The Witcher's Path: New Rays From an Ancient Sun

After snapping up a pair of fresh, empty flagons from below the counter, Petra took off back behind the kitchen door leaving me alone once again with Xanthos and my mouth-watering first course. I glanced between him and my meal before he gave me an amused nod to proceed. I was scarcely going to deny myself from devouring my food, however I also wished to not come across as rude for ignoring him in case there was something more he wished to immediately say. Now given the cue though, I wasted not a second more in pulling the delicious bowl of creamy chowder, crayfish tails, and platter of warm bread towards me. Somewhere along the way, one of the long, steaming crawfish tails dripping in chowder found its way into my mouth and immediately I was overcome with the symphony of salty, fishy, dairy-ridden goodness to be had by the expert blend of flavors with notes of garlic, rosemary, and parsley.

Locally-caught fish and crustaceans alike made a regular appearance in the School's Kitchens amidst the other meats prepared such as beef, pork, fowl and cervid; all as good a source of proteins and nutrients for famished Witchers as any other. Nevertheless, the School had to prepare all their meals in massive batches in order to feed the masses populating it. Thus, they were unfortunately somewhat limited in what it could accomplish in bringing about a true fullness of flavor given the scale and speed in which their meals had to be prepared. As delicious and proficiently as our dutiful army of cooks were able to administer unto the food served during School hours…the cooks at the Crosswinds were simply able to step above nearly every time. Even at their busiest, the tavern hadn't the same seating capacity as the Great Hall and thus could channel more culinary wizardry over each and every dish that left their care.

As such…I was simply spellbound by the labor of their loving hooves whilst my tongue swam a tour of the flavorful bounties of the local waters. I hadn't tried dipping the tails in chowder before now, but Xanthos could count me as one of his converts after the overwhelmingly positive sensory experience I had just gone through. The flesh of fish itself was...palatable to me, yet when given the option I would always prefer the meat of a land-dwelling beast over most things which swam below. Crustaceans, however...there was something to their taste and texture which I found to be most appealing, at least as far as seafoods were concerned. Though, even then, I was somewhat picky as I had not the stomach nor the heart to indulge in them uncooked and raw, preferring instead they be well-prepared and seasoned such as I was relishing in before me. The Örn were known connoisseurs of such raw...delicacies... It had been well over two centuries since my last visit to the Eagle Isles, yet their penchant for striding the sandy shore and eating whatever they could find fresh from the water continued even with our resident Örn who likewise engaged in the practice. Bjørn in particular was even known to clamber atop one of the tall, decorative bridge towers spanning Mother's Mirror and dive to great depths to spear something upon his beak; devouring it whole the moment he breached the surface only to climb up and do it again and again until his great appetite was sated.
'It is a cultural tradition of my people!' He would bellow towards any who might look on with disdain for something so uncouth, 'The Kaf is a privilege to perform! I dare any of ye to do the same and perform such a feat!' Indeed, the Kaf was a tradition as old as the Örn themselves, harkening unto the earliest of days before culture and civilization truly separated the Sentient from the Feral. The taste of the sea, even from an inland lake, made the mind wander towards distant shores with every salty, fishy bite one graciously indulged. Before I even knew it, the meaty ring of tails had swiftly vanished down my throat and into my grumbling belly which welcomed them all most readily and gratefully. So too was the bowl of chowder scarfed down like it were my last meal alive, and every last bit found itself scraped clean from the bowl by great hunks of freshly-baked bread of dark rye. A veritable little feast of its own, yet my hunger was not so easily sated, even for such a beautiful opening act in what was to be a rather delightful meal.

“By the Gods, ye inhaled that like it t’were your last day on Terra Firma!” He chuckled after the culinary orgasm had finished carrying me along on its afterglow.

“I-indeed…” I stammered back with a bit of embarrassment. “I didn't realize how famished I had become from all that brewing! I worked up quite an appetite it seems, heh…”

“Brewin’ eh? Burning the midnight oil makin’ some Potions? Unless you've suddenly grown so found o’ ale you learned to brew it yourself?”

I already knew I had said too much, but other hints had already escaped my tongue earlier so he was likely to begin connecting the dots between the facts regardless. It was useless to try and claim to be a humble brewer when I only knew the basics of the art and had no real hooves-on knowledge of the craft hunched over a fermenting vat. I had certainly seen many of them, and even assisted Barley with some light barrel moving as a favor to his aging back...yet that was hardly enough for me to qualify as a brewer, let alone in the same league as Barley himself. Unfortunately, the best I could hope for was to stonewall him as a friend and hope he would be content to not try and press the matter further. It would only solidify any suspicions he might already have...but I would be saved from having to explain the Venom on my person.

“Nay, Potions were what consumed my late afternoon and evening, but it is of no concern to you if you would please oblige me on that front. I've little doubt your ears will catch whispers about it, but I would much rather just leave it alone if you would.”

He cocked his head inquisitively but soon nodded in acknowledgement of my request and replied, “Alright, I see th' look in your eyes. I'll leave well enough alone then for your sake, Frejdá.”

After sliding a full Crown towards him to sweeten the deal, I said, “A very wise choice, friend. Many thanks, and stop your ears if any slander happens hits them. You know me well enough by now I'd hope to sift fact from fiction from the many mutterings that go on here. Graciously, the work paid well and made up for a rather dismal time on the Path.”

“Is that so…? Interesting…”

Another loud bang and the kitchen door swung open yet again, Petra bearing aloft on her head another platter of flagons as she bellowed out, “Fine drinks fer mean finks! Come n’ get yer liver thrashed!”

Her gracious reappearance meant I could safely insulate myself from any of his wandering, wondering thoughts as to what I'd asked to be left alone. It was only natural for his curiosity to seek answers to the obvious tells I couldn't help but give off when trying to divert his muzzle away from sniffing about. However…the last thing I needed was the conjecture that I had brewed something off-menu for Violet and Topaz. While it was no ironclad secret that the pair engaged in some not-so-friendly familial entanglements…I was still wary on having my name spoken in the same breath as that topic. I had managed thus far (somehow) to evade such connections as I brewed poisonous compounds for more than just the two she-devils, as was well-known fact around the School. Myself and my fellow Vipers were all frequently begged for such work when we had a spare moment which muddied the waters with layers of clandestine work I could hide behind.

