Bonesplinter Ravine [M] Be the First to the Feast, Let's Choke on the Past

Oh, dear, Herod tutted, seating himself before his own meal. Is it not to your liking? he inquired, the mockery in his tone so subtle, so faint, that it could almost be mistaken for sincerity.

The meal set before Hasdrubal had been crafted with care, the scent of roasted meats and delicate herbs rising into the night air like incense from an altar. Each dish, arranged with meticulous precision, was an offering fit for a king—a banquet designed to both nourish and ensnare. Herod gestured toward the feast with a languid wave of his paw, as though the abundance of it were nothing more than a trifle to be dismissed.

It was made with your tastes in mind, he murmured, eyes flicking to the disciple who had delivered the food. I will speak with the chef, and ensure you will enjoy the next meal. His nails drummed lightly against the stone's edge, a rhythmic tapping that matched the steady cadence of his voice.

However, I am afraid they are hungry, and await their Prophet’s blessing. They will not eat until you have taken the first bite. Herod leaned back slightly, gesturing toward the assembled crowd, the same crowd whose eyes were still fixed on the Prophet with unwavering devotion. I must implore you to try, for their sake, he said with a soft sigh, his gaze shifting back to Hasdrubal.