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"I might have magic, but I also have other ways of debilitating my opponents."

 

Garrak holds up his right hand, palm inward, showing off the odd glove that he wears on that hand, with four pockets over the proximal phalanges - the first finger bones.

 

"My gifts in alchemy might not come close to the near-miraculous tonics and explosives you might be able to concoct, Doctor. But I do have a knack for duplicating some of the nastier poisons and venoms that the world has to offer. As I tell my disciples, when the goal of combat is survival, whether for yourself or those near to you, honor is a needless restriction. If grinding a dose of purple worm venom into their veins is what it takes, I'm ready to deal with the consequences."

 

Smirking, Garrak picks up a dish of the "creme brulee" and carefully looks it over.

 

"Hmm. Creme brulee...that means scorched cream, doesn't it? So I would presume the appropriate utensil would be..." He reaches over and grabs a spoon, lightly tapping the carmelized crust.

 

"And yes, Chavith is in town, as are most of my disciples. One of my wives is due to give birth, and even though things tend to go more smoothly for gnolls after their first birth, the process is still riskier for both mother and child than it is for humans and other such races. I'm not letting her give birth without some experienced healers on hand. We're camped in the spot usually taken by trading caravans. Chavith is quite easy to pick out. He's definitely my son - he's already a head taller than the next tallest gnoll, and he styles his mane in tied-back, braided locks, like mine. He also insists on dressing in more human fashions."

 

Bringing a spoon loaded with the creamy dessert to his mouth, his eyes widen, and appreciative grunts emerge from his throat.

 

"Mmm...MMM! This...this is wonderful! You're going to have to share the recipe with my second wife, Zaphira. She has quite the sweet tooth."