Epicurious Journey - Part 0: The Spinning Stool

[Veradux]

A few hours after your interview concludes, a messenger finds you in the guildhall, bearing a perfumed letter. Instructions held within the patchouli-scented paper say to meet your new ward and friend at The Spinning Stool, a novelty chophouse on the eastern side of the city. Already, Lord Price seems to be putting forward a good hand, inside the letter is also a single silver coin to pay for transport there. Indeed, the messenger says that there's already one waiting for you.

A four-seater wagon led by a donkey and driver grins as four people - each one with a coin to give him - leave the guildhall.

---

A few minutes later you're dismounted in front of a somewhat busy-looking wooden building, sounds of people eating and drink coming from inside. Stepping in and being assaulted by the smell of roasting pork and weak beer, you see a lone man at a far table waving you over, as well as Master Roderick doing his best to lounge in his stool. Approaching, they both greet you.

"Ah, the entourage. Always good for first meetings to go smoothly. No worries about me, I'm old friends with Lord Price so I am not here in an official capacity. It's why he hasn't eaten yet I have. I'll waddle myself out the door. Good luck to you four. This one has a tendency to get into trouble. It's why he needs a calmer bunch than he requested."

Getting up and dusting himself off, he does indeed hobble a little out the door. Given the half dozen little bowls and one large plate he left behind, the relative simplicity and budget of this chophouse didn't deter him from enjoying himself.

"Bah! I told him to hire on the problem children and backstabbers! Instead I get experienced, reliable-looking, and strong folk who are probably the more sensible option! What a terrible friend, thinking of me in the best possible way!

Come now, take a seat and enjoy how they move!"

Those who had not been here before now realize why the name is what it is as this apparent nobleman tucks in his knees and does a full spin on his stool, the top of the seat rotating with him.

"Little metal balls on a track, polished smooth. Ingenious little device. Been here only a few days and already had a potentially fruitful discovery to take back home. Interesting that it's being only used for novelty right now. I'm certain I can come up with a better application."

A man on the other side of the building collapses off his seat, spilling his mug across the floor and making it apparent why it's smooth stone.

"...likely one that does not involve alcohol. But for now, I'm certain you have questions of me, our planned route, dangers expected, my life, your life, and the food here. Order whatever you wish and introduce yourselves to me. Let us begin our journey with a meal so that each bookend is another one! Consider it a sign-on bonus and, to answer the last question, my rule for these kinds of... copper-counting silver-starved eateries is 'if it's fried it's right, if it's roasted it's tossed, stew and soup are safe, and if it's potent dote on it'.
I am not a bard for a reason."

With that, he pulls a menu off the nearby wall and places it in front of the group and shoves Master Roderick's empty and used dishes to the edge of the table.

[Cloudy Summers]

"Turn around and perhaps you'll find yourself pleasantly surprised," the orc says in plain Orcish, voice deep and as aged as his face. It's difficult to tell if he's making a joke; it just sounds like a statement. "Vralgesk Godeliva, my lord." He crosses his arm over his chest and offers a slight bow before taking his seat.

As Lord Price demonstrates where the eatery gets its name, Vralgesk eyes his stool curiously. He plants his feet on the floor and rotates his hips from side to side, gauging how it feels in motion. "Hm. A clever technique... I should like to know the specifics of its construction for myself." A few ideas for the concept spring to mind - sturdy wagon wheels, a compact tool station - and he files them away for another time.

Then he gets right to the point, practiced and professional. "I'd ask you to lay out our route in detail, or show us the map if you happened to plot one, and explain whatever obstacles you expect us to face along the way."

 

Edited August 31, 2023 by Cloudy Summers (see edit history)

[Casual Viking]

"We coulda just walked here", Kal mumbles to no-one in particular as they dismount from the short ride.

