Closed [Rearing Stallion] Roll Up Your Sleeves, Squire (Marrick)

[Orin Fenix]

Orin recognized the far off look Marrick got when Orin spouted off the recipe for a very basic organ soup. It was similar to the look Remi and Rondo got when they were feeling particularly inspired to try a new dish or use an exotic ingredient. Orin had no doubt that same expression had graced Orin’s own face, and probably more often than not. It was a look of longing and discovery of deep thought and joy. In short, it was how someone who cooked appeared when they were contemplating a dish that was a particular favorite. Orin figured artists had a similar countenance when they were in the throes of creation. Since Orin spent very little time in the presence of art of any kind, beyond occasional glimpses at the performers who frequented The Rearing Stallion he didn’t actually no that for certain. Of course, Orin would be more than willing to argue the idea that there was an art to cooking, and that it could be just as expressive in its own low key way as music, dance, or any of the more obvious art forms. Still Marrick wasn’t likely to disagree with Orin on that point, nor did Orin actually feel he needed to convince anyone of that fact. Those who believed it to be true were already on Orin’s side and Orin had no plans to associate with anyone who had the contrary view. Still, it felt good to think that Marrick felt similarly to Orin about food. Still Orin also didn’t want to potentially freak Marrick out by how strongly his beliefs on this subject were, so Orin wisely stayed silent. If Marrick was really intrigued by the idea of organ soup though, Orin had quite a few different recipes that he could talk through. ”That’s the most basic, of course. Like most soups though, there are almost infinite variations depending on things like how much blood you put in, how well you prepare the meat and other ingredients, what spices you add, and a whole host of other little differences. I haven’t made many myself but I know the theory.” Actually, soups were some of the easiest foods to make, since most of them consisted of dumping water, vegetables, and some meat in a pot and letting it simmer. Using stock and bones to create broth added taste but weren’t exactly necessary. Still any beginning chef would start off with soups, since they were hard to mess up. In fact, for years Orin could basically only make soups or stews.

Finally Marrick broke out of the reverie and began talking about the conditions in The White Swan Inn, specifically the cooks. While Samantha was under Tresa’s purview, according to Marrick, Orin didn’t detect any sense that the situation was similar to The Rearing Stallion. In fact seeing as Marrick didn’t comment on it Orin was inclined to believe it was much more pleasurable work environment. Orin couldn’t imagine that Marrick, knowing that Orin’s current circumstances were so poor, wouldn’t say if the situation at The White Swan was at all similar to The Rearing Stallion. However, Marrick’s next statement took Orin off-guard. He didn’t want the other man to get the impression that everything at the tavern was bad. Far from it. And Orin learned even from Rondo, even if it was mostly from observation rather than the older chef actually teaching Orin anything. Still, Rondo was a master of his craft, and, however surly, Orin was lucky to get the chance to be in the same kitchen as the man. ”Look, it’s not, I’m not trapped here or anything. I’m staying here because this place, believe it or not, has some of the best cooks in the city. And, Rondo aside, they’ve been good to me here.” Orin crossed his arms against his chest. He didn’t have the words to defend his choices but he knew he had to try. ”Whether or not it’s true, I feel like I owe a debt to these people. They took me in a gave me a chance. What kind of person would I be if I betrayed their loyalty by taking my services and my talents, the skills they taught me, somewhere else, some place that’s likely to be a direct competitor?” At the end, Orin knew his reasoning was getting a bit flimsy. However he was also doing his best to convince himself that sticking to his principles was the right course of action. It was becoming increasingly difficult to tell himself that he was just doing what was best.

Orin smiled sadly at Marrick’s observations. Orin was parentless, and so many of Orin’s acquaintances had dark pasts of their own. But Marrick seemed to have his heart in the right place. His words about protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves resonated in Orin. While Orin wasn’t a knight or a squire, he believed in looking after those who needed it and standing up to bullies that tried to walk all over those below him. The Order did offer aid and protection to the citizens of Sylirans. But Orin felt that more often than not the Knights could lose sight of what exactly they were supposed to be looking after. ”That’s good to hear. I just wish that people remembered exactly what they’re supposed to be protecting.” Orin knew he was in dangerous waters but Orin felt it needed to be said. Just because the citizens who weren’t members of the Order didn’t actively participate in the defense of Syliras didn’t mean they had nothing to contribute to the city. After all, the simple joys of life and the ideals of civilization were supposed to be what the Syliran Knights tried to uphold, and yet they restricted much of the populace’s ability to express that. Orin was prepared to immediately apologize if Marrick took offense, which he likely would. But Orin still wasn’t great at controlling his tongue.

