She Who Walks With Yaks

Chapter Two: Culinary Muse

With her escorts in tow, the remainder of her journey to the defense tower was uneventful.

If Genevieve had to guess, she would assume it’s because her new traveling companions were so high level for this quest that monsters just weren’t aggroing on them. This was further backed up, in her mind, by the fact that several members of the group were carrying on a light hearted conversation instead of paying attention to their surroundings in anticipation of potential danger. 

It was growing dark by the time they strode in through the unlocked gates of the defense tower, the midway point of her route to the market, which was - predictably - abandoned. It looked to Genevieve as if it had been unoccupied for some time, from the thick layer of dust and generously cobwebbed corners of the musty tower interior.

“We should probably camp here for the night.” the party leader, Desmond, said gruffly as he started pulling off his gauntlets. “Corin, can you get a fire started?”

“I think I saw a stock of firewood in the supply depot. It shouldn’t be a problem.” Corin said, turning back toward the door to the simple dirt-floored chamber they were currently standing in. “Might have a poke about too, there might be rabbits nearby.”

Desmond nodded at this. “We can keep for a bit. Take your time.”

There was an open hearth in the middle of the space with a large cast iron cooking pot hanging from a hook above it, some bunk beds against the far wall, and a desk off to the side that was crowded with documents that were probably so old that they were now as irrelevant as Genevieve felt. This tower was a sad, lonely kind of place, and while her erstwhile escorts began settling in - setting their packs down, removing heavy armor and so forth - Ginny decided to try and make the place more comfortable. She couldn’t help herself; she hated how untidy the place was, and from the dusty look of the beds she didn’t think she’d be able to sleep in one until the thin blankets and mattresses had been shaken out.

None of the men commented as she found a broom and started sweeping away the cobwebs, before throwing the doors and windows open to air the place out. She also swept the floors while Sylvain, the elvish cleric, and Eristed, the wizard, started playing a game of dice. For some, it might seem like a fruitless pursuit - sweeping a dirt floor - but a good dirt floor like the one in this tower was hard packed, almost like stone, and even though you might never want to eat your food off it, it certainly made a difference when all the loose dust and dirt was gone.

She was on her hands and knees, scrubbing the stone of the hearth in preparation for the new fire, when Corin returned. His arms were laden with wood, and he’d also collected some moss to use as kindling - plus what looked like herbs. On his belt he’d strapped a brace of fat, pale grey-white rabbits. The ranger glanced around at the other three men, who were now lounging about, and made a tsking sound.

“Seriously? You three are just sitting around while our new lady friend is cleaning?” Corin chided his friends. “Get up, you lazy louts.”

Sylvain, scoffed a little at this. “Please, Corin. The young miss is obviously grateful for our assistance, and doesn’t need our help...do you, Miss? I suspect you’re looking forward to charming us with your cooking, too.” 

The cleric gave her a sickly sweet smile that nearly made Genevieve ill.

She had been leaning forward on her hands and knees, but settled back so that she was sitting on her heels before fixing the blonde elf with a sharp look. His tone and demeanor was throwing up all kinds of red flags for her now.

“Not much of a cook, I’m afraid.” Genevieve said, her tone flat.

This was a lie; she was actually quite a good cook, but these guys didn’t need to know that.

Cooking was one of the things that she actually got to spend a lot of time doing in this new life, so she’d done as much of it as she could. If this really was a game, she’d expect she was closing in on master rank for her cooking skill - though she’d probably need a wider variety of ingredients in order to continue progressing. With a little bit of creativity, she could make just about anything taste good, and as she was experienced with ingredients local to the Frostpeak Mountains where they currently were, she probably could whip up a pretty good meal with those rabbits and the ingredients that Corin had foraged.

Preparing a meal would be a pretty nice way to say thank you to these men who had saved her skin and were now going out of their way to escort her to market… but she could be grateful for their help getting to the market without letting them treat her like some kind of servant. 

She might not have much, but she still had her pride.

Desmond sighed deeply and shoved himself back up to his feet. He’d been sitting on the edge of one of the bunk’s, contemplating some small object in his hand - which he shoved into his pocket. “Corin is right. Miss Genevieve’s had a pretty rough day, we should be the ones trying to make her comfortable - not the other way around.”

