Thread Title 
Sweat was pouring down Franky's face as he seared up the Fungithal steaks in the pan he had on his range. On the back burner, the potatoes were nearly done boiling, and the front burner had the fungithal mushroom gravy was simmering. The Hobgoblin was moving quickly back and forth to stir everything, flip the steak, then slide it onto the tray into the oven. He dashed back out into the bar area, seeing that even more of the evening crowd had come in, and people were looking impatient.
Franky put on his best smile, wiping his brow on one of his bar towels. "I'm comin', I'm comin'." He poured an entire tray of flagons of the cheap ale and began doing his rounds through the bar and tables, collecting the coins as he went. He snagged empties as he went, gave thank you's to each of the customers who wanted one, and kept weaving through the loud, hot bar. He looked over and saw someone had lit up a third hearth, rolling his eyes. It wasn't cold enough out for that. He'd need to store his firewood somewhere else than right next to the hearths. He could see others near the hearths sweating too.
As he was carving a path back to the bar, someone shouted, "Oi, Hob!" Franky turned to the voice seeing it had come from a rather smug looking human, "You got any wine that isn't absolute vinegar back there?" Franky's eyes narrowed, "Well I've got the private stash, but it will cost a little extra." The man shrugged, "Sure. It's not like this place is above our pay or anything." The man and all of his human friends laughed around the table, and a silently seething Franky stormed into the kitchen. He stirred his gravy and slapped another steak and some butter into the pan to sear, drained the potatoes and set them aside. He then dipped on downstairs into the basement, going over to the crate he knew was opened. He pulled a bottle of wine out of it. It was a middling wine, at best. He went back up to the kitchen, and grabbed a few goblets out of the reserves cabinet, placing them on a tray. He filled them each about half full with the white wine. He then grabbed another cup, walked over to a corner that had his mop bucket sitting in it. Holding the cup there, he urinated into it, needing the relief since he hadn't taken the time to rest for several hours now.
Franky walked back over and evenly poured the urine into each of the goblets, watching as it blended perfectly into the white wine. He tossed the wooden cup into the sink and washed his hands. He walked over to the stove, flipped the steak, stirred the gravy, and grabbed his tray of wine. He maneuvered quickly and carefully to the table of humans, "Here you are, please let me know what you think. The man I bought it from said he stole it from a Kalzasian caravan." This was a lie, but he didn't care if they believed it or not. The humans cheered, "Well good! Why let them have the good stuff, amiright?" Each of the humans took the wine and sipped at it, and the smug one actually smiled, "That's better than I expected! Maybe you greenskins ain't so dumb after all."
Franky nodded, heading back toward the kitchen, collecting a few orders for the steak or for the stew as he went. Once back in there, he slipped the steak into the oven with the rest of them, and began plating the ones that had been in there the longest. Some of the skins had crisped up nice, but others had torn off in the pan. He ladled some of the boiled potatoes on them, followed by covering the entire lot in the mushroom gravy. He set some bowls out, ladling the stew into it, and then hefted the tray up and stepped back out.
Franky hunted down each customer who'd ordered food and gave it to them, taking their coins. He made sure to ask each of them to let him know what they thought of the meals, as he was trying something new. He quickly went through grabbing a few more empties, hearing orders for drinks and topped everyone off. He pushed back through into the kitchen, sighing loudly. This was more hectic than most of the battlefields he'd ever fought on. He definitely needed to hire some help if he wanted to keep business going.
He got another pot of potatoes boiling, thankful he'd had the foresight to chop up a bunch of them beforehand. He still had a full sheet of steaks keeping warm in the oven so he didn't start any more. He pulled the gravy off the burner to let it rest so he could stop minding it for a little while. He leaned up against the table on his palms, closing his eyes for just a moment. He took a deep breath through his nose, out through his mouth. Then he stood up straight, wiped his brow, and stepped back out into the bar. He walked over to the end of the bar where the hunter Goria was sitting, eating his steak meal.
Franky poured two flagons of ale, setting one in front of the hunter, beside the one he was finishing, and then took a long drink from the other. "Is it any better than your mum's?" The hunter chuckled, "Yeah, but that's a low bar mate. But something is missing, I'm trying to remember what it was she seasoned it with."
Franky laughed, "She actually used seasonings?"
The hunter snorted into his ale, "Yes, but she usually burned the shit outta them. I think it was ramps. You know those? It's a wild garlic thing."
