The cloud of spores causes the orc to sneeze, and he pushes the small mushroom away with his foot. Baring pointed tusks and fierce teeth, the hulking orc looks down at Borthan. Even in his addled eyes, Borthan can see the orc is taking measure of him. For one of elven heritage, Borthan is not a small or slim man. The orc grunts and turns away, breaking eye contact first. He pushes gruffly past Nilvae. "Need real food. Not little... bread balls," the orc complains as he finds a corner of his own, warily giving the derro at the back of the room his space when pale white eyes fail to break and look away first.

"Glad we got that sorted out," Jimjar smiles, moving over to where the food is. Duskryn apparently gets tired of waiting with the tray held out and drops it to walk away, the gnome gambler sliding over just in time to catch it and keep it steady. "It's not very much. Maybe some of us can split a few?" he suggests.