Orin watched Marrick as he described his experiences with Katelyn. The man seemingly came alive when he talked about the girl. His animated explanation of their race and Katelyn’s subsequent fall couldn’t help but infect Orin with its glee. Orin smiled at Marrick, but there was a nagging question at the back of the brain. Clearing his throat Orin rocked back and forth on his feet nervously. ”Was, well was there anything between the two of you? It’s just...from the way you talk about her it seems like there might have been.” Orin shrugged, unsure if he should’ve mentioned anything in the first place. It really wasn’t his place but Orin had always been too curious for his own good. And Orin had some vague idea that two men were supposed to talk about the girls they’d been with. Of course, if Marrick asked Orin about his romantic past Orin would have nothing to say. Orin had barely been near to a girl, let alone been involved with one. So Orin tensed up at the thought of that particular conversation. A nervous feeling grew in his stomach and Orin regretted even suggesting this topic.

Marrick’s next statement didn’t exactly ease Orin’s anxieties. Thinking about Gypsy obviously was difficult for Marrick and Orin didn’t want to say the wrong thing. Orin was bad about providing sympathy. Giving Marrick another shoulder squeeze just seemed foolish, so Orin settled for a slight smile. ”Well, I’m glad she found you.” The two of them had clearly loved each other very much for however long they had together, and Orin was immensely glad about that. The happy times Marrick could remember hopefully far outweighed the loss he felt. The conversation, however, refused to become less uncomfortable for Orin. Not only did Marrick actually respond to Orin’s clearly proud statement, the man seemed to agree with the sentiment. Orin wanted to sink into the floor. ”I’ll...take it under advisement and thanks for your kind words.” Orin knew he wasn’t anything special but Marrick’s words were meant to be encouraging. And Orin had somehow misled Marrick into believing that Orin was a far greater cook than he really was. Orin wasn’t anything special. While he might technically be as good as anyone else in Syliras, he lacked imagination. And although most cooks got by without that, to be one of the really incredible chefs Orin needed to up his game. And Orin simply didn’t know if that was possible. Regardless, while Marrick’s words might be true, and Orin’s time might come, right now it was time to get his head out of the clouds and focus on the task at hand. There was time enough for daydreams when Orin wasn’t at work and under quite a bit of stress and trying to please customers who were probably becoming more irate with every tick. Orin once again cursed Rondo for leaving Orin in increasingly difficult scenarios. It might reflect badly on Orin’s talents but it also put the business itself at risk. Orin was frankly shocked that Rondo was still able to pull stunts like this. Apparently the gains he brought to The Rearing Stallion still were far greater than any losses his behavior might be causing.

Orin shook his head at Marrick’s offer to procure some of the mushroom. ”Thanks, but there’s no need. I’m sure that we can procure it if I ever did want to experiment with it.” Orin grinned widely at Marrick. It was true that The Rearing Stallion had connections with basically every supplier in Syliras. In fact that was one of the ways they stayed ahead of their competitors, getting the best of the crops and having the best cuts from the butcher. Orin was slowly trying to cultivate similar connections through his frequent shopping trips but it was hard work for Orin who wasn’t as personally charming as Kevith, Remi, or even Rondo when the man bothered. Still Orin wasn’t forced to elaborate on that subject since Marrick enthusiastically jumped into action. Orin watched approvingly as the man added the oil and followed it up with the onions, carrots, and then cut the lemon, removed the seeds without prompting, and squeezed it over. Orin smiled, picking up the oil. He added another toss in, since the amount Marrick had added had been a bit on the low side. ”I’m a bit cautious with these things, and a little too much oil is better than slightly too little in this case.” Orin recapped the bottle and set it aside. He brushed his hands together as he thought about anything he’d missed. ”Oh! Of course, we need to add spices. Here, sprinkle some of the marjoram on it while I get the salt, pepper and garlic.” Orin handed a small pouch of ground herbs to Marrick while he darted over to the spice cabinet. Taking down the salt and pepper, Orin returned to where he’d left the garlic. Quickly and efficiently Orin removed the cloves and handed a few of them over to Marrick. ”Throw those cloves in there and then sprinkle the marjoram, the salt and the pepper lightly over the top. Then we mix it all together and let it cook for a few chimes.” Orin bit his lip but he had to warn Marrick. ”Just, be careful with the spices, the pepper especially. It’s very, very expensive and if we waste it I’ll get in huge trouble.” Orin trusted Marrick but it couldn’t hurt to take a few extra precautions. He really didn’t think that the other man would mind. Orin placed his hands on his hips as he patiently waited for Marrick to get back to work. However, at Marrick’s lament that they couldn’t eat, Orin felt a grin spread across his face. ”Actually one of the perks of working here is that we do, indeed, get to eat what we cook. Once everyone else is served of course, or sometimes when there’s a lull in the action. So be patient and you’ll get a taste.” Orin’s grin got a bit smaller but didn’t go away entirely. Marrick’s excitement about the food was making Orin hungry again and also awakening Orin’s deep joy in sharing his food with others. This was turning into a surprisingly fun night, despite how it had begun.

