Maithgen arrives at the kitchens with his new companion, Saul.
"You asked about my tribe? Well we are known as the Darini, were currently one of the smallest tribes located in the western portion of our homelands. I doubt if you know much about them we isolated ourselves from all outsiders except for the sidhe, and the drow." He says the latter with a trace of distrust as he holds the door open for his companion.
"We've only recently decided to end the isolation and I'm the first of my tribe to come to this school. I just hope this new plague doesn't make us change our minds and withdraw again. I quite enjoy being around the different peoples and cultures at this school."
Saul paused, surprised at the question, though it seemed the logical response. He resumed walking after just a moment, his brow slightly furrowed in remembering dusty memories.
"I honestly don't know where I was born. It was just my mother and I, moving from place to place. Sometimes she'd hire on as a sailor, sometimes as a border guard. We worked for elves, for humans, for bandits, for anyone who'd hire us. I remember a summer she spent hunting down a group of drow criminals. It was a weird childhood, but she taught me how to fight, how to survive and how to think on my feet."
The huge lycan walks up to a rather plump bird-folk. "How's the diet coming along, Tiberius? We need supplies." He brandishes the slip from the secretary.
"That sounds like a rather interesting childhood though as you said a little strange. Especially to me since I've never been anywhere, but my home and this school." Maithgen says walking up beside Saul.
"I'm sure all those skills you learned while growing up will be very useful on this trip. How did you end up as a lycan?
((Chibi asked me to go ahead and run the chef's assistant for the time being, as it's not the most important or pivotal moment anyway.))
The large bird-folk ambles his way over, a big grin breaking out over his pimpled face. "Saul-mon! How you been?" His eyes narrow a little. "Whatchoo need? You in trouble-mon?"
Saul clasps the bird-folk's hand in a strange handshake. "Tolerable. Things are looking a bit rough for the world right now, with the illness and all." He clears his throat, then gets down to business. "I need two month's supply of jerky, rice, dried fruit, oats and nuts. Oh, and a traveling spices kit."
The chef's assistant squints at Saul. "How you know about the spices ki... nevermind. Wait here, I come back." He opens a thick oaken door and lumbers through, closing it behind him securely.
The lycan grins. "Well, meeting people and making connections is all part of the job for a mercenary. Being a merc is pretty much what I was raised to do from the get-go. All those skills led me in the same direction. I learned that more important than who you were was who you knew, and how you asked."
His smile fades. "It was while I was working as a merc, years later, that I contracted a rather deadly disease. I was coughing up some sort of... well, best to not go into details here. It was hell. The humans I was amongst, well... we all had it. We were dying."
Saul's expression darkens further, in painful recollection. "There was a tribe of lycans that lived nearby. The humans traded with them, and while the humans suffered the ravages of the disease, the lycans remained healthy. So I crawled there. Collapsed. Made my request of the old bear lycan shaman just before I blacked out." He shuts his eyes for a moment.
The lycan shakes his head and looks back at Maithgen, a sad smile forming. "When I came to I was as I am now. Scarred from my close brush with death. Deprived of magic. Much stronger, but aging rapidly. I was the only survivor."
"Here I am going on about my whole history, probably boring you to tears," he snaps out of his reverie, "but it's very polite for you to listen. How is it you came to view the drow with such a strong level of dislike?"
"Oh I'm sorry. I guess it could have been worse though." Maithgen said apologetically.
"There was a small sidhe village near my tribe when I was much younger. I had many friends in that village and used to visit regularly. Some drow bandits showed up one day....and...and they slaughtered most of the sidhe in the village. I know not all drow are like those bandits, but I've had trouble trusting them since then." Maithgen says while looking away.
"I've ended up at odds with the drow more often than not... but I do have a few valuable connections. I've learned you cannot judge the race. Anyone who judges by the group is an idiot-"
Tiberius barges back in, hauling four heavy sacks of foodstuffs. He hands off two to the centaur and two to the lycan. "There y'are, mon. You be careful now, keep those sharp wits about ya. Oh, and I threw in a couple of pound cakes for some dessert, but eat 'em in de next few days."
Saul takes his bags and nods gravely to the portly bird-folk, a nod that is quickly returned. The lycan speaks to the chef's assistant, "Be careful yourself, Tiberius. Dark times are afoot, and I fear we've not seen the worst." Saul turns to the centaur.
"We may not need the market, after all. Ready to head to the dorms?"
After having made sure the horses were settled down outside, since he couldn't very well bring them inside with them, Barry headed inside to the kitchen, apparently not far behind Corvus and Cally as he could hear them speaking. "Neither am I, but I do know what I like to eat if that helps?"
A grin stretched across the large man's face as he entered the kitchens and nodded to the two of them. "Five horses and a wagon, outside and waiting."
Cally clapped her hands excitedly. "Yay! I love horses! And um... maybe we just see if the other have been here, and what they got. I'm pretty sure dried food is going to be needed... and I know I can hunt fairly well with a bow. Spices too perhaps so we aren't eating bland food?"
The air tingles, and then seems to shriek as space itself is torn for a moment behind the group. Standing there, dressed for travel, is a refreshed looking selkie. In his relaxed posture he's barely recognizable as the stressed Servante they witnessed less than an hour earlier.
"It's been... a weird couple of days. I apologize for being... rude earlier."
The cook's assistant slams open the kitchen door, hauling four heavy-looking sacks of food.
"'Ere you go, mon, food for de journeh. Dere's..." He looks warily at the group, and the selkie, "dere's more-ah of ya now..."
The rotund bird-folk gives the five a strange look, then shakes his head. "Ah packed some pound cake for-ah your first night in de wahld." Still shaking his head, he heads back into the back to resume his day's work.