Selarthi regretted her impatience when she caught herself constantly looking over her shoulder, nervous from all those strangelings (and the Asur cur) behind her. At least, she comforted herself, her font was secure, given how the ball of fuzz with two axes was stout enough to block any projectile launched at her general groin area, and the dawi, she assumed, were too honourable to just turn around and stab her. While idly listening to the brief exchange of disgusting goblin and repulsive dwarf, Sela's eyes wandered over the trophies displayed alongside the walls. She nodded, a brief acknowledgement of the feats whose stories were told by them. Not caring much about humans joining them - humans, after all, compared not to the martial prowess of the Elves or even the Dawi - she crossed her arms and cringed at the Slayer's loud voice, waiting for the flesh-eater to show himself.
Selaris was pretty surprised to see a Goblin in this placed considering their (in her view well deserved) reputation, but well there were probably stranger things afoot than an Goblin if they had taken the time to build their base into the hill, given how the walls looked and how much room there was for the tunnels, on top of the rattle of rain she could hear that told how they still had fresh air down here... Not that it made it any more pleasant for her. She'd rather be above ground. However, if it wasn't for the Dwarf asking for Argot rather loudly, the High Elf would have other things to distract her from being underground and in the 'company' of a Druchii whom she was fairly sure wouldn't be above stabbing her dead if it so pleased them, as well as the humans and the aforementioned Dawi. Said distractions were the scents coming from the kitchen, which sent her belly rumbling at the prospect of a meal and the trophies that were around the place that did warrant a small nod of approval from the Elf. After all, if the group already had a history then clearly being among them was not going to be akin to taking her life into her own hands. They were also pretty helpful for the Asur to help pass the time until Argot showed up.
"BACK HERE IN ME OFFICE, DON'T BOTHA COMIN' IN IF YOU NO BRINGS THE FOODS LIKE RECRUITS POSTER SAID YOU BETTER GO OR I MAKE YOU GO IN STEW!" Ogre's voice bellowed through the tunnels, reaching every nook and cranny. Down towards the barracks there was a great deal of emotion, hissing and thumps as someone thrashed in surprised. Grahk, current sitting before Argot himself, would receive the full brunt of it and find the Man Eater on par with the volume of several different warbosses he had fought for in the past; that and equivalent in saliva production seeing how much was now dripping down his chest plate. Greasy sausage fingers raked through the bowl of Squig jerky the Black Orc had brought, an arm thicker than the legs of the rosewood desk between merc and master cranes food up into cavernous gullet. Several gromril teeth begin flattening the offering, more of the free flying saliva drooling out the corners of Argot's mouth. Previous descriptions of the glutton's appetite and looks had not properly done the details justice. "Good stuff, me like, me eat more an you hear more talk of work. All Orcs hit an kill things, good at the kill make and loot make. You useful like that in special way? Or you generi-general... same ol kill an loot maker? What make you special useful?" Argot leaned back on his stool which took the form of an uprooted tree trunk sawed down to a reasonable level and fitted with the backing of a looted throne, arms included. At one time his filthy grey scalp had been mucked up by moss and various adhesive fluids, now a proper wig of curled golden hair sat in place, a glorious mullet to make any High Elf ponce weep at their own comparative inadequacy. Hand scoops up entire bowl and Argot dumps it down his mouth. This is the sight that greets the others as they join Grahk, hopefully with their tax of consumables at hand.
Quivering from Argot's voice, Selaris quickly scrambled to see what food she had brought for the Ogre, which was basically a rather large piece of salted meat, and some bread (and she certainly wasn't giving up her rations that she had for on the road, just in case this fell through and she had to go wandering the Old World again for work/survival opportunities.) So with the Ogre making themselves known that he (and she was sure they were male given the volume) wanted them in his office, she headed in with her food showed prominently in her hands, while her staff was awkwardly tucked in the straps of her travel pack. She really hoped she got to show off that she was magical, because otherwise she was not exactly prime mercenary material.
The booming voice of the creature would no doubt wake Rolayn from his thoughts, as he looks up towards the source of the loud noise. Raising an eyebrow as he considered once more the ramifications of trusting an Ogre to lead, yet, he was far beyond the point of paying heed to such thoughts. As such, he'd turn towards his servant, inclining his head towards the office, before speaking a single word. "Lorin." His compatriot would give a swift bow, before he'd turn into a crouch, placing his massive ruck sack upon the ground. Flipping open some of it's compartments, the man would swiftly withdraw a pot, some wrapped packages of meat, and a variety of other cooking ingredients he'd used during the pair's travels. It was by no means a replacement for the grandiose feasts Rolayn had been treated to at his home keep, but it certainly kept a flavour beyond mere traveling rations some other peasants might be accustomed to. Lorin would drop bits of meat from some grouse he'd caught on the road into town, along with some left over salted hare the two had been chewing on for the past week, before dropping some herbs and spices into the mixture. Indeed, as he worked at his meal, the man would focus on the goal of creating something that would assault the taste buds of those who consumed it. The retainer did not know the palate of Ogres, dreadful brutes they were, yet, from what the two could gather, the more intense, they better it could be? Regardless, within minutes, the man would rise up from where he was squatting, holding up the pot filled now with a menagerie of food within. Stirring the mixture about, he'd give another bow towards his liege, before speaking. "It will need some time to warm up properly sir, but the preparation has been completed." Giving a curt nod, the noble would wave his comrade on, as the pair now marched towards the office, offering held up and ready to go.
