Chapter 22: Chapter 22. The food chapter.

“So, you basically have a long history of killing kobolds, do you?” I asked Rik. Fortunately, I think kobolds faces just don’t naturally lend themselves to smirking, or else I would be. We had traveled through the warren of Rat tunnels, and at several turns, had run into dire rats. The things were nearly as tall as I was, but since I could usually let Cassie know they were coming, and they seem to have difficulty detecting me when I stopped and camouflaged, Cassie and Rik were cleaning them up.

Okay, Cassie and I were cleaning them up. His stupid buster door was way too slow to actually hit them, in most cases, and even Mae, with a set of copper lawn darts that she threw from within the depths of her Kimono, was more helpful in a fight. Cassie would catch their attention, and while she dealt with the majority, I was stabbing them from behind, tail-whipping them, or one of the other two would hit them with a ranged attack.

Mostly tail-whipping, since my butcher knife was starting to look like it might need to be repaired badly, and I wanted to save it for… well… cooking.

Another elite rat appeared, named Akrak the Eater, and had taken a bite out of Cassie’s shield before finally getting smashed by the whole group. After the mid-boss, it was honestly a bit anti-climactic, but I discovered another monster core and I was excited by the possibilities.

We made a final trip around the rat warrens again, and it had been a long day, so we returned back to the big junction, which was apparently the center of rat territory. From there, the tunnels changed, looking sandier and a lot less sturdy, apparently the territory of the shellcrawlers. There was supposed to be another entrance to the kobold’s area through shellcrawler territory, but the door we had come in through, and the entire passageway, had been filled with jumbled stone as the kobolds sealed it behind me.

There was enough airflow that we decided to make a small fire, because, when Rik started talking about Rations, even Shiana seemed to object to the idea, and she wasn’t even real, just explaining that substandard rations would lower her affection level and decrease the bonuses he got for keeping her around.

I smiled a little bit. I had been trying to question him about the world ‘travelers’ came from but all I had been able to gather from it was that it was ‘boring’, and filled with ‘stupid useless crates’ and that he came from a better place, but it didn’t have any trees or monsters, and for some weird reason, he thought that the ‘new player rations’ were much tastier than he was used to.

He kept evading questions, though, and when I talked him into starting to answer, he would always look at something and then go back to describing it as far away, and with as little detail as possible. I had to think there was something preventing him from giving more details, or even using some standard gamer vocabulary like NPC or calling the world a game.

“Hey, I have to disappear for a little while. I need to umm...regenerate, it should take me a little over six hours, but I will reappear after that. You guys will still be here, right?” he asked.

I looked at Cassie and she nodded, “Immortals gain their strength from frequent meditations, where they disappear for a time and then return. Sometimes they disappear permanently for some reason, but usually, they return within about a week, although I have heard of some disappearing for a month or more.”

Rik nodded, “right. In… 5 days, I will have to disappear for almost three days, but until then, I only need to log...to meditate for about 6 hours, so I can… take care of my needs and return.”

I got the subtext. He wanted to log off for half an hour to drain his dragon and grab a sandwich or something. The idea of incredibly long subjective lifespans here was understandably appealing, but from my own point of view, I needed to evolve quickly or I was looking at a four-year lifespan… On Earth, I would only exist for about four months before I died of whatever sort of problems aged kobolds died from.

Did he need to log out to sleep? Or just to live his life on earth? At this point, I didn’t really care, but I wasn’t planning on sticking with AO players in the long term, I’d be happy to get as far away from them as possible. If I was still with this team when he had to go to school or something, I’d take off then.

Because he was a child. The way he talked, the way he looked at life, even though he tended to use slang I’d never heard before, just the way he acted. I wouldn’t assume he was more than 16 years old. I know, because I was still getting out of the ‘this is awesome because it’s kewl’ phase myself. I have no idea if the adult age was lowered for whatever game he was playing, or if he had a way around the rules, or even if childhood was legally recognized in his version of Earth, but where I came from a kid his age wouldn’t even be allowed near a harem-type game.

