《... And My Skillet》 Chapter 1: Heartholm
It¡¯s still dark when I hear the birds wake up from their slumber and fill the air with the familiar sounds of cheerful singing. Grumbling to myself, I flip my legs off of my cot at the entrance to the mine where I can still hear the plinking of picks and shale being shoveled away deep within the small hill Hearthholm rests against. The miners would be reaching the halfway point of their night shift soon and my clansmen would doubtless be hungry after a long four hours in the mine. If someone wasn¡¯t here to ferry down provisions, I doubt the old timers would do more than grunt and keep working anyway. With that eye rolling thought in mind, I shuffled my way through the morning chill towards the fire I¡¯d set to simmering a cauldron full of mushrooms, celery, onions, garlic, and a large ham hock overnight. Taking care not to throw up clouds of dust I put a hand against the near eye level pot and tilted it my way without a care for what must be flesh searing heat transferring from the iron into my ungloved hand. I¡¯m a dwarf in this life. I¡­ probably won¡¯t be growing too much vertically anymore, but there were some nice perks. Heat resistance, excellent night vision, superhuman toughness, and way more strength packed into a four foot body still growing into full stockiness. ¡°Hmm.¡± Carefully tilting the bubbling stock a little closer to nose level, I let the steaming scent of fresh mushroom and pork stock fill my nostrils. The moisture makes my stubble itch something terrible, but to be honest having facial hair at my second go around of being fifteen stirs my inner flame of youthful masculinity pretty good. Speaking of stirring, I pluck the shiny, stainless steel ladle from where it is hanging on the sturdy pole holding the chains keeping the cauldron aloft and stir the contents of the pot. As expected the vegetables have completely turned into mush while the meat easily falls off the bone and begins to tear into tiny, juice filled strips. With a small sip to check for taste, I nod to myself and begin to pour in a sack of dried, lentil-like legumes into the reduced stock with a large helping of crushed rock salt. In other times when I was in charge of feeding people, I would¡¯ve tied off the veggies into a small sack and removed them at this point, but we dwarves abhor wasting anything. Being honest though, even when I was a human making a similar stew with a slow cooker, I¡¯d just leave the veggies in the base anyway. Growing up in a Korean household I loved the texture and taste of vegetables melting in my mouth. Too bad my new kinsmen weren¡¯t big fans of watery soups. With the legumes beginning to cook away and soak up the stock, I added a good amount from the bucket of previously boiled water I had lugged here from the filtering station my father and uncles had built next to the nearby stream long before I had even started crawling around. The rest of it I would save for cleaning the half dozen cast iron pans currently resting in a semicircle at the edges of the main cooking fire. As for what I would be doing with those, well I was going to make a roux whenever the butter got here¡­ ¡°Keeper Yumly! Good morning!¡± The warm voice of a woman followed by the tinkling of a cowbell cheerily called out from the trail leading up to the mine. Turning from my careful watch over the cooking fire I see a relatively tall figure of very much womanly proportions slowly making her way towards me with a softly glowing lantern shading her form in gentle waves of azure. Behind her a small wooden wagon is being pulled along, holding the more perishable supplies I need to complete breakfast. ¡°Churner Mable. Impeccable timing as always.¡± I reply with a grin towards the bovine blooded demihuman and her undoubtedly freshly churned butter. ¡°You really shouldn¡¯t have to make these deliveries yourself.¡± ¡°And you should be looking for an apprentice Master Hearthkeeper! It¡¯d make my life easier if you did!¡± Not biting in the least, doe brown eyes warm despite the chiding tut that follows. ¡°You have been making inquiries haven¡¯t you? You could pretty much tell the clan elders to paint over their rune walls and they¡¯d do it in a heartbeat!¡± The image of old dwarves furiously grumbling and doing something so unbelievable is enough to tease out a snort from my nose even as I retort.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°As if. Clan Hearthkeeper I may be, but I¡¯m still a child in dwarven eyes. Most my age are busy with their own apprenticeships and the gods would sooner burn the world before and oldbeard or matron would learn from me.¡± ¡°Well¡­ who says your apprentice needs to be a dwarf?¡± The girl of sixteen grins impishly, tugging at the cowbell around her neck in approximation of a deeply offended mountainfolk before bursting into giggles. I frown in return, narrowing my eyes and harrumphing with a scratching motion against my chin. ¡°Blasphemy! What foolish nonsense are you spouting now you scraggly cheeked child!? You¡¯ve obviously spent too much time above ground, yes, the sky must be sending its insidiously fluffy cloud clutches into your feeble mind!¡± A pause. And laughter follows from the formerly gaping mouth of my childhood friend taking her cue from my own guffaws. ¡°Hee~¡± Soft tinkles continue to brush past amused lips even as Mable manages to eke out a modicum of self control and decorum. ¡°You know, you being you doesn¡¯t really help the elders see things your way.¡± ¡°Probably. It¡¯s why I cook instead of argue. It¡¯s hard to make a point when your mouth is full of good food and even harder to grimace when you¡¯re trying not to grin.¡± I nod to myself wisely, feeling pleased with creating a fitting metaphor of ¡®actions speak louder than words¡¯. ¡°As you say Master Yumly. Your food is most delicious.¡± The woman responds with a sagely nod when the groaning of a hungry belly fills the clearing. ¡°Ah.¡± Oho? My, is that a flush upon those dearly pinchable cheeks Miss Mable? ¡°The forest spirits must be excited for spring if the trees are already singing so loudly.¡± Indeed. ¡°I-it¡¯s the truth!¡± Mhm. ¡°Stop looking at me like that you troublemaker! Don¡¯t make me stop delivering your goods!¡± The young woman pauses in her tirade when she notices that I¡¯ve spirited away the small barrel of butter and have begun slapping sizzling heapfuls of delicious creamed fat into my cast iron pans. ¡°That¡¯d be a pity. I do enjoy having someone to taste test my meals before they get served¡­ I guess I could find someone else?