Franky shook his head, "Nope, can't say I've heard of them."
The elf smiled, "Next time I come across a patch, I'll grab you a bunch. It's a country folk thing." Then he chuckled, "Little heavy on the salt in this hear gravy though, mate. Reminds me of this sailor lass I used to fuck whenever she was in port. She always tasted extra salty." The glint in his eye and the smirk accompanying it told Franky exactly what he was meaning. The bartender snorted, "Go eat your mum's gravy then." The hunter guffawed and Franky went back to work.
He continued to serve food and drink at a hectic pace for the entirety of the evening. Soon, the humans he'd served came up as a group to the bar. "I didn't catch your name, Greenskin." Franky passed a flagon of ale to an elf that was now staring openly at the human, "My name is Franky."
The man laughed, "Franky? That's a human name. Shouldn't you be named Gristle or something?" His friends all laughed, "Well Franky, it's nice seeing you actually trying to act human. I wish more of your kind were as considerate of us here in Zaichaer." Franky was seething more inside but he knew better than to start trouble with humans here. But he stayed silent. "Anyways, thanks for the swill. It was a novel experience, for sure. My dad will never believe me when I told him I went to a greenskin bar." He set a single copper piece on the counter, "Don't spend it all at one place."
And with that, the human entourage left, and the air in the room was hostile and miffed. Several of the patrons looked to see Franky's reaction. Once the door slammed shut, Franky grabbed himself a flagon, while eyes were on him. He held it up and out in the air over the bar, his stern eyes scanning the room. Soon, several others began holding theirs up, despite him not saying anything. He nodded at each person who did so, a silent toast of sorts, before bringing the flagon to his lips and all those who had raised their glasses drank together.
Then Franky slammed the copper piece into his lockbox. He was always happy to take money away from humans. He walked back over to Goria, who whispered at him, "Want me to fuck his wife?" Franky snorted, "Why bother? Everyone knows human women are the most boring. She'd probably read a book while you shagged her. Find you a nice goblin woman, they'll show you how to use what your daddy gave you."
The hunter laughed and clacked his flagon against Franky's and the pair of them drank, and the night went on.
Glade 12, 121
Sweat was pouring down Franky's face as he seared up the Fungithal steaks in the pan he had on his range. On the back burner, the potatoes were nearly done boiling, and the front burner had the fungithal mushroom gravy was simmering. The Hobgoblin was moving quickly back and forth to stir everything, flip the steak, then slide it onto the tray into the oven. He dashed back out into the bar area, seeing that even more of the evening crowd had come in, and people were looking impatient.
Franky put on his best smile, wiping his brow on one of his bar towels. "I'm comin', I'm comin'." He poured an entire tray of flagons of the cheap ale and began doing his rounds through the bar and tables, collecting the coins as he went. He snagged empties as he went, gave thank you's to each of the customers who wanted one, and kept weaving through the loud, hot bar. He looked over and saw someone had lit up a third hearth, rolling his eyes. It wasn't cold enough out for that. He'd need to store his firewood somewhere else than right next to the hearths. He could see others near the hearths sweating too.
As he was carving a path back to the bar, someone shouted, "Oi, Hob!" Franky turned to the voice seeing it had come from a rather smug looking human, "You got any wine that isn't absolute vinegar back there?" Franky's eyes narrowed, "Well I've got the private stash, but it will cost a little extra." The man shrugged, "Sure. It's not like this place is above our pay or anything." The man and all of his human friends laughed around the table, and a silently seething Franky stormed into the kitchen. He stirred his gravy and slapped another steak and some butter into the pan to sear, drained the potatoes and set them aside. He then dipped on downstairs into the basement, going over to the crate he knew was opened. He pulled a bottle of wine out of it. It was a middling wine, at best. He went back up to the kitchen, and grabbed a few goblets out of the reserves cabinet, placing them on a tray. He filled them each about half full with the white wine. He then grabbed another cup, walked over to a corner that had his mop bucket sitting in it. Holding the cup there, he urinated into it, needing the relief since he hadn't taken the time to rest for several hours now.
