Vazo'yn's breath catches in his throat when he hears the price. It's lucky he doesn't have a mouthful of anything else or it would have been sprayed across the tavern. He is quiet for a moment as he recovers and his shrewd gaze interrogates the leonin host's demeanour, trying to decipher if she's joking or perhaps overselling the sandkheg.

"That is a rich drop," he says with a bewildered shake of his head.

Insight: 25

DM: The leonin woman is being entirely honest about her prices, and the reasoning behind them. The drink is as expensive as she says in Marquet. 

"Perhaps next time," Vazo'yn eventually decides to pass on the high-priced drink.

He scans his eye over the menu again.

"I'll have an Erzfaalyu and a Frost Wyrm Stew."

He opts for his local favourites, reasoning that when they no doubt travel again it might be months before he gets the opportunity.

"Do you see many folks from the festival come through here?" he asks, wondering whether she might have some insight to the lost clothing they found.

The leonin nods. "It's between meal rushes right now, but as you can see, it's still fairly busy. Not every establishment lets the patrons set up random games by rearranging furniture, and fewer still make them as challenging as mine is," she pats the whip on her hip lovingly. "But... I like to think that they also like the exotic food and drink. Berry-Berry with an 'e', not an 'a'-truly enjoys his work." She gestures over her shoulder to a tiny window to the kitchen, where some hulking beast's arm and torso can be seen working furiously on orders. 

Hearing his name, Berry stoops down to peer through the tiny serving window. A minotaur, no, not exactly. It appears to be a minotaur skeleton covered in some kind of semi-transparent green gel, making the bones difficult to see. The gel is more opaque on the face, allowing its expression to be easy to read, and more clear from the neck down. Berry smiles and waves, then gets back to work.

"Do our best...Right. Every day." Joy murmurs to herself, giving a nod. She does have a name to live up to, after all. When Berry smiles and waves she can't help doing the same excitedly. "That kind of happiness is infectious! I wonder how the slime and the skeleton met..."

"Berry doesn't remember. Geletons are a rare people, but typically they are created by an accidental encounter between an ooze and reanimated skeletons. They do remember some of their former lives though, and Berry remembers a love for the culinary arts." She turns and regards Berry working hard in the kitchen. "Some might feel the need to explore their past and find answers. Thats wonderful. Sometimes though, people find that they don't need answers and are happy with life as they have it. Thats fine too."

Jacaranda does her best to keep a smile on her face......the undead are anathema to her people and, after a particularly horrific tussle with some sort of primeval ooze when Riven and her had been exploring a series of caves in the Cyrios Mountains, jelly-adjacent creatures just gave her the ick.

She consciously returns her attention to her food trying not to imagine the combination of bone and plasm that made it.....

On that note, the leonin saunters away and after a short wait and with drinks to hold you over, the food is brought out. All of it is masterful in execution, both in taste and in presentation. The plating alone would earn Berry a position in any 5 star restaurant and the taste certainly matches. For those of you who end up enjoying your food, it will bubble to the surface of your mind for years to come as an exceptional meal. For those who end up not caring for your dish, you would have to at least admit that it was perfectly executed, just not what you were after.

The bill comes in after at roughly 1 silver, 7 copper each, which, based on what you had just experienced, feels sorely under-priced. 

DM: Tipping is not really a thing in Exandria and most places will find the practice baffling.

Berk carefully inspects his food for traces of ooze or gel in it. He finds none, but still isn't sure if he would have eaten it or not. Berry seems like a remarkable creature.

"The food is excellent!" he exclaims, in between bites and searching for ooze.

Joy quickly forgets her earlier discomfort as the first sip of Yunfaalyu melts on her tongue—a delicate sweetness with a cooling finish that chases the heat from her cheeks. The frost worm stew follows, warm and fragrant with deep herbal notes that make her shoulders relax for the first time in days. And the Keltaly—creamy, subtle, with just the right hint of tang—she has to close her eyes for a moment just to savor it. It all feels perfect. Not just the food, but the laughter, the warmth of her friends around her, and the quiet joy of being somewhere safe, if only for a while. As she sets her spoon down, she exhales softly, smiling to herself. “Worth ten times the price,” she murmurs.

" It is very tasty.", Randa admits, keeping her eyes on the bowl.

Riven eats quietly at first, letting the spices of the Yuyandl roll over his tongue. Its smoky, tender taste, grounded by the warmth of the spice. The food is comforting, somehow. Familiar in spirit, if not in flavor.

He glances toward Berry through the kitchen window, watching the gel-covered skeleton move with practiced ease. It’s not the hands of the dead he sees, it’s their technique, as he moves within the kitchen pushing out food with pride.

He sips his Yunfaalyu, cold and sweet, bright with plum and a sharp herbal undertone that bites pleasantly at the finish.

“Food like this sticks with you,” he says after a pause, setting his cup down gently. “Years from now, we’ll remember this. The heat in the stew. The cold in the drink. The sound of that whip cracking over laughter.”