[Marrick Corvis]

Orin was a complicated human, and his heart was in the right place. Or so the Kelvic thought as he listened to the ebony haired culinary artist. His words were like pure innovation that poured into his ear sweet as honeyed potion. Ingredients, spices and prepped meat! If his eyes hadn’t already gone doe eyed and silly, the whirlwind of possibilities that filled his imagination showed clearly in the glossed over look he gave his cooking companion.

Orin hadn’t worked at the Rearing stallion when Marrick had first walked through its door, but like an old reliable mixing bowl, or skillet the man had become a part of the place. He was loyal to the place, to Remi, and Kevith. Who wouldn’t be, the pair of them were pillars of the community. He even held Rondo in high regard. The Kelvic wasn’t sure he would feel the same way about such a man, but he understood. The mysterious little smile he gave Orin, and the implicit nod were all he could give the man. He hoped that it would be enough to put his new chum at ease. Besides, he understood what debt was.

Like an old tree heeding the wind as it blew by, Marrick listened attentively as Orin talked. Though just as a tree would bend and bow, so did he as his comrade of cookery punctuated his words. He was very philosophical for a cook, and the longer the Kelvic listened the more he realized the depths of that aspect of the man.

When the question of a relationship with Katelyn came up he nearly spat into the food he was cooking. A laugh both deep and hearty rolled from his throat like the roll of thunder chasing a flash of light. Until it grew soft, and died as he began to consider the fact that Katelyn might have made the same assumption. He pursed his lips in thought a moment before he gave the contents of his skillet a thoughtful stir.

Orin was curious, and by the way he acted the Kelvic suspected that his new friend was lacking in experience. There was no harm in telling him. It was a documented incident and the parties involved were now either squires or doing hard time in the mines. “Nay lad, moy heart belongs teh another.” The Kelvic chuckled softly as his eyes glossed over. “Oi met her here.” Marrick paused to prepare another seven to ten servings of the vegetable medley. “Of all places.” The little mysterious smile lit his face even though his eyes focused solely on the onion he withdrew from the bowl at his station. As he topped and tailed the little white bulb, it smelled amazing as the oil coated his fingers and stung his eyes. He blinked through the water until he could see and the sting diminished to a mild itch. Then it was back to slicing.

“It was a noight of amazin merriment, moy friend. We danced, we drank, and ate amazin food! No surprise as Remi was the cook that noight. T’was meh first day as a squire, and Oi’d made moy first arrest that afternoon. Oi was about as happy as a choild that’d jest tasted sweet cakes fer the first toime.” The Kelvic quartered the onion in two easy slices and placed them into the same bowl he had used to collect the first batch before he withdrew another. “There was jest one problem. Oi was greener than the fields a Mithryn.” The oil from the next couple of quartered onions didn’t sting his eyes as badly, so they were a lot easier to slice. As his knife met the cutting board with the pleasant repetitious tap of the blade he continued his story.

“A lady Oi didn’t know slipped somthin inta meh drink and led me inta the alley teh wrench mah bloody guts out. She wasn’t there teh give me comfort. Oi was attacked by some thugs workin fer the man Oi’d arrested.” Once he’d quartered another five onions, he gathered up a handful of carrots. “Oriah, came out teh foind me, n’ she saved meh loife. How are yeh supposed teh have anythin apart from adoration fer sech a woman?” His question was more rhetorical than aimed at Orin, and he shrugged his shoulders in defeat at the concept of considering the alternatives to such a relationship. When the Kelvic raised his head to smile encouragingly at his teacher, Orin’s face looked akin to one that had swallowed a frog or large bug by mistake and had just realized it. “Well, things have gotten a bit heavy, moy apologies Ser. Think nothin of it.” His grin was both broad and wolfish. Though the genuine nature of his tone sang through any oddity in his visage.

As the conversation rolled along the Kelvic began to realize his assessment of Orin was right on the money. He truly was complicated. If he’d gauged the man’s responses correctly, he bounced between being proud and embarrassed by his achievements. For the briefest of moments the squire puzzled over this, ultimately deciding that the cook’s behavior was both frustrating and endearing. It made him approachable, an excellent source of knowledge and training. The Kelvic nodded with a furrowed brow, as if every word that Orin spoke were the sagest advice he’d heard all season. In truth every little detail was more substantial to him than a single lesson in the art of sword fighting. In truth, you can only gut a man once, but can feed them repeatedly vanquishing their hunger again, and again. Cooking was an endless adventure.

When he had returned to the pan he gave the medley a stir. He made an unnecessary flourish to slosh the cooking vegetables and onions over on itself like a wave of food in the sizzling iron skillet. With a pretentious eye he stirred in any straggling bits of food not touching the pans surface. He had to make sure they would cook through.