With our Bitters now out and on the counter, we all took up one (mine being a noticeably darker shade of burgundy to theirs) and raised a drink to one another. Each ceramic tankard was equally just as full as the other so none were robbed of a single drop of potent ale. The brew itself was refreshingly bitter, as its name implied, and had a mildly earthy, almost bread-like undertone to its full-bodied flavor which tingled the mouth and tongue pleasantly. The gorgeous red color it was known for was the result of the special hops used in its brewing process, grown only by Dragons dwelling in the Crandor Mountains far to the northwest near the Crescent Coast. Indeed, the flavor was a favorite of Dragons everywhere who seemingly had a liking for bitter alcohols as they likewise brewed an undrinkable form of extremely bitter Absinthe. Called the Black Death by its creators, it was a suitable case of the name fitting the item as the fluid was black as tar and even stole the very air from your nostrils when sniffed. After an extended drought from all three of us, Petra downing her entire pint in one long draught, we all slammed our tankards down firmly on the counter with satisfied sighs.

“Oh Gods have I missed this brew…” I grunted happily as each breath of air brought on waves of an odd sugary sweetness over my bitter-soaked tongue. “I'd pack some for the Path, but I know all too well I would consume it all within the first week if not sooner. It is simply too delicious to pass up and I will admit I am weak to temptation in its case.”

“Sounds to me you've got yourself a drinkin’ problem lass.” Petra chuckled jokingly while the reddish-white foam formed a stately goatee on her face. “You'd fit right in with me mates in Mahakam! Or those damned Copperbeaks even!”

“Hey, what's wrong with the Copperbeaks?” I asked incredulously. “You have a beef with them?”

“Bah, pay her no mind, Frejdá.” Xanthos sighed irritably. “She’s just mad that her team lost in the Pits of By-Tor this season and she's out half-a-year’s worth of pay on a whole set of terribly bad bets.”

“Ye scraped my damned hide clean o’ gold n’ silver too, ya poxy bastard.” She snapped at him which elicited a hearty chuckle from both of us. “Say, Frejdá! I see some wee shinies on th' counter there…what's a debt-riddled Goat like me got to do to see some of them beauties slid my way eh? He's got the look of a stallion who's just nabbed himself a nice spot o’ gold for somethin’ and I want in on that action.”

“Oi! I promised to look the other way on somethin’ she said and I got me fair share of the spoils of that labor. No freebies ‘round these parts, you know that!”

“Oh plough yourself in butter n’ cheese fer all I care, Xanthos. I asked the mare if there were somethin’ fittin’ I could do to earn a bit o’ gold of my own. It ain't like I'm jabbin’ a beggar's cup in her damned face so don't go actin’ like I am!”

“She has you there.” I spoke up in her favor, if merely to see Xanthos fume just that bit more over it all. “Now, to answer your question Petra, I think if you would be a dear and fetch yourself something nice that you'd like to eat or drink on me, and take what remains as my condolences on the loss of the Mahakam Sappers. Not a sport I tend to have the time to peer in on, but I don't hold anything against L’Zuk itself so you have my sympathy.”

Her eyes and face immediately brightened at my words and she exuberantly exclaimed, “By th’ Gods above n’ below ye know how to treat a Mahakam girl right! Another pint o’ Bitters for me n’ the rest be goin’ straight into my purse.”

“Please don't gripe at her about this…” I chided towards Xanthos who was beginning to open his beak to protest my move. “You got a full Crown for shutting up so why don't you keep earning that gold before I have a mind to swap it for a few Orens instead. You can spend some of that getting yourself something too you know.”

“Oh bugger all…” Came his grunted response. “Fine, I might as well go check up on Mallow and see how your main course is coming along Frejdá.”

I acknowledged his departure with an amused nod as he disappeared behind the kitchen door, his shiny gold coin of silence twirling between the talons of his right hand as he walked. No sooner had the door rattled shut behind him did Petra immediately make a grab for his abandoned drink and scooted her long-empty tankard away to the side.

“Waste not, want not!” She giggled before giving her new(ish) drink a hearty swirl and downing the remainder in one mighty gulp that'd do any fellow Pygmy proud. “Mmmmmff…damned fine choice in ale ye got there, Frejdá. Always appreciated tha’ about ya lass…ye knows what ye like outta th’ barrel and never fuckin' leave yer seat disappointed! Mare after me own heart in tha' respect, you can be damned ploughin' sure o’ that!”

“Why thank you!” I blushed softly in appreciative embarrassment. “I just like a good refreshing drink like anyone else, I fail to see what makes that so special on its own.”

“Ah, but you can tell a lot about a person from th’ hooch in his or her cup! Or at least make some decent guesses as to who they be without much in th’ way o’ personal information n’ the like. Ain't surefire across everyone o’course…but let's take a look at ye fer a good example, eh?”

“Oh? Very well, give me thy appraisement then dear Petra. What about Dragon Bitters speaks such volumes about me as a person?”

“Oi! I didn't say ‘volumes’ of info would be learned from somethin’ like this, but let's have a go at it then! Let's see…well, first off, let's talk about th' flavor. Them Bitters can approach wormwood in pungency, n’ yet you knock it back like a shot o’ harsh vodka! Means you's are aboundin’ in spine n’ guts o’ the finest Mahakam steel! But, there's that beautiful bouquet of sweet fruitiness tha’ follows suit n’ I see how you open yer mouth n’ breathe in nice n’ deep like… You also knows how to push through th’ bitterness till ye’ve hit th’ sweet, even if that moment t’was never to last. You hang onto that flavor on yer tongue like t’were me ‘neath the sheets, heh, heh!”

Of course she would see fit to prickle yet even more embarrassing flushes of red to my face over our casual fling together. Like any other Witcher brimming with an overactive endocrine system and rampant sex drive, I like many others had a network of friends and associates. Friends and associates who liked to engage in a good fuck together in order to stem some of the torrential flood of hormones pumping constantly through our veins. Indeed, such a thing was so common that there was little point in trying to conceal such proclivities in any real way except out of common decency for others around. And yet…despite that…I was still a mare who preferred some sizable modicum of privacy when it came to whom I kissed and whom I took to bed. It was very rare that my want for privacy was due to the shame of who it was that I took to bed, but rather just the simple fact that even after the Changes…I was still rather sheepish at points. At least when it came to hearing my proclivities spoken aloud in public where others could overhear. Again, not that she and I enjoying each other's company was anything wrong or worthy of the rumor mill, but the sheer fact it simply embarrassed me to hear it said aloud like that. Still…there was certainly something…deeply erotic about how she liked to tease me like this...even if I inwardly wished she would never be so bold as to announce it aloud as she did.

