The Great Feast

Today the Stoneworks is fairly busy, though that might have something to do with the amazing view of the beautiful day outside which has been offered up to the customers by the means of one of the walls which has been turned invisible. The calzones are hot, the scent of them luring in more customers who ooh and aww at the magic'd wall, eating and watching other people walk by.

Daechir sits at one of the back tables, fairly far from the view, but with an excellent sighting of the place in general. The dark elf in question has easily six calzones placed out in front of him. Clearly more than he himself can eat. Particularly since his attention continues to be taken away by yet another passerby walking along the street or the sound of someone chatting at a table close by to him.

"Huh." One of the cousins--one of the many cousins--has stopped just outside the swinging kitchen door. Her hands are planted on her hips and she is--staring--at the wall.

Or rather, not-the-wall. Outside, the village is green, the breeze wafts by. It tugs at her braid, as unlikely as that is. She frowns in response, more scowls. "Damn mages," she says under her breath, and the scowl turns into the fastest smile ever as a customer walks by. "Welcome to Stoneworks!" she calls over, cheerfully.

Theeeen returns to frowning at the wall. At the--she seems to catch sight of the mul, then, and her eyes widen. The mouth falls open, slightly.

Gregor's attention has indeed been drawn by the invisible wall. He hitches his horse outside and steps in, then lines up with the crowd to get to a table, so he can participate in whatever promotion this is. Why one fellow's got a whole table of calzones, that must be quite a promotion! He finds a seat nearby, and when a server comes by, he says, "I'll have whatever that fellow had."

It doesn't take long at all for Daed to realize that he's drawn attention to himself. He offers a quick smile to the woman with her mouth hanging open, and nearly flinches when the man seated next to him orders what he's had. "Sir. If I may." He waves a hand at the calzones which upon close inspection are missing just a tiny portion from each one. "Take your pick rather than spending your money on more."

The mouth snaps shut, and the eyes narrow at the corners. It's a friendly narrow, though. Khogh snorts, and tosses the towel to her shoulder. "Welcome to Stoneworks! I'll be over there in a minute! Just join yer friend at his table! We're packed!" she calls out.

Then, levels a blunt finger, because khazad, amirite, at Dae. "You hold on, there. You ordered--" she pauses, then proceeds to count the calzones. Jabs a finger towards each one of them. "-4-5...6? of th' oomchil mastersmake? And bludspeppers? Just a minute, I'll be back with a drink t' go with that."

Gregor huhs at Daechir, then says, "Oh, I couldn't do that. Wouldn't be proper. Anyhow, I'm an adventurer, I can afford it." He grins proudly. Not so long ago, he couldn't say that, but he's doing all right now. Starting to make his way, and it shows in his attitude. He'll sit with Daechir when Khogh tells him to. They -are- crowded, and one to a table's not a luxury they can afford, he guesses. "I'm Gregor Augustin," he says, introducing himself.

"Daechir Calathain." The dark elf offers his name as a way of introduction, and his hand as well in a perfectly professional handshake. There's no judgement on his part though should Gregor not take it. "Really I insist. I had no intention of eating them all and letting them go to waste would be a shame." He lets out a little self-deprecating laugh that twinkles with the sound of a bell.

"Khogh," the dorf replies. She wears a leather apron over her ensemble, which being a dorf? Is simple, practical. Rough boots, leggings, a top of some kind. Flour though, coats her hands and arms up until the elbows. It coats her apron, dusts the tops of her shoes.

She nods at the two of them then, "I'll be right back," she says. Then, turns and stumps back towards the kitchen. From there is the heady smell of meats and mushrooms, of tomatoes and sauces, of spices and the smoke of a heated oven. When the door opens, it fairly billows outwards, and near the kitchen window, an older khazad appears. A male, who cries out, "ORDER UP!"

Gregor will shake Daechir's hand, and then one of his calzones. Well, the man offered twice. "Not bad," he says after finishing the first bite. Then his own order is up. "To go?" he'll request. He explains to Daechir, "There's an Arvek refugee camp outside the city. This will be quite a treat for them."