A drop of sweat ran down his nose and barely missed the pan, only to sizzle into vapor, and Marrick realized how hot he was. It was with a long draw of his bare forearm that the Dark haired squire wiped his brow to rid it of the sweat that had begun to coalesce on its furrowed surface as he watched his culinary Patron add another slosh of oil. He nodded at the idea of being cautious, and squirrelled away the comforting idea that using oils was ok as long as he didn’t drown the food in it. After all that would be frying wouldn’t it?

As Orin handed him the spices the Kelvic raised his eyebrows. He knew what Salt and Pepper were, even garlic. However, he hadn’t the faintest inkling of what Marjoram was. He stared at the little pouch in his hand clearly labeled as “Marjoram” like a dog with an ox cart bearing down on it. It was as if he’d been struck dumb. “Oi, uh, Apologoize. What is Marjoram n’ how much do Oi add? Is it sort of a pinch, a spoon or a dash?” With a cautious pinch he grasped a small amount between his fingers and rubbed them together to add this new spice into the dish of sizzling food. “Oi hope a pinch is enough. We can a’ course add a bit more if that’s the sarta thing were aimin fer.”

When Orin handed him the cloves, salt and pepper he squinted and cursed himself inwardly. He had always had a hard time following recipes. When to add what and how much. He’d always relied on flavor as the universal test. Was it spicy enough, was it bland enough, was there enough body in the food? Did it need anything else? He shrugged away the uncomfortable feeling in his gut that he was botching the whole thing, and carried on. He was sparse with the amounts he’d added. Of course they could always add more! “Aye, Oi bought some spoices last fall from the travelers from the Eyktol. Syna above, they were a thrifty bunch. Hagglin the Benshira was loike tryin teh catch a greased tom cat. Oi made it out with the skin of meh teeth and a few things teh try and add teh the fields. Hot peppers mostly, but bloody mercy they were good at hagglin.” He talked as he worked the spices and other ingredients into the medley of vegetables and onions. When it seemed as though they had spread efficiently around the contents of the skillet he looked up to catch Orin with his hands on his hips. It seemed that they could indeed eat what they cooked, which came as a surprise to the squire.

“But, when do yeh have toime teh even get a spoon from yer plate teh yer mouth back here?!” he said as his tongue rebelliously licked the corner of his lower lip before he reined in his enthusiasm. “The Stallions, packed most noights. The entertainment, the drinks, the food and the company is always tops.” In the end the Kelvic simply nodded thoughtfully. “Aye, Patience. She’s an elusive prey.”


As the food sizzled in the skillet, Marrick stirred, and shook the pan a bit to loosen its contents before he left it to cook on its own for a chime or two. “Should Oi prep another mess’a this lot or keep an eye on the skillet? Oi know what Oi’d do, but Oi’m no chef eh?” He gave Orin a broad grin again before he dove back in and stirred. The smells were fantastic, and they made the Kelvic breath deep of the air and swallowed his saliva repeatedly. As if he could osmosis the spices and food straight out of the air.

[Orin Fenix]

Orin noticed the small nod but he didn’t know Marrick well enough to interpret it. Presumably it was in agreement with Orin’s statement about why he remained at The Rearing Stallion. Although, he wasn’t being quite honest. Somehow, the idea of switching to a new venue to work simply had never really occurred to him. Perhaps because, as uncomfortable as it might be sometimes, it had become a sort of home for Orin. He knew almost everyone else who worked there, and recognized most of the regulars although he rarely ventured out to the common room. After a few disastrous attempts to have Orin help serve or be in the front with Ser Kevith, the staff had decided, with Orin’s silent blessing, to keep him in the kitchen. He had no idea how to interact well with people, after all, and usually most folks understood that after having only been in his presence for a short time. Regardless, these people had taken him in and trained him, and made him into the cook he was today, and even the man he was today. After spending so long moving from home to home and not having a good childhood, the stability it provided was necessary for Orin’s mental state. It was like an old comfortable blanket he clung to in the cold. And so maybe fear was driving his decision to remain complacent as much as anything else, but there wasn’t anything wrong with that in Orin’s eyes. Besides, although Marrick spoke lovingly of The White Swan, Orin was sure there were problems in that kitchen just as there were in The Rearing Stallion. It seemed to be a constant that when there weren’t issues people invented them just because.

However, the dark turn his thoughts took didn’t stay there for long as Marrick nearly choked when Orin asked after his relationship with Katelyn. Apparently, Orin had completely missed the mark on that one. Mortified, he tried to correct his misunderstanding. ”I’m sorry I didn’t mean to imply anything, I mean it was just a question!” Blushing he looked down and away, fiddling with the pan on the stove even though there was nothing he needed to adjust. Marrick seemed to sober up relatively quickly, which Orin was grateful for. Hopefully they could put this particular incident behind them.

