The bread is unleavened, crisp with olive oil.  Olives themselves are in abundance, as are dates, bamboo baskets of rice, steamed crab, and corn.  Skewers of some darker, glazed meat-- probably goat-- are delivered with more care and even distribution, as is a tray of fruits that resemble, if they are not outright, mangoes and lemons.  This is unusual fare for continentals, but nothing never encountered, except that no beer or ale is served, but there's a sweet wine punch spiked with rum and fruit juices.<br/><br/>Much conversation is lost to eating, but the general ambience of the room is of comfort... though substantially cooled by the breeze through the propped shutters, there is still the press of heat as more patrons enter.  Fresh thunder from outside, resulting in a mixture of bravado and unconscious nervousness as to speak to the heart of this island-- all fear the storms, but even those men who last night were facing death at the hands of the sea are consoled by their brethren, and all drown their mortal terror in the swell of pride at a good day's work, the joy of life in this strange, deadly paradise.  Their tales will die with them, but they will be splendid.<br/><br/>There are a couple of glances toward Galacia at the mention of the church, and the bookseller continues to stare in their direction even as he splits a massive crab's steamed claw from its body in a burst of briny spray.<br/><br/>There's a clamorous cheer with full mouths as a bull of a man hops onto the stage before the room-- blonde-bearded and with one eye, his shoulders are massive on a thick trunk, and if he's not half-dwarf he might as well claim as much to get free drinks at the bar.  "Right right good people, try not to chew too loudly or I'll lose my voice.  Though ye be not worthy of a gull-spit doubloon, Bairne the fine-teller is gracing you lot tonight, with the finest of tales and most righteous of songs!"<br/><br/>Bairne's name is repeated by many, and mugs are lifted in salutation as the stout man spreads his massive hands in appreciation.  Crystal blue eyes fall across the companions for a moment, as if noting their unfamiliarity, as with a few others.  "Polish those drinks off gents, and send a couple my way-- make it 'gria to keep my jest a rolling, or rum to put my tongue to rest!"<br/><br/>A voice from the back of the room-- "Bairne, we love ya!  But..." many are listening now, as the hawk-nosed man in the back seems to hesitantly pose his question, for fear of insult, "will you be, ah, taking a rest to drink with us 'ere?"<br/><br/>The fierce-eyed entertainer laughs riotously, and is joined by the crowd.  "Ooooh, ye of little faith!  Of course I will!  And I'll even shut up awhile, because-- yes!" his broad hand waves a defiant finger, "yes, I know what you are REALLY asking me Paldor!  You are asking if I will be the ONLY performer tonight.  Go ahead!  No offense at all taken," and as a long-legged waif of a servant girl passes by, he snatches her up onto the stage with him-- she seems surprised, but not utterly terrified, as he easily lifts her to the stage by an arm and opposite shoulder.  "Miss Ponny here," she girl nearly drops her tray, grog and rice spattering the stage, "Ponny will... NOT be performing!" she laughs and steps down, and Bairne helps ease her the distance, with a good natured cheer from the crowd.<br/><br/>"You are most certainly asking about... a certain dusky-skinned snake we all know and love!" and Bairne's words are greeted with a hooray from most men, and a few women.  "The Kraken's own ink, the sea-serpent of sensssssuality, no?"  The big man goes completely still, and the audience hangs on his words, except the innkeeper who is blistering a cook from the next room.<br/><br/>"Wait and see." And with a maniacal, sadistic laugh, Bairne produces a lute from... fuck, who knows where, and beings to play.  He is joined immediately by a flute and tam at the foot of the stage, the players looking less stage-worthy than he but playing with reasonable skill.  The mood is merry, and life is good for the moment.<br/><br/>Dinner will pass as such... raucous tale, a somber moment of honor for those who died the prior night, a dutifully melancholy tune to follow.  Bairne's playing is good, his singing decent, but his humor and crowd-leading are astonishing.  The rainstorm is not overpowering, and stirs the air wonderfully.  By the time they've finished dining, it is full dark and the sound of heavy raindrops on the leaves and boards outside have subsided completely.