After we nodded, he touched his bracelet and vanished.

I glanced at Cassie, “So does he sleep?” I asked.

She shook her head, “No when he disappears to recharge, he usually comes back and gets some sleep. We are sort of camping here, but I am going to make a real camp and we can set watches once he returns, and then, we can head towards the shellcrawler caves.”

I nodded slowly and looked around. “Would you guys like me to make some food? We have gotten a lot of drops, and I am interested in what I could do with rat steaks and mushrooms. Where I come from I am used to having more seasonings available, but a lot of the mushrooms here have very rich flavors, so I am going to try and improvise a little.”

Cassie smiled, “I have some pepper, dried beans and peas, a little salt and sugar, and lots of oats for breakfast gruel. I also have some goat cheese and sausages.”

Mae lifted her hand, “I am mostly carnivorous, and rats do not taste too bad, but I also possess rice and a number of sauces unique to my lands, as well as dried ginger and flour, and a slab of butter?”

I chuckled at Mae, and added a large flat rock to the hottest part of the fire, nudging it around with a stick. “I will definitely be using your flour.”

I decided to try my hand at wheedling. I had some oils I had picked up in camp, although I had no idea if olives were a thing here, but I hoped so. “Oh Cassie, virtuous and strong-willed dwarven lass, I understand that it might seem a bit formulaic, but would the traditions be correct in assuming that a dwarf would never be without alcohol in some way, shape, or form?”

She colored a little and said, “Oh, a sweet-talking kobold. I might have to adopt you and add you to my household. While it does seem to be a stereotype, many of those are founded on realistic expectations. I am not alone in being caught sooner without my armor than without a bit of drink. What sort of alcohol would you have in mind?”

“Something that cooks well with steak. Red wine would be wonderful, but that might be more of a human and elven affectation. Perhaps a brandy?”

Cassie nodded and thought for a moment. “I am confused, you want a brandy with the meal?”

I shook my head, “No, I want a brandy to cook with the meal.”

She handed me a small flask. Oh, wonder of wonders! It looked like it was made of steel! Steel was not unknown in these hinterlands! “Oh thank God.”

“What?” she asked.

“Steel! You have a steel flask.”

“Of course.” She nodded. “Steel is very very expensive since only master smiths have the skill to blend it, but dwarves use it for flasks all the time. Leather and copper both change the flavor of the alcohol for the worse. But I am confused, are you using it as fuel to increase the temperature of the fire or something? Do you have the flavoring cantrip? That’s like the first step for the cooking career.”

I shook my head, “No. I don’t know what that is. I am going to add some of the alcohol to the food, as a flavor enhancer.”

Cassie looked mystified like I had just started talking about integrated circuits or something. I shrugged, and grumbled, “I kind of wish that Rik was here. His sword would be useful.”

Cassie smiled a little, “I have a dagger that might work better, and it hasn’t been steeping in poison and a dead rat.”

I nodded, “Yes, I will use that happily, but I was thinking that his sword would be more useful as a cutting board than a weapon.” to which Cassie laughed.

“I tried to warn him that it was barely better than junk, but he kept talking about something called a Buster blade. I mean, if he wants to break things, a hammer would be better, and for a blade, a real sword or even an ax would work more effectively, but he kept talking about fatal finality or fantasy something and bought it anyway. Hell, I am only a mediocre smith and I could have made better in my sleep.”

I carefully dug out a piece of rock with my claws and smoothed it cleaning it with some water as I added a bit of Mae’s butter and some grub fat that the kobold cooks said was great for frying. “I might ask you to do that. Check this out.” I handed her my butcher knife and used her dagger to start slicing several of the steaks into half-inch strips.

“Oh wow! It’s magical? And it helps with cooking? Where’d you get it?”

You are reading story The Chronicles of Alandia, A Kobold’s Tale. at novel35.com

“Well, I cannot use it right now. Not until I have a chance to clean and boil the sick out of it, but I found the knife in the sewers under Sindaenaway. I fixed it up a little with a whetstone.

