Reaper, you reenter the baggage car to give the convict his last meal. The feeling in this room seems to have grown oppressive like the pressure is too much in here.

Just as the scent fills the area, the room lightens and feels less uncomfortable, like a fist finally able to unclench. 
“Ah man! You’re the best! Oh gods! AhhhhHhhHHHH!!!” The man happily shouts as he reappears, dragging himself on the ground, looking even more pitiful than before. He gently pulls at your ankles in a proper grovel,

”Can I—-I p-please?” he looks to you with tears in his eyes 

Reaper hands the plate to the convict. "Enjoy your meal.""

The man is lifted off the ground by an unseen force, seemingly from his neck alone, and finds his footing. The lifting stops, and he gently takes the plate with both hands, and crumbles away into that green smoke like dust, and scatters through this corridor with a fading “Thanksss, mannnn” 

The room clears of any feeling of tightness and oppression 

Greel rolls his eyes at Whistler's words, rolling the eyeball on his spoon as he does so.

"If it's edible then there's no shame in eating it. It's a shame to let good food go to waste."

He slurps up the stew, then tears off chunks of the worm bread, slathers them with butter, and uses them to mop up whatever remains in the bowl.

After that he rapidly consumes the main dish, shoving several eggs in his mouth at a time as he gobbles them down.

With the dessert he takes his time, slicing with the delicacy of a surgeon as he savors every bite of pie and cheese.

"Jester's Court? Might sound familiar, not sure though."

Mirella, walking along, slowly fanning her self, stops and greets Vagrant with a sweet "Hello my friend. I had heard word that you might be out this night looking for assistants to help the dear Druskenvalds." She folds her fan and curtsies. "I would be honored. She steps aboard the passenger car and makes her way in." 

A tiny glowing orb (we shall call him Moonshine), that upon further investigation has a tiny human like face, glows above her head providing illumination for her. Once on board, he moves ahead and appears to evaluating the open seats for his mistress. 

Reaper steps back into the Dining car, takes one look at Greel's meal then decides to sit elsewhere.  He approaches the young man in the boot and asks, "Do you mind if I sit down?"

Mossgrin, your Moonshine friend checks every seat, and from time to time pulls back like a sudden realization of there being a form in the seat.

As you board, he is circling back to you saying, “MmmYeah, hey! Dares a buncha’ haints on ‘ere!” Which, of course you already expected. You know the train as the current vessel that carries souls on from the afterlife into peaceful rest.

He swirls around a particular spot of seats, “Uh, yeah, so Ey! Whadaya wanna do? You wanna sit down? This spot here’s free, you wanna sit?” he does indeed find a spot unoccupied.

”Ah yes, that is an option my friend.” He joins you both in the aisle-way, and thinks for a moment, or maybe casts a spell, and snaps his fingers, while looking at the door that leads deeper to the other cars, “Or we do have some live ones back there, in the dining car. If you were to call them that, my lady. If you care to join them, it would be just through this door here.” He again gestures with an arm and a bow, as the train begins to move again, and he uprights himself. 

“I’d love to join y’all, but we have more guests to acquire. Please excuse me, my lady.” he offers a gentle smile and straightens his coat a bit, gives a nod, and starts to fade away, leaving that decision up to you.

Reaper, you approach the young man, and he looks up to you with a far off look, and a nearly sad sigh, “Yeah, I mean yessir! Say mister, what’s the best tasting thing you ever had?”

Reaper sat at the booth and looks that the young man.  "The best tasting thing I ever had?  Hmmm,  it would have been a meat and cheese pie that I received in reward for returning a necklace that had been stolen from an old lady.  The flavor was not anything to brag about but the taste added by  the gratitude of the old woman made it the most delicious thing I had yet eaten.  Speaking of which I would love to get a grilled cheese sandwich if you please."  

"Thank you dear." She says, with words like honey. "I think I will join the living in the next car."

"Come along Moonshine, we shall move along to the next car."  She says in a familiar tone; not at all in a condescending way. More of the way you would talk to cat or dog. 

