The Hall falls silent. The long fire pit down the center crackles, smoke rising to the blackened beams. 

On the stone hearth a whole tarsk turns, fat dripping. Platters are already laid - seared bosk steak, sul porridge, black bread, yellow Turian cheese, bowls of olives and sliced larma. A skin of paga and a pitcher of ka-la-na wait at the high seat.

The guard at the door strikes his spear butt once to the stone.

"Meat and drink for the Ubar! Clear the high table!"

Ubar, the meal is ready, as you commanded.