“Someone just threw away a magical knife? Even if it were damaged, enchanted objects are far too valuable to just lose.”

I chuckled, carefully scraping the meat to the side and tossing the fat into the pan. It started to lightly sizzle, and I was hoping to get the drippings and discard the scrap after it fried for a bit. I had cooked over a campfire hundreds of times, and there were a lot of tricks for controlling temperature and keeping the cooking even.

Mae had been looking the knife over and offered it back to me. “Here. I cleaned it.”

“What?” I asked her curiously.

“I used solid illusion. It behaves like a cleaning solution and is very effective, but it does not last very long. But for cleaning things it is magnificent. You said you wanted it boiled? I increased the illusion’s temperature. It should be clean.”

“Really? That works?” I asked her, “I thought Illusions weren’t real.”

She smiled a little, “They aren’t… but if it looks like water and lye, heats like water and lye, and then rinses off like water and lye, the fact that it isn’t real doesn’t really matter, does it?” she tossed a scrap of cloth into the fire. “That, on the other hand, still has whatever was on the knife. Yes, the cleaner vanishes in seconds and leaves whatever matter is left behind, but the knife doesn’t care if it’s real or not as long as it works.”

Mae looked closely at my flabbergasted expression. “You enchanted the knife yourself, didn’t you?”

I nodded slowly, while Cassie grinned, and started using the knife to pare down mushrooms of various flavors. I also added some of the ones for energy and magic, not sure exactly what would happen, but they tasted decently like onions, and I was planning on adding a little of my imbuing to see if it led to a good flavor. The description of transference said it would enhance natural elements, and I was hoping that flavors were included with those elements. “How did you guess?”

I slowly blended together more of Mae's flour, some salt, and a bit of oil and water in one of my pans, carefully adding it until it was the right texture, kneaded it a bit, and then separated it into balls. I wish I had a rolling pin, but my hands would work.

Mae shrugged, “It was a rank zero enhancement. There were no runes or power structures on the knife, and the metal is terrible for holding magic. Nonetheless, someone forced in enough essence to activate a utility enhancement, with brute force, much like a bare-new enchanter figuring out how to add essence for the first time. You are very, very lucky that it did not explode.”

I nodded, “That’s what I heard. Are you an enchanter?” I said, carefully using a spoon to claim some of the liquid in the pan and add it into a small bowl with more water and salt. I didn’t have time to make a decent broth and was using a bit of a stopgap. I shook the pan a bit and then tossed aside the fat and gristle, leaving the butter, grease, and drippings as I added the rest of the strips to start sizzling.

Usually, I would cook the steak, then the mushrooms, and then cut the steaks in half and re-add them to the sauce, but that was assuming a full kitchen. Campfire expedients meant adding the mushrooms to the pan after I cooked the strips and working from there.

Mae shook her head, “No, but I have been an artist for some time. Many enchanters are not very good artists, so they would design the enchantment runes and have me paint or carve them. I don’t understand the runic language well, but I know how it is supposed to work, and of course, I can read and detect magic, I just lack the gift that allows you to add long-term magic to things.

I nodded, mixing the drippings, a bit of water, some of Mae’s flour, and a hint of ginger as well as a bit more salt. I mixed it up with Cassie’s knife, flipped the strips again, and started to watch them crisp for a few minutes. “In that case, I might as for your expertise, but I am not sure I use those kinds of runes. I can add magic to stuff, and I can sketch and do a bit of whittling, but I am not a master carver.”

Mae shrugged, “Illusions can enhance existing magical effects, but I cannot make them permanent. When we get a chance, I would be more than happy to help you if you decide to try your hand at enchanting. True enchanters tend to get all the sponsors they could possibly desire, at least the civilized ones do. A kobold with an enchanting gift though might find himself working for considerably less.”

