In the busy kitchen, the staff toil at their stations: searing meat, cooking vegetables, and filling dumplings to drop into burbling pots. The half-orc sous chef barks orders and looks over shoulders. You don’t see the chef at first, but you sense her presence in the hushed anxiety of the crew. Through a hazy cloud of thyme and balsamic vinegar steam, you see the top of her toque blanche and hear a cheerful shanty hummed in a high, thin voice. The sous chef dashes over with a stool, onto which a halfling—as tall as she is wide—steps, tiny spoon in hand. She tastes the chef saucier’s offering, and smiles around the mouthful, humming in approval—much to the halfling’s visible relief.