¡± I note with a look up into the formerly dark skies being slowly backlit by the glimmering rays of the late winter sun happily shining from the heavens. Grumbling under her breath, the cow demi hitches up her skirts to plod her way heavily next to me and crouch down as I mix batch after batch of roux with care. Pans not being worked on are pulled further away from the coals to be cooled with those being stirred placed closer to the fire to bubble away merrily. Soon the mixtures thicken and darken and I begin to ladle liquid from the cauldron into the skillets, taking special care to spread the roux into a cream and get rid of any forming lumps. Wordlessly I put a hand out when the color of my first pan of roux has turned that perfect shade of caramel. A moment later Mable brings out a loaf of bread I had finished last evening from her wagon with an eager, audible swallow of her throat. I take the bread and press down on it with my strong fingers. The crack of good bread accompanies the orchestra of crackling coals and the bubbling of the stew that is nearly ready for the roux to be added into the mixture. Before that however¡­ Another pinch of rock salt is added into the first test pan and a large hunk of bread is used to churn the mixture until the tough bread is properly covered in hearty gravy. It¡¯s a shame that we don¡¯t have a ready source of eggs or spices other than rock salt, but to be fair¡­ ¡°Hmmmm~ Oh that looks tasty~¡± My morning helper gulps, growling belly being completely ignored. This level of bachelor level home cooking is enough to have me be seen as some kind of cooking prodigy already. I¡¯m not sure if I could handle the power I¡¯d have at my fingertips if I just had more ingredients. ¡°Here.¡± I grin most fiendishly, pointing the sopping chunk of gravy slathered bread towards my friend who leans forward with hooded eyes and full, pink lips wide open. ¡°Mm¡­ ah¡­ hot¡­¡± Mable mumbles, cheeks flushed in pleasure as beads of sweat trail down her slim neck and wets the fabric of her work tunic. Without thought, laces are roughly pulled open by an insistent hand to reveal creamy cleavage. Previously darkened gravy closer to the color of chocolate than the white of flour shines brightly in the sun as if untouched by the caramelization process to drip down puffy lips and onto the pink flesh. Unbidden, the sauce continues to travel down to impossibly soft looking caverns, but refuse to sink within. Instead the white cream trails along the line of the young woman¡¯s heaving cleavage to stain and disappear into the barely held together cloth that normally keeps the demi¡¯s assets hidden from the world- I close my eyes, breathing deeply and reopen them. ¡°This is so good!¡± The cheerfully bright face of my childhood friend grins with chipmunk like cheeks, the former visage of heavenly majesty being nowhere to be seen. On some level I realize that I haven¡¯t been reborn into a hentai world, but I might be somewhere that is infinitely close to that terrifying dream. Because I am not just seeing things. I¡¯m not. Chapter 2: Breakfast Grumbles
The sun has risen fully before the first of my kinsmen make their way out of the tunnel entrance, doubtless drawn out by the smell of a prepared breakfast being fanned inside by the slightly chilly breeze. From the darkness shining blue lights slowly bob forth to coalesce into the familiar forms of stocky, bearded dwarves and the usually taller, but sometimes shorter forms of demis who ranged from burly to wiry in body. As usual, it is the younger apprentices who make their way towards my cooking fire with eager grins and boisterous chatter filling up the formerly quiet ambience of my little breakfast station. A young dwarf whose beard only barely covers his face does his best to remain stoic as our kind are to do, but yelps when the two bird demis at his side chirrup happily at the sight of bowls being prepared and dart ahead of him at a sprint. Sukhoi Oreson longingly watches the feathery haired twins Chi and Cho run forward before they stop, turn around, and rush back in an attempt to pull their friend towards the waiting food faster. The dark haired and eyed dwarf flushes and grumbles under his breath at the canaries before stumbling and looking backwards at his father with a betrayed look as he is dragged along. Behind him, Journeyman Orlahn rolls his eyes before settling back into an easy conversation with a canary demi who shares the same shade of yellow hair and eyes her son and daughter do. Journeywoman Chacha Sweetsong giggles to herself with a bright smile and uses a down covered arm to lightly slap the back of the older dwarf whose tar black beard shakes in mirth. And finally just as the youngsters make their way to the washing station, the oldbeards arrive at the mine entrance. Unlike the younger Dhurger, these Master Miners say little and remain unaccompanied by demi companions, carrying only small trinkets of faded feathers or fur. Still relatively youthful for our kind, the middle aged dwarves do a final, quiet headcount before shutting off their lanterns and sliding their tools in their belts within easy reach. The eldest among them, Foreman Horvul Oreson breathes deeply to himself, rubs a calloused thumb over a grey feather charm and offers his thanks to the spirits of the mine before making his way to the end of the line of our kinsmen who are already washing dirty hands and wiping dusty faces with wet cloth. Mable had already left to continue her deliveries some minutes ago, but serving twenty people isn¡¯t difficult for someone with as much practice as myself. ¡°Keeper Yums! What did you make today? Something good?¡± Chi wonders aloud as she frets energetically to rub her fluffed down into place as her brother squawks to wipe down the still smudged face of the excitable canary demi. ¡°Nothing good if you keep poking fun at Ironhand¡¯s name.¡± Sukhoi grunts and lightly taps a fist against the flighty girl¡¯s helmet, causing her to yelp as the steel implement covers her eyes. ¡°Hey Yum,¡± The young dwarf says in the correct pronunciation before taking the offered bowl and hunk of bread from myself. ¡°Boring shift?¡±This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. ¡°Nothing worth noting.¡± I said, lightly tapping my unfired breechloading rifle with a fond roll of my eyes and passing another bowl to the cheerful canary girl. ¡°It¡¯s not like anything smart enough to get past the walls would be dumb enough to try its luck with a Dhurger. And it¡¯s just the usual stuff Chi, winter isn¡¯t quite over yet.¡± ¡°Usual is still good! Thanks Yums!¡± The girl flits away before I can respond with my usual, dry response correcting her how to pronounce my given name. Bah. ¡°The elders still worried about Feral sightings?¡± Cho correctly intuits at the lack of fresh ingredients with a cocking of his head. ¡°As they should be.¡± Sukhoi¡¯s father, Orlahn nods and places his hands on the shoulders of the two teenagers. ¡°This is the first time Ferals have ever been sighted so close to the edge of the forest, they are right to forbid entry into the woods for the time being. Now go on and leave the Hearthkeeper to his task.