Ravana
Istar
Goodness, Reaver.
Well, close.…
I'd love to see a couple of fantasy chefs have a cook-off. Tossing around Cthulhu tentacles and dragon's tongues and using magic to keep their soufflé from collapsing.
"Hoo-eee! Dat some Big Daddy Crawfish, ah do declah! Put some o' dat in de ol' gumbo pot, 'long wit a little chop onyõ, a couple teaspoons mince' gahlic, squeeze in a lemõ, add a couple bottles white wine, some Woostashuh sauce, half a cup o' Loosiana hot sauce, an' jes' a pinch o' salt to give it flavah. Den you lets it simmah fo' 'bout two o' tree day, 'til it all stop squirmin' mostly. Yoah guests din't nevah have anytin' lahk it, ah garontee!"
[I can't even begin to tell you how long I've been waiting for an opportunity to use that. Thankies.]
Best I can do with what history gives me.
Mercenary, check. Pope, check. Werewolves, che–uh, wait.…
Oh, well: when history gives you werewolves, make lupinaid.
[No, that one I haven't been waiting to use. Just now came to me.
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