Ethgar Longarm:
"Home means something different to the Uthgardt. We are always traveling, and we bring our home with us. But we are "close-knit" as well."
"We're th'same then. Us Hin are nomads - I grew up on th'merchant roads and never stopped movin', m'self. Our homelands were destroyed ages ago by th'Spellplague, so we wander. But when we find each other, puttin' down roots and buildin' a home ain't far behind." She said with a sidelong smile. She knew little of the Uthgardt ways beyond passing encounters and lots of fights, so some insight was much appreciated. It was good to know they weren't all curse-addled brutes as the common knowledge feared.
"Least 'til ol'Uncle Brandobaris comes whisperin' in th'youngin's ears and ticklin' their heels for a walk."
Though her attention seemed set on her cooking while Ethgar spoke, it wasn't to the point of ignoring him; Moira kept an ear to his words and soft tones of acknowledgment from time to time to let him know she still listened. All the while she cracked egg after egg after egg into a bowl to be briefly whisked up and poured over the frying vegetables. One might consider the value of a cloth or mitt before grabbing a cast iron pan's handle, but the Hin didn't bat an eye as she took the hot grip bare-handed to carefully roll the cooking eggs about in a slow, rhythmic curl along the pan's lip.
"Tyrants got a way of drawin' like-minded folk t'themselves. Folk what see th'power as somethin' they want a part of, or just those who prefer th'ease of bein' ruled so long as they ain't obviously sufferin' for it. They're comfortable in it, and they don't take kindly t'anythin' that would make them uncomfortable, even if it's better in th'long run." she mused as she sprinkled the cooking eggs with a dusting of spices.
"Happens all over th'realm, sad t'say. I may not look it, but I'm a soldier; was a captain already before Triboar. Left a war out east fightin' just such tyranny in Hillsfar, where non-Humans have been driven out. All founded in hate, fear, misplaced anger. Such don't make no sense at all, but that don't stop th'bastard doin' it from havin' plenty of support all th'same. 'Nuff t'warrant needin' an army against."
Despite talk of being a commander in an army, Moira showed a lot more affinity toward being a cook or a doting mother hen when it came to the ease with which she moved about her kitchen space. She didn't even look at where she was reaching half the time before she'd pluck up a bowl or a jar of something aromatic. In short order, Ethgar had a wooden bowl set before him that was heaped with mixed grains, softened in butter and tossed with a mince of seared, hearty greens and crisped pig back. Though no sooner was it set before him than she hoisted her iron pan over to dole out a dense, silky pillow of an omelette likewise filled with nourishing friend vegetables right on top of the grains, drizzled a quick dash of some sauce that smelled of fermented citrus, and a spoon to top it all off.
"Tuck in, love. I swear, th'whole lot of y'ain't nothin' but skin and bones." that she included U'lin - a broad-shouldered, towering behemoth of a man - in that count said a lot about what the notoriously food-loving Halfling people thought of others' diets.
Ethgar Longarm:
"Have you got any songs about your home leaving you?"
That got a soft sight from the Hin even as she plunked down a mug to fill with piping hot black tea - again, without a care for grabbing said piping hot tea pot - and nudge over for him to wash his meal down with.
"A few, yea. Though's that really th'sorta tune y'care t'hear?" A knowingly lifted brow was offered along with that question.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:45, Mon 05 July 2021.