“H-heh…u-um…moving on!” I stammered whilst trying not to blush even more. “A-anything else my taste in Dragon Bitters informs you of me?”

“Heh, coward.” She grinned before leaning over the counter to grace me with a soft kiss graced by the scent of the ale. “What else do mine eyes perceive by thy choice in drink? Well, ya asked after it's age the moment ye saw th’ head o’ foam lookin’ a wee bit too pale in color compared to how ye like it. Ye know th’ value of patience, in waitin’ fer a good thing tah mature and play out as th’ process demands till it becomes somethin’ truly special if given th’ proper time n’ conditions to mature. It also means ye got good coin tah spend on quality! You're not some gobshite with only a few coppers to her name lookin’ to drown yer sorrows in cheap swill. Means ye got some class, darlin’!”

“I'm sure others would disagree with you as to how sophisticated drinking ale is compared to say…”

“Don't ya fuckin' dare bring them wine-drunk Thestral pansies up when we're talking quality drinking time.” She grunted dismissively with a wave of her gold-bangled hoof. “Pale ale with not a hint of a dark lager anywhere in their oak barrels?? Bah! Better off drinkin’ piss than that shite…”

I laughed softly in happy amusement for her rant, even if it were a tad unfair to them who, by my metric, had excellent taste in wines and brandy given their propensity for fruit. Something I had to point out in good conscience on the behalf of my distant kin, regardless of the snobbery which individuals like Rosemary embodied.

“Aye, their ale be mighty light and pale as the morning dew.” I agreed with a nod of my head and another sip from my own drink. “But you have to admit that their brandies are tremendously delectable. I find myself partial to their pear and peach vintages since they have the time and patience to properly age their hooch for as long as they wish. Why…I would scarcely be surprised if yet more untapped wealth in wine and other spirits exists out in the world where Thestrals used to roam. Cellars of the finest shite we could ever hope to imbibe simply begging to be discovered…”

“Well…when ya put it tha’ way…maybe I should invest in seekin’ one of them out for meself. Might turn a mighty profit n’ find somethin worth drinkin’ while I'm at it digging about in th' earth fer lost treasures!”

“Who knows? There is so much that has been lost over the last nigh-on seven centuries. I mean…I am quite old myself, yet even I was hardly alive in the time before the Arrival. For the entire duration of my life has Equestria been on every map of the Continent and they have only swallowed up more of our old territories as time drags onwards. It isn't just Thestral cellars you should be looking for…but any Eldar as might have once owned land there but does no longer.”

“Fuckin' savages…” She grumbled to herself before pulling out an uncorked bottle of vodka from under the counter along with two shot glasses. “Fuck it, share a drink wit' me towards me losin’ two-hundred Crowns?”

“Oh Gods, he wasn't jesting when he said half-a-year's pay was he…? Pour yourself another on me then, you truly need it more than I do.”

“Oof…don't tempt a Mahakam girl with free booze, Frejdá! She might just not know when to stop!”

“Well I would hope she would, your accent is easier to understand when you're sober.”

She laughed heartily again at that and knocked back both her shots one after the other without so much as a wince or gasp for air that most others could not escape.

“Pleaseeee…” She crooned with a sultry wink whilst licking her lips. “You like me when I'm sauced and thoroughly thrashed, don't you lie.”

I was spared from having to answer such a sultry question by Xanthos loudly reemerging from the kitchen with a large, delicious tart on a platter and a roll of his eyes towards Petra. He was followed closely behind by Antonia Da Fioré, better known by her nickname of ‘Mallow’ for the soothing tea she loved brewing making use of the plant and flowers of the same name. Even for Kaer Solaris and the Valley as a whole, she was an odd sight being a member of the small but vibrant community of Equines who referred to themselves as the Alpili. Reportedly, their origins lay in the lands far across the Great Western Sea on wholly foreign shores to ours, one brimming with many exotic Sentient species as very rarely traveled to our lands so as to be known unto us. The Alpili were the descendants of an army of foreign mercenaries once hired by the Konungr, the old Örn King in the Age of the Moon, in ages long ago to engage as part of some long-forgotten war of old. Of course, that was all prior to the formation of our guild and the title of Archmaster grafting itself upon the title of King amongst their kind. Regardless of whatever war it had been which saw fit to drag these foreign warriors to our shores, they had since seen fit to settle down and stay upon their reward for assistance being one of the Örn's very own islands.

Upon the newly-renamed Isle of St. Thollier they made their new home and established unto themselves a small, vibrant culture all their own which was steeped deeply in their ancient ways, yet had adapted to adopt what Örn practices as suited their new island life amidst the Great Western Sea. Like the rest of her exotic kind, Mallow had a coat of dusky tan which was graced by a vivid gradient of red and orange stripes climbing up her legs from her hooves; thin, aesthetically pleasing stripes also adding streaks of color across most of her face and neck. While the yellow and green dress of Crosswinds staff hid most of her colorful stripes from sight, her autumn-orange mane was done up in fantastically braided tails around either side of her neck, each bearing all manner of multicolored ribbons woven amidst her many strands of hair. And like myself, she too possessed lovely eyes of purple, although hers were of a graceful shade of lilac, whilst mine were more akin to a particularly dark bit of amethyst. With a melodic twill in her voice that was particularly Örn, yet also somewhat Yonderlandian (as my only closest comparison to her native accent), she was easy on the eyes and the ears all at once whenever she entered the room.

“So it is true! Welcome home, Master Witcher!” She beamed happily whilst setting down a large platter loaded down by meat, potatoes and gravy. “When Honeydew had said you had returned early, I had my genuine doubts as you never return this early in the season. And then I heard tale of the Shroud you bore hence and all became far clearer to me.”