She moves with grace and a practiced step. This time she finds a seat nearby the others and takes out her fan (and waves it gently). She turns, and with a sincere and caring expression, asks "What is good on the menu?"

Reaper, as you describe this wonderful pie, the boys mouth waters, but it seems like his mind is maybe elsewhere. His brow is furrowed, though he does not look displeased.

Within moments, a grilled cheese on a platter comes drifting out of the kitchen area, along with another cloche. The items float to the table, and does reveal that very same pie from your memory. 

He licks his lips and he eats wildly and without manners, and wasting much. He seems to have finished this scene, and looks about, still with that same distance.

”Ahh it’s no use, mister. Nothin seems to make me forget or feel better about what I did. I can’t forget how I musta made that old lady feel, and now I lost it! I feel horrible for stealing that toad rock of hers. She painted it, and I love those painted rocks! I bet if I, ya know, find it again, I could give it back to her when I see her again, yeah? Think ya can help me find that rock, mister?” The young man asks very sincerely, meaning to make amends for what he has done in life.

Reaper replies, "I know how you must feel.  If I find a toad rock, I will certainly bring it to you to return so that you may taste the delicious flavor of gratitude."  Reaper then takes time to consume the sandwich.  Being refreshed, he stands and turns to his fellow travelers and says, "Shall we further inspect this train?"

Reaper as you rejoin your new found traveling companions, you feel the train slow this time, but not stop-

———Tarn Quickroot———

Tarn, you and Craghoof walk an endless trail. It’s only endless because you haven’t had your fill just yet. There’s more to see, and there’s more to do.

As you walk, from the side, a ghostly train sidles up to you with a speed that betrays the slow moving wheels. Once in position, it travels at the same speed as you on your mount, parallel to you and the path you walk, chugging along softly and slowly, as if it were the breathing of a large beast.

The bullywug conductor leans out to you, having to hold his hat on his head, as if in some sort of stronger wind than you, mere feet apart. He has to hold on to the door railings to steady himself, as his feet lift from the platform with the force of this wind. This almost looks like the train is at full speed, and he on the outside, all while at a walking pace for Craghoof.

”Pardon! The Druskenvalds call for ya! Erm, care ta climb on? All aboard, now, Y’all! Even your friend there can fit in here!” It seems he is also shouting and can hard be heard, but you still feel no resistance that he is experiencing.

The ghost-train breathes steam that curls like forgotten bedtime lies. Tarn watches it with the patience of lichen—unimpressed, but listening.  

"Craghoof… you ever seen a wind that don’t touch the trees?”  The goat blinks once. That’s enough.  

Tarn squints toward the Bullywug conductor, eyes amber-bright and unnervingly calm.  

“Mmm. Can’t hear you, friend. But I do admire how your hat’s fightin’ for freedom.”  

A pause.  

“Druskenvalds, you say? Sounds like somewhere mushrooms learn secrets and forget them out loud.”

He taps his staff once against Craghoof’s side. The goat steps forward, slow and sovereign, like he’s boarding a promise he didn’t make.  

"All aboard, you croak. But if this ride lies, it better lie well.”  

Then, under his breath, maybe to the train or maybe to the wind: "Let it creak, let it hum—I’ve boarded stranger bones than this.”

With a crooked half-smile, Tarn slips from trail to train like he was always supposed to. Craghoof follows, unbothered, his hooves thudding aboard with the gravity of old truths. The ghost-train doesn't welcome them. It accepts them.  

"Hope the snacks bite back.”  Tarn mutters, and the moss braided in his beard shivers—laughing, probably.

     "Yes, of course.  My apologies if I gave offense," Whistler responds to Mr. Greel.  "I intended no insult and I do hope you enjoy your meal...  I am just gladdened that I do not have to."

     "Well I'll just hold on to the ring and see if we stumble across anyone who may be looking for it.  It hardly seems important enough to seek out this Jester's Court just to return it," he offers as means of changing the subject.