Daechir smiles quite suddenly at Gregor. "Really? That is where the rest of these are going when I have finished here." He lets out a little laugh. "In fact the whole reason I ordered them was to try the different kinds for a charitable event that I am throwing on their behalf."

The man at the kitchen window slaps his palm onto the counter. Not long after, one of the wait staff jogs over (khazad: no running) to grab the order. The order nearly fills the platter--aromatic bread with sauce near oozing out the sides. One poke with a fork and it's guaranteed.

Not long after, the kitchen door swings open, and Khogh stumps (khazad) outwards. She holds a pitcher in one hand, two tankards in the other. The tankars are set on Daechir's and Gregor's table.

The place is packed--it's a gorgeous day. Gorgeous, though an entire wall has vanished out of the restaurant. Either made invisible or--really vanished, to open it to the outside air, and let the smells of fresh food, baking, and cooking escape.

"This one's the Shalebrew," Khogh says, as she hefts the pitcher. The content inside has a pale, dark tint to it. "It's as smooth as earth, bit of a rock's savory touch, as it lingers where it matters," she explains then, and begins to pour. "What brings ya out this way?"

Gregor is quite surprised by Daed's revelation, but pleased also. "It appears they'll eat well tonight, then," he declares. He answers Khogh's question simply: "Lunch. Well, supper, I suppose."

Food. Savory, dripping, food. Coiling steam off hot plates beckons with enticing ghostly fingers. Two tendrils hooked into the massive nostrils of a ravenous beast, tugging its plodding course to the festivities. Spines rise down its back, and a kreening screech exits its cavernous jaws with a shake of its head.

'Gojirra! We must flee the city!'

Oooor it is just a massive Sith'Makar brought out to the smells of food. Sebropert snorts and makes a beeline to the restaurant. "Such smell. One of everything!"

"Good enough." The khazad seems to fight back a smile. Then, looks towards Daechir. "Th' refugee town? Tref?" she asks. "I've heard tell of it--them arvek know a thing or two about order," she says, sounding approving.

"Heard some warrior out from wherever-it-was founded it. Has one of those hyenas followin' her around. Normally, that'd be a bad omen but--it seems alright. She swears it's blessed by th' Lancer, if you can believe it." Khogh looks to Dae, then the door as it bursts open.

Another khazad makes his way around her--a younger one, with dark hair. He half-stumbles as he passes, then hurries on! Fast! Fast and faster past the oncoming reptilian.

"Be with ya in a minute!" Khogh calls out, to the reptilian. "We're a bit packed fer seats, so grab what ya can get!" she says.

Daechir nods appreciatively at the offer of the drink, accepting it with another smile for the woman serving it. Which is when his words of gratitude are interrupted along with his explanation by the incoming Sith. Surprised he stands up, then hearing the woman tell the hungry dragon-kin to have a seat he pulls out another at his side and waves a hand at it. "Here, have a seat with us. You can have one of these while you wait."

Gregor listens to the explanation also before drinking, and nods approvingly at the taste. "Good stuff," he agrees. As far as Tref and its founding, he nods about the founding, though he says, "That would be Serraphine, I was with her when we rescued the hyena. It's quite loyal to her. It's quite blessed, indeed. Though I'm not sure if it's Serriel's blessing or Tarien's."

Clearly coming into view through the invisible wall, a griffon comes flying closer to the village, majestic in flight as its barding catches the light of the afternoon sun. The rider seems very small, compared to the beast, but seems predominantly clad in green.

"Appreciate that," Khogh says to Dae. She grabs the towel from her shoulder, and wipes down the place in front of Sebropert. Wax on, wax... "If there ain't enough here, just let me know. We've got th' standard--meats, or root-vegetables, or mixed, as a base. Comes with your choice of oomchil sauce, which is a local speciality, or pepper'd spiced."

The khazad wears a leather apron over her ensemble, which being a dorf? Is simple, practical. Rough boots, leggings, a top of some kind. Flour though, coats her hands and arms up until the elbows. It coats her apron, dusts the tops of her shoes.