“Well I am gracious to hear that you didn’t jump to any nasty conclusions about my dedication to the Path.” I chuckled back in happy reply, my mouth instantly watering at the scent of roast boar. “Damned be the Gods if that isn’t the finest thing I’ve smelt since spring…”

“Thank ye kindly, dear Frejdá! You can thank the Örn for teaching me how to wield culinaromancy upon the bounties of meat! We do not participate all that much in it ourselves, but knowing how to cook and prepare it? Why should we not learn such skills, even if we are not to actively use them at home?”

“Well it’s servin’ ye damned fuckin’ well in these parts!” Boomed Petra with a slightly hungered look to her eyes as she glanced over my main course. “Th’ fine Witchers of this School n’ all other meat eatin’ folks as live here all thank ye fer yer mastery o’er the range. Many a mighty hunger hath been quelled by her skillful hooves!”

“I’ll most certainly drink to that one! I for one certainly cannot wait to dig in!” I chuckled back, raising my tankard and taking another sip of the refreshingly bittersweet brew.

“Hey! Don’t forget me tart!” Xanthos butted in with a scowl. “I can wield plenty o’ culinary magic on fine desserts like this too ya know! Me mum taught me every damned thing she knows but seven months on the Path must’ve dulled your memory. Why dontcha take a wee bite and allow me to remind ya o' the culinaromancy I possess!”

“Please, don’t make this into a matter of thinking you are being ignored Xanthos…I will enjoy each and every last fucking crumb each of you has to offer me here as you both are equally masterful at what you do. I just like to save my dessert for last so as to not spoil the savory with the sweet too early. Every dish in its own due season, every flavor given its just reward and review in good faith and in good time. Besides, is it not rude to rush your patrons through their meal simply to hear their review of your work sooner?”

“Where I’m from it is!” Mallow hummed happily in her melodic voice. “Let the mare eat the work of my hooves, dammit! She is paying for all of this after all. And well at that, don’t let some daft air in ye head spoil the moment for her.”

“Yeah, listen to Antonia.” I said with a look square at Xanthos who averted his gaze immediately. “You saw the clink and weight lining my purse for yourself already so you should know better. Or is your purse more in the mood for silver than gold tonight and in need of a suitable replacement?”

“Alright! Alright… Guess I shoulda known you’d be takin’ a girl’s side in all this gobshite, so I’ll just head on me merry way then. Sweet fuck you mares are annoying…” He grunted irritably whilst depositing his tart on the counter before stalking off back into the quietude of the kitchen.

“Eh, go soak yer head ya wee cunt.” Petra laughed after him before nudging some cutlery towards me to resume my feasting. “And you can get to some good eatin’! Mallow here put some extra heart into all o’ this when told her it were ye that came ordering some porcine goodness this late in th’ night. Now tha’ I say it aloud though…why are ye up so late? Get peckish mid-sleep?”

“Nay, some late-night paid work for a friend.” I replied simply seeing as I had already told Xanthos too much as it was.

“And…?” Mallow asked with a cocked head of inquisitiveness. “Was there something to follow that up with or…?”

“Not really, no. I’d rather it be kept private for now if you two darlings would be so kind. It is truly not something I would like to discuss over such a delectable looking meal.”

“Is that so? Well then…I’ll try tah keep meself from pestering ya too much about it then. Now. EAT dammit, or do I have tah feed ya like a wee filly?”

“Nay, I shall be fine as I am.” I laughed with a smirk before beginning to carve a splendidly thick slice of meat from off the spiral-sliced haunch. “Though…something has come to mind that either of you might be able to answer for me whilst I partake in this beautiful dish. Fear not, it should not be anything that I need pay for. I think.”

“Oh? Well be a dear and do inform us as to your inquiry?”

“Got me purse open n’ waitin’, Frejdá. Heh, heh, go ahead n’ ask already!”

“So…I’ve little doubt you’ve already heard about, or even saw for yourselves, my bout on the Pendulums with the Archmaster?”

“Aye…sorry truly lass, tha’ was hardly fair of tha’ bastard to yell out like that durin’ a bloody duel on the fuckin’ Pendulums of all damned things! He coulda killed ye wit’ a stunt like that! I’d have his stones carved out n’ stuffed down his slack-jawed beak, th’ ploughin’ areshead…”

“Indeed…regardless, I never actually caught word as to why that Griffin called out and sent our duel into an unnecessary spiral. It must have been of some truly mighty weight indeed to have been so pressing as to interrupt us so…so…rudely! There! I finally said it aloud...”

“Oh? Still feelin’ the weight o’ that situation bearin’ down on ye? Oh ye sweet thing…”

“I have, yes. I will not try to say otherwise to either of you who would likely know better than to be caught in such foalish shadowplay. All the same, yes. I do feel better for saying his interruption was most rude and I felt like I truly had somewhat of a chance in striking true against the Archmaster in front of all they who spectated. Putting them and all else aside…can you please apprise me, if you are able, as to the contents of his so-very-urgent message to Ludovic? I would like to know what it was that had been deemed so important...”

The two of them glanced at each other with a hint of sheepishness which was most telling. If even they had yet to catch wind of even a whisper of said message…it relieved me as much as it truly, deeply concerned me. Relief, for I could in better conscience accept that the message had indeed been of such great import as to require the messenger to interject as he had. And concern…as the only thing which immediately crept to mind which could be of such dire consequence singularly regarded the matter of the missing delegation; missing and unaccounted for, for three, now four, days.

“Sorry lass…ain’t a whisper n’ the breeze that's worth considering as hard truth tah be had on tha’ one I’m afraid.” Petra admitted hesitantly with a nervous scratch of her hoof to the underside of her chin. “Soon as th' Archmaster checked tah see ye was gonna survive tha’ fall, he shot off like an arrow from a bow inside the Great Hall. Only real word we got fer ya is tha’ most of th’ Grandmasters been called to th’ Council Chambers n’ they’ve been in there ever since. See fer yerself! Can still see the lights o’ thems meetin’ from all th’ way from down here if ye get low enough.”

