- CHAPTER NINE AND A HALF: What. -
Dwarven Cooking 202, by FatmanPrefaceAlright, get it over with.
Yes, you may laugh freely at my name. I know you were thinking about it. I'm long over it, so we might as well deal with the general hilarity and move on straight away. By the time you're reading this, that "stupid" name will be selling millions of copies world wide and putting your mining efforts
to shame. Nobody will remember another Urist, Miner, but my old nickname will spread like uncaged cats.
The story behind the name is unfortunate, but simple. My hair growth didn't start until late into puberty when I was seventeen years old, rather than the usual age of four days. My peers thus made the witty observation that instead of looking like a dwarf, I looked like a "short, fat man". The short was dropped for brevity and the nickname stuck well into adulthood.
Here's a fun fact: Did you know that in the time you just spend laughing, you could have brewed TWO barrels of ale? It's much faster than you think when you the know the proper technique. The simplest things ARE important, and so for my first two chapter's I'll be reviewing both ...
Special Feature! But who can I trust?... Of course, every brand wants you to think they're the tastiest, freshest etc. But how do you know which to trust? Trying them all is expensive and time consuming, but there is one way to narrow down the field: The name. Yes, it IS possible to judge a book by it's cover, and even a packet of frozen cat meat. "Fresh Frozen Daily Cat"
sounds fresh, but to the trained eye there's obvious wiggle room for interpretation. Let me share an anecdote to help explain:
Once while I was still gathering and testing recipes for this book, I met a dwarf calling her Lady Ruins. She claimed to be archeologist. It makes sense, right? But, see how it actually held out. Ruins was a new member of the Exploratory Mining Guild, but had already risen high enough to mount her own expedition. I assumed she had family in the business or some other connections. Anyway, she was recruiting members to investigate rumours about old, dwarven ruins underground far to the north. Being short on cash, and hoping to learn about older techniques, I signed up. Before long Ruins had filled out party and pockets and we were off.
Aside from our mostly enigmatic leader and my charming self, there were five other dwarves. Kragus seemed overly eager to find the literal bones of any mysterious ancestors. Ivanor's motives were similar to mine, hoping to learn about ancient designs and mechanisms. Flint didn't speak much except to gleefully discuss the possibility of hostile beasts and ancient guardians; I gathered from Ruins he would be our first protection against such. Vidar really liked wood, so why he was even in the Exploratory MINING Guild is anyone's guess. I think he was just happy to be allowed in. Worst was The Tax Collector, some unbearable official who insisted on tagging along to ensure the king elect had his cut of any valuable findings. One moment he'd be waving contracts in our faces and the next he'd be standing stony silent, just watching us.
Did I mention Vidar really liked wood? Lady Ruins didn't fund that, Vidar just lugged it along himself "just in case". I didn't ask. What Ruins did fund was mostly standard supplies. I'd be starting a farm for further food and drink, while Kragus would produce crafts we could trade for the rest of our weapons. Flint insisted on ammo, so Ruins bought one. Flint cuddled it at night. Most of the dogs were for breeding. I don't know where the cat came from. Ruins seemed fond of it, if not it her.
We arrived at the site sometime later. Our final destination was reasonably high up a steep cliff, so we had to carry everything up by hand rather than use a wagon. Lady Ruins and Kragus were just starting to dig out an area to store our food (nevermind the bloody wood) when Vidar sort of squeaked and pointed northwards. I turned to look downhill and saw ...
Goblins. Dozens of goblins. They even a
demon with them. Now, we were still in a tenuous peace with their race at that time, but it didn't take long for The Tax Collector to helpfully chime in that this was one of their forbidden sacred sites we were trespassing on. If they found us, they'd kill us, and probably claim it as valid ground to break the alliances our king elect had worked years to forge. All because our leader screwed up her map work or something.
So you see, Lady Ruins was not in fact a lady who enjoyed ruins, but a lady who would bring OUR ruin.
Or so we thought anyway until a friendly goblin fishery worker just laughed at our mistake and offered us in for a cold mug of ale while their prisoners helped store our supplies.
[Author's Note: AND THEN FATMAN WOKE UP INSTANT RETCON. Did someone say world regeneration time?]
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Topic: All Dwarves Are Bastards (But Some Less So Than Others) (Read 88693 times)