"Tarien, eh?" she asks Gregor. "Well, that'd make sense, wouldn't it?" she says, fighting back a grin.

The place is packed--it's a gorgeous day. Gorgeous, though an entire wall has vanished out of the restaurant. Either made invisible or--really vanished, to open it to the outside air, and let the smells of fresh food, baking, and cooking escape. A few patrons look over, startled, as the griffon flies into view. "Looks like th' mail's here!" calls one. The Griffon Express, after all!

Chairs? We don't need no stinking chairs. The small offered chair pushed aside. Sebropert plops his tail down underneath him and sits back like a tripod. Of course he needed room, so the only option was by the dwarf offering space. "Peace on your nest rockskins," he says with a loud rumble, his hand rising to show it was empty, but the massive claws really didn't make it any better. He gratefully takes the offered treat, but raises a finger at the server and reiterates. "One of everything." A giant toothy grin disappears into the appetizer and beer.

Smiling a little to himself Daed pushes the chair against a wall since it's not needed. Standing however has granted him an excellent view to see the griffon come flying in and he smiles even more broadly, remaining on his feet just in case the person he is expecting is actually the one on the animal rather than as is suggested - a messenger. "I had no idea that Tref was founded by anyone. Seems like she might be a likely person to talk to about getting together some funding for them."

A wee Gobbo wanders into town, and slowly approaches the calzone place. She pauses before the invisible wall, and peers in, reaching to pat where the wall used to be. Seemingly satisfied, Acedia steps forward only to stop and take a step backward, rubbing at her forehead. The Goblin kicks out, and makes a soundless noise, hopping around on the non-injured foot. Glowering at the open space, she limps through the door a few moments later, looking around.

Gregor says to Sebropert with a grin, "'One of everything' is becoming a popular order." To Daechir, he says, "Oh, they'll take whatever help they can get. They're not really organized enough to have a leader like a prince or mayor - everyone pulls their weight with actual work. But she's a good person to talk to, if you want to help them out. There's a weedy little priest that does a lot of their accounting and such, he can help out, too, as long as she's not around. If she is, he's kinda useless."

"One of everything is start anyway," the Sith'Makar rumbles with a slap of his hand to his broad stomach. "What is weedy?" He asks between bites, his single blue eye looks up at Gregor before shoving another mouthful in. Once he swallowed he licked sauce off his claw with a massive white tongue. "Weedy Tref?"

The griffon spreads his wings and glides downward, landing, as confirmed by the light thumps heard from above, upon the roof of the eatery. In a moment, an elf looking something like Peter Pan, Link, Robin Hood, and Legolas combined descends to a landing that would make a Romanian gymnastics coach proud in front of the transparent wall. He takes a moment to look inside, probing the unseen wall with his fingers, then turns and walk around to enter through the front door.

One of... "Be right out," Khogh says, looking steadily at the reptilian. Just you know. Kinda starin because heck, the guy did order one of everything. /Everything/! Then, jobs a finger at him. "I'll get ya some extra sauce on th' side. More Shalebrew?" she asks the table more generally, then. "We've also got this fancy Northmountain Golden Apple some locals make. Sweeter'n I'd like, but goes well with some of tha more herbal breads. There's tha Red-ox, though I wouldn't recommend it, less yer tight on cash."

She looks over to the gobber, then, "Be right with ya! We're a bit packed, so find what space ya can! Welcome ta Stoneworks!"

There's a general rumbling, a calling-out of welcome from the other staff--all khazad, and most of them cousins of one sort or the other. At the kitchen window, an older, khazad male stups forward and slaps a piece of paper on the counter. "ORDER UP!"

"Ga'Elian!" Daechir waves to the elf at the doorway dressed as well... the proverbial elven ranger. "It is a bit busy in here today, but you are welcome at my table." Indeed he welcomes the other man in, offering his own discarded seat to Ga'Elian. In truth he does not even notice the goblin, being that he is more preoccupied both with the conversation happening right next to him, and Ga'Elian's presence at the door.

