At the evening banquet in the Lord's Manor, the food was simple and rustic.
Great slabs of roast meat sizzled with fat, white bread was cut into thick slices, and wooden mugs brimmed with foaming ale.
Barnaby Menethil prodded the venison on his plate with a silver fork in disgust, as though it were something unclean.
He did not take a bite, merely wiping his lips once more with his pristine white silk handkerchief.
"Oh, how very... wild a flavor."
His voice echoed through the rather cramped dining room.
"This reminds me of the banquets at the Marquis's Manor. Did you know, Lord Klein? Every plate we use comes from the porcelain capital in the east. As for our chefs, we have three devoted solely to preparing poultry. They can cook a skylark twenty different ways, each with an entirely distinct flavor."
Veylin quietly cut the meat before him without responding.
He had deliberately seated Ola beside Barnaby.
The half-dwarf's burly frame resembled a wine barrel, making the envoy look even more bloated by comparison.
Barnaby finally shifted his gaze from the food to Ola beside him.
"Baron Stonebeard, I hear your spoils this time were exceptionally rich?"
He lowered his voice, lending it a slick note of familiarity.
"The marquis has always rewarded capable vassals generously. If you could provide some... useful information, I believe His Lordship would be quite willing to settle a few unnecessary debts for you."
Ola paused in his chewing.
He raised his head, his decidedly un-dwarven eyes meeting Barnaby's probing gaze.
Yet what flashed through his mind was the bloodsucking vine Veylin had hurled, along with the promise called the "Strong Foundations Plan."
He split his mouth into a grin, exposing teeth yellowed by meat.
"Burrrp-"
A loud belch, reeking of ale, blasted into