He climbs on one of the rotating chairs, then frantically grabs the counter to stabilize himself. That's certainly no wagon wheel I'm used to. Once he feels fairly safe letting go, he extends his hand for a shake. "Kal Bushel, Sir". He grabs the menu, and slides his finger across it, lips moving silently as he looks for a serving of roasted meat with vegetables among the unfamiliar offerings.

 

 

[Basil_Bottletop]

The time spent in the Guildhall was done mostly as a courtesy to the Guild itself. Demascus Ocuna gazed longingly at the fired clay cup sitting in front of him. The tea had long since cooled down and only the companionship had been worth the lingering attendance. More than once the elf waved away the serving girl as she presented a warmed kettle at the two silent men.

The perfumed note's arrival broke a long silence between the two elves and Demascus opened his first, his slightly more deft fingers working the parchment easier. The presentation of both note and covered wagon outside gave Demascus cause to be impressed. He hadn't been sure his expectations were low until he'd been proven otherwise.

The elf stood at the entryway of the Guild Hall. The soft linen that was draped over him was not of elven make, but the choice of cut certainly seemed to be. Two sashes kept the flowy ensemble closed around his waist and a doublet of folded fabric sat symmetrical across his chest. The entire look relied heavily on layers which was hinted at by the sheer lack of bare skin between wrists, ankles, and neck. The colors are bold and directly related to his Erransian heritage, with a mimicry of blues, purples, and gold.

The third strip of fabric laden across his chest is that of his satchel strap. The leathery item looked to have once been perhaps a large saddlebag redefined as an over-the-shoulder sack. Buckles and pull-strings tease from beneath folds and exterior pockets.

The ride along in the wagon gave Demascus a moment to collect himself again. He offered the other elf assistance in climbing into the seat, but once seated himself he stared out the window in contemplation. As the buildings and people passed by, he felt alone again and that feeling brought with it other emotions he hadn't the time nor interest in digging up. By the time they had arrived, which was notably short punctuated by his fellow guilder's remarks, Demascus had come blatantly close to shoving many of those new thoughts and feelings down where no man could find them again.

By the time they were seated again at this new table with the hiring merchant lending his mouth to the ordeal, Demascus realized he hadn't said a word since reading the invitation aloud to himself and Jlyora. He'd not even bothered to introduce himself to the other two men in the carriage. He thought to remedy that now, but the timing was not in his favor. Business was being had and it would not do them any favors to be shown as amateurs this early on in the endeavor, regardless of how true it may be.

As the business conversation turned to spinning chairs and the contraptions holding them together, Demascus realized that perhaps Lord Price was an amateur as well. Such a thing -albeit it was new and exciting- should come as something of a novelty to a true nobleman. The notion bothered the elf enough that he thought best to help the orc get things get completely back on track, introduction be damned.

"Is the entire expedition hired men or do you count some of your own among them?" The question came out bluntly and he hadn't the notion to change it midway through.

 

 

 

[SerakHawk]

 

Jlyora was taking a new measure of the man reunited with him after such a time that he didn't first notice the perfumed note brought to them. Folding his copy neatly into a pocket he listened to Demascus read it aloud before mildly grumbling about having to hitch his llama to the back of the carriage and some notes about him being old but he could still walk just fine.

Having left through the stables entrance of the guild hall Jlyora came in sight of the carriage with his llama in tow - a well worn umber travel cloak hung over his features covering the majority of what clothes he worn underneath while a desert scarf was wrapped around his neck ready to be pulled up at a moments notice should it be needed. Hints of gold and aqua-marine embordering on the cloak beneath the dirt and mud showed the cloak was well made, but equally well used. Glimpses of a blue and sea-foam colored robe with a waves patterned into it shown beneath the cloak as Jylora shifted and moved.

A travel satchel sat across his shoulders resting on his hips, cinched tight to his side with a second strap on his belt. Tips of scrolls poked out of the edges of the satchel as Jylora rummaged inside for something to hold the llama to the carriage. Getting into the carriage with the assorted group Jylora pulled out a worn journal and attempted to read as they travelled, content to get to know his companions in less confined a space.

