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A short female human in her early 20's enters the grand hall, sniffing the air. Her short, unkempt blond hair seemed to have a bit of soot in it. A large musket is strapped to her back, and she wears a somewhat ragged military uniform.
"Oh ho," she says loudly when she spots the source of the wonderful smell. "Y'all cooking up something fierce, I see. THIS is why I'm with the Society!" with that, the young Taldan woman grabs the nearest chicken leg and tears into it with a viciousness that seemed more fitting for a lion than a petite human.
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A cheerful gnome passes through the entryway, and stops to take in the scene before him.
He responds first to Twig, "Remember, m'lady, that these are the same good folks that would face down the demons of the Worldwound, to keep 'em from devouring your soul. If they want to unwind by sharing a meal together in the hallway, surely they're not hurting anything. I dare say some of Aram Zey's trainees could use the extra practice learning prestidigitation if there's a bit of a mess left over at the end. Or perhaps Master Farabellus will assign clean up duty to those who have not learned their parries properly. I suffered that fate a few times when I was new here!" He chuckles at the thought.
He then samples some of the barbecue, and turns to Molos. "That's an . . . interesting blend of spices, friend. I'm more used to using these herbs for healing, rather than cooking. I wouldn't have thought to combine them like this!" He stops talking as he turns his attention to eating.
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Teletha, done with the chicken leg, begins to scarf down the deer that Molos had seasoned. She stops chewing for a split second---the deer didn't seem as good as she thought, and the spices were too intense---shrugged, and continued chewing.
"S'glad I wuth in th'area," Teletha said, her mouth full of deer. She swallowed and continued, "not a lot of my Taldan countrymen can appreciate a good roast. Name's Teletha, by the way! Gunslinger extraordinaire, member of the Society, and enemy of the enemies of Taldor yadda yadda, etcetera etcetera." She extends a hand to Molos. "Compliments to the chef." She immediately regretted this, wondering if the Kellid would perceive this as an insult.
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Molos shakes Teletha's hand enthusiastically.
"Always good to meet someone appreciate fine dining!" he exclaims excitedly.
"I think this seasoning not come out good, though. This why I join Pathfinder Society - to travel world, learn more about cooking. But I still not very experience, as Pathfinder or chef. Sometimes, mistake are made."
You all wonder if he's just referring to the cooking or something that happened in a Pathfinder mission, but he just keeps talking and pulls out different sauces for the food.
"Luckily, I only season some of venison with that. Let me try different sauce on next section. This time, I go slower and think more what I doing. It come out better."
With that, he draws his greatsword, slices off a section of meat violently, and starts pouring sauce on it, before returning it to the flame.
Take 10! :P
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"Some barbarian with no sense of culture dropped this food here and it all went downhill from there."
Petros has culture. Kellids have music, art, poetry. We tell tales, sing songs of sadness and glory and beauty. The the philosophies of Kellid kings and poets are still read by men to this day and they discuss hope, beauty, and the hard truth of survival.
Petros is not civilized, this is true. For civilization makes men weak and turns women into slaves. Cities are coffins and laws are funeral rites read to corpses. Petros is proud he is not civilized.
But he has much culture.
We Kellids also like our food fresh because the preservation methods used by civilized people poison the food with too much sugar and salt. Your market places are filthy. Petros would never dare eat such dirty food.
Petros caught this deer, Petros slew this deer, he cleaned this deer, he honored the spirit of this deer as it left to run with it's ancestors. Also, Petros cleaned the carcass before bringing it because Petros is a Barbarian, not a fool.
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"So...is it normal for Pathfinders to have a barbecue in the front hall? I'm personally not very knowledgeable of Absolam customs, but as I've come a long way from my tribal home, I suppose it would be likely that there are differences."
Large room, close to door, and comfortable chairs. If city people do not cook here then you are fools,
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"Oh, you made this?" Medly inquired, having heard the large Assimar reply to the Taldan Gunslinger. "Helmeroc certainly appreciates your handiwork. But then again, its been a few weeks since he last had properly cooked meat, so..."
Medly pulls out a whittling knife and a stick from her bag, and begins to sharpen the end of the stick. "Anyways, if anyone has a mug, or goblet, or...whatever, I can create water for quenching anyone's thirst." She remarks, clearly more focused upon her whittling.
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Medly blinked, somewhat taken aback.