Eristed shrugged, but got to his feet without complaint. He was a quiet fellow, a half orc from the greenish hue of his skin and small tusks that poked out from his lower lips. Desmond and Eristed began stripping the beds of their linens before carrying them, along with the thin mattresses, outside to be shaken out. Corin, meanwhile, carefully tipped Sylvain out of the chair that he was sitting in - much to the elf’s chagrin.

Desmond might be the leader of this party, but Corin was definitely the Daddy. He had the whole warm, paternal no-nonsense with a side of humor thing down - and he looked to be into his forties, while the rest of the party was mid twenties at best. That didn’t make him less handsome, though. On the contrary, his rakish brand of maturity only made him more appealing in comparison. She idly wondered if he knew any good, meaning horrible, Dad jokes.

“Fine, fine! I’m going.” Sylvain grumbled, stumbling to his feet.

“...and he says he’s the gallant one.” Corin muttered, sighing a little as he unstrapped the pair of rabbits from his belt and set them on the small wood table beside the hearth. “Don’t mind them too much, Miss. The adventuring life has a tendency to dull one’s manners.”

Done with the hearth, Genevieve got to her feet and eyed the rabbits that Corin was presently skinning. “I’m a farmgirl, sir. I’d hate to give you the impression that I actually know what good manners look like.”

Corin barked a laugh at her quip, and Genevieve cringed a little as the crunching and squelching sounds of the butchering continued. To distract herself from the blood, which had a tendency to make her belly do flip flops, she set about shutting the windows and wide double doors before laying the fire.

“Sir? Oh, good Goddess. Nothing makes a man feel his years more than being ‘sir’-ed by a cute young thing.” Corin shook his head.

“Like you don’t deserve it with all your ‘miss’-ing me.” Genevieve retorted.

“Well, I would call you by your name...if I knew what it was.” Corin reposted.

He had her there. She had yet to tell any of them her name...but then, they hadn’t asked. That thought brought a sour taste to her mouth, reminding her once again that she was of so little importance to these high and mighty adventurers that it wasn’t worth learning her name. After all, once they got her and Fluffyhooves - the yak - to market, they would forget all about her. 

When Genevieve’s only response was to press her lips into a thin, firm line and turn away, Corin seemed a little surprised - but didn’t try to press her. Instead, he turned his attention to preparing dinner.

Soon, Corin had a pot of rabbit bubbling away in a thin broth of melted snow that didn’t quite cover the neatly sliced chunks of meat. Genevieve tried not to, but she’d been cautiously keeping an eye on him the entire time - shooting glances in the ranger’s direction every so often. He’d prepared the meat well, but the smell coming from the pot wasn’t particularly appetizing.

When he went to taste his culinary creation, he grimaced a little. The ranger sighed, then poked around the pile of herbs that he’d deposited on one one of the long benches that sat to either side of the simple scrubbed wood table. He didn’t seem particularly confident as he selected some rekencac leaves, and sniffed at them a bit before heading toward the pot.

Before he could toss the rekencac into the pot, Genevieve caught his wrist. “Wait, wait...ugh. Rekencac smells nice and you can use a little bit in your bath water to soothe aches, but...er..you ingest too much of it, it acts as a diuretic.”

Corin watched, bemused, as Genevieve reached to her pocket for a long oval of packed salt. She always had a pouch with few extras on her for the yaks - just in case they started to get a little tetchy and needed a treat. While yaks got most of their nutrition from grass or hay, they needed supplements - like salt - to stay healthy. She used her small pocket knife to shave a healthy amount of salt into the pot.

“It just needs some salt and pepper...maybe thyme if you have any. That’s not a wine skin is it?” Genevieve asked, motioning to the skin on his belt with the long cast iron ladle that she’d taken from his hand to stir the pot with.

“It could be...could be a skin full of red wine.” Corin lifted an eyebrow at the young woman as she bustled about, picking through his collection of herbs before rooting around through a cabinet, where she managed to find a packet of pepper and, miraculously, a couple of somewhat shrivelled potatoes in a bin.

Corin leaned on his elbow, watching with mild fascination and a small smile on his thin lips as Genevieve peeled and diced the potatoes before throwing them into the pot along with some minced garlic chives that the ranger had gathered earlier, and a generous helping of pepper. Then, she motioned to him, or rather to his belt, for the skin of wine - which he handed over after giving her a wink.

