Gathering of judges
An orc approaches a bonfire in the early evening on the last day of the third round of competition. A dwarf is seen holding a fish over the fire on a stick in one hand with a drink in the other. He smiles at the approaching orc.
"There's my favorite stone-faced man. How are ya Throk? The other two will be here soon. Grab a drink and relax." The orc chuckles and takes a seat next to the fire.
"It's nice to see you too Osdrik, but please don't call me stone-faced. It's kind of an abrasive term to my kind. Some orcs like it, but I personally don't. I know Acur was judging his group today, but where is Sarai?" The dwarf rotated his fish over the fire before setting his drink on the ground. "Sorry friend, I didn't know. I won't say it again. Sarai is gathering up her fishing gear and finding some roots and barley to make her soup from last time. Did you bring anything or do you want to run around the woods punching capsichums to make those skewers again?" The orc chuckled and poured himself a drink from the barrel. He took a whiff of the liquid and recognized it immediately. "Did you brew the beer yourself? It doesn't smell like any I've had before." He takes a swig before setting the bag he was carrying on the ground. The clink of glass emanated from it. "That's a nice brew. Anyway, I brought something you all might like. Consider it the fruits of my victory." He pulled three jars out of the bag, one contained pickles, one mustard, one apple jam. He laid the jars in front of Osdrik. "The hottest mustard I could make. My friend grows some peppers he calls 'blood burners.' It keeps monsters away from his garden by smell alone and has a pulsing heat that feels like your blood is on fire. In other words, mildly spicy to an orc. Its nothing compared to nook grass. The same peppers are in the brine for the pickles. The jam is made with apples from where I live. It isn't as sweet as other places since we don't really use refined sugar, but it's still tasty." A halfling approaches the camp, carrying a bag of fishing gear in one hand and a basket of barley and roots in the other.
"Oi blondbeard, how're the fish coming alo... Hello Throk." The woman set her heavy bag down near the fire before giving a small bow to the orc. "How've you been? I haven't had much chance to chat with you since the opening ceremonies. You were judging the third round right?" Throk swirled his drink in his cup before taking a sip.
"It's been going well Sarai. The contestants in my group concocted some wonderful bites... except that burned bunicorn sandwich. Poor kid didn't see the firespirit until it was to late. He seemed like a nice guy, but his luck was terrible. I hope he wasn't too discouraged. Apparently it's based on a traditional dish of the region around Alexandria."
"We use spiked hare, not bunicorn. The texture is the same, but the flavor is weaker in bunicorn. We also usually serve it with roasted carrots and potatoes. The ground version on a bun is more of a traveling merchant or adventurer thing. Still tasty stuff." A human voice pierced the darkness of the adjacent woods.
"And the last one finally arrives. Acur ya skinny b*****d howarya? Got stuck filling out paperwork with the announcer?" Osdrik was noticeably more relaxed than he was before. Acur smiled and sat down next to Sarai. "Yes. Turns out one of the contestants in my group was caught trying to go after slimes. I don't know why they needed me to be involved since I was in town the whole time, but that's two hours of my life I won't get back." Sarai began loading ingredients into a large cauldron. Once everything was in the pot, Osdrik set up a support system to hang the cauldron over the fire. Acur filled a cup with beer and leaned back against a log.
Throk finished his cup and leaned forward, toward the gifts he had laid out. "Now that everyone is here, which of these do you all want? I've got a jar of spicy mustard, a jar of spicy pickles and a jar of apple jam." Acur examined the jars before looking to the others.
"I'll take the pickles. Anyone object?" Osdrik rose his hand.
"I do. Let's settle this like the Fighting Feast wants. What's your competition chef?" The human looks around the area, noticing a tree about 10 feet away in the firelight.
"Knife throwing, we aim at that tree. Most hits out of five throws gets the pickles. Knife must stick into it, no glancing blows or drops after five seconds. If we tie, you choose the next competition." Acur turns to Throk. "Would you be so kind as to officiate?" The orc smirked and pulled a piece of paper out of his bag.
"Let's give you two a target. Before we start this though, do you want in on this Sarai?" The halfling waved her hand dismissively while continuing to stir the soup in the cauldron. "No no, I'm not interested in pickles. I'll take the jam. Apples aren't that common in port towns. I'll take them in any form I can get." Throk nodded and looked to the other two.
"Was the jam second choice for either of you, or will second place get the mustard?" Osdrik shook his head.
"I'll be fine with the mustard on a loss." Acur shook his head as well. "Apples are everywhere around Alexandria. I'll go for the exotic goods."
Throk nodded and stuck the paper to the tree with his knife. Acur tossed his knife a few times in his hand before looking at the target. The human flung the blade toward the target, landing a solid hit right in the center. The knife wobbled briefly before settling in place. One successful hit for Acur. Osdrik took his spot after Acur removed his knife. The dwarf took a breath and threw. The knife planted itself in the paper, but was much looser than Acur's throw. The two met throw for throw until Osdrik got cocky and took a swig of beer before a throw. His fourth shot went wide as he began to sway. Acur nailed his fifth shot, winning the jar of pickles. The dwarf couldn't help but laugh.
"I have been bested. Dwarven constitution has its limits it seems. Congratulations Acur. Enjoy your well-earned award." Acur held the jar of pickles above his head triumphantly. Sarai smelled her soup and sighed happily.
"You can stop playing with jars now. Soup's ready." Throk pulled several wooden bowls and spoons out of his bag. Acur brought bread out of his. The thick, hearty soup and roasted fish filled the bellies of the hungry judges. The group continued chatting around the fire.
"If any of you find yourselves in Baccarat, feel free to enter my kitchen. My staff are great folks, but sometimes it's good for them to see how a professional works." The other three laughed.
"As if we'd want to work on vacation kort mann"
kefkadragon Community Member 
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