¡± Cho nods with a small frown mirrored by the younger dwarf for differing reasons. ¡°Yes Oathfather.¡± ¡°As you say Father.¡± The two boys say, picking up their food and heading towards their sister and friend who is excitedly waving them towards their usual eating spot. Orlahn watches them go with a soft snort, easily accepting his portion when his Oathsister Chacha makes her way forward and bumps her shoulder against and sends a wink my way. ¡°Don¡¯t worry too much about it dear. I swear you could find a way to make tree bark and mud taste good if you had to. Not that you¡¯ll need to, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be allowed to go gathering in the forest soon enough.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not that good at my job Miss Chacha.¡± I drawl, ladling an extra heap of mushrooms and meat into her bowl. ¡°But I do enjoy being flattered by a beautiful woman.¡± ¡°Oh you~ such a sweetheart our Hearthkeeper is, isn¡¯t he Orl?¡± Chacha titters, dancing around the elder dwarf who snorts good naturedly and bats at her with a spoon taken from his mouth and ambles along after her. And so do various tidbits of conversation occur between myself and the miners, many of which come back for seconds. Eventually the miners finish their meals with soft sighs of contentment and continued conversations as they wash their utensils and a few are assigned to help me clean the cookware. With many grateful exclamations or muttered thanks, the miners once more head in to continue their work and I make my own way back into town proper where my kinsmen are likely already being served breakfast in the dining hall. While I don¡¯t have any apprentices yet, there isn¡¯t anything complicated about a self serve buffet and the only thing I need to see to is preparation for a cold cut sandwich bar for lunch and see how my bean fermentation projects are coming along. There must be something like a soybean in this world. I can live without tofu just fine even if I love the stuff, but no soy sauce? No doenjang or miso? Call me an Isekai/Rebirth/Dimensional Traveler stereotype all you want, but past life demands satisfaction in the form of common east asian cuisine. I don¡¯t care if I have to start cultivating plants from scratch, but I will introduce a taste from my original home even it takes all the centuries of my dwarven lifespan to do it. Chapter 3: Little Uplifting Required
I remember in my previous life there existed an image with all the essentials a time traveler would require to jumpstart a technological revolution. I didn¡¯t exactly remember everything, but black powder is one of those things that isn¡¯t too difficult to make with time and care. Dangerous yes, but relatively simple. Some ratio of sulfur, charcoal, and potassium something. Probably. So there I was barely a month old and ready to bring fire and steel into what was obviously a typical fantasy land filled with all sorts of dangerous monsters roaming around. Sadly that daydream was nipped in the bud the moment I heard the unmistakable cracking of guns and the sharp scent of cordite stuck to my new grandfather¡¯s clothes. The old lever action rifle slung over his back as he left to caravan to a neighboring settlement was pretty telling. ¡°So Master Rockgar? I got twenty pounds of pre seasoned smoked and cured sausage in this here barrel. I¡¯d say that¡¯s a fairly good deal for twenty of your .577 shells?¡± I grinned with my arms resting over the counter of the village gunsmith. The older dwarf harrumphed, twirling his long hay colored moustache in thought. Narrowing his gaze he pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose while looking up at my slightly taller form. Hah, see what a proper nutritional balance does for growth old timer? ¡°Unacceptable.¡± Damn. ¡°Non-warriors, hunters-¡± ¡°-and adventurers are limited to ten Monster Stoppers a month, yes sir, I know.¡± ¡°So why do you want so many shells?¡± ¡°Just want to get some practice in and have a few extra shots handy when I go foraging in the forest tomorrow. Just because feral sightings have dropped and most beasts don¡¯t bother roaming close to the village doesn¡¯t mean I won¡¯t run into trouble.¡± Easily I drawl, waving my hands melodramatically around the room towards the not so imaginary figments that roam the forests to the south of our settlement. Ferals at least there was a chance at diplomacy what with most of them this far at the edge of the kingdom likely never having seen a dwarf. Now monsters on the other hand¡­ Well, that¡¯s one good reason that the majority of the native population of Dhazad were living as nomads or in huts prior to the intervention of dwarven steel and gunpowder a hundred years ago. Giant warm blooded avian reptiles that should be relegated to the fossil record regularly roamed unpatrolled plains with little fear. Packs of larger than normal mammals sporting dense bone carapace and spikes reaved the forests if not regularly culled. Deadly carnivorous plants regularly snatched up and fed on unwary travelers moving too close to the rainforests of the south. Ants the size of my meaty fist held absolute dominance within their underground burrows deep in the mountains. A guy couldn¡¯t even take a dip in a lake without the threat of being swallowed whole by catfish the size of a large shark. I cannot stress enough just how dangerous the frontier can be. The above generalization doesn¡¯t even begin to factor in the ¡®intelligent races¡¯ who made their home within and immediately outside the kingdom¡¯s borders. Feral demihumans and beastmen can be dangerous, but they can be reasoned with. The majority of orcs less so, and the less said about the plague of goblinoid pests the better. Then again I¡¯m putting this into the perspective of a former human. For the stone tough and grim faced dwarves who built Dhazad however, this land was pretty much par for the course. Tidy your beard, pull up your breeches, put on some rune plate, grab your axe, strap on a shield, and load your guns for anything up to and including dragons. If whatever being that transported the fortress city of Har Khon across worlds wanted someone to pacify this region, well¡­ I¡¯m pretty sure they succeeded beyond all expectations. ¡°Ach. You could go out there with a .303 lever action and be fine. I know you own a Krug rifle boy, I don¡¯t know why you have such a pick to dull with that single shot Letz of yours.¡± Gunsmith Rockgar snorts, pointing to the open box of bullets stacked next to twelve others just like it. The sign over it reads- This month¡¯s special ammunition sale!
.308 Caliber! 1 Silver for 10 Rounds! 300 Rounds to a Box! Buy 1 and get half off the second!