     As Mirella, and her little Moonshine, approach Whistler stands, dramatically takes off his top hat and bows in welcome to them both.  "Ahh, more guests I see.  Welcome, welcome.  Please do join us.  My friend here with the... curious meal... is Mr. Greel.  I myself am Willem the Whistler.  Pleased to make your acquaintance, I am sure..."  With that said Whistler stands to one side and motions towards the table Greel and himself have been sharing as way of inviting the new arrivals to join them.  "There is another who has been gathered, a Mr. Reaper.  He is just in the baggage car at the moment.  I am sure he will be rejoining us soon..."

     "What's good?" Willem says with a flair or shock.  "Why everything, of course!  It seems that the menu is unlimited and you can have whatever you desire.  Just politely make the request and it shall be provided... Don't ask me how, you'll have to inquire with our Mr. Vagrant for that."

     "Ah!  There is Reaper now!" Whistler calls out when he rejoins them in the dining car.  "Come, come!  We are gathering quite the troupe, it would seem..."

She glides to the table and bows again at the invitation. She sits and introduces herself, “Willem, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Mirella Tallow and it sounds like we will be working together on the task for the Druskenvalds. I am excited to see what undertaking is in store. “

Moonshine positions himself over malady to illuminate for her. “My little fellow here is Moonshine my familiar. Please hello. We will be working together. “

He forms a face from the light glowing mist he is and seems to scrutinizes the table mates. “Good evening. Nice to meet you.”

Tarn as Craghoof enters with you atop, the scene behind you catches up to the speed of what the Vagrant was experiencing, as he too climbs in behind you and dusts the front of his jacket and straightening it a bit.

As the hooves make contact at first are hard and metallic, but the train having a mind of its own does try to soften the impact for the cloven animal. It appears to allow him to get the grip on the ground as he is used to.

”I do hope you can forgive the means of arrival, my friend. The Lord and Lady Druskenvalds have a task for you, as well as some others, and are willing to give you whatever it is you most desire in this life, or any other. I do have plans to join ya, but I am needed at the door currently. Would ya kindly follow the way, on down the corridor, here.” He politely motions the direction, an you hear a light conversation come through.

The floor settles beneath Craghoof’s hooves like gravel remembering how to be mountain. Perched, sharp-eyed and half-smiling, Tarn coos—melodic, but dry as charred feathers:

“Steel softened ’neath stubborn feet—trying to charm, or tasting defeat?” 

Dismounting slowly, his amber gaze flickers like fire through pine smoke to rest on the Conductor. Tarn’s voice drops—low-crack, the cadence of bark splitting in winter:

 “You offer gifts without a name—odd scraps from jaws that never maim. A barkless howl, a twitchy grin… smells less like kin, more like snakeskin.” 

 He giggles. Once. Not warm—just sharp and amused, like thorns delighted by blood. Tarn tilts his head, beard twitching like it caught a rumor on the wind. He waits—not long, but long enough to hear a heartbeat lie. Then, with a shrug so casual it creaks, his voice shifts—into a mocking whine, sweet and uncanny:

 “Didn’t call him false, did I, Craghoof dear? Just noted his smile came a day too near. Voice like velvet, steps like sleet— And truth all dressed with butcher’s meat.”  

Tarn taps his staff once (Minor Illusion.) A single crow feather spirals down from nowhere. It lands upright. Tarn leans close, voice barely audible—a whisper feathered with reverence: 

“Mm. He’s watching.” 

He nods once. Then abruptly turns.

Craghoof follows, hooves clinking quiet like a bell that remembers thunder. 

Without looking back, Tarn’s voice rolls up from somewhere deep—playful and barbed, cheerful as a wakebird at dusk:

 “If they tempt me with what I most require, best warn ’em—my wants burn strange and never tire. I’ve got a taste that twists, a mind that snaps back— like a steel-jawed grin on a haunted track.” 

 Then comes the grin—utterly delighted, childlike and wild, as he sings: 

“C’mon, Craghoof—let’s go where names wear masks, where faces flicker and fate unasks. Could be fangs or friendly faces— Either way, we’re leavin’ traces.”

She waves for the waiter and orders the soup of the day and a lemonade. 

 Still feeling hungry, Greel orders a pound of raw donkey flank to snack on while he waits for whatever comes next.

Greel tilts his head at Tarn's arrival.

"Huh. Rhymes."