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From the kitchens comes a short, fat man in brown robes. His har is cut in the classic circle of the friar and a heavy belt keeps his robe around his rather ample girth. Hanging from the belt are an assortment of tiny fragrant bags, lengths of hair and beads, as well as sheaths for a half dozen different sized knives. He holds a flagon of mead in one hand and turkey leg in the other.
Taking in the assembled group, he breaks out in a broad smile.
"Sorry to be late, I was discussing herb craft with the chef and lost track of time."
Moving to the center of the room in a casual manner, he takes a heavy quaff from his mug.
"I am Father Quadrial. A humble student of god, herbcraft, cooking, and the healing arts. I would like to offer my services if they be so needed by such an august gathering."
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