I shrugged in response and added a jar of fermented cabbage on top of the barrel. ¡°I¡¯d rather have a gun that can make a grizzly mess of whatever I¡¯m pointing at with one shot instead of blasting round after round into an armored boar that¡¯ll just make it angrier.¡± I replied glancing towards the shop¡¯s ammunition prices.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Pistol Ammunition 9x19 10 Copper per Round
.38 2 Silver per Round
.455 10 Silver per Round
Shotgun Ammunition Double asking price for slugs! 12ga 3 Silver per Round
10ga 5 Silver per Round
8ga 15 Silver per Round
4ga 35 Silver per Round
2ga 70 Silver per Round
Rifle Ammunition .308 1 Silver per Round
.577/450 50 Silver per Round
.950 1 Gold, 50 Silver per Round
¡°And if there¡¯s more than one thing you need to shoot?¡± Rockgar rolls his eyes, and tugs his beard with an aggrieved expression already knowing my answer. He follows the school of thought that more shots is always better. It makes sense given he runs a business where most of his profit comes from bulk sales of common calibers rather than the money made from specialty ammunition. Such rounds are usually bought by overprepared Adventurers or Hunters going for big game from the get go and even then in small quantities. Bigger nonstandard rounds are expensive and you generally only need one or two shots of the proper size to take down most monsters. I am however, an adherent of the philosophy of big enough to get the job done, and a little extra just in case. As such, a Monster Stopper bullet straddles that fine line where most everything I¡¯d expect to encounter will go down from a even a limb shot and also taking care of any bigger creatures without much trouble by turning their torsos into mulched hamburger. Unless I run into a dragon or a particularly large terrorsaur, but then I¡¯ve got bigger problems to worry about. That said I¡¯m not adverse against Rockgar¡¯s belief that more bullets can only be better. ¡°That¡¯s what this is for.¡± I chuckle and place my .455 Blutz revolver on the table with a growing grin. ¡°I¡¯ll throw in two jars of squash apple sauce if you can get me twelve meals for my dear friend here.¡± ¡°Gods be good boy, you¡¯re going to gather herbs not go on a terrorsaur hunt! You sure being a Hearthkeeper is your calling?¡± The dwarf grumbles, but ducks beneath the counter to fill place the beautiful brass covered bullets into a the leather pouches I fork over. ¡°What can I say? I don¡¯t feel right without the reassuring weight of superior dwarven engineering on my hip and in my arms.¡± Thank you very much my old insurgent friend. The midday deliveries you used to send crashing everywhere but the mortar shelters gave me a mild case of paranoia that lasted some time beyond my tenure in the army and well after my first life. I dearly hope someone ended up blowing you to pieces in return <3
With my purchases happily tucked away in my room within the village dining hall, I whistled cheerfully as I set about preparing tub after sizzling tub of brats that were even now being ferried towards the buffet table by one of my demi volunteers for dinner service. Despite not having an apprentice or three of my own I had no shortage of eager helpers clamoring for my favor week after week. It helped tremendously that whoever was part of my serving or kitchen help detail would get first dibs on the first batch of food I made and the allowance to snack on one or two choice bits in between work. ¡°Master Yumly, will it be long for next batch of coleslaw to be finished? Those grass eaters are going through the salad bar faster than everyone else is with the bratwurst and cornbread!¡± A tall, fiery haired and blue eyed wolf demi called out in the midst of picking up and several trays of freshly cooked sausage. Freki of course is already chewing up a link in his sharp toothed maw as his younger brother Geri shoves past him with a grin and two juicy hunks of meat sticking out of his mouth. I¡¯d make a dick joke here, but really that¡¯d be too easy. ¡°Send Ori over after you finish delivering these brats! I¡¯ll have another batch done in a few minutes!¡± I wave the older teenager off with a set of steel tongs, casually flipping the last pan of cooked meat into a metal tub to easily twirl around a slim horse girl who had been cutting up a not insignificant number of cabbages. A large mixing bowl of already prepared amounts of vegetables sits at my new station, and I get to work on another batch of slaw mix. Salt, pepper, vinegar, honey, celery seeds, and a questionable mayo is thrown together and whisked by hand until it¡¯s nice and thick before I dump in the prepared veggies into the mix and begin to toss it with gusto. I say questionable not because it¡¯s gone bad or anything, but because the village doesn¡¯t have a ready supply of chicken eggs. Sadly chickens don¡¯t exist here and there doesn¡¯t seem to be a creature that fills a similar livestock role. Yet I did use eggs in making said mayonnaise. Civilized harpy eggs brought in from a trading caravan to be specific. If I had coconut or palm oil I¡¯d have gladly made an eggless sauce, but well¡­ Food is food. The thought of eating something pushed out by a humanoid did set ill with me, but cooking is chemistry and science is progress! Besides, the indigenous demihumans and beastmen be they feral or civilized, have long practiced utilizing the resources produced by their lineage for generations before the arrival of the dwarves! As a firm believer of the free market, I have to do my part in keeping the economy afloat by providing the necessary demand for those wonderfully colorful bird women to keep laying more eggs! Eventually maybe I¡¯ll end up with this world¡¯s equivalent of a Chicken Harpy if I live long enough. ¡°Order up!¡± Chapter 4: A Jungle Trek to Find Pepper
Taking the entirety of the circumstances of my second life into account, overall I should be pretty happy. I got a chance to be reborn as a long lived, intelligent race with a relatively high technological base included with a substantial series of research points put into magic theory. I was also fortunate enough to be born into a mildly successful clan as part of an expedition to claim untamed territory and am a vital part of the community with my ¡®innovative¡¯ style of gastronomy. My family both immediate and extended are good, hardworking people and the friends I have made are much the same. As such, the positives thus far listed have allowed me to venture south into the tropical rainforest with two childhood companions in the search for pepper vines. Or at least something similar to it. Maybe even wild rice if I¡¯m lucky. The conditions for growth are good and pepper was originally cultivated in southeast asia during my previous life, specifically India. With similar growing conditions, I have a better than average chance of discovering an analogue if I spend enough time tromping through the jungle. Or at least that was my mindset when I began this trek with the optimism of comfortably warm temperatures and the occasional, stiff breeze to soothe my worries. Yo. His balls are sweaty, pits stink and shirt is heavy. The pastrami¡¯s gone bad already, goodbye my packed spaghetti. Gonna lose myself in the jungle, and stumble¡­ If heatstroke don¡¯t do it first. Yo. Ugh. Lets list the downsides currently weighing down my mind and normally good