Gregor explains to Sebropert, "Weedy is ... thin and not a fighting man, mainly. He's fine as a clerk, though, most of the time," he'll further admit. He follows Daechir's shout over to see Ga'Elian, and it looks like this table is getting as crowded as the rest of the restaurant.

The Gobbo peers up at Khogh-Dorahl and blinks. "You need a sign on that wall.", she states. "I almost knocked myself out trying to walk in." Acedia points at the invisible wall letting in all the light and air and stuff. She peers over at Ga'Elian, and slowly approaches the ranger, standing quietly at his side.

Sebropert grabs the chair that he had pushed aside, and slaps it down beside himself for the gobber. The room at the table decreasing, but it was only polite. The monstrous often get overlooked for the not. Not in Sebropert's presence. "Sit. Eat. Peace on your nest greenskin." A pie pan is pushed in front of the seat, with a single slice left. But it is food to make it until the kitchen catches. "Not all fighting," he says with a finger wagged at Greogor. "Other things needed done. If everyone fights, who makes pie?" A solid argument.

Ga'Elian smiles at the enthusiastic greeting from the elf whose first encounter with him was met with an arrow aimed at the mul'niessa's throat. He says, "Uh, oh hi. Acedia was it?" as the gobber sidles up beside him. He deftly wends his way through the crowded establishment and pats Daed on the shoulder like old pals, and says, "I just learned a catchy song, my friends. A faerie dragon taught it to me. Now I can't seem to get it out of my head." Looking at the ridiculous feast laid out before him and continuing to issue from the kitchens platter after platter, he says, "Um, sure. Thanks. Pie and something to wash it down, perhaps? Some, uh, Northmountain?"

Gregor nods to Sebropert, "Oh, I'm not saying the job he does isn't important. It's quite important, really. But that's what he looks like, so I call him that." He shrugs, then nods a greeting to Acedia. "Welcome to our table, I'm Gregor Augustin."

Gregor's introduction causes Daechir to look around and look embarrassed a moment. "Yes it would be polite to introduce myself again would it not? You all may call me Daed." He offers a smile to everyone and remains standing since there are no other seats left to sit in. "It is a pleasure to meet all of your acquaintances. And in case you have not met him this is Ga'Elian; as you may have guessed from my calling him over here."

Acedia nods to Ga'Elian. "Yes, we met before. You tried out my violin. You are Ga'Elian." She grins toothily and then peers at Sebropert. Looks at her hand, and then back at Sebropert. The Gobbo does accept the seat though, but part way through getting into it, Daechir wanders closer to the table. She reaches out and tugs on his arm. "You can sit here..." When he does... with some nudging from her, she settles into his lap and looks around. "Better!" Giving a little finger-wiggle of a wave to Gregor, she smiles. "My name is Acedia. I'm a wandering minstrel."

Of course Sebropert never introduced himself, as food had become a priority. "Am Sebropert," he says with a tongue running over his lip. "Am," he pauses for a long moment as if to think what his job actually was at this point. "Just Sith'Makar." More food, and as it comes he pushes some in front of his tablemates so it doesn't get cold as he eats what he had in front of him. Seeing the Gobber's new person seat, he looks up at Daed and motions to his knee. "Want seat? I don't mind."

Over at the kitchen window, the older khazad gives the younger a long look. Then, Jaruda Shaletracker turns 'round, and calls out, "One of everything! Karuba, Jarrad! Get it in gear! We've got a full order, and more in at tha door!"

There's the sound of thumping, feet running. Khazadi voices, laughter. A WHUMP! as someone throws a fist into a truly massive ball of bread dough.

Khogh leans at the window sill, waiting. It may take a moment. In the meantime, another of the cousins stumps by, and pauses at the table. "Y'all want some drinks while you're waitin'?"

Daechir never expected to be pulled into a seat by the goblin woman, much less to find her sitting in his lap. He seems to take it in stride however motioning to the table around him. “Northmountain for the table if you will." He looks around to see if anyone wants something to eat to go with that.

