By Armanis Ar-Feinial
A day like today was not one to anger an elf, particularly one with such a murderous past as Anaergienne, and everyone in the Guildhall knew it. There he was, sitting, brooding as he did after losing something precious to him, off from the expedition of Cadrasar, hunting and massacring orcs. But here he was. Here, in the Guild Hall of Kerina, not the barren wastelands of Cadrasar. Glazing at his tankard of water, he downed it immediately craving something a little stronger, and so he departed the hall and went through the trails leading out back of the hall, which was a giant hollowed out trunk. Hissing as the wisps flew by him, lighting the path of their blue shine, he strode all the way down past a few fountains where some elves were copulating inside the drinking water. But he cared not. Not right now.
He needed a drink after dealing with all the violent shenanigans that were customs routes and orcs trying to behave civilized, as they did. Those damn orcs are better left dead, in his humble opinion. Violent lot, and considering their lineage and the history thereof, there was little in the way of hope for them. Best to rid them all and be done with it. These were the thoughts roaming inside his mind as he pushed the double doors open into the “Dripping Bucket” not a short stride away from the Royal Tree in Kinasa’s Capital.
“The Dripping Bucket” was a cesspool of all manner of debauchery, which, as far as Anaergienne was concerned, was at least honest. Women and men cheated hoping for their own happy endings and some drunkard just gambled all his savings away before the poor dastardly elf stabbed the winner in the back with a spoon. Must have been rusty. Anaergienne’s steps glided across the floor to the bar, the bottom sticky with whatever liquid littered itself on the ground. Normally for a tavern it was simply ale not cleaned up, but this was “The Dripping Bucket”, it could be that and any manner of mortal bodily fluids.
So Anaergienne did what any reasonable elf would do at a time and place like this, get absolutely wasted. Or try, anyway. He took a seat on a stool ignoring the tooth impaled in it, and the blood dripping on the rungs below, and he ordered his beer with haste, by merely waving his hand. A few tankards of mead, and he drank one after the other. The honeyed taste was gentle and welcoming the first time, but soon his taste buds made the taste go away.
A clap of thunder outside and it began to rain. He chose to ignore it, until the wind picked up in the room and people started to scream and the tables tossed and turned, flailing as people often did. He kept hold of his drink, his cloak flapping in the wind while he maintained his composure until at last the wind stopped, and the tables and chairs found themselves in their upright positions.
Gazing back to the rest of the bar, there was a tall man wearing clothes he knew not how to describe except for a tunic without strings and someone plastered the thing with paint, or so that’s what he thought it was, arguing with another man who looked like one of the poor insane people trying to get into the Wizards’ Council. A horrible state of affair as he downed the last mead and placed his Kinasian coins on the counter before heading outside and pushed the double doors open, only to find himself sufficiently confused.
“What?” he glimpsed. :I am not this drunk.”
He was not in the woodlands of his home anymore but a subterranean cove. Rocks and ridges that led through several alleyways and crowds of people, families even were happy, celebrating something. Or were they just happy? He wasn’t sure which was more realistic, if he was being perfectly honest. He ignored the ruckus of violence in the Dripping Bucket and continued moving forward at the familiar smell of something sweet, and there was a little boy with a roll of bread over by a gate which slanted upwards through more inexplicable doors. The one thing he noticed, which was that the dead gave away this place, wherever this wasn't dwarvish, had no windows, but there was a draft coming in from somewhere. Or perhaps it was the lack of wind that kept the scent of the sweetness in.
“Boy,” said he, in a polite tone. Holding his liquor well, he slurred not his words. “Oh by Carmielle’s sweet goodness, where did you get that?”
“Carmy-elle?” he chewed, his face full like a chipmunk. “Oh, you must mean Carmella!”
“Who?” he asked. Clearly no one’s heard of my Goddess.
“Carmella,” he repeated, pointing up the path. “I got it from over there at Carmella’s stand.”
“Thank you kindly,” he patted the boy on the head before continuing.
“Excuse me,” said a man who looked like he had some authority. Anaergienne stifled a laugh at the attire of such a hat to demote such things here. “Have ye a ticket?”
“Ticket?” he combed his hair back.
“For those. . .weapons,” the man said. “You can’t have them–”
“You touch me and my only means of protection,” Anaergienne sneered. “Then yer hands come off!”