humor. Being a dwarf is cool and all, but short, stumpy ass legs really don¡¯t help me when there¡¯s fallen logs, vines, and chest high thorny plants getting stuck on cloth. The only fucking reason I¡¯m out here is because Dhurger ¡®cuisine¡¯ is shit, and demi food is only marginally better by dint of it being mildly easier to get down the throat without breaking a tooth on gravel. It adds texture and strength for the body, or so said the former Hearthkeeper who sampled the buttered toast I made as a toddler and left on a religious pilgrimage. He comes back every few years in an effort to instruct his blessed apprentice turned impromptu master after developing some secret technique or another. Unfortunately, one soul shattering breakfast, lunch, or dinner later, the old man once more ritually shaves himself before setting of on another journey towards a random destination. Pre Dhazad dwarven pride can be eye rolling like that. My next gripe on the list somewhat has to do with my current companions Freki and Geri, but more with the Master Huntsmen who decided that this would be a good training exercise for their apprentices prior to their journeyman examination. Yes, let¡¯s allow the sixteen year old wolf demi and his fifteen year old younger brother to act as guards and guides for the fifteen year old Master dwarf on an expedition in what is probably the most dangerous area bordering the village¡¯s territory. While mentally I¡¯m aware that the we probably won¡¯t run into anything truly dangerous only a mile within the jungle¡¯s edge, I can¡¯t help but be ever so slightly butthurt that one of the elder hunters didn¡¯t join us. My companions would be bitching less, I¡¯m sure. ¡°So, this plant you¡¯re looking for is supposed to smell¡­ spicy? Like an onion?¡± The younger wolf whines with his arms folded behind his head. ¡°Yes Freki.¡± ¡°Yumly, the only thing I can smell out here is rot, sweat, and the stink of unwashed despair mixing with the water in the air.¡± The elder takes his chance to add his two cents to the conversation. ¡°Oh no, that¡¯s just us stewing in the jungle like one of your steamed buns.¡± ¡°I know Geri.¡± I groaned with gritted teeth. The bitching really isn¡¯t helping my mood guy. ¡°Why are we even out here anyway? We could just go where we usually do and get some fresh jungle fruit. This place sucks.¡± The blonde wolf flicks his ear irritably, eyes narrowed at something in the distance before sighing. ¡°This place really sucks.¡±This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. ¡°I¡¯m questioning that myself Freki.¡± ¡°You know we¡¯re northern wolves, right Master Dwarf? We¡¯re not made for this kinda thing you know.¡± The older demi moans dramatically, easily wading through the undergrowth like he¡¯s been doing it all his life. Which he has. Dick. ¡°I understand Master Wolf. I¡¯m still going to kill you if you don¡¯t stop talking.¡± I threatened, picking up my axe and shaking it for good effect. The wolf snorts as he takes a deep breath and nods towards a nearby grouping of bushes. Immediately all of us have our free hands on the handles of our rifles even as we continue speaking like we haven¡¯t noticed a thing. ¡°I¡¯d take it as a favor. Beats walking back home.¡± Freki retorts with a snort, waving his brother off a good dozen feet away while he stays several steps behind me. I grunted in return, hacking away savagely at the thick tree the width of my body with an axe. The single strike from the cold dwarven steel powered by densely chorded musculature is enough to embed the axe blade nearly all the way through the soft wood. Like I¡¯ve done with the other two dozen trees we¡¯ve killed to clearly mark the way back home, I place my shoulder against the nearly dead tree and push against it while pulling up my axe as a lever. The last bit of tree snaps from the involved forces and topples away from myself and my companions who look ahead with eyes as dead as my own at the daunting undergrowth ahead. I glance towards the brothers who both shake their heads and bring their rifles up towards whatever it was they had scented or heard. Somehow the jungle seemed to get thicker with every step we took into the shadowed, mosquito filled depths of endless greenery. A minute later I hear the hoof steps of a large something tromping its way through the brush and I slowly replace my axe into my belt holster and take a two handed grip on my gun. Ah. A boar. At this point the noisy grunts and sounds of tree bark being scraped away by arm sized tusks was a gods sent outlet for our combined frustrations. Neither of the brothers or I have to communicate beyond a single nod as the two fan out to the sides and I bring up my rifle towards where the noise is slowly rumbling closer through the foliage. I¡¯m very sorry oh dangerous creature. There won¡¯t be any finding of peppercorns today, but I¡¯ll happily take your offered meat as a consolation prize. ¡°It¡¯s the least you can do for forcing us to pull your carcass back home.¡± I grumble under my breath and pull the trigger. This action is promptly followed by a thunderous crack and a jarring impact against my shoulder. The plated boar that just reared its bone armored head out of the brush is pushed back slightly and manages to remain on its feet for all of three seconds before realizing it has died. As it tumbles to the floor in an ungainly slump, my two friends walk out of the brus with their own rifles tucked firmly in their shoulders. Wordlessly Freki stops out of lunging distance and puts another shot through the creature¡¯s armored eyelid, making sure the boar was down for the count. ¡°Thing¡¯s pretty close to the jungle¡¯s edge, didn¡¯t expect to bag one of these today.¡± Levering a new round into his rifle, the elder brother mumbles with narrowed eyes as I do much the same with another Monster Stopper. ¡°You think something¡¯s pushing them out, brother? The Ferals?¡± Geri cocks his head, ears poised and alert as he looks around with a renewed sense of vigor without thought to the heat bearing down on us all. ¡°Could be. We haven¡¯t seen them in a while so either they¡¯ve gone back deeper into the jungle or they¡¯re getting better at hiding themselves.¡± The redheaded older wolf replies with a small frown. ¡°It¡¯s probably nothing. It¡¯s too early for culling season, but that doesn¡¯t mean there haven¡¯t been an above average number of monster births this year.¡± I note with a shrug, picking up the used brass and placing it back in a waterproof pocket. ¡°Anyway let¡¯s get this big boy back home, no point letting this meat go to waste.¡± Dual grunts of agreement call back as I lift the corpse around three times my weight with a groan of effort over my shoulders. I¡¯m not really worried about the weight, dwarves are built stronger and tougher than most. What I¡¯m more concerned about is how miserable it¡¯s going to be carrying this heat sink through the jungle at a fast enough pace that the meat will still be decent by the time I¡¯m able to cool it down in a cold bath. Well, sweat is just weakness leaving the body and all that. Least I don¡¯t have to worry about pulling ticks out of my stubble. ¡°Alright boys, lets get dinner back home.