The squire seemed to have other ideas though. Without any more of Orin's prompting, which was good since Orin wouldn't have been able to speak very coherently, Marrick launched into an explanation of who his real love was. Apparently her name was Oriah. Orin scanned his memories, but no one of that name came to mind. If she did come to The Rearing Stallion, it likely wasn't often. Of course, he was unlikely to know anyone from the front room unless Kevith or one of the serving girls mentioned them. Kevith mostly spoke of his old pals from the Knighthood. And the girls, well, seemed entirely oblivious to anyone but attractive men.

Still, Marrick spun a wild tale. The image of that evening, filled with candlelight, music, good food and better company took shape in Orin's mind as the other man spoke on and on about the seemingly enchanted evening where he'd first met what appeared to be the girl of his dreams. Of course, at this point even as the squire moved on to slicing an onion Orin's hands left the pan and started cutting up two carrots at once. It was almost a subconscious gesture. Idle hands in a kitchen were just so unknown to him that even as he was following the story, his body could still go through the motions. After the years spent honing his skills this much was essentially instinct.

The picture grew sweeter before taking a rather sour turn. Orin couldn't help but smile at the thought of a younger, giddier, and probably drinker Marrick. When compared to the kind but slightly reserved man before him the contrast was huge and marked. Still he could see it in the laugh lines around Marrick's eyes and mouth. Moving his hands without thought, Orin picked up an onion of his own and dumped it in a nearby bucket of water. He'd never actually noticed a substantial difference but supposedly, according to Rondo whose advice to Orin had to be taken with a grain of salt, it helped slightly with the fumes Marrick was struggling with. Peeling it in quick, efficient movements Orin frowned at the admission that someone had apparently tried to drug or poison Marrick. "In here? Did she have a death wish or something? If Kevith didn't get her one of the chefs would for ruining one of their meals." Realizibg he was being horribly rude with his interruption Orin made a gesture indicating Marrick should continue with his free hand, the one not holding a knife. He'd found that waving knives at people tended to freak them out. Hopefully Marrick's flow wasn't too badly damaged. Orin's lips were sealed until the story was over.

Seeing that Marrick was determined to continue on with the onions, Orin switched back to carrots. However, his hand tightened on the handle of the knife until he was white knuckled with anger. The fact that someone had dared to come in to The Rearing Stallion and Syliras itself with murder in their hearts enraged him. Obviously Marrivk had walked away just fine, apparently due to this Oriah's intervention, and the nefarious element had been discovered and punished. So the story had a happy ending.

But the tavern very nearly had a sacred feel to Orin and those thugs had tried to defile it. Still, this was obviously old news or Orin would've heard of it, so he let out a deep breath and let his anger stream out with it. He grinned at Marrick finally. "If it were me I'd keep her around too. She sounds like a lovely gal." That brought up another question. Enough time had passed since the misunderstanding about Katelyn that Orin felt confident he could ask about Marrick's love life again. "So what is Oriah up to these days? Is she with you?"

Orin waved off Marrick's apology that it got too dark. "You tell a fascinating story my friend. And it passed the time quite well. Look at how much progress we made with these vegetables." Orin's pile was higher than Marrick's which was to be expected but the squire had done an admirable job. Better than Orin himself when he had first started out. "You know, if you weren't already a squire, I'd start to get nervous right about now. I mean, the competition you'd provide." Orin's tone was light but his words were true. Out of the people who had come in to the kitchen who Orin had ended up either teaching or practically kidnapping into helping him work, Marrick was by far one of the steadiest and most skilled. Orin was frankly amazed at how poorly people performed when they first started out cooking.

He chuckled as Marrick started tossing the vegetables. Taking up a wooden spoon from the drawer nearest him, Orin handed it over to the Marrick. ”The toss might look fancy but stirring with a spoon is just as useful and less like to end up with half your meal on the floor if you don’t know what you’re doing.” As he watched, sweat dripped off the other man’s nose to drip and boil away on the stove. Realizing how hot it must be to the squire, Orin hurried over to a pile of cloths in the corner. He tied one around his forehead, then took two over to Marrick. ”Here, wipe your face with one, then tie the other around your head. Should catch most of the sweat.” Orin had a tendency to forget sometimes that not everyone was as acclimatized to kitchens as he was. He could ignore the heat fairly easily, and though he sweated, he wiped it away periodically with his apron or a cloth without even noticing half the time. Others, though, tended to bake.