"Uh, no, I can't make anything other than water. I'm not Cayden Cailean, nor would I want to be." Medly replies with a slight scowl. "Also, putting any sort of consumable liquid into ones hands is an unsanitary and crude means of consumption."
Medly set down her stick and flicked the knife back into it's sheath, and began rummaging in her bag, procuring a couple mugs. They are in rather well-kept condition, and Medly filled one of them with a spout of water generated at her finger-tip.
"However if you are content with water, by all means have a mug. But be sure to return the mug to me once you're done."
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"I've got nothing against Cayden. I just would rather not have the reputation of being a drunk. Personal reasons and all." Medly replied, not appreciating the accusations, "By the by, I in no way support slavery, and have little to nothing to do with the Cheliax. I myself am Varisian, specifically of the Rito tribe. I would appreciate it if you refrained from making further assumptions and accusations regarding me."
Medly chose not to acknowledge his final statement, she really didn't condone begging, as she holds the firm belief that if you want something, you work for it, not try to mooch off of others.
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"Compliments to the chef." She immediately regretted this, wondering if the Kellid would perceive this as an insult.Smile, friend, eat your fill and sing songs, for Petros takes no insults from those he has sworn to protect,
Teletha smiled, relieved. "I definitely will. Thank you." She curtly bows her head, then begins wolfing down another piece of meat---this time from the Kellid. She then turns to Medley.
"I'll have some of your magic water if ya don't mind," she says, then burst into a fit of giggles when Depeche tried using his likely dead grandmother as a way to get coin, seemingly unfazed by his unkempt appearance.
"What do you have against Caden Caylen, friend? Clearly this fellow is on to you," Teletha said, putting her hands on her hips and raising an eyebrow---but grinning widely.
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A heavily tattooed and pierced up, goth tiefling in raggedy clothes walks out of a corner in the shadows.
"I am of interest. I see Cayden Cailean as an idol. It is his ideals that help me to find my place. And before you accuse me, I only drink on occasion" he says, his prehensile tail grabs a bottle of honey mead from a old fart gnome that was past out drunk. "Seems like an occasion"
He sips his mead.
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Medly groans inwardly, of course if one person starts getting after her about a comment, then by all means everyone else should start.
"I'm being perfectly truthful when I say; I have nothing against Cayden Cailean, he handles his responsibilities very well. Many of my people revere him, after all, he is the patron god of travel. I said I would rather not be him, as I have no interest in shouldering the responsibilities and expectations put upon him. I will probably never partake in the Test of the Starstone, let alone on a drunken bet." Medly slowly exhales, trying to keep her composure, "Now, I hope that is a satisfying response for all of you, as I would prefer to no longer dwell on the subject."
Medly then proceeds to hand the mug water to the Taldan Gunslinger.
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"I would not expect of you to want to be him. I'm sorry for the misunderstanding. I myself am not worthy of the heavens, a street rat born and raised. That is why I am here, at the pathfinder society. A toast: To fellowship, to freedom, to a good drink. A toast: to the Pathfinder Society!" says the Tiefling.
He swallows the rest of his mead and tosses his bottle away (which hits the gnome old fart).
He sits down next to Teletha. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Zak Abdul" He says and smiles (his warm smile and kind, polite, personality are contrast his scary, thuggish look)
As he rests by the fire his raptor-like feet are clearly visible adding to his scary look. yet another tattoo is displayed on his ankle, this one much prettier than the rest.
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Bob responds - Depeche the tent and food, beyond the carcass, are my doing and will be sufficient for a hundred persons. Feel free to use the mugs and goblets, but as with any magical creation beyond the tent they will vanish.
We Chelaxians of the Darkive are generous and kind. By all means bring your grandmother here and one of my clerical friends will resilve her ailment.
Ogre - wow Bob you're much nicer than usual.
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Why thank you Bob. I see you are not the type of person to think they are better than those around them. You see those chum fellow throwing bottles at other people are a buncha' self righteous bullies.
Us down trodden gotta stick together. Now bob you seem liuke a guy that appreicates strength, you see I got this stuff here that can make you bigger and stronger.
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Ogre intercepts the bottle. Now wait up there Mr. Dont be trying to foist this concoction on Bob. He's susceptible to illicit things. Ogre snifs the bottle's contents and hands it back to Depeche.
Bob - Ogre is a kill joy, just because I went on a bender for a few days..
Ogre - two weeks.
Bob ...doesn't mean I am any more or less susceptible than...well yeah I am.