Once at the table with Lord Price, Jylora had prodded one of the spinning novelty chairs before electing to stand and not risk nausea or bodily harm. Picking some likely greasy tavern food off the menu and something that he recalled Demascus liking he waved down a server. Keeping half an ear to the conversation with Lord Price, Jylora tries to gleans information about the food and its construction from the server to gauge his expectations.

 

 

[Veradux]

Brief Summary - Lord Price & The Spinning Stool

The Spinning Stool is a chophouse somewhat popular on the eastern side of the city, mainly surviving due to generous (if gristly, watered down, or otherwise focused more on the spiced bread and cheap snacks) portions and inexpensive prices and premium location. Positioned right on the edge between the tenant sprawl and a somewhat nicer crafts district, it draws in large amounts of hungry workers with all colors of money. The stools would be comfortable if they didn't move so much, but the owner swears it does wonders for keeping people from sitting too long. After all, the money is made from volume and freshly empty bellies walking in, not adventurers nursing wine in corners.

The building itself is only a generation old, made of a stone foundation with a wooden second-floor apartment for the owner's family and a few boarders (occupied for the last three years by the same three people). It's a surprisingly spacious place, able to seat over six dozen people. There're a few smaller tables in the back for something that passes as privacy. This is where the party is seated.

---

Lord Vancent Price himself is a man of average height and above-average width. Currently dressed in fairly simple - albeit noticeably high-quality - clothing. Leather boots, kilt, tunic, all in browns and greens. Broad-jawed, bearded, and dark brown hair clearly brushed into place despite the sweaty and smoky eatery, it's hard not to pick him out of a crowd as someone clearly not a workman or similar. He doesn't appear to be armed or armored in any way at the moment, nor is he wearing any particular finery or jewelry.

Inside The Spinning Stool

Responding to Vralgesk's joke with a chuckle and a quick spin of his stool, he seems glad that his initial assessment wasn't entirely spot on.

"To be frank, I rarely plan excursions like these beyond the stopping points. Though I will say that The Old Sprout Beanery is the last stop, the port it's in will hold my boat.

And that," he points to Demascus, "is the only one of my servants on this whole journey. He's been paid a month's wages plus bonus in advance and given the keys to a small house of mine in the area to mind the ship and house. The rest of the way it will be us five alone! I had planned on visiting The Scarlet Oak Distillery first, as it is still in Stanez.

As for difficulties, I'll say that I am not expecting anything four armed men cannot handle. Five, if I have half a bother to pull out my trusty hammer! Perhaps some wolves? Wolves of the 'deserting soldier' variety? A drunken brawl or three? Bah, past that I can only imagine how terribly my sense of direction will get us lost. Or, better yet, if my unnaturally poor luck in such matters causes us to be accosted for political matters! One can only hope, no?"

---

After a brief wait, it seems that Lord Price had already set some small round of food to be brought out for the four of you even before arriving. A trio of fried sandwiches of chipped beef and what is hopefully cabbage, a pile of roasted broccoli and tiny cabbages slathered in cheese, a small mountain of fried eggs, several thin-sliced pork steaks, a pair pitchers - one weak beer and the other vinegar-smelling wine - with small mugs, a stack of a dozen griddlecakes, and a little bowl of orange marmalade. It's rather impressive that one dwarf balanced it all out and placed it rapidly on the table before wordlessly shuffling off again.

"Ah, excellent. I took the liberty of ordering all this before you arrived, to be brought out when you arrived. They have all forms of meats on cut-to-order, as well, if you're more of a 'grouse of the day' kind of person.

[Basil_Bottletop]

With the older elf deciding to stand, Demascus seemed a bit out of sorts. His body language suggested he felt torn between joining him in standing and finding the chair in which he sat to be comfortable. Eventually, he simply turned his body slightly away from Jlyora and the entire discomfort subsided. He turned his attention fully to the host.