¡± I grunt and take off at a shuffling jog I could keep up for hours on end even with the weight on my back. The wolf brothers roll their eyes and walk faster with lengthened strides. Bastards. On the way back something in the jungle causes both boys to stiffen during their walk momentarily. They say nothing but we quicken our pace just a tiny bit. The entire way home I see their furry, canine ears swiveling around their heads in an effort to triangulate the creature that spooked them to no avail. Fortunately whatever it is didn¡¯t seem keen on following us out of the forest. Later conversation would lead to the discovery that whatever it was that was watching and carefully tracking us for several minutes didn¡¯t give off a scent, not something that didn¡¯t blend in with the rest of the jungle in any case. A little concerning, but it was probably nothing more than a curious Feral. Chapter 5: Dwarven Bureaucracy Upon returning from our short foraging trip turned impromptu hunt I¡¯d sent to brothers to go report to the Master Huntsman of the oddities we encountered in the southern jungle. By the time dinner rolled around the next day and the boar meat I had been marinating overnight was roasted and served, the oldbeards of Hearthholm had heard of the news. With a series of gruff nods the old Dhurger to a one had sat themselves at the head of the hall¡¯s long table. Along with still steaming plates of hearty meats, breads, and chilled pickled vegetables, the elders had brought with them reading spectacles, swathes of paper, ink, feathers, and a slew of reports to be looked over. It wasn¡¯t time yet for the monthly meeting, but the oldbeards enjoyed every excuse they had to get together and hash out ¡®minor issues¡¯ before they blew up into something unmanageable. As the defacto ranking Master Hearthkeeper of the village, I had of course been invited to participate. Regardless of my youth and inexperience compared to the rest of the Masters in attendance, according to Dhurger tradition and culture, it would be unthinkable to not have a representative of a profession weigh in on matters concerning governing policies. Within a larger settlement or a proper Hold, such meetings would first be held separately between members of artisan guilds, military leaders, and other organizations before their own leaders would leave to report to a governor. Hearthholm is small enough that chosen representatives of each major profession will be present to speak so as to advise the governor. It¡¯s a time consuming form of governance to be sure, but it works and works well. For all that many of us spend long nights debating for hours on end, the actual implementation of new edicts and changes made for the betterment of our village is quite fast to occur. ¡°In agreement with the Master Farmer, Huntsman, Miller, and Herder, current rates of growth and culling are greater than we¡¯ll be able to consume even with a hard winter. At this rate of development we¡¯ll have to say that having an abundance of consumable goods is becoming the norm.¡± I note succinctly, nodding in the direction of our Head Trader whose golden feline eyes glint brightly. ¡°I¡¯ll grab a few of the younglings and get a head start on pickling and preserving the overgrowth for the summer caravan. We¡¯ll be needing more glass jars for best taste, but barrels will do in a pinch.¡± ¡°And have you come to a decision regarding apprenticeships Master Ironhand? This one believes word of mouth has spread as far as our neighboring settlements of your blessed genius. In fact I have one or two rambunctious kittens that would do well under your tutelage.¡± The Master Trader of our village, Shio Goldseeker coos with hooded eyes. I¡¯d been making her and therefore Hearthholm a lot of money in recent years from my ¡®innovations¡¯. Dwarves like myself could subsist on rocks, grass, unprocessed grain, and raw meat if necessary, and for a long time we had. Our allies, Demihumans and Beastmen like herself could to a degree. Carnivores could get by with meat and a small amount of carbohydrates found in wild tubers while the herbivores could sustain by eating wild fruits, grain, and leafy plant matter. With survival being a priority for the animal-like races before the arrival of the Dhurger and the¡­ stunted nature of dwarven gastronomy in the old world, the realm of culinary arts were in dire straits. Fortunately for my kinsmen¡¯s long atrophied taste buds, I am here. It isn¡¯t in dwarven nature to change, not without proper incentive. It¡¯s not just better tasting food I¡¯m providing however. Good food can do wonders for morale. Even for doughty dwarves who¡¯ll stonefacedly crunch down gravel and raw wheat without complaint, the nutritional value and energy provided by properly prepared food allows a dwarf to work harder and longer. Barrels of premade hardtack and preserves are easily carried by stocky frames and even easier to pop open to eat on the move. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. All these things combined would be enough for the Dhurger to see the benefits of prepared, storable meals. For the lesser constitution and the wildly more emotive races we have brought into the fold as Oathblood, they can¡¯t get enough of it. I have no doubt that once word and goods reach the great Dhurger Hold of our King, a spectacular revolution based on the culinary sciences will bloom. One day in the future I¡¯ll likely be summoned to our capital to prove my Mastery. But this place is my home. I¡¯ve been more concerned with spreading my methodology to as many of my ¡®helpers¡¯ as I could so that when I do eventually leave, Hearthholm will always have at least some of my recipes in the case I¡¯m unable to return. That said, it¡¯s probably the right time to take on a few apprentices now that we have a sure surplus of preserved foodstuffs and I can take a break from cooking everyday for a good month. ¡°Yes Master Trader. I will be announcing tomorrow that I am ready and willing to begin accepting apprentices as Hearth Keeper.¡± I nod seriously, doing my best not to snort when several heads nod along only to turn their glances my way with raised brows. ¡°The dining hall will be self serve for the better part of a month and I won¡¯t be able to do my rounds for the miners or guards on shift, but we have a glut of preserves stored away in the meantime.¡± Bushy, bearded faces grimace as if they were beings of flesh turned to stone. Formerly alert and furry ears droop noticeably. A collective voice of despair groans through the throats of many a Master. But before anyone can protest the ancient, gravely voice of our leader speaks loudly and clearly. ¡°This is welcome news indeed Master Yumly. I am sure that Hearthholm will survive a month without your attentions. And remind others not to grow too spoiled.¡± Head Dwarf Lokir Ironhand, my great uncle looks around at the table with a soft snort. ¡°Now then, Master Huntsman, your report concerning the incident to the south?¡± The grey and silver furred beastman nods, clicking a sharp claw in the treated wood of the longtable. And old wolf of sixty winters, Gurber of Clan Longclaw was a scarred hunter who had lived in an age where the alliance of Dhurger, Demi, and Beast had only just secured the inner kingdom¡¯s borders. He¡¯d traveled far and wide in his youth from settlement to new settlement as part of the Adventurer¡¯s Guild. Now in his retirement he had settled in Hearthholm as a huntsman at the very tip of Dhazad¡¯s frontier borders. ¡°It¡¯s not unexpected to see a roaming boar or two stradling close the jungle¡¯s edge in spring. Most would be deeper within fighting for territory and mates, but old boars and piglets too weak to fight would naturally be pushed out by the stronger males. This one was neither of those, rather it was full grown, unwounded, and in the prime of its life.