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November 18 6:47 P.M.
West Commons, The Pale Horse Morgan entered the already bustling tavern through a servants entrance to the kitchens, quickly sidestepping through the busy kitchen, the cooks with their hands full giving a quick nod of acknowledgement, while the rather industrious fellow with 6 arms and golden skin gave a enthusiastic wave, the Chef de Cuisine beckoning him over.
"Ah Jacque, I see you continue to run this crew ragged, even in my absence," Morgan said as he approached, a chuckle escaping his lips,
"I fear the day you fellows decide you've little need of me here and take over." Jacque chuckled at the now routine back and forth,
" Oui, you can be assured that I would sir, but alas the madame, I fear Nessa may yet lash me soon after sir, but...perhaps soon, non," he responded, shooting Morgan a sly look and chuckling, before filling a tankard with the house's signature drink and passing it to Morgan. The Herald of Death joined the laughter, downing a good portion of the drink and patting him on the back as he made his way out of the kitchen
A twinge of pride swelled in him as he saw the merriment within the bar was well in action. There were a few long faces, but they mostly belonged the the poor chaps how decided to sit at the poker table full of cat-kin, whose games rarely came down to who had the better hand than who was the trickiest cheater, a game often with more moves than a chessboard. They'd learn the hard way. Morgan would have to keep an eye on that table for the sign to know when his business partner had arrived.
He finished his standard as he scanned the room, enjoying the warm feeling that spread over him as he put the mug on the bar, nodding to a few of,the patrons who noticed his arrival. As a rule he never got drunk on buisness time, a feat that would be something to see for sure, but people who drink love to see those in charge joining in.
He could see that Nessa was already torturing the patrons, an experience not altogether unpleasant as he knew from first hand knowledge. Her target of choice being that poor nurse from the old birds clinic, a rather promising fellow if low on self-esteem. Morgan had heard rumors he was in line to be the next Hand, but nothing concrete. He'd keep an eye on him through the night and make sure he left with a smile, just in case such tales proved true.
Speaking if Hands, a few seats down from him sat a rather dapper fellow, easily recognizable to Morgan. He decided he'd let the poor boy alone for now as his regular seemed to be searching for the staff. Morgan made his way, greeting the Hand with a tone of familiarity,
"Well met Master Baldwin, as always it's a pleasure to see you once again, I'd be happy to offer you something from our menu, at the moment we've a nice glazed ham, Jacque has informed me is so tender, you hardly need chew, choice steaks as always, and a rack of lamb should you wish, and of course ambrosia and ichor available to those of specific diets, readily prepared how they prefer." He paused in his list before continuing on,
"However, should you be yearning a taste of the old days, while our stores are running a bit low at the moment, I can assure you that we've a few choice thigh cuts as well as ribs left from a young hefer culled from a farm found on the fringes, served cooked or unaltered should you wish, of such quality I'm told the farmer was loath to be parted from her, though I fear we've only the common fare beverages to go with it," he said, waiting patiently for Baldwin's reply.