Gregor calls out to Khogh, "A Red Ox for me." He shrugs and says, "It's a lot like what we had in the ranks." He's ordered some calzones and is working on the one quietly.

Selerik is just another person with a healthy hunger brought to the shop by the free smells and wonderful weather. He makes his way in, taking a careful glance around the room as he tries to locate a fabled empty chair to embed himself upon. Be it at a vacant table or occupied one.

Sebropert's order will take a while. There's shouting, smoke from the kitchen. A calling-out of khazadi voices. Platter after platter builds up at the kitchen window. One, two...

Five...seven...each fills the platter it's placed on. Each is near filled-to burst with sauce, with grilled mushrooms and root vegetables slathered generously onto the side.

Khogh leans over, chatting with some of the other staff, who've begun to gather. No few are dressed as she is--simple clothing, covered by a leather apron. Dusted in flour, a towel thrown over one shoulder or the other, for a wipe-down.

The staffer at the table--the one filled with a sith-makar, a gobber (sitting on the knee of the mul), the sylvanori, and others--nods to Gregor. "Red oxes all around, then?" he asks, and repeats some of the menu items, t'be sure of their orders. He nods to Selerik, as the man enters. "Welcome ta Stoneworks! Find a seat and we'll be with ya presently!"

The Gobbo holds up her hand. "Uh nuuuu. Could I get a Shalebrew, please?" She leans back and peers up at Daechir. "You don't mind my using your lap, do you? And uhm. What's yer name?" She grins toothily and peers at the kitchen window, which is filling up with plates of food. "Is there an army coming in that's getting fed?", Acedia wonders.

Gregor shakes his head about the Oxes all around. "Just for me, I think. Not many care for it, I think. I like it, though."

A vacant seat! As Gregor moves to go Selerik moves to sit. It is a smooth transition, maybe Gregor just got a new hat.

Ga'Elian moves over to make room and smiles at Selerik's smooth manoeuvre. He unashamedly sings, but only loud enough to be heard by those nearby. The tune is perky and upbeat. The lyrics frequently shift between Sylvan and Draconic and to those who understand tell of the hijinx of a certain Copper Dragon named Cuivre.

Selerik smiles as Ga'Elian sings, enjoying the music while sipping from the half-finished Red Ox. <OOC> Acedia says, "20 for a Gobbo is practically middle-aged." "Right. Red-ox, Shalebrew--alright." The young staffer gives a nod, and then turns to jog back to the window. The window where...

Nine...ten.

"Twenty up!" calls the man behind the window. By now, all one can see are calzones. Each, the size of a large dinner plate.

"Extra sauce! Just put it on the side, eh, uncle?"

"Peppered or oomchil?" comes the call-back.

Daechir is quite firmly seated in his chair, so he kindly turns down the offer of the Sith-Makar's leg since he's already seated and seated upon. Then he turns his attention to the goblin, smiling at her. "Call me Daed if you will. It is easier to say than my actual name."

Acedia watches Gregor depart with his drink, and blinks at the speed at which Selerik occupies the empty space. Ga'Elian moves in slow motion, comparatively. she looks back up at Daechir. "Daed it is then! Do you live in this town? Like, is this place always so crowded? And don't people know that these places smell differently to short people?" She watches the food piling up at the kitchen. "I am going to watch whomever is attempting to eat all of that. I mean. That is enough food to choke a dragon."

Sebropert offers a shrug of his massive shoulders, and goes back to chowing down on his piece of pie. Mumbling around his food in his heavy accented broken common. "Peace on your nest Ched." Why wouldn't a Sith'Makar bucher other people's names? His large clawed hand pushes food in front of Selerik. To include a spoon.

Selerik gives Acadia a friendly smile. "Such wonderful food and company, isn't it? Love days like this." He accepts the food from Sebropert without restraint. "Thank you, compliments to the staff."