“Don’t drink it all in one go.” Corin said, smirking a little when she gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes, that also included rolling her head a little.

After adding enough wine to give the braising liquid a rich red color, she offered a taste to Corin from the ladle. The ranger bent down, humming appreciatively as he took in the smell, before giving it a taste. His eyes lit up, and he grinned at her.

“Not a good cook, eh?” Corin chuckled. “Don’t worry, darlin’. Your secret’s safe with me.” 

Corin was as good as his word. When the other three young men returned with the freshly cleaned, or clean-ish, mattresses and linens he took full credit for Genevieve’s cooking. This suited Genevieve just fine, though she was fairly sure that no one was really buying Corin’s story of how the muse of culinary greatness descended upon him, gifting him with the recipe for wine braised rabbit and a handful of potatoes.

Eristed, who had been quiet for the most part, finally spoke after licking his bowl clean.

“This is a meal to stoke the fires of the heart and strengthen the will.”

Coming from the half orc who seemed to hoard his words like a miserly banker, it felt somehow more meaningful than the mumbled bits of praise that had come from the others in between bites of rabbit and potato.

Desmond, who had been eyeing Genevieve suspiciously as he ate, did not miss the way her cheeks colored at the praise. His lips twitched up at the corners as she averted her gaze, knowing she’d been caught. That man was far more clever than he looked, though it probably didn’t take much to figure out that she was Corin’s so-called ‘muse.’ 

Once their bellies were sated, Sylvain cleared his throat, glancing at Desmond nervously, before giving in to whatever internal struggle he was having. “Miss, we found the bathing basin around back. We’ve cleaned it up and turned the heating crystal on. The water should be nice and warm by now. Perhaps you’d like to bathe first?”

Genevieve could tell that Sylvain was dying for a bath. Unlike the rest of the men, the elvish cleric looked like he bathed every day - and probably brushed his hair for the recommended hundred strokes before bed too. Perhaps a thousand strokes, seeing how very shiny his hair was.

For a moment, she considered letting him go first. Then, she shoved that selfless impulse down as she reminded herself that they were supposed to be helping her; she was the damsel in distress here! It took months and months for her to actually get an escort; she should take advantage of it while she could. 

Plus, it had been ages since she had the privilege of warm water to bathe in. Stupid frozen mountains with their lack of indoor plumbing.

“I would love a bath. Thank you, Sylvain.” Genevieve said, happily sliding from the bench.

The breath escaped Genevieve’s lips in a soft moan of pleasure as she eased herself into the steaming water. The chilly air and light smattering of fluffy snow that was drifting down from the surrounding pine trees provided a delicious contrast to the warm bathwater, causing her to shiver as she sank fully into the deep cedar tub. 

It was not a fancy tub, and was made simply and of local materials - tightly fit cedar finished banded with copper. But, though her tub vaguely resembled a person-sized wash bucket, she was feeling far less washed up now that she was submerged in its welcoming depths. Her skin tingled as she breathed in the fragrant woody smell of the cedar, and she smiled, her dark grey eyes reflecting with the dim twinkle of the stars as she gazed up at the night sky stretching far and away above her, noting that even the stars above her were changed.

Everything about her life had changed, so why hadn’t she? In the old world, she was just as frustrated with her life as she was now - though, admittedly, she had much more comfortable accommodations to wallow in. She’d just grown so jaded...so frustrated with the system. She came into social work bright-eyed and ready to make a difference, but by the time she died in the old world she’d grown complacent; it had been years since she really, truly, tried to do more than the bare minimum. But, with her enormous case load, there wasn’t much else she could give - while still maintaining her health.

Clouds passed briefly overhead, veiling the stars for just a moment and when they re-emerged from their temporary obscurity, they seemed to be shining even stronger for having been muted. She thought she could hear them speaking to her in a form of communication that went straight to the soul, rather than taking the conventional route through the ear canal and into the mind before eventually settling in. 

They seemed to say to her that she could change, too. That she was brought here for just such a purpose. It was a feeble hope, but one that was growing stronger in the quiet of this snowy night.

Genevieve had just fully relaxed into the water - and was even starting to feel a little drowsy - when the peaceful quiet of the evening was shattered by shouts and the clashing of blades.