At Marrick’s blank look and inquiry Orin immediately launched into an explantion. ”Marjoram is a leafy spice, actually. It’s got a mild sweet flavor. All you need to do is add a few leaves of it when we’re almost done cooking. If it’s in there too long, the heat will destroy the flavor. Simple, really.” Orin watched with a careful eye as Marrick added the spices in small amounts. When he saw how cautious the other man was being, Orin decided it might be a good time to launch into a bit more of a lecture. Marrick probably hadn’t worked much with spices before, which if Orin thought about, made sense. Most people hadn’t, since most people didn’t cook often. ”So pepper and cloves pack a bit of a punch, even in small amounts. You really don’t need to add much to any dish that calls for them to get the flavor you want. And besides, they’re incredibly expensive, so we have to be a bit frugal in our use of them.” Orin grinned wryly at this admission before continuing on. ”Salt is a bit easier to get our hands on, and in my opinion, you shouldn’t be afraid of adding more.” Taking the small bag, Orin added two more pinches before setting it aside. ”Also, adding it early in the process when you’re cooking a dish that takes a long time is useful. For some reason, it has a tendency to bring out the native flavors of whatever you are cooking in addition to bringing its own.” As he spoke, Orin grew more and more animated. This was a subject he was passionate about and it wasn’t often that he got an audience as willing as Marrick. So if he was showing off his experience a little bit, hopefully it could be forgiven. Though he hoped that he really was a good chef in his heart of hearts, being forced to stay as the assistant to Remi and Rondo even after he’d honed his skills and the constant abuse he went through at Rondo’s hands introduced so many doubts about his abilities that it was hard to see himself as anything special. So Orin was conflicted about his worth in the culinary field, which meant he had to take every opportunity he could to reaffirm his belief in himself.

At the mention of spice traders Orin perked up. Although it wasn’t actually his job, finding new suppliers for The Rearing Stallion was one of the ideas he was toying with as a way to improve his standing among the other staff members. So, discovering a new source of potentially exotic spices would be a great opportunity for both him and the tavern. ”Eyktol? Where in the world is that? And who are the Benshira?” They certainly didn’t sound like anything Orin had ever heard of before. However there was another more important question he had to ask. ”What else did you get but hot peppers? And did any of the transfers work?” Turning his whole body, Orin focused his full attention on Marrick. Maybe he was making too much out of nothing but the prospect of new foods to work with was infinitely exciting to Orin.

At Marrick’s confused lips, Orin smiled. ”Well, yes, it is always crowded here for the dinner rush, which is why it’s annoying that the other chefs decided to abandon me tonight. But we do close up eventually. So usually we eat after everyone else has left before cleaning up and locking the building for the night.” Orin raised one eyebrow as Marrick licked his lips. ”If, however, we’re too hungry to wait we can usually work in shifts while the other two cooks pick up the slack. Or just snatch bites of our dinner as we go.” Actually, with three people in the kitchen the workload wasn’t that overwhelming. Usually Remi or Rondo would handle the main dish, and Orin would handle the side dishes and the plating. After nearly a season they had a pretty solid system in place. Of course it broke down when one of them was missing and failed entirely when there was only one of them there. Orin growled under his breath at the reminder that Rondo had deliberately set him up to fail.

However his annoyance was short lived. He was just turning to answer Marrick’s request when Brucila poked her head in lazily. ”Orin the customers want their food. Where is it?” Remembering his duties Orin glanced at the plates and saw that they had run out of prepared plates. Cursing under his breath, he immediately snapped into action. This was, after all, exactly what he’d been training for all these years. ”Brucila, tell Kevith we need to him to stall for a few chimes and send Carmen back here. Give them another mug of ale, that will probably shut them up.” She winked at him and disappeared from view but Orin was already turning to Marrick and the pan. The onions and carrots were only slightly browned but it would have to do. ”Alright here’s the plan. I want you to start putting that on some of the plates and hand them off to the serving maid who is about to be in here. It’s almost done anyway and it’s not like onions and carrots necessarily need to be cooked. While you do that, I’m going to start another batch. If you’re comfortable enough to start another pan on your own, do that, but only if you’re sure you remember the recipe. Having you assemble plates will be just as useful and I don’t want you ruining the ingredients by accident.” Normally, the very idea of issuing orders to a squire and implying that they might not be an expert at everything would never have crossed Orin’s mind. But this was his domain and he was taking charge. Taking down another, larger pan from its rack over head and grabbing the oil with his other hand, Orin poured the precise amount he wanted into it, cutting off the stream of liquid with practiced movements. His hands were practically a blur as he added the chopped up pieces of carrots and onions and the small amounts of spice he was allowing himself to use without the outright permission of the chefs. They had absolutely no right to complain though, considering the situation.

[Marrick Corvis]

Marrick made a point of focusing on the food in his pan as it had become harder for him not to burn his hands in the process of making the medley to go along with the main course. Whatever that might be. The Kelvic had been distracted by what the conclusion to this evening’s meal plan would materialize into. The anticipation was almost cruel, as the Kelvic practically worshipped food. So lost as he was he nearly missed Orin’s question about Oriah.