Franky walked back over and evenly poured the urine into each of the goblets, watching as it blended perfectly into the white wine. He tossed the wooden cup into the sink and washed his hands. He walked over to the stove, flipped the steak, stirred the gravy, and grabbed his tray of wine. He maneuvered quickly and carefully to the table of humans, "Here you are, please let me know what you think. The man I bought it from said he stole it from a Kalzasian caravan." This was a lie, but he didn't care if they believed it or not. The humans cheered, "Well good! Why let them have the good stuff, amiright?" Each of the humans took the wine and sipped at it, and the smug one actually smiled, "That's better than I expected! Maybe you greenskins ain't so dumb after all."
Franky nodded, heading back toward the kitchen, collecting a few orders for the steak or for the stew as he went. Once back in there, he slipped the steak into the oven with the rest of them, and began plating the ones that had been in there the longest. Some of the skins had crisped up nice, but others had torn off in the pan. He ladled some of the boiled potatoes on them, followed by covering the entire lot in the mushroom gravy. He set some bowls out, ladling the stew into it, and then hefted the tray up and stepped back out.
Franky hunted down each customer who'd ordered food and gave it to them, taking their coins. He made sure to ask each of them to let him know what they thought of the meals, as he was trying something new. He quickly went through grabbing a few more empties, hearing orders for drinks and topped everyone off. He pushed back through into the kitchen, sighing loudly. This was more hectic than most of the battlefields he'd ever fought on. He definitely needed to hire some help if he wanted to keep business going.
He got another pot of potatoes boiling, thankful he'd had the foresight to chop up a bunch of them beforehand. He still had a full sheet of steaks keeping warm in the oven so he didn't start any more. He pulled the gravy off the burner to let it rest so he could stop minding it for a little while. He leaned up against the table on his palms, closing his eyes for just a moment. He took a deep breath through his nose, out through his mouth. Then he stood up straight, wiped his brow, and stepped back out into the bar. He walked over to the end of the bar where the hunter Goria was sitting, eating his steak meal.
Franky poured two flagons of ale, setting one in front of the hunter, beside the one he was finishing, and then took a long drink from the other. "Is it any better than your mum's?" The hunter chuckled, "Yeah, but that's a low bar mate. But something is missing, I'm trying to remember what it was she seasoned it with."
Franky laughed, "She actually used seasonings?"
The hunter snorted into his ale, "Yes, but she usually burned the shit outta them. I think it was ramps. You know those? It's a wild garlic thing."
Franky shook his head, "Nope, can't say I've heard of them."
The elf smiled, "Next time I come across a patch, I'll grab you a bunch. It's a country folk thing." Then he chuckled, "Little heavy on the salt in this hear gravy though, mate. Reminds me of this sailor lass I used to fuck whenever she was in port. She always tasted extra salty." The glint in his eye and the smirk accompanying it told Franky exactly what he was meaning. The bartender snorted, "Go eat your mum's gravy then." The hunter guffawed and Franky went back to work.
He continued to serve food and drink at a hectic pace for the entirety of the evening. Soon, the humans he'd served came up as a group to the bar. "I didn't catch your name, Greenskin." Franky passed a flagon of ale to an elf that was now staring openly at the human, "My name is Franky."
The man laughed, "Franky? That's a human name. Shouldn't you be named Gristle or something?" His friends all laughed, "Well Franky, it's nice seeing you actually trying to act human. I wish more of your kind were as considerate of us here in Zaichaer." Franky was seething more inside but he knew better than to start trouble with humans here. But he stayed silent. "Anyways, thanks for the swill. It was a novel experience, for sure. My dad will never believe me when I told him I went to a greenskin bar." He set a single copper piece on the counter, "Don't spend it all at one place."
And with that, the human entourage left, and the air in the room was hostile and miffed. Several of the patrons looked to see Franky's reaction. Once the door slammed shut, Franky grabbed himself a flagon, while eyes were on him. He held it up and out in the air over the bar, his stern eyes scanning the room. Soon, several others began holding theirs up, despite him not saying anything. He nodded at each person who did so, a silent toast of sorts, before bringing the flagon to his lips and all those who had raised their glasses drank together.
Then Franky slammed the copper piece into his lockbox. He was always happy to take money away from humans. He walked back over to Goria, who whispered at him, "Want me to fuck his wife?" Franky snorted, "Why bother? Everyone knows human women are the most boring. She'd probably read a book while you shagged her. Find you a nice goblin woman, they'll show you how to use what your daddy gave you."
The hunter laughed and clacked his flagon against Franky's and the pair of them drank, and the night went on.