None too soon, either.

Demascus couldn't hide his dismay at the arrangement. Holding a blind eye to his own personal choices these past few decades, there was something concerning about a man who hadn't a friend in the world to call his traveling companion. Someone wealthy enough for such expeditions, doubly so.

The elf moved to ask more questions but was interrupted by servers and food. Demascus looked over the offering and it's wide-spread coverage of the table. It was a feast.

"You're too kind." He uttered, a default response to the surprisingly lavish display.

A moment later, a second server brought a mug out and placed it in front of the elf. It was spiced tea with green cloves resting on the top layer. The smell triggered his memories in an almost violent way. He leaned his face into the steam and then looked to the host with a confused look on his brow before continuing his search toward Jlyora and realizing what had been done. The distressed wiped away.

His body sunk into the chair another inch further and he went about delicately and politely making a plate. While he worked, he kept the conversation with their host going, "Most noblemen do not hire caravan guards and expect quality conversations and comradery. I cannot fathom the two things overlap so often that you have found luck with such postings before."

He could feel his tone shifting back and he paused long enough to cut some of the pork steak to collect himself. "So, which do you seek, Lord Price? Companions or watchmen? It's best we settle it now so that we are not confused later when under less amenable degrees."

 

 

 

 

[Casual Viking]

Kal looks to the others to figure out the "done thing", then starts piling his plate high with pork and broccoli. He misses a lot of the conversation while focused on the food, but looks up in frozen, wide-eyed shock at the old elf's last questions.

 

 

 

Edited September 19, 2023 by Casual Viking (see edit history)

[Veradux]

Inside The Spinning Stool

Responding to Vralgesk's joke with a chuckle and a quick spin of his stool, he seems glad that his initial assessment wasn't entirely spot on.

"Would it be rude of me to say both?

...I supposed it would be at least a little contrite. I'll say that I do expect your limbs to be on the before mine; the pay is for danger and your actual professions. But I wish our arrangement to only matter when weapons have been drawn and when deciding the watch schedule.

Beyond that, I wish for us to build some fond memories and end up with some form of cordial future plans."

He pauses to pour himself a bit of the beer and heap a large portion of the cheese-covered greens for himself.

"My luck is untested on this front, though hopefully you'll see the luck - especially mine! - is quite fickle! You can never know what will happen next."

He takes a long draw from his mug as luck rears its grotesquely sublime head nearby. With a pop and crash, smoke begins leaking from the chophouse kitchen. The sound of metal pans clattering is heard for a few seconds, but the patrons gawk and stare. No other workers are upfront at the moment.

[Basil_Bottletop]

If the answer bothered him, Demascus did not show it. He buried his thoughts in a big bite of food and a follow-up sip from his mug. He seemed content to ponder the whole thing for a long moment and was happy to have the full table of food and companions as a formidable distraction from his response.

But eventually there was not enough food on his plate nor drink in his mug to hide behind. "I will come on this journey with you, Lord Price, and see where it takes us both."

He put his hand out to shake the man's hand and formally introduce himself. Something he'd purposefully avoided before terms were fully disclosed. "Desmascus Ocuna, at your liege."

 

 

 

 

[SerakHawk]

 

Still standing after finishing his conversation with the server about the kitchen's horrendous preparation methods Jylora turns back to Lord Price and Desmascus.

"Ah, agreed have we?"

Resting his hand on Des' shoulder, Jylora dips his head at Lord Price.

"Jylora Mchala, an oracle of Padartha. I agree to provide the gifts of Padartha's blessing with you as long as our roads cross."

 

[Casual Viking]

Kal looks around, hastily swallowing the bite of food he was working on. "Kal Bushel, M'lord. At your service". With that, he gets up, and walks over to peer into the kitchen, seeing if he can discern the source of the noise without getting in the way.