I turned out of blatant curiosity, even in spite of the fact I trusted their word on this at face value given neither of them showed any hints of trying to pull my tail from under the table. Though I had to awkwardly crane my body far to the side in order to dip my head low enough to get the angle needed in which to see it, the sight was exactly as they had said. Extending out of the easternmost face of the lengthy Master’s Hall, a sizable polygonal apse stood high above us with its towering panes of stained glass brightly shining colorfully with bright light from within. The Council Chambers were not used for any petty meetings or procedures…not when the Instructor’s table on the mezzanine of the Great Hall was more than suitable for the three-rounds of staff meetings held each day. If they had met almost immediately after my fall and retreat to the Baths…they had been in-session for well over six hours now. Something was most certainly going on, otherwise why use the extra-private setting of the Chambers? There were many muffling charms and strongly bolted doors in the School used for a myriad of reasons, yet few beat out those utilized in the Council Chambers. Whatever was being discussed was of such importance as to require such open levels of secrecy. The question yet remained as to what was going on, or if any of us were indeed capable of properly responding to the situation as it developed.

“See it? Bastards been in there all bloody damned day… Cooks from th’ Kitchens say they’s taking in food, drink and loads of maps, charts, blank parchment, and pints-worth of ink. Ain’t allowin’ anyone else in o’ course…so that there’s about as much as we know, hon. Our best guess is it's somethin' to do with tha’ Trottingham delegation that's overly late…but ain't no specifics out there tah let th' mind chew on yet. Was all that enough tah get ya appetite goin’ with burnin’ curiosity yet? Can get in line behind th’ rest o’ us itchin’ fer answers!”

“I’d say so…” I hummed softly in response as I allowed my thoughts to be distracted by the culinary wizardry of my dear friends now growing cold on the platter before me. “Curiosity and nagging concerns…I just hope it is nothing too dire. We really do not need any interruptions so soon after the Cleansing…”

“Eh…fifty-years is an eternity fer them damned Equestrians. An entire generation can be born n’ die in that timeframe with how those breedin’ rats carry on about their blasted lives.” Petra snorted back with a mighty roll of her eyes and a hefty sigh of annoyance. “Alright, finish yer meal already ya yammerin’ mare! How many times do we have to ask ye tah do somethin' so damned simple, silly mare? Or do ye want Mallow here tah watch ya let that beautiful child o’ hers grow stone cold before her very own lovely eyes?”

Mallow blushed softly at the praise but likewise nudged my plate of food back towards me whilst saying, “Your belly will be most pleased and satisfied at this juncture were you to comply with her…shall we say, request.”

“Request? Sorry Mallow, but this girl’s in need of a damned strong demand by this point with all her yappin’. You can move yer gums Frejdá, but get tah stuffing yer face before I do it for ya already. Unless yer lookin’ tah try somethin’ very new wit’ me in the public eye?”

I raised both hooves high above my head to demonstrate my utter defeat before them and lifted up the fork being offered me by Mallow in my magic to resume eating. There was always much gum flapping to be had around these two, yet they were right that it was better to finish my meal and continue on with my night. A night which was begging for a return to my quarters and the comforts afforded me there. I was caught somewhere between my wish to curl up in my bedroom chair before a fire and read a little, or proceeding immediately to sleep once my bedroom door had latched shut behind me. Leaving the decision for how I felt once arriving there, I closed my eyes and allowed the whole of my being to relish in the rich, slightly nutty flavor of wild boar meat. Indeed, it was the nuttiness and bold, rich flavor which only solidified the fact it was meat obtained off a beast of the wildlands. Domestically raised porcine products were raised on mixed slop and oft contained more rich fat content marbling through the meat compared to the comparably more active lifestyle of a Feral herd roaming the wilds. Feeding on a more varied diet of nuts, fruits, roots and whatever else they could devour as they roamed, their meat was all the more sweet and diverse in flavor for it. And, with the light application of cloves and brown sugar upon the crispy outer layer of tough, fatty skin…it was truly a marvelous performance of flavor within my mouth. The accompanying gravy which heartily flooded the dish had been expertly produced from whatever drippings were obtained off the haunch during roasting; adding both further moisture to the dish, as well as steeping the sweetened meat in hearty, mulled saltiness.

Furthermore, the flavors were complimented by small sweet golden and red potatoes already drizzled upon with beautiful herbs, spices and salted butter. Baby carrots, celery, chopped and fried onions, and an abundance of delectably potent Dwemish garlic, mushrooms and other tubers had been mingled amidst the potatoes as well. Every single ingredient was appreciated in its own season as each delivered the bounties of their natural flavors and textures to my gracious stomach which bathed in culinary goodness positively laced with salt and grease. By no means was it a feast as should be had often (particularly in conjunction with wine or any alcohol for that matter), for they were the recipe for contracting a terrible gout of the fetlocks. It was hardly something I, nor countless others here, ever had to endure the suffering of by virtue of our highly varied and nutritious diets. Yet, I knew the underlying causes for such an ailment and was even familiar with its biological causes and subsequent effects on the body. And yet, as much as I loathed the idea of tiny crystals of uric acid building up in my joints…I was a damned Witcher. There was little to fear from such a petty condition of the body when the greater fears we had came in monstrous physical forms.

Like most any disease, ailment or infectious agent known, gout was by no means a fate Witchers were ever known to suffer from. Our metabolisms, in conjunction with our typical day-to-day physical activities of walking the High Road and slaying monsters, ensured we remained in the peak of physical perfection. Indeed, every component of our immune systems were eternally on high-alert and wary of even the slightest whiff of wrongdoers infecting the body. We are and drank almost whatever we wished without a single fear outside of perhaps a bout of gas or mild indigestion. In fact it was necessary in order for us to maintain muscle mass and support said metabolism. I could order a Porcine Packer thrice daily and suffer not a whim for it were I to maintain even a modicum of physical activity each day. Yet, were a rich noble to partake regularly in such a feast as I just had, they rarely found themselves free of the so-called ‘noblemare’s hoof’. Unless of course they too were exceedingly physically active and participated in a rich, diverse diet unlike their obese peers of a similar wealth and with respectable titles. And a goodly few out there were indeed in peak form in spite of how well their caste could afford to eat as they pursued rather physically-exhausting outings. Especially when compared to those who rarely left their manor or castle walls, preferring instead to spend their wealth on feasting and lounging about in luxury.