“Eh? What?” he said as his mind caught up with what his ears had been picking up on as he cooked. “Oh, Aye! She’s a foine lass.” He said as he stared into the sizzling contents of his pan, a dream behind his eyes. “And naught t’day, unfortunately. She spends most of her toime in the bronze wood with her Patron.” ‘And she waits there for my message to let them know I’ve found my Patron at last.’ His private thoughts followed his words almost like an answer to a question. “She’d have loved teh meet yeh. She loves food.” The carrots and onions shuffled and danced about in the oily pan as he shook them about between stirs. His thoughts turned to his beloved as he imagined her reactions to different types of food, a chuckle burbling pleasantly in his throat at the idea of Lamb on a spit. “She has a real love of lamb and who can blame her after all. The adorable wee bleaters are delicious.”

When Orin pointed out the quantity of cooked vegetables he realized he might have made too much. Then again, there was always some hungry soul that made their way into the Stallion. He parted his attention a moment to look at the several servings of vegetables he had made, still steaming wisps of pleasant scented steam from the wooden bowl he’d dumped them into.


Orin’s compliment on his skill as a cook brought a smile to his face and a laugh in his belly. “Haha, Oi’d be roight foolish teh lock horns with a seasoned buck loike yerself Orin. Ye’d eat me aloive.” The off-hand comment hit the Kelvic in a morbid manner that made him grin a moment. “Well, no that isn’t quite roight either. Ye’d roast me first.” His dark sense of humor worn broadly on his sleeve the Kelvic laughed heartily. “All jokin asoide though, Oi’ve considered the Oidea from toime teh toime. One day Oi’d love a little place. Maybe an inn, or some such. Little kitchen teh cook in. A bar teh get drunk at. A few beds teh sleep in. Nothin too fancy. A common man’s place. Because they’re the ones that have the most interestin stories.” The Kelvic gave his fellow cook a mysterious little smile, almost as if his little dream had roots in reality. It was a sweet dream after all.


When Orin offered him the two cloths, he nodded in whole hearted agreement and wiped the sweat from his brow as he had been sagely advised. His brow properly mopped he made a hasty headband with the other unsoiled cloth by twirling it end over end until it was nothing more than a rounded roll of cloth about three feet long. With a low bow of his head away from the stove, he brought the sweat band around his brow and tied it off at the back of his skull. “Thank yeh koindly Ser.”


It was all that was needed, before he dove back into it. ‘If only food cooked itself.’ He thought whimsically. As Orin got into the details about Marjoram, Marrick tried to imagine what the spice might have looked like on the tree, vine, or shrubbery that it came from. It sounded pleasant. Though important to remember the timing of its use. “So if Marjoram’s added too early the customer won’t taste it. That’d be a shame.” The Kelvic thought on this for just a moment before he tucked the little gem of wisdom away along with the details of what the spice looked like, felt like, and smelled like.

That was when things got really good. Orin literally was giving him the goods on spices. Pepper, was something Marrick used often when it was on hand, but cloves he’d never used. If cloves were anything like pepper, adding too much would ruin a meal. It would drown out any other tastes. “Frugal with the pepper n’ cloves.” He nodded, as he emptied another cooked pans worth of vegetables into the bowl, and as the cook had said before there was a lot of servings in there.

Salt it seemed was a more common seasoning, and it was something that, in what the Kelvic understood from Orin’s lesson, one could easily add to flavor a dish. Add if added early, would bring out the flavors of the food. As the details of all of this trickled into memory the Kelvic nodded with a furrowed brow. He more excited than ever to try them out. Just to gain the information.

When Orin asked about the Eyktol, and the Benshira Marrick laughed in delight at another so full of curiosity. Then a funny realization formed in his head. He didn’t know exactly where the Eyktol was. His laughter dwindled to a nervous chuckle as he tried to find a way to not sound like an idiot while telling his hero for the day that he didn’t know where his beloved came from. “Oi don’t know really.” He laughed again in sheepish embarrassment. “Well, Oi can say fer certain, that it’s a desert. The Benshira are Oriah’s people. They are nomadic, and wandering-“ the Kelvic searched the air a moment for a lost memory in his mind before continuing. “Tents, as they call them will often trade goods along their journeys. They love to dance, as a way of honoring their God.” There was so much more but Marrick wanted to tell him, but he found himself lost in his work.


It seemed that the subject of new spices and foods caught his fellow cook’s attentions as his body bent toward the Kelvic’s work station. “Oh. A few seeds. A couple strings of different types of dried peppers, and a bag of extremely hot spoices. Oi was in luck that day, as Oriah happened teh be in town. We spent the day perusing the wares of her people. Bought a couple of books as well. N’ those were the treasures fer the day.” Marrick scratched his stubbly beard when he considered what may have happened to the seeds he had brought back to Mythrin. It was anyones guess really. He was uncertain, thought it made sense that they would be distributed to farmers and cooks alike. “Oi’m naught certain what happened after Oi got the peppers back teh Mythrin. T’was an Order funded gatherin. As Oi n’ few others from there were in town teh visit the Benshira we were given mizas’n a mission.” Marrick smiled, along with a shrug. Life in the order was work. Mostly training, but work was a large aspect of the Knights of Syliras. It couldn’t all be swords and horses.