“As a slave?” I asked curiously, shuffling the mushroom strips into the pan and letting them fry with the meat for a minute or two.

She nodded, “Yes, kobolds are well-known to make very useful slaves. Not for appearances, of course, but they work hard for almost nothing, require little care or comfort, never get sick, and heal quickly if injured, and as long as they get fed regularly and are afraid of their masters, they almost never rebel. Everyone uses them, even goblins have been known to oversee a string of kobold miners because, unlike dwarves, they don’t tend to get creative or drunk.”

I nodded, sighing. “It’s a hard knock life. Well, I guess I am an odd kobold. If someone tries to make me a slave, I will never rest until whatever’s left of them is staring up at me while I piss on their head.” I started trying to carefully push energy into the food I was preparing, each ingredient at a time, and then a bit more into the overall dish, even the rolls of dough.

Mae shrugged, “The same is said of change children. We have an aversion to slavery because that is what we were created for, but change children, especially feline and canine breeds, like mine, are prized as permanent servants. I am not sure if you understand the… mental effects of captivity on some minds, where you grow loyal to your captor?”

I nodded, Stockholm syndrome. Every once in a while a talking head tried to pretend it was a myth, like torture’s effectiveness if you actually understood the psychology behind torture, but ‘going native’ was a very real threat that a lot of military men understood quite well. “Yes. Especially prevalent among women, because of ancient tribal instincts, but known to happen to men as well. We also call it going native after some… spies tried to infiltrate other tribes and quickly became utterly loyal to them.”

She raised an eyebrow at me, but continued to speak after a few moments as I added some of Cassie’s brandy and started tossing the mixture carefully to get it covered, sizzled, and boiling, and then added the water and drippings mixed with flour. I flipped the hot rock in the fire, started flattening the balls of dough as flat as I could on my cutting board, and then tossed them on the sizzling rock to puff up.

“Feline change children tend to get comfortable quickly. They are not terribly loyal, but they tend to become filled with ennui and lose their desire to escape or rebel. Canines, though, both true canines and fox folk, will often tend to become fiercely loyal if their captors know what they are doing and treat them well and consistently. After some time, a collar and service become a source of pride and strength, and some of the more hierarchical sorts will fight to the death to protect the ones that enslaved them. It is a true threat.”

I didn’t have plates, so I quickly stripped and cleaned a few more pieces of stone as I waited for the gravy to thicken. I finally removed the strips and mushrooms from the fire, placed them on my former cutting board, and started dishing them out and wrapping them in the tortillas. “Mae, do you have soybeans where you come from?”

She nodded, “Yes. Many of the flavors this far north are pale or unappetizing. So we have a sauce made from soybeans and salt water, as well as fermented soybean paste with sugar, garlic, sesame oil, and onions, to improve the local flavors. I also have some sesame oil and pepper sauce, but most locals do not care for the flavors.”

I grinned, “I am surprised, I thought that as an illusionist you would have no problems making things taste good. Might I use the soybean paste?” She smiled and quickly handed me a dark, wide-mouthed clay jar, which I opened and sniffed appreciatively. Definitely a rich hoisin, a bit more vinegary than usual probably due to it needing to be preserved without refrigeration, but entirely acceptable, and I started thinly spreading it along the inner sides of the tortillas to add a hint of Asian and hold the rolls closed.

She shook her head sadly, “Unfortunately, illusionists have to have the ability to peer through illusions to create them effectively. Most chefs depend on the taste cantrip, which is an illusion, so all of us with the gift learn to bring our own flavors with us when we can. Bland food is better than no food, of course, but nothing but unspiced meat and overcooked stew or gruel with only a hint of salt becomes… trying.”

I chuckled and rolled up the last roll, a dozen well-filled tortillas. Obviously, I hadn’t added as much magic as I had with the knife, but I wasn’t really trying to enchant it, just unlock its own innate flavors.

“I guess I could call these mushu chimichangas or something, I don’t know, but I do know they probably taste better than moldy bread.” I took a moment to analyze one of them.

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