Riven finishes the last of his Yuyandl with a quiet, contemplative motion, savoring the spice and subtle bitterness of the grilled yuyo. He lets the final sip of his chilled Yunfaalyu linger on his tongue. 

And then, his instinct asserts itself.

He straightens, the motion slight but precise. Shoulders square subtly, not tensed, but ready. The glint in his pale eyes sharpens. Familiar comforts are the easiest places to loose focus.

Riven casts his gaze across The Braided Path, the low tables and floor cushions, the hanging lanterns with silk shades dimmed to gold. The mingled scent of warm spice and woodsmoke.

Perception: (Oh dear) [2+4)=6

Ylis finishes sucking the juice out of a spider leg and smacks her lips. "mmmmmm so yummy!"

She slides a gold coin onto the server's tray and says, "I don't want change back, use it on whoever comes in hungry but doesn't have money."

Vazo'yn is a man that tries to be open-minded in all things, but even his broad horizons are challenged by a Minotaur skeleton in a slime suit. He does his best not to stare, though his golden eyes keep flicking back to the kitchen as Berry plies his craft. He also notes Randa's discomfort, though says nothing of it for now.

All trepidation is washed away when Vazo'yn takes the first mouthful of his stew. It is a meal he's eaten dozens of times, but none compare to the mastery on display in his bowl. He barely speaks throughout his meal, so focused he is on enjoying it. When he finally lifts his head, he wears a broad smile.

"That was something else. My compliments to-" he covers his hand urgently to stifle a burp. "Pardon me. My compliments to chef Berry."

There are moments in life where allowing the walls to come down cost a person dearly, where they fail to see an incoming arrow from a hole in the wall, or a dagger shoved in the back as a cloaked figure walks by. Neither of these things occur during the uncharacteristic lapse of warrior reserve from Riven. He has allowed himself a moment of solace in this quiet tavern of people speaking in hushed tones while enjoying exotic foods and drink. Whatever their dealings they engage in, their words escape Riven’s keen ears and the low tables obscure whatever covert dealings they may have as pouches pass underneath… or don’t, as Riven is entirely unaware of these maybe-happenings, save for what his imagination may offer up.

The leonin beams a proud smile at Vazo’yn as she approaches the table one last time. “Yeah, Berry is a special one. He probably could open his own place, but the man is one of the most contented people I have ever met. I can go grab him for you or, if you are in a rush, I’ll pass along the…” her words are halted by the sound of metal sliding on metal as Ylis scoots the gold coin toward her. She lifts the coin from the tray and her mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Yeah, I can do that.” She regards the little harengon. “What is it that you people do? You’re not mercenaries, that’s for sure. Too much kindness among the lot of you, and you're not moneyed people through shrewd business or birth for the very same reason.”

Randa looked up meeting the kataris gaze, " We......help....where we can. Sometimes we help each other, other times we help strangers in need. As you noted, we are not moneyed as it does not pay overly well as a career.  But it allows a certain amount of self fulfilment and quiets past wrongs suffered or undertaken for a time."

" We are family, gathered and found rather than rooted and grown but family nontheless.", she looked over to both Ylis and Joy, more than a little 'proud mother' in her countenance.

The leonin nods her head in acknowledgement and in reverence to the significant charity given. She places the coin in her pants pocket. "My name is Coirmende Starheart and this is my place. You are welcome here any time, whether it is for games or for meals. Stay as long as you like, but I hope to see you again. Maybe next time you are here, you can try the whip again." She turns, shooting a smile over her shoulder, and walks away, giving appropriate attention to the other filled tables. 

With the group of the Fellowship once again sharing their own company, Vazo'yn picks himself up and moves closer to Randa. He leans in toward her so that she can hear him while he lowers his voice.

"Did I sense some wariness about Berry, tonight's chef?" he asks.

Joy watches Coirmende go with a grateful smile, her hand resting on the table as the warmth of the meal and the quiet clatter of the restaurant settle around her like a blanket. The leonin’s words linger with her and that feeling of being welcome, not just tolerated, eases something tight in her chest. She blinks slowly. The race had wrung more out of her than she’d noticed in the moment.

Her eyes drift toward the window where the sun still hangs in the sky. The Final Contest is still hours away, but at this rate, she’ll be running it on fumes. It's not about winning but she does want to show up with her best. She rubs her eyes, stifling a yawn. “Maybe just…a little rest,” she murmurs, half to herself as she rests her head in her arms on the table, "Wake me up in time for the closing ceremony, will you?"

Quote from wyntarvox_ >>

With the group of the Fellowship once again sharing their own company, Vazo'yn picks himself up and moves closer to Randa. He leans in toward her so that she can hear him while he lowers his voice.

"Did I sense some wariness about Berry, tonight's chef?" he asks.

Randa casts her eyes downward, " Apologies. Not about the individual but perhaps their constituent parts.....I will do better to hide any future disquiet.", she smiled.