B
Boss Frost
Guest
Original poster
"Ah, good." The gentleman chuckled, "I was afraid of getting voices in my head. The devoted should really only get messages from otherworldly entities in times of great need... or when they ask." He grins, though he was fairly sure no one would get the joke. "Oh. Right. The little cat-guy wanted me to bring this over, and not to open it until I got here..."
The armored youth turns, and the quiet sound of wheels could be heard as he carts a tray with a metal cover over the top. He reaches forward, pulling off the lid... to reveal piles of freshly-cooked food. The smell of a roasted turkey immediately wafts throughout the room - along with the smell of pepper and lemon. Bottles of what first appears to be wine (but turns out to be sparkling apple cider) sit within buckets of ice. Sauteed vegetables rest in various bowls - broccoli and cauliflower, brussel sprouts, baby squash, lima beans, corn, and multicolored peppers to whet the appetite of those nearby. Freshly-baked white bread sits in twists along the outside of the entire affair.
The young man's jaw drops. "Oh, wow. If we're going to be eatin' like this every night, I'm looking forward to being an actual Pathfinder." An idle hand reaches up to grasp his holy symbol, rubbing it with a thumb. He stands, dumbstruck, for a while longer... before he raises a hand to strike himself in the forehead with his palm. "Shoot, where are my manners? I'm still getting used to everythin', I guess - Reynald Canidae. I'm from Varisia, but I'm sure you could tell from the accent." He reaches his own hand forward to shake the outstretched hand, smiling happily. "Iffin' it all goes well, I'm going to be patching you lot up if you get hurt. I'm following Kyra's path to clerichood. Sarenrae's my patron."
The armored youth turns, and the quiet sound of wheels could be heard as he carts a tray with a metal cover over the top. He reaches forward, pulling off the lid... to reveal piles of freshly-cooked food. The smell of a roasted turkey immediately wafts throughout the room - along with the smell of pepper and lemon. Bottles of what first appears to be wine (but turns out to be sparkling apple cider) sit within buckets of ice. Sauteed vegetables rest in various bowls - broccoli and cauliflower, brussel sprouts, baby squash, lima beans, corn, and multicolored peppers to whet the appetite of those nearby. Freshly-baked white bread sits in twists along the outside of the entire affair.
The young man's jaw drops. "Oh, wow. If we're going to be eatin' like this every night, I'm looking forward to being an actual Pathfinder." An idle hand reaches up to grasp his holy symbol, rubbing it with a thumb. He stands, dumbstruck, for a while longer... before he raises a hand to strike himself in the forehead with his palm. "Shoot, where are my manners? I'm still getting used to everythin', I guess - Reynald Canidae. I'm from Varisia, but I'm sure you could tell from the accent." He reaches his own hand forward to shake the outstretched hand, smiling happily. "Iffin' it all goes well, I'm going to be patching you lot up if you get hurt. I'm following Kyra's path to clerichood. Sarenrae's my patron."