At Orin’s offer of switching off in shifts, he shooed the idea away with a wave of his hand, along with a shake of his head. “Oi’m always hungry. Yeh could feed me twoice every four bells n’ maybe then oi’d be sated.” The Kelvic chuckled darkly as he got back to his work station with a grin on his face. “Besoides, how could Oi enjoy a meal with yeh slavin away on yer own. It’d make whatever food Oi manage teh stuff inta meh face an ashen shadow of the gloriousness it could be when eaten slow loike.” As the pair shared a laugh or two, one of the tavern maids stuck their heads in demanding the food for their customers. It was almost funny for the Kelvic. He’d gotten so comfortable in the conversation that he’d forgotten his true purpose for being in the kitchen in the first place. It was odd how good company made you feel at home just about anywhere.


Marrick watched with furtive admiration as Orin laid out a battle plan for resolving the current crisis, and indeed the Kelvic had not been wrong when he had said that Orin was a Cullinary Patron. “Aye Ser!” he said with a snap of his boot and a salute before he lifted the pan with its current contents from the stoves surface. He found a few of the familiar wooden plates in a cupboard near the kitchens doors and began distributing portions of the steaming vegetables off of his pan. “Did yeh want me teh add the meat yeh were slicing bits off of earlier?” He made certain to copy the portions he recalled, from the off time or two he’d eaten at the Rearing Stallion. As his pan grew empty of vegetables he brought it back to the stove, and laid it out ready to be oiled once again. There was a minimum amount of clinging bits from the previous servings he’d just cooked though he worried about the cleanliness of the pan. “Did yeh want a fresh pan or will that do fer another go? N’ Oi’m comfortable with the recipe, people need their food though. So Oi’ll prep some plates so the servers nay curse our names teh Sylir. Then Oi’ll be back at yer soide ready the make a few more heapin servins.”

Marrick was an excellent observer, not necessarily a quick study, but clever. “Yeh said bread before didn’t yeh?” he shouted over his shoulder as he made a B line for the stove. “Pardon me ser, we have a few loaves in the warmer?” At last his search was rewarded with a few fluffy loaves of bread he discovered in a hot box under the stove. A nearby mitten was slid over his hand and the Kelvic carefully removed the Ceramic plate they’d been baked on, sliding off a trio of the crispy looking bits of bread onto a tray before he placed the remaining loaves and their stone back in the hot box. He searched for a long serrated knife and sliced the loaves into fist sized cuts. Each piece of bread found its way to a plate until each plate was had been given a piece of bread. A half of a loaf still waited to be added to the next plates of food to go out it was still soft from when they had been baked earlier in the day. He allowed himself a brief sigh to escape his nose before he quickly made his way to the work station where Orin had been slicing off elegant slivers of beef.

He pilfered the tray and brought it back to where the plates waited to be burdened with glorious slices of meat. When he laid down the first slivers of meat he realized that he was heaping the meat into a pile. A pile he wanted to stuff his gob with. Though his socialized sensibilities got the better of him and he took a moment to gather his head. He was serving food to people in a tavern. It wouldn’t be as appetizing or as efficient in that manner. With a delicate pronged fork he removed several pieces of meat re-arranged the slices on the plate so that they were layered over one another in a little fan of seared meat. That looked worlds better. ‘Fit for Lord Dyres.’ He thought with a little smile before he followed suit with the remaining plates.

“Foods ready Oi think Ser!” He said with a composed nod before he speedily made his way back to the stoves to start another fresh pan of Vegetables. “We’re goin teh need a lot more aren’t we?” He said with an excited grin. Things were starting to speed up a little bit in the Rearing Stallions Kitchens, and Marrick was excited to say the least. Though he wondered if he’d manage to keep his hunger at bay for long before he took Orin up on his offer to take a short break to eat something.

[Nivel]

Orin : XP Award: Planning 3 Organization 3 Leadership 4 Tactics 1 Endurance 1 Persuasion 1 Intimidation 1 Investigation 2 Teaching 5 Interrogation 1 Subterfuge 1 Acting 2 Cooking 1 Stealth 1 Disguise 1 Impersonation 1 Rhetoric 1 Storytelling 1 Cleaning 1 Lore: Rondo’s sabotage plan Sometimes sacrifices must be made in the name of good business Marrick full time squire, Partime kitchen staff Clean hands meant clean food. Remain Civil with people you work with Cooking: Some dishes require blood Marrick lived a hard life Teaching: Don’t assume a student knows something Cooking: Organ soup Try the food at the White swan sometime Katelyn Marks: Grew up together in Mythryn Sauté a fancy word for frying Oriah: Marrick’s Girl Notes: These are comments. Marrick : XP Award: Example 1 Example 2 Lore: Example 1 Example 2 Notes:If/when you come back I’ll fill this grade out for you. Additional Comments: If you have any questions or concerns please feel free to message me.