The women looked through a pocket with a metal casing pulling out 4 venison jerk slices and a 2 dried ration crackers. Dawne walked up to the ogres table and put them on his desk. "My name is Dawne, I'm a duelist and a Marksmen sir." She walked back to where she where she previously was standing nodded to the ogre. "I'm am ready when ever you are."
What would a Man Eater ask if not for more food. Dagrim sighed, took his own traveling rations which were basically a large piece of dried ham, and placed it on the table in front of Argot. "This right here is ham from the Black Mountains, more precisely from the Hold of Karak Hirn. I knew the ranger who hunted the game and dried it personally, may Valaya bless his soul. The throng uses this kind of food when on war-footing so it is both common and precious to us," the Slayer said and gave the Ogre his food. It was in truth a regular piece of ham, quite a bit salty for manling tastes but was just fine for Dwarfs, since they ate it alongside Bugman's when they went to wage war. This of course didn't mean that Argot would feel anything out of the ordinary, given the type of his digestive system. What mattered is that this piece was the last piece of food Dagrim had on him, so if the Man Eater decides to kick him out that nice stew that's cooking right about now is going with the Slayer.
Up until the time when the ogre had finally revealed his position inside this place, Lars had pretty much amused himself with the angry grumblings of the dwarf, it was great to see that the southern dwarfs where all as fiery as the northen ones, at least the murder cult ones. now the time came to apparently pay tribute to their new pay master, a bit backwards but ogres weren't exactly the brains of anything, "Its rare you pay a signing up bonus, but i do have something." Lars said as he took a leather ouch from the back of his belt, seeming very soft, he threw it unto the ogres table where it sorta squished, "Thats pretty much liquefied meat of a mammoth, normally we just eat it out the bag, but eat the back too if thats the way you do things, the name is Lars by the way, Lars the Pius."
Observing the gifts of others - and scrutinising that of the Asur with some malice - Selarthi slung her rucksack off her back and onto the ground, kneeling down to dig inside. She had perused the invitation thoroughly before she decided to indeed follow the summons, and prepared something as proof of her murderous prowess. Bound in sheets of linen, haphazardly stitched together from what had been his own clothing, the Druchii presented to the imposing Ogre a bloody bundle. "It's not the greatest meat, nor am I an expert cook. But I hope it will suffice as a gift of flesh, and function as an indicator of my skillset." Not quite bowing, but with a measure of deference, she unfurled the gore-stained cloth to reveal stripped muscle, flesh, and sliced organs of the very same bandit whose 'invitation' she had pilfered, topped with a once-proud, mangled feather that had belonged onto his head. "I roasted it over fire - but not much else. To the rulers of Clar Karond, a ration to keep us sated, from more dangerous game than... wheat." Sela shot a condescending gaze at the mage.
More possible employees filter into Argot's office, a spacious area that unsurprisingly has become cramped with furniture, trophies, stacks of plates, tins, a Black Orc, and no less than the Ogre himself. Argot cocks an eye at Salaris, poor thing ending up at the front of the line. "I swear if this Toden-guy sending me more of them breed-women as pay, then I gonna-- oh, food-woman." Argot reached over his desk, feet groaning as furniture piece was pushed away by Argot's gut plate. Food was ripped out of woman's hands, balled up in a fist and compacted in between jaws. "You Cookie's new food-woman? Or you here for food and gold make as warrior of world?" Attention slipped from whatever answer she may offer within seconds, eyes darting to the other offerings. Next elf to step forward had cooked flesh grabbed out of hand with equal amounts of excitement, contact with Argot's hands leaving her own with a thin layer of grease. Man Eater stretches out man flesh, eyes it up and down then lowers it straight into mouth like a sword eater would a blade. "Lars already have title? Must be good man, me like mammoth. Wish you brought all of it though." Argot does in fact eat the bag, not wanting to be rude to the man who sounds like he has the best prospects of the whole motley crew. Ogre had to stop himself from picking up Dagrim come time for his rations to be taken, initially grabbing whole arm, blinking, squinting his eyes, then realizing the not-dwarf meat was the gift. He lops it into his mouth like a limp chicken, a frown forming. "Food bad, taste good, too little though. Better be good kill maker and useful for merc-work." "An you, this is very little food. Not a lot at all, not bigly. Sad!" Something approaching pity approached Argot's eyes looking upon Dawne. "Poor morning lady must be starving, maybe you get some stew tonight so you no starve. Maybe." Then there was the Brettonian, whom came with a rather lavish display and something scrumptious smelling; if only there was a whole horse to accompany it. Argot took pot by a single handle, hoisting it like a mug and chugging in mirroring fashion. "Stew good, you next best food bringer after title haver Lars. Overall not best, not worst food bringing ever. Me give you all chance. What names an how you all useful? Why Argot hire you, share golds and foods with you?"
