasha!"

Turning toward Maasha, "I'll just have whatever is already made up. I don't want to be a burden."

"Oh, no burden at all, not one bit! Be just a minute, your honor..."

"Oh well that's a good name! Greasha dear, here give Darvesch some soup and rolls while he's thinking on what to have..."

There is a clatter of pots and pans being shuffled about and some contented humming as the matronly woman busies herself.

Dwarven: Unless otherwise noted, the Torwolds speak in Dwarven unless dealing with humans or elves.

"If it's the Lieutenant, you tell her I down here I'm in charge. I don't have time for any guff on why her men feel like dawdling after dinner instead of getting back to their posts!"

From around a cupboard, a middle-aged dwarven woman with thick, black hair and a pleasant, if stern, face appears holding a large, flat pan in hands girded by thick oven mitts. However, when she sees her daughter grinning at her from the doorway and notes who is standing behind her, she takes a deep and sets it down, hands clasped together, an approving look on her face.

"Oh I see!" She quickly hurries over, dusting some flour off her blouse and waving for the both of you to enter. "Come in, come in! So this is the one I've heard so much about. Greasha, did he tell you? He too down the captain of that lead ship in single combat! Fancy pants and their turnovers can wait a moment."

Grabbing a large wooden meat tenderizer a rack, she hustles out into the galley and amidst a bluster of protests, sends the last few sailors running with shouts and threats of bodily harm. Once they've gone, she slams the door after them before putting on a bright, cheerful face and indicating a spot for their guest to sit down.

"Please, make yourself comfortable, your honor. Torwold, Maasha, and this well-built young woman is my daughter, Greasha. Genuine good girl she is. Not every day we get to meet one of our people let alone a thane of your like. Greasha dear, why don't you take that dirty apron off and keep our guest company, mother has everything well in hand!"

Still buzzing like a bee, the older woman gives a quick bow and hustles back to the kitchen, calls out, "What sounds good to eat, your honor? Still some swordfish left, but there's also sausage, fish chowder, mince meat pie, and a crock of my ham and pea soup..."