The more trim and healthy amongst their number engaged in expensive activities like mountaineering, distance swimming, extensive hikes along the High Road, or one of the many formal games which the nobility simply loved to dole out their fortunes towards perfecting. Perhaps of the truly most physically fit amongst them were they who participated in competitions of speed and agility against each other along lengthy, elaborate tracks and courses. These ‘jockeys’ as I had heard them called were wickedly fast for mere mortals, with entire divisions of races dedicated to speed, endurance, and even strength whilst hauling loads of varying weights. Those of us with a greater awareness knew of these facts when we cast a wide net when saying ‘fat-arsed noble’, yet such a choice of words was oft the vernacular selected around the Valley anyway. After all, not a one of us here claimed any royal titles, only being referred to by our profession if distinguishing marks were necessary. It was not a sin to be born of blue blood, yet more than enough of its general reputation had been marred that it was more than fair to cast a wide blanket term out there like that. Exceptions could and would be made for the genuinely exceptional…but they were few and terribly far in between unfortunately.

Like unto the crayfish tails and bowl of chowder, my delectable experience was over too soon as the last bits on the plate were again wiped clean by great torn chunks of bread. My two companions were so helpful as to quietly converse with one another whilst I ate, keeping their voices down and their tone soft and pleasant with one another so as to maintain the positive atmosphere around us. Indeed, they both did their best to allow me to consume my meal with my full attention for the talent and labor of love put into even something so simple as a good meal. Each and every bite was a whole new journey for my mouth to undertake and I found myself wishing the moment could last forever. I even found my eyes sliding closed as I allowed the sensations to amplify themselves by the removal of one of the major senses. Each bite necessitated the same combination, namely one of the small potatoes skewered and dipped in gravy before skewering a cut piece of meat and dipping it in gravy once more. Garlic, rosemary, parsley, oregano, salt, pepper, cloves...my mind could only keep track of so many individual spices at once before it lost its way and wandered off in a daze. Food such as this was almost akin to that of a beautiful night's sleep; easily sweeping one away amidst a blanket of pleasant emotions which could strip away all thought as one's sense of taste and smell overruled all higher functions. Sadly…such a thing was never to last as my feast swiftly vanished before my eyes bit-by-bit; the warmth in my gut growing ever more content with each and every bite I enjoyed. Once my plate was utterly devoid of anything left to eat, Mallow was so kind as to collect my used dishes while Petra slid over my second tankard of Bitters and the elderberry tart with its sugar-encrusted weave o’er its top.

I drank down at least half of what remained in my cup to wash the meat and potatoes down nice and smooth, paving a gentle path for the tart to finish up their combined culinary performance. And indeed, the sweet aftertaste was precisely what I was after as it acclimated my tongue away from salty-savory and perfectly prepared it for my impending dessert. If anything, the Bitters themselves also acted as part dessert itself for this very same reason. By the time my stomach had happily settled the ale into the mix and settled down, I was more than ready to enjoy the tart which had patiently awaited its turn to be enjoyed. The rounded tin which helped form the savory dough around the pit of sticky berries had a decorative crinkle around its circumference. This in turn imparted the sugar-crusted dessert with a very fanciful appearance that only added to its general allure. Not only that, but the buttery dough itself was baked to a fine golden brown and looking fit to crumble to bits in the mouth at even the slightest touch. Additionally, a loose weave of pastry dough laden with large sugar crystals had been baked atop the elderberry center making it essentially more like unto a miniature pie rather than a traditional tart. I found myself somewhat confused over his choice of words when referring to his creation as he of all folks would know the difference between the two desserts. However, my host of answers graciously made a reappearance from behind the kitchen door to answer my questions. And this time, he was also carrying a sizable pat of whipped cream to top off my dish as some sort of grand finale. As to be expected, he had planned this all out well ahead of time in order to shine against his would-be competition for my attention tonight.

“Well look who's finally gettin’ around to the best part of any meal!” He grinned proudly whilst generously dolloping my dessert with the fresh cream. “Took ye long enough! Damned thing would've gone wholly cold had I not thought to use a warmin’ plate fer it…”

I cocked my head inquisitively before he lifted up the tart from off its platter to reveal the small, flat ruby embedded in the center. Imbued with fire magic, the gem would gradually release all its stored energy as heat into anything placed atop it and into the broader platter around it. That was, until it hit a ring of silver runes roughly halfway through its diameter which ensured only the center grew warm and not outer rim or handles for the bearer's safety. He had indeed planned ahead when it came to my dish… As to whether or not he made the assumption that I would ramble on for too long, or that one or both of his female coworkers would overly occupy my eating time…I decided against pondering overlong on it. He was going the extra league in order to elicit an impressed response from me and it was my duty as a friend to indulge his efforts somewhat. It was only fair after all as Mallow had seen and heard my reaction to her work for herself. Xanthos would have his time under the Moonlight tonight with his sweet treat made just for little old me. And indeed, he was already impressing me with his forethought and elaborate presentation alone.

“Damn, you truly did account for every such occasion…” I admitted honestly, if just to genuinely congratulate him on his forward thinking for the situation.

“What can I say, eh? When that mouth o’ yours starts talkin’, it's hard to get it to stop. Same goes for these two conniving lasses.” He chuckled back with a jab of one of his talons towards my female companions. “If ye only knew the crock of shite these two whip up with their words in the back of house… Ugh, enough tah make a guy wanna dunk his head in th’ hottest pot o’ stew nearby n’ get it all o’er with.”

“Well someone here has to parse the shite from the gold in all the info we collect during the day-to-day activities which occur around here.” Mallow pouted with a cocked eyebrow as if to challenge him. “Or did you expect us to go to all that effort of translation and sifting the chaff from the wheat whilst entirely off the clock?”

“It'd let me ploughin' think every now and again, dammit! Or are you just here to yank my beak around with every last damned thought in ye two's ridiculous heads?”

“I know I would prefer it if all of you would shut up somewhat in general for me so I may enjoy his tart with the same consideration I gave both your efforts. You especially, Mallow! Was that Crystalline Salt I tasted amidst all that splendor?”

“Ah, I am glad you noticed! Most delightful to hear!” She crooned with an adorable shiver through her colorful body. “Yes! I felt its unique balance of salt and sweetness would fittingly work with the general flavor profile of porcine meats, particularly that of this wild boar. Was I correct in this assumption?”

“I just mentioned it, did I not? Truly Mallow, you have a gift for the range and the roasting spit for one who doesn’t consume that much meat herself.”

