Trevor looked at the spoon the innkeeper gave him

"This has poop on it."

"Naw it don't.  Eat up!"

The bowl of morning porridge also looked... suspiciously brown.

Trevor used his knife to poke at the brown lumps encrusting the small metal spoon.  A bit chipped off, revealing more red beneath.

A bit of rust never hurt anyone.

Trevor loaded up a spoonful of porridge.  He glanced to the overworked innkeep in the kitchen wiping away droplets of sweat, the older man toiling over a massive hearth-suspended cauldron of steaming porridge.

Naturally salted, then.

Trevor took a bite, eyes rolling back in his head, and the innkeep collapsed into the cauldron.

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《Indefatigablility raised》

Trevor paused, spoon held still in his mouth.

He glanced at the inn's other early risers scurrying to grab the innkeeper's wild, kicking legs and ease him out of the cauldron.

None of them look like wizards.  I must have done this.

But why am I calling myself fat?

Trevor pinched his midsection as he ate the rest of his bowl, casting a comparative eye at the others returning to their table after the oat-drenched innkeep declined further assistance.

I think I have less flesh on average... if most of mine fat?  Or is indefatigablility something else?

Trevor waved for seconds.

"Sir, are you good with words?"

The innkeeper gingerly touched Trevor's bowl, before grimacing and gesturing with red hands for Trevor to follow him into the kitchen.

"Help yerself.  And I might be, but right now I've other occupations," he said, now opening and closing cupboards all along the kitchen walls.

Trevor ladled his seconds and sat back down, looking about for scholarly sorts as his hand fed his mouth with the rusty spoon.

A sharp intake of breath sounded from the kitchen.

《Pain tolerance raised》

Trevor suckled on his spoon again.

Oh.

He glanced around the inn.

This thing was right.  I'm about to get fat today.