¡± The old wolf pushes a sharp claw into the flesh of his roast, causing it to weep the juices within. ¡°It could be nothing, but it could also be something in the jungle pushing the boars out closer to our border. The youths had the right idea of it, going into the jungle in small groups with enough fire to take a monster down. But for the time being I would propose we put another hold on gathering outings until my scouts and I return. We plan to leave on the morrow once preparations are complete if there are no disagreements?¡± Several tankards of ale and the backs of axes clank against the wood of the table in approval, myself doing much the same with the bottom of my steel mug. Lokir Ironhand grunts, tugging his beard in tentative agreement before asking the Guard Captain, the Head Gunsmith, and Master Blacksmith regarding ammunition supply and the general defensibility of Hearthholm. Their answers seem to wash away what reservations he had as he turns once more to Gurber and approves of his plan. ¡°Then that matter is settled, let us move on to the next issue at hand. What of the Feral tribes within? Have there been any further sightings?¡± And so we continued to speak late into the night, agreeing to fold in the returning scout¡¯s report into the monthly meeting at the end of the next week. ... Of course, things seldom go as planned as we¡¯d find out in the coming morning. The small group of primitively clothed, painted, and armed¡­ Elves approaching the gates caused something of a stir of activity within Hearthholm. Surely this had to be some narrative mistake on the part of the gods of this world? Weren¡¯t elves supposed to be culturally, magically, and sometimes technologically superior to every other race on a given planet? I thought we were just in some backwater land. My heart shudders at the thought that the Kingdom of Dhazad is the only form of ''advanced'' civilization on the entire world. That can''t be right, can it? Chapter 6: Universal Language There is always at least a small feeling of apprehension when it comes to meeting new people, especially foreigners. In my past life, being able to speak two languages helped to propel me into the ever awkward position of impromptu translator when it came to just about all cross cultural gatherings between people who spoke English and those speaking Korean. Like, ¡®Hey, can you help me order this?¡¯ or, ¡®Yo, be a bro and help me talk to that girl, cuz damn.¡¯ and of course ¡®Food is the language of all people, treat these savages to something nice.¡¯ Haha. Wait, no. That¡¯s the current situation. First contact between what we deem as Ferals is a tricky business, but usually begins in one of three ways. One, the tribe in question has become aware of the massive technological disparity between us and attempt to adhere to diplomatic overtures. Historically this is the most common type interaction the Dhurger have had with the indigenous races of this land as we cut, bashed, and shot the overgrown monster population to pieces during our expansion. Two, a tribe is aware of the tech difference, but short term thinking and arrogance wins out and hostilities begin soon after. This doesn¡¯t happen all that often, at most it¡¯s probably only occurred less than half a dozen times since we dwarves were transported here. Ferals can be superstitious and at times arrogant, but they aren¡¯t dumb. Generally. Three, the poor people have no idea what the funny looking sticks made of wood and metal are. In this case, most still attempt communication or retreat, but there have been attacks that increased in frequency as the kingdom grew outward and the further away tribes began to make contact with the sons and daughters of Dhazad. Fortunately these strange, never before closely witnessed people seem to be of the first variety. Or at least that¡¯s what I¡¯m betting given the wary gazes the small group of three Feral¡­ Elves are eyeballing the guns strapped to myself, Master Hunter Gurber Longclaw, and the Head Dwarf, Lokir Ironhand. It¡¯s entirely likely that these have been the people we¡¯ve been seeing flitting through the jungle in recent years, meaning they¡¯ve had ample time to learn about what a firearm could do besides make loud noises resembling those of cracking thunder. Currently my party and I had set foot outside the imposing and more than likely alien stone walls of Hearthholm. Given the three elves had stayed out in the open for the better part of two hours, they seemed agreeable enough to want something, but cautious enough to not come closer even after we had opened our gates and beckoned them forth. Thus we had to go to them. Although the folding table and six wooden sliding stools I was carrying on my back wasn¡¯t part of the equation, I had volunteered my services with the utmost seriousness I could muster. Because Elves god damn it. And maybe because I could eventually get them to bring pepper to me instead of having to go into the jungle and drown in my own sweat. However long it took to get a form of reliable communication up anyway. ¡°They look similar to ancient rune carvings of Men, but not. Much as demihumans and beastmen do to a degree.¡± My great uncle mutters to himself as we exit the gates, glancing from the corner of his eyes towards the equally frowning wolf beast. ¡°Have you ever seen their get before Master Huntsman?¡± Old Gurber shakes his head minutely, responding with an uncertain growl lowly from the back of his throat. ¡°Never. I¡¯ve heard old children¡¯s stories about blue skinned demons with knife-like ears, but that¡¯s the closest thing that comes to mind from my travels. Nothing like them where you dwarves are from?¡± ¡°No. Races of flesh and blood were a rarity, and of those only the truly hardy could survive that place. Humans certainly didn¡¯t.¡± Lokir responds gruffly and visibly struggles not to tug his beard at the memory of our apparently hellish homeworld. Dhurger are good at fighting and digging into solid stone. For good reason I¡¯m told. As we got closer and their features became clearer, I can¡¯t say that I¡¯m disappointed. As a whole all three fit the archetype of tall, comely, young, and slim. There isn¡¯t a magical air or anything about them, but it grows ever more apparent that my mental image of what an elf should look like is correct, but ever so slightly wrong. The two men as well as the woman have dusky, tanned skin and long hair pulled back into complex looking braids threaded with charms made of wood and bone. Their hair is actually quite fascinating, the color is a muted green but the shade of it subtly alters to lighten or darken depending how the sun is exposed to it. Their bodies are mostly unclothed save for loincloths and what look to be ceremonial ornaments of fire bleached bone and leather covering their chests. It is the woman that steps forward as we near, placing an arm chorded tight with muscle tone and covered in an intricate full sleeve tattoo across her chest to tap her thumb and forefinger against her bared shoulder. She speaks what sounds like a greeting, caution glittering behind her large, amber eyes. Yet they burn with curiosity unbidden, almost appearing taken aback at the visage of the old wolf and the venerably grey dwarf. Great uncle does much the same, regally placing an arm across his torso to hold his flowing beard in place before bending forward minutely. ¡°Lo strangers. We sons of Dhazad do greet you. Our halls are welcoming and our axes sharper still.