ryryguy
First Post
The building is a rough inn which Bwarli seems to have commandeered for the event. He has also provided a decent quantity of zocalti beans for the chef to use - not nearly enough to fulfill your order, but enough for a decent amount of culinary experimentation. Castofle pronounces the kitchen adequate, unpacks his ingredients and some knives and other equipment, and sets to work.
Over the next few hours he produces a number of dishes. First he tries zocalti with milk, straight. "Definitely better," he proclaims after a taste. "Not sure if it's good enough... but definitely better." He tries it with various spices, including those he gathered at the Jadite market. Next he moves on to a number of sauces for meats and attempts at solid dishes - cakes and breads. "This lich guy is used to drinking it, right, so maybe making something for him to chew on would be a good change of pace. Um, he does have teeth, right? Are they pointed, like fangs or something? No? Okay..." But the chef seems disappointed with these results. "I can't really get the zocaltito blend right... I just can't mask the bitterness without hiding the flavor, the richness..."
Dusk falls. It seems that Castofle will be puttering well into the night. Bwarli, who has been hovering around nervously, clears his throat, and motions for the group to speak to him outside in the square. "I will return to the pyramid, and tell the Honored Ancestor his zocalti tasting will take place here first thing in the morning, just past first light. That should give the chef enough time to get ready, and still let you keep your schedule, right?"
Before anyone can answer, there is a small commotion among the handful of villagers who remain in the square. A group of newcomers has arrived. First is a familiar hobgoblin, followed closely by the rest of the band of mercenaries. They scowl menacingly at the villagers near them, who hastily move away, clearing an area at the edge of the square.
Then, from around a hut four more figures appear. One is Papolstaanas' sister Kanneelas, with a wide grin on her face. She catches her brothers eye and winks. Next to her is a portly, older man whose features reveal some elven blood. He is wearing expensive-looking travelling clothes and uses an unstrung longbow as a walking stick. He leads a laden mule.
The third person stands is a very tall, very lean eladrin. Nearly six and a half feet in height, his gold hair falls unbound around his shoulders and his exceptionally long hands are empty. His pale skin and violet eyes gleam in the fading light. He stares straight ahead with an insufferably haughty expression. The robe that he wears is elegant, but rather simple, almost utilitarian.
Very close to him is the fourth figure. Clearly a construct of some sort, though not a warforged, it is easily the size of Chakku, and probably more massive. Its two arms flare out to form broad, shield-like shapes. Its head is tiny, and featureless except for a ring of gleaming stones that seems to go all the way around. A large rune is painted on its chest.
[sblock=Arcana DC 20]The construct is a shield guardian, an extremely effective artificial bodyguard.[sblock=Arcana DC 25 (same check)]The shield guardian is keyed to defend a particular master - the eladrin, it would seem. As long is it is close to him, it improves his defenses and absorbs some of any damage he takes.[/sblock][/sblock]
[sblock=History DC 15 (auto for Kaeysari)]The rune is the personal mark of the Emperor of the Imperium himself. It is a serious crime to employ it without his personal dispensation.[/sblock]
The older man steps forward and smiles warmly, opening his arms in a welcoming gesture. "Greetings, gentle folk of Newhill," he says in Allarian. "Please allow me to introduce Balsamae Bellora, world traveler, favored of the Emperor, and the greatest chef of the Imperium, living or dead." He gestures with a flourish to the eladrin, who inclines his head slightly. "Master Balsamae has traveled here to humbly offer his new and exciting zocalti creations in hopes of pleasing your leader." The man clears his throat, then repeats his speech in what sounds like rather poor Magari.
Over the next few hours he produces a number of dishes. First he tries zocalti with milk, straight. "Definitely better," he proclaims after a taste. "Not sure if it's good enough... but definitely better." He tries it with various spices, including those he gathered at the Jadite market. Next he moves on to a number of sauces for meats and attempts at solid dishes - cakes and breads. "This lich guy is used to drinking it, right, so maybe making something for him to chew on would be a good change of pace. Um, he does have teeth, right? Are they pointed, like fangs or something? No? Okay..." But the chef seems disappointed with these results. "I can't really get the zocaltito blend right... I just can't mask the bitterness without hiding the flavor, the richness..."
Dusk falls. It seems that Castofle will be puttering well into the night. Bwarli, who has been hovering around nervously, clears his throat, and motions for the group to speak to him outside in the square. "I will return to the pyramid, and tell the Honored Ancestor his zocalti tasting will take place here first thing in the morning, just past first light. That should give the chef enough time to get ready, and still let you keep your schedule, right?"
Before anyone can answer, there is a small commotion among the handful of villagers who remain in the square. A group of newcomers has arrived. First is a familiar hobgoblin, followed closely by the rest of the band of mercenaries. They scowl menacingly at the villagers near them, who hastily move away, clearing an area at the edge of the square.
Then, from around a hut four more figures appear. One is Papolstaanas' sister Kanneelas, with a wide grin on her face. She catches her brothers eye and winks. Next to her is a portly, older man whose features reveal some elven blood. He is wearing expensive-looking travelling clothes and uses an unstrung longbow as a walking stick. He leads a laden mule.
The third person stands is a very tall, very lean eladrin. Nearly six and a half feet in height, his gold hair falls unbound around his shoulders and his exceptionally long hands are empty. His pale skin and violet eyes gleam in the fading light. He stares straight ahead with an insufferably haughty expression. The robe that he wears is elegant, but rather simple, almost utilitarian.
Very close to him is the fourth figure. Clearly a construct of some sort, though not a warforged, it is easily the size of Chakku, and probably more massive. Its two arms flare out to form broad, shield-like shapes. Its head is tiny, and featureless except for a ring of gleaming stones that seems to go all the way around. A large rune is painted on its chest.
[sblock=Arcana DC 20]The construct is a shield guardian, an extremely effective artificial bodyguard.[sblock=Arcana DC 25 (same check)]The shield guardian is keyed to defend a particular master - the eladrin, it would seem. As long is it is close to him, it improves his defenses and absorbs some of any damage he takes.[/sblock][/sblock]
[sblock=History DC 15 (auto for Kaeysari)]The rune is the personal mark of the Emperor of the Imperium himself. It is a serious crime to employ it without his personal dispensation.[/sblock]
The older man steps forward and smiles warmly, opening his arms in a welcoming gesture. "Greetings, gentle folk of Newhill," he says in Allarian. "Please allow me to introduce Balsamae Bellora, world traveler, favored of the Emperor, and the greatest chef of the Imperium, living or dead." He gestures with a flourish to the eladrin, who inclines his head slightly. "Master Balsamae has traveled here to humbly offer his new and exciting zocalti creations in hopes of pleasing your leader." The man clears his throat, then repeats his speech in what sounds like rather poor Magari.
