"Lady Harriet Hyacinth Gervais the Licensed Greater Council Mage of the High Mountain Elven Court," Harriet introduced herself a bit hurriedly, having learned from Pumpkintown that it was best to get such things out of the way, "and my charge is Guffin, a candidate for the Chosen One of the Prophesy."
Behind her, Guffin scrambled to their feet from the pile of mud, shaking bits of food off their ears.
The troll grunted. It was quite large by Harriet's standards; taller than her, filling the whole doorway with a mass of shaggy fur and strange warts, tail lashing into a room lit by guttering firelight. Bloodshot, baggy eyes peered down at the two strangers. A strange smell came from within, and a few flies buzzed inquisitively around the troll, just out of reach of the rain.
"Welcome to Fat Pickens Fat Burger," it growled after a moment, and stepped aside.
The door troll was not the only troll in the room, nor was it the biggest. A creature took up half the room by itself, which wasn't small... it could only be a troll, but even Guffin hadn't seen one so big. Horns larger than a wooly bull, shaggy fur all over, three-toed feet that could have crushed Guffin flat, and a knotted and tufted tail curled around the far wall. All around it buzzed smaller trolls, other goblins, and other creatures of the sort. Things with horns, things with claws, things with horribly sharp teeth. Every one of them was bulbously fat, clutching vast containers of food, and either shoving food into their faces at high speed, or fighting over getting more food from the heaping pile in the center of the room (which was a bit harder than it looked, in the beasties too fat to walk). The smell was overwhelming - grease, salt, vinegar, sweat, and ash.
Harriet's heart dropped into her stomach. This was everything she feared about the dark and terrifying mountain folks. The barbarianism. The sharp teeth. What happened if they ran out of food? Was that what all the food-trash outside was? Or would they eat her next? Surely Guffin was less at risk, being technically one of them, though her little goblin looked downright slim and normal and adorable and almost a Chosen One child in this dim light, among these beasts.
"Nice, they have curly fries," said the goblin in question from her elbow, who all but swan-dived into the fray, emerging moments later with a bowl heaped with the curly fries in question, and some less-curly fries... and onion rings, bacon, cheese, jalapenos, nacho chips, an entire burger somehow, black spots that were hopefully olives and not bugs, and guac. "Do you want anything?"
The mage looked around in increasingly frantic horror. The writhing mass of bodies. The heaped mass of food. The beastie reaching into the cauldron by the fire, drawing up an iron basket filled with dripping lumps with a hiss.
"I can't eat here," she squeaked. "I can't stay here."
Guffin's mouth was quite full already, but their ear twitched. So did the ear of the troll who had opened the door, who had not yet wandered far.
"Then don't eat here," it snarled. "Go to Slim Pickens and join them."
And before Harriet could so much as blink, before Guffin could swallow, she was back out in the rain, and the door slammed on the flickering firelight. A fly buzzed inside her hood.