¡± Rising from his ceremonial greeting, Lokir straightens and gestures to me slowly with placid movements.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! ¡°Lo there.¡± I say simply with a nod and begin to work. The elves watch with no little perplexion and a small amount of caution as I put the stools and table down on the ground. With deliberately slowness I go about snapping together the locking mechanisms of the table and stools to change them from storage to active use configuration. One of the two men tilts his head and whispers towards his other male companion momentarily before he is chastised with a sharp word from the woman who continues to watch with an ever growing focus. Scary lady you brought along dudes. Good thing you don¡¯t wear pants. Ignoring the small byplay, I place the table down between us and place the seats down on opposite ends of the table. I unslung the satchel I¡¯d brought with me and opened to reveal a set of finely detailed ceramic plates that I carefully slid onto the table. With them I also set down a series of steel cutlery to include forks, spoons, and chopsticks as well as rune inscribed drinking horns. From the way the elves¡¯ glances were growing into longer looks they were quite confused at this mysterious ritual indeed. The woman however made a small noise of understanding when I brought out a keg of apple cider and began filling the drinking horns. The more talkative of the two men made a surprised sound when I twisted the spigot and allowed the frothy liquid to flow into a mug, followed by two more slightly louder exclamations when the runes on the drinking horns began to glow a dull blue and the cider within immediately chilled to a level where the temperature difference made the ivory frost over. ¡°L¡¯fieo?¡± The woman narrows her eyes and makes to move her hand towards the chilled cider but visibly controls herself and glances towards Lokir with what I assume is a questioning look. ¡°Go ahead lass, cider don¡¯t bite much.¡± Taking his words as permission, the elf leans forward and pokes the cup. Her surprised expression and words are expected. The way her thumb traces over the runes as well. What none of us saw coming, was the way the woman scrunched her nose cutely before haphazardly pulling one of the bone charms hanging down her torso and glaring at it with narrowed eyes. The tattoo covering her right arm from knuckles to shoulder lighting up in lines of green and taking on a bluish hue even less so. What first began as the smell of sweet fruits filling my nose quickly turned into something that reminded me of the nearly forgotten scent of a modern day freezer. The greenish blue glow trailing like live circuits wrapping around her arm turned entirely into the color of glacial melt followed by the bone charm held in her fingers beginning to frost and emit cold fog. ¡°L¡¯fieo!¡± The woman proudly states placing the charm on the table and sliding it towards us with an excited smile. Did this girl just reverse engineer a rune into a live spell!? What!? ¡°Hrm hrm. Impressive.¡± Great uncle mutters, running his hand along his beard with a raised eyebrow as his free hand picks up the charm. ¡°Well? What are you waiting for boy? Set the table for our guests.¡± Oh. Right. I turn to grab the basket at my feet and prop it on the table. The two elders have already seated themselves in the meantime and have gestured the elves to do the same, which they have done. The formerly stoic and cautious woman seems more like an excited young teenager than a grown woman as she watches Lokir with hawk-like eyes when he brings out a small chisel set, his monocle, and a rock he picked up from the ground. The painted, tattooed, and mostly uncovered girl leans forward uncaring about modesty as Lokir begins to gently tap the beginnings of a rune into the small stone. The two other elves shuffle in their seats awkwardly when the she elf begins to lowly mutter to herself at every stray mote of magic sparking from the chisel and into the body of the rock. ¡°It¡¯s going to be a while lass. Why don¡¯t you have something to eat while I finish a small demonstration?¡± Uncle Lokir grunts, focusing completely on the rune being chiseled in front of him and nodding his head towards the basket. The green haired girl blinks, looking towards where Lokir was gesturing to see my raised eyebrow and face filled with no little mirth. Rather than react with any sort of embarrassment, the woman visibly ignores my presence once more stare at the magic the elder dwarf was crafting without comment. Hey. Excuse you. One of the guys at least seems interested in the basket. He presumably asks a question and I mime eating a drumstick to which he responds with an ¡®ahh¡¯ of understanding. It¡¯s the moment I uncover the cloth covering the basket and pull out the still warm roast and bowl of fried potato wedges that I get a stronger reaction from all the elves present. First, girl that was formerly entranced in Uncle¡¯s rune carving sniffs. Next her eyes are invariably drawn towards the plates of food I¡¯m placing onto the table. Next is the unseen, but most definite buildup of saliva if the involuntary swallow I see is any indication. The final nail in the coffin signifying my victory is the growling of a toned belly that hasn¡¯t had anything to eat for who knows how long. Yes. The power of food compels even the most brainy of nerds foolish elf! ¡°Ah¡­ oiu¡¯kondu? Shor¡¯kat sinchenyis?¡± The she elf swallows again, looking at the marinated roast with a gaze full of uncertain desire. ¡°I don¡¯t really understand what you¡¯re saying at all so just eat this and we¡¯ll figure out if you¡¯re not supposed to consume meat later.¡± I respond with all seriousness. I know that I¡¯m gonna have three happy guests as soon as my knife slides into the meat and the juices begin leaking. Amber, gold, and purple eyes remain locked at every piece of food that is placed on their plates and while they have a little difficulty with the utensils placed before them, eagerness makes up for lack of experience in this case. The meat and potatoes are consumed quickly and messily. The cider is polished off just as quick as are seconds and refills. I don¡¯t feel disgust at their lack of civility in regards to eating habits, not when I get to watch such delicious expressions of surprise, enjoyment, and rapture at every unmeasured bite that is pushed into loudly chewing mouths as fast as the food can be swallowed. And dessert? Well, I don¡¯t have ready access to sugar, but honey makes one hell of a substitute for fried doughballs. ¡°Do you like it?¡± I ask airily with a smile, entirely hiding the smug grin I¡¯m feeling in my chest. I think I know the answer to the question when the tanned and tattooed elf girl responds with her word for what I believe is ¡®magic.¡¯ ¡°L¡¯fieo¡­?¡± Wide, sparkling gems look down at my shorter form in a gaze that is absolutely bubbling with respect, uncertainty, awe, and mystification. My Little Elf! Food is Magic!