Syndor

Her lair is large, filled to the brim with herbs, spices, cured meats of every size and shape. In the midst of it all, she's there, humming and singing as she butchers her latest kill. Macabre, maybe, had she been anyone else - but drakes gather to her lair from all across Sorneith to taste her creations.

She makes it all - jams, stews, breads, sweets, cheeses, all sold with a merry laugh and a twinkle in her eye. Recipes are requested, but never given; "My secret," she says, winking as she passes a cookie to a curious hatchling. "I must keep the customers somehow, shouldn't I?" Business is always booming, requiring her to hire the services of one or two assistants to organize ingredients, to stir the cauldron, to keep the lair neat and tidy.

Frequent customers may notice that the same assistant never stays for long.

A fae hired one month, then gone the next. A skydancer, mysteriously vanished from one shift. Around holidays, even an imp will disappear, without reason or explanation.

When asked, she smiles, she deflects, she jokes about the state of 'the economy' or 'the appeal of exaltation', while offering a stew, a meatpie, a haunch of something big, too big to be a beast.

It's as delicious as ever.