With a hearty bow she replied, “Why my utmost thanks for your feedback! I will try to incorporate it into the dish more often to see if others may like it enough to make it a permanent addition to the recipe. Who knows? Could be just the thing I was needing to sell even more of them to all you famished Witchers.”

“Heh, by all means do as ye see fit. Now! Xanthos. You've awaited my opinion long enough and you have even gone and upgraded my tart to some sort of…pie-tart amalgam. Was this too part of the plan? Or did you simply lazily make use of the term ‘tart’ in an excessively loose sense? Is there some baker’s joke I am not privy to…?”

“Look, when I spied Mallow sprinkling her special little additions onto your meal, I could not help but add a bit more flair of my own to further stand out against my competition for your attention this fine night. Is that such a crime? To invest more of myself into your beautiful food?”

“Hardly! Just an amused observation at most my friend. Fret not, my belly is most ready to devour this…whatever it is you wish to call it now.”

“Call it whatever ye like, just get to fuckin' eatin' it already dammit.”

Like any good friend would do when so politely asked, I obliged him immediately by lifting up his beautiful creation and taking a mighty bite out of it with great anticipation. Similarly, like any good Witcher, I had a whole ‘second stomach' when it came to desserts as there was always room for the sweetest course of them all. From the moment I bit down…I found myself secretly questioning why it took me so long to partake in the exquisite work of his talented talons as the combination of cream, sugar, crumbly dough and sweet, tangy elderberries was immaculate. Even as I rolled the divine masse around my mouth and lightly chewed on the crust I could feel a magic akin to Alchemy taking place across my tongue. Every last possible molecule of the dish was full of bounteous flavor from the sweetness of the sugar, to the smoothness of the cream, the buttery saltiness of the crust and the tart, floral notes of the berries themselves. Indeed, the elderberry had a full-bodied range of flavors from the mulled sweetness of fully-cooked berries, to the raw tannins of a clawfull of freshly picked ones; the native toxins be damned to my immune system.

Yet again the depths of his preparation were still catching me by surprise, one little pleasantly amused bit at a time. His wizardry over the range was equally as talented as Mallow’s by all accounts, he had merely channeled his skills into the world of delectable pastries and other desserts instead of fine works of meat and vegetables. All my hours hunched over the cauldron of Venom were now entirely worth it somehow, although it was most certainly a group effort on their part. Whether it was the dish they had prepared especially for me, or merely the gift of their wonderful company, each of them had a part to play in just how much joy filled my breast. There was no room for any words, only moans of satisfaction as I thoroughly inhaled Xanthos’s hard work within only two bites more. The three of them had provided such an immaculate midnight meal and wonderful companionship just for me. Each of them was equally as glad to see me as I was to see them after so many months away. It had hardly been a full year of course, yet that didn't stop the homesickness from sinking its painful fangs each and every spring come time to depart the Valley for the Path.

Gods, what a pleasure it was to be back amidst such friends as these. In truth I did not get along with each and every person at the School (Rosemary being a prime example), yet I belonged here. I had a home and an attachment to this place and many of the people in it. The Trial of the Grasses did much to erode the nerves of feeling and cloud strong emotions beneath a layer of steely, stoic resolve built into our very DNA by the Changes. And yet for all the Witch Hunters talk of the Changes stripping us of all emotion, particularly those of empathy and righteous joy, here I was swimming amidst a sea of such positive emotions as they. We were far from the heartless monsters modern-day Equestrians sought to portray us as, save of course those who abandoned the Witcher's Code and traded in our name for cheap coin. We all ate, drank, fought, fucked, danced, laughed, screamed and cried just as readily as the next non-mutated individual could. The difference was, when push came to shove, we had the ability to separate ourselves from our emotions when the situation called for it.

Or, perhaps a better way to put it would be to state we merely selectively amplify the numbness towards any strong emotions we felt but wished not to for a time. Such a level of control could and was used to distance oneself from particularly strong or painful emotions, a skill we could use to prevent our fear from overcoming calm, collected reason. Even the average career soldier would feel horrible terror and likely flee before a colossal beast such as a Fiend, or one of the larger Ogrid-category beings like a Rock Troll. And why would they not? Fiends alone stood at a height of almost five meters tall worth of angry claws, antlers and enough strength to literally tear even fully-armored stallions cleanly in half. Add onto that their tremendous speed, resilience to damage and their hidden third eye cursed with Arcane power to enact sinister spells of hypnosis and despair… Who else but a fucking Witcher, or one similarly mutated like unto a Witcher, had the guts and spine to go one-on-one with such creatures? Who else but we were so equipped to face the Darkness beyond the Night?

Such a beast as that would take an entire town's garrison to even stand a hope to subdue by themselves. In all truthfulness, they still only stood but a minimal chance against a beast such as that. Even with their armories’ limited stocks of proper silver weaponry such as swords, spears and crossbow bolts at their disposal…there were some threats out there simply better suited for the professionals to handle. The times had changed to where the average group of guards could subdue a small, local monster threat on their own through coordinated effort and their supply of weapons. But of course…that was only adequate for so many threats as born of the Abyss; a den of Nekkers or a pair of Water Hags they could likely handle by themselves without too many lives lost in the scuffle. However, could a garrison hope to fight against something like a True Vyre, a NightShade, or a damned Ice Giant? I could safely assume from experience alone that all but the stoutest could all but dare to stand up to such things and far, far fewer even lived to tell the tale.

Did we too feel terror, fear, loss and despair like unto any common mortal; Eldar or Equestrian alike without division or distinction? Of course! A pit of general, wordless worry readily set its claws deep into my heart any moment I had to leave the Valley, and many a Hunt had clenched my gut in anxious knots of fear within me. And yet, I was graciously able to shut those feelings down when the situation required in order to do what was necessary to slay my target and survive the Hunt alive. Our feelings are what made us Sentient beings to begin with, yet it was our mutations which ensured we were the ones best suited for such tasks. Save for those proven, decorated veterans of war, few else could be expected to be able to swallow their fears deep within themselves and muster forth the guts and gristle necessary to face the worst the Abyss had to offer.

