Editing Dufiro foods (section)

===<div class="center" style="width: auto; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;">'''Breakfast in Ahyk, a lesson in the Dufirosm'''</div>===

The adventuring crew gathered around a long, polished stone table at the Dufirosm restaurant. Morning light filtered through crystalline windows, casting multicolored patterns across their plates. Despite the inviting aromas wafting from the dishes, tension simmered among the group.

Rafe, Dalt, Sylex, Bently, Olive, Runner, and Elmer eyed the spread with varying levels of curiosity and caution.

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” Bently began, leaning back confidently in his chair. “I ordered for everyone—except Sylex. She’s... well, particular. But trust me, I wouldn’t serve you anything vile. I’ve lived with you all at Ludus Daltus for over a year. I know what you eat.” His voice was warm, though there was an undercurrent of pride in his tone.

He gestured to the platters: golden hash browns glistening with oil, fried jalapenos, crisp dough dusted with fiery powder and sugar, and eggs—perfectly cooked and steaming. Bowls of sausage biscuits smothered in a mysterious green sauce sat next to carafes of vivid red-orange juice and steaming coffee.

Dalt frowned, prodding at a sausage with his fork. “What kind of meat is this?”

Bently gave a reassuring smile. “Pork. Well, a kind of pork.”

That earned a dubious look. 

Rafe and Elmer, unfazed, began piling food onto their plates with gusto. “Tastes good to me,” Rafe said through a mouthful, his carefree demeanor infectious.

Olive picked up a biscuit drenched in green sauce and sniffed it, her nose crinkling. “This sauce smells... weird.”

“It’s a milk-based sauce,” Bently explained. “Blended with sausage, jalapenos, and a mildly narcotic leafy green. Nothing too intense.”

Olive froze. “Narcotic?”

“Dear, I know your taste in recreational substances,” Bently teased with a wink. “Trust me—you’ll like it.”

Runner, ever analytical, picked up a sausage from the communal platter and gave it a cautious sniff. His sharp eyes narrowed. “These are spicy—750,000 Scoville at least. What’s in them?”

Before Bently could reply, Sylex, the group’s tortured soul, interjected. “They’re similar to the Fire-Boiled Ashoga from yesterday. A fire elemental inhabits the... let’s call it a pig. Once it’s slaughtered, the meat retains its spice. This one’s infused with thyme and fennel. Perfectly balanced. Try it.”

Runner took a hesitant bite, his face betraying his internal calculations. After a moment, he nodded. “Edible.”

With that approval, Runner began fixing a plate, his precision in arranging food almost ceremonial.

Bently’s voice softened, tinged with pride as he looked around the table. “We Dufirosm are like most races in the Shadowlands—we have our passions, professions, and powers. But we also live to serve, in our way. A Dufio prepared this meal. I wouldn’t lead you astray.”

Rafe raised his coffee cup in a toast, grinning. “Here’s to trusting Bently not to poison us.”

The table broke into chuckles, and slowly, one by one, they all began to eat. By the time the plates were half-empty, the laughter and camaraderie that had carried them through countless adventures returned, reminding them why they were here—together.