“Sir–”
“Good sir,” he leaned forward as people passed by, and he whispered, making sure this man, whoever he was, understood. “I’ve murdered children for less. Would you care to join the mound of bodies they rest under?”
The guard gasped, shaking in his feet. Anaergienne nodded, taking his leave before following the scent of the rolls. Moving onward, he felt the liquor leaving his body as people were going about their day with their stuffed animals, and what appeared to be prizes. Many items he had no interest in, and especially since he didn’t know what these things were. It was quite alien to him. Even Paxis, which is a country he’d only ever been to once, was more familiar than whatever this was. But perhaps the roll will sooth his nerves before the guards come after him. He could hide before that happened.
Dashing up the smoother than should be rock terrain, he found the culprit of such divinity. Despite the noise around, Anaergienne simply had to have one of these rolls, provided his sense of taste wasn’t completely dull. Sitting down at the stand, he waved to a plump, what he guessed would have been middle aged for a human woman, and waved his hand. She came over, one hand on her hip and an apron seemingly had so many powdered sugar stains. Her fingertips were very much the same.
“Welcome to Carmella’s Bakery,” said she. “What can I do ye for, elf?”
“That wasn’t derogatory at all,” he shook his head. “No matter, I want one of yer sweet rolls please. I have coins.”
“Coins?” she asked.
“Yes, Kinasian coins,” he said, putting several of his coins on the table, tree based, and the woman inspected it.
“I can’t,”
He waved his hands in front of her. “Oh, yes you can and will take that as payment. Now how about my sweetroll.”
After several minutes of bickering back and forth, Anaergienne swiped one of the rolls from the counter. She shrieked as he took a bite of it, and it tasted. . .well bland. Nothing. This was a tasteless sweet roll! It was doughy in parts, undercooked, and charred on the edges. The sugar itself was even blad. How do you do that?!He shrieked and threw it at Carmella.
“Hey,” she shrieked. “I’ll have–”
“And ye call this a sweet roll?” Anaergienne rolled his eyes. “Curses woman. I’ll show ye how to make it.”
“Wait–”
“Humans can never do anything right,” he scoffed, pushing his way past her and found all the ingredients he was looking for: 2 eggs, some hot water already at a boil, some granulated sugar, some salt, yeast(always needed yeast) and flour.
Despite the woman’s, whose name he assumed was Carmella, protests, he proceeded to pour everything in a bowl and stir it up with a fork. A primitive little thing. What he wouldn’t give for some old fashioned chop sticks. Preferably made from thievery of a hare, but this metal stabbing device would simply have to do for the time being as he beat the eggs, put the flour and the water together to create the bow before stirring it up.
“What are you–”
“Silence woman!” he dashed some of the hot water in her face. She shrieked and turned around. Good riddance. I’ll show you true happiness, I will. Not whatever you call that! Looking at the side pantry, he needed ingredients for the filling and he found some raspberries, blueberries, some honey, and some lemon, and some things called starch. . .”I don’t need this.” he threw it across the hall, striking another vendor of sorts who started swearing at him. It was his own fault for being there, really.
After spending his time, he coaxed the filling into the roll and covered it into spirals before turning the oven back on. It was flaming really with all sorts of devices he didn’t understand. Really? Don’t these humans realize fire and pine wood is the superior cookie orifice? He gritted his teeth at Carmella who’s eyes gaped open and her jaw dropped.
“What?” he said. “I’m giving you happiness.”
“I’m not cleaning that up,” she snarled. “How–”
He looked at the mess he made. Some eggs made their ways on the counter, and some shells were splattered on some whimpering shield. Flour and brown sugar covered the floor to feed the wildlife. Whatever wildlife that constituted here. He didn’t know. The only wildlife he knew of in caves were goblins. And they wanted more than just sugar.
“In exchange for your happiness,” he said, pulling out the sweet rolls with the fruits and the honey. He tasted the first one, after sprinkling some powdered sugar just for taste. “Kora would be so proud of me.”
“I would?”
“Kora,” he said, eyes with glee as his rolls came out and they tasted simply divine. As Carmielle would have it. “Take me out of this place. I don’t want to be here anymore. They make crappy sweet rolls!”
“Back to the Dripping bucket with you,” the elf grabbed his ear and pulled him out from the mess he made all the way back to the dripping bucket before she violently threw him out the window and landed on his face where he saw the elves copulating in the watering hole under the stars and trees of Kinasa.
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