Of course, even this too was something Celestia was slowly attempting to wrest full control over for herself alone. Her Witch Hunters were now the new face of the monster-slaying elite, enjoying the adoration and support of an ever more deluded Equestrian public. Our Grasses had been stolen and used to produce her inferior mockery of ourselves as none but the first Witch Hunters equaled us in the extent of the Changes undertaken. They had since produced many thousands of them, abstaining from the more dangerous mutagens which produced Witchers in favor of lesser, yet far safer alternatives. They were always pulled from all but the most rabidly xenophobic of the upper echelons of Equestrian society; well educated, yet possessed of that selfish, obnoxious cruelty particular to those who bled blue from birth. And so they carried themselves about as if they were each a Lord or Lady for whom their title allowed them to engage in the will of their Empress indiscriminately. Well…they were certainly experts in discrimination as their duties included the forced relocation, arrest, torture, execution, or general harassment of the Eldar Races and all things deemed to be of ‘foreign magic'. Such things were greatly disapproved by Celestia, and by extension her Great Sun and the unknowable whims of its Cosmic Will.

Great swaths of land were gobbled up immediately in the wake of the Cleansing as many of the peoples affected were scarcely in a position to defend their borders from intrusion. Witch Hunters had organized and led pogroms across the Empire throughout their border territories as well as targeting Eldar remnants as already dwelt within their lands in order to make way for their continued rise and expansion. The Race Wars had already ensured a rapid population decline across all members of the Eldar Races, the Cleansing had all-but-ensured Celestia's full rise to power and the uplifting of her Kingdom to that of a coast-to-coast Empire. And so...we all could scarcely help but see Equestria as the great enemy of the Eldar to one degree or another as they had killed more of us than the Abyss had across all species. For the sake of prosperity a peace was to be had between us both and trade once again resumed, though in a modified capacity from before which saw the Eldar shorted at each and every turn.

And yet…who here was to say that Petra wasn't right? Fifty-five years was most certainly a lengthy stretch of time for Equestrians. How many yet lived among them could even yet claim to have witnessed the Cleansing for themselves on the woeful day of its cursed occurrence? A smattering of some several thousand at absolute best? A miniscule number of greying heads caught amidst the many hundreds of thousands of the rising generation which had been born in the span of time since perhaps…? Ancient history it might as well be to all they conceived in the years since that rueful day. Nary a few blinks of the eye for myself and countless others here, yet more than enough time for much to be forgotten and much to be rewritten. We had come to expect as much and even less from the likes of them. Indeed, there was little good to be said regarding them at all...even for the most ardent supporter of optimistic, wishful thinking. And all of this was to say nothing of we Witchers and our place caught amidst it all. While the Eldar much more readily accepted us amongst them as odd, distant kin of a sorts...that was not to say that all of them welcomed us equally. It was far more likely for one of our own to be granted passage into an Eldar community than an Equestrian, yet our checkered past was enough to give some pause whenever we appeared among their midst. Only the Thestrals were openly against so-called 'visitors', though the Eagle Isles were likewise considered to be off-limits territory to Witchers, if only unofficially. Once their Archmaster King had decided to recuse himself and his School from all Continental affairs, an unspoken rule had developed that was as simple as leaving them to their Isles as long as they themselves remained in their self-imposed isolation. Their most common warriors were amongst the fiercest known to Terra Firma outside of the Dragons, to assume their Witchers wouldn't be capable of subduing the Abyss in their own lands would be tantamount to insanity.

“Uh oh. I knows that look o’ hers. She's wanderin’ somewhere deep in that pretty lil’ head o’ hers.” I managed to overhear through my own internal rambling.

“Hm? Oh…yes heh, I suppose I was getting a bit too carried away on my trail of thought…” I replied once mine faculties more fully returned to me. “Do forgive me. Did I ignore anything of great import whilst I was away along the paths of thought?”

“Ha! I took her through a greater thought journey than you, Mallow!” Xanthos beamed proudly with a pointed stare in the mare's direction. “You see her eyes roll like tha’? I've got some real fuckin’ magic, I'm tellin’ ye!”

“Heh, yes Xanthos. You did magnificently. All of you here have done so well by me this late, late night and I could not be happier with my meal and company tonight.”

“Think nothin’ of it lass! Yours be a most welcome face tah see in these parts and I am always pleased to see thee healthy and well. Come by anytime tah get ya liver thrashed or ye belly full of some good fuckin’ eatin’! Or, if ye just need a fine gal tah yammer on n’ on with.”

“Quite so dear! We are most happy to serve thee again at any time as you may so require us. Rain or shine, our door is always open to fine guests such as thee.”

“Or if ye simply just be wantin’ another of me finest pastries come one in th’ mornin’! Don’ forget tah think of ‘em too when yer comin’ ‘round these parts.”

“Believe me friends, you will all be the first I call upon in such dire times as that. For now though...I believe I am skirting the edge of the void of a comfortable sleep after consuming such a feast. I think it best if I depart for the evening, as loathe as I am for this all to come to a close.”

"No truer victory be fer a chef but to hear their work sending those who partake into the sweet embrace of sleep!" Mallow crooned with a pleasant smile.

"Mmm...I can think of one victory better than that." I replied with a tired yawn whilst lazily pushing the small stack of Crowns towards them. "Oh dear...I am too tired to collect my spare change...split these fairly amongst yourselves if you would my dears."

With that, I grabbed my belongings and shuffled away tiredly towards the exit of the Crosswinds without another word. The silence which followed me in my wake, only slightly undercut by the continued game of cards nearby, was soon replaced by a bedlam however as they each seemingly scrambled for the sizable gratuity I had been so lazy as to leave behind. Flagons clattered to the floor and the ring of metal sounded clear across the tavern as my leftover platters were sent flying in their wake. I had expected as much from my request for fairness, yet the chaos they produced was more than sufficient enough to escape by without the need of further speech. My stamina for the world of the conscious and awake was swiftly drying up within me as the realities of my happily stuffed belly set about preparing me for the best sleep I'd have in months. All I had to do was make it back to the Master's Tower without finding a cozy enough spot upon a bench somewhere in which to doze. It would do in a pinch...yet I had spent tremendously good coin upon my bed and the blankets and pillows upon it. I deserved it more than anything else. Well...aside from perhaps absconding there with Petra were I more awake to enjoy the blessed allure of her delightful company... Oh the sacrifices one makes in the name of comfort.

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