In the end--the order of "one of each" consists of 24 calzones, with two buckets of sauce "on the side," and a platter consisting of nothing but mushrooms. The young waiter who'd been helping them jogs back to pick up a platter, himself. Presumably, drinks will be out after.

Three, then four staffers make their way over, drawn from the crowd by their uncle's glower from behind the counter. Twelve, in the end--each holding a platter in hand, balanced on a broad khazad palm.

Jaruda, himself, is coming out the door of the kitchen, and hurrying along. "ORDER UP!" he calls, the elder khazad sounding delighted, and proud. He jogs to a stop, ahead of the long line, the line of twelve staffers, with two platters each. And bows, deeply, to the lizard.

"Pease to your nest," he says, warmly. He looks to his staff, then the table, with a warm sort of wryness. His cheeks are flushed a touch, and there's flour in his hair. He smells of meats, spices, and fresh dough. "I had to meet the second man today, to order one over everything. My name is Jaruda Shaletracker, and welcome again, t'Stoneworks. My wife, Embma, is busy with the bread, but wanted to send her regards."

Ga'Elian abruptly stops singing when his drink is refilled.

The Gobbo stares hungrily at the massive amount of food heading to the table, and then stares at Sebropert. And back at the food. Then up at Daechir. "He's going to explode.", she says quietly. "Might want to close your eyes and mouth in case some of him gets into you." Acedia looks to Ga'Elian then. "What was that you were singing?", she wonders.

The calzones are placed, reverently, around Sebropert's person, and by Jaruda's personal direction. A few patrons give up their chairs just to watch. In the end...the reptilian is an island in the midst of food, of sauce, meats, root vegetables and mushrooms.

The sauce buckets are placed, one at each leg, for optimal dipping purposes.

The scent of it becomes nearly a physical thing. "I will pass the word along, to be sure," Shaletracker replies, as he accepts the coin. He gives the sith-makar a quiet look, though one might guess wonder, or disbelief were one skilled at reading khazadi features, before stepping back, and then seeing briskly to his staff.

Once each platter is placed, the younger staffer from earlier jogs back to get more drinks!

Selerik eats his borrowed/probably not his portion with genial kindliness. "This is quite the treat. You should eat here every day." Because then he would never have to pay.

"Are you really going to eat all of this?", the Gobbo asks of Sebropert. "Are you trying to meet your God? Surely there is a less painful way to go?" She shakes her head, and continues to stare hungrily at the different calzones. At least her drink will be here soon.

Ga'Elian tells Acedia, "It tells of the michief wrought by a certain Copper Dragon. I just learnt it from a friend of mine, named Sparklewing. He's a fae dragon. far dragons have a lot in common with coppers where personality is concerned."

'One of everything' becomes a theme. Khogh eventually, makes her way back--alongside the younger cousin. They hoist three platters together, between them. Each is filled with pitchers, at least one balanced either side.

These are placed on the table, in between the calzone platters. Some make it to benches or chairs.

"I think y'tickled my uncle's fancy," Khogh says, as she sets one down. An Ox gets placed in front of the arvek, and a Shalebrew in front of the gobber. Another gets placed by Ga'elian, to refill his tankard. To Daechir, "Are you still wantin' the rest of your order?" she asks him. "Uncle says to let you know, we can pack it to go, so long as it's paid for."

"I should think so." Daechir looks at the huge order of calzones. "Yes, to go would be perfect. Here." He pulls out the money and offers it up, and enough to cover the drinks as well.

"If this could bring Sith to gods, then all Sith be dead already," Sebropert says with a hint of reverence. He had been seated since before the gobber had arrived, so he now stood to survey the field of food. The Sith weighed well over four hundred pounds all told, his frills flicking with anticipation. He lifts not a mug to all those present, but a whole pitcher. "If gods I must meet, then be it at end of this table. If death I meet, then be it with full belly. Food more important than some give it. In food tribe come together. In food nestmates join. In food. Life." The pitcher he poured down his massive gullet before the gauntlet began. Somewhere in the distance small birds chirp a familiar song. ~Food, glorious fooood!~

-End-