Sigil

Forgotten Realms: Tales of the Dead

The injured, lumbering (yet strangely invigorated, just this morning) man subtly counted out ten platinum coins and pressed them into the priest's hand. Reservation played across Keystone's face for a moment before the ministrations of the Cleric washed over him, a sentiment he expressed. "Maybe not entirely without scars? I earned 'em hard, Sir Cleric. Got stories carved into my skin lotsa places, make a proper Bard have to take notes. Punching out this Glith fellow's a respectable tale to share."

In the end he sighed and allowed divine splendor to erase the rest of his hurt. It may well have been the first time the Tyr's Chosen saw a man depressed because of their healing arts. Keystone thanked him nonetheless and shook the priest's hand firmly. Just as he was about to turn and leave, the again-whole pugilist remembered something. "Hey there, good sir..." he dug in his pocket for a souvenir from his fight with Glith, "I don't suppose you've got any knowledge of something like this, do you?"

Keystone produced what remained of the blood seal and held it out to the senior Cleric. "Questing, you see. Continuing the work Raa an' I started weeks ago. Looking for new things to follow up on."

***

A short time later, Keystone found himself back at the marketplace and in the company of his new friend. Strangely, the thought of what Shein-Fang said, about some manner of evil still around him, briefly darkened his thoughts. Some form of Glith perhaps, or his charge Kaylee? One of his new friends? Red Wizards spying on him, for reasons unknown, or maybe just one wizard - the one who started all of this by offering that reward. Dead, true, or at least turned to stone. He seemed the kind to plan for\little contingencies like getting choked out and turned into a statue.

Or maybe he was just being paranoid. While not allowing himself to drop guard entirely, he did force himself to relax a bit. He survived his last big trial by combat, if barely, met good people, got re-provisioned. He meant to take a breather and plan out his next move - Kaylee was still trapped. Whether that meant setting her soul free to depart our earthly plane or giving her an honest chance at life, he could not say. All he was certain of right now is that he was going to walk the marketplace with Saran and spend the rest of the day cooking.

He toured the foodier areas of the square, asking Saran the occasional question, selecting the right items or the local approximate. It surprised Keystone how many familiar things he could procure from this place; Telflamm lived up to its role as a center of trade. Most of the discussion he initiated with his mysterious companion had to do with epicure. He was asked to teach, but couldn't help asking many of his own questions.

By the time he was satisfied with the ingredients and kitchen staples, Keystone had a stout staff balanced on his shoulders, laden with sacks and baskets. Various packages of seasonings and small goods wrapped in paper were snug in most of his pockets. Whether from pride or obligation, the sizable culinarian declined any help from Saran, instead asking if she would keep an eye out for him in the crowds.

To his credit, he did attempt non-food, non-beast-of-burden conversation: "That is a lovely robe you've got there. Does it mean something? I've seen the like about lately."

***

Upon return, Keystone unloaded and got straight to work. From his traveler's pack, he procured a bundle of canvas and leather that he held reverently, unrolling it on the nearby table. It turned out to be an apron, brimming with various small cooking blades and utensils. He shed his outer clothing and strapped on the apron, changing immediately from a formidable practitioner of the pugilistic arts to a culinary field marshal, inspecting the ingredients and tools before him as one would an army at their command. In polite and direct tones, he half taught, half directed Saran in one task as he busied himself with another.

"Beautiful, that. Make sure you pack the beet sugar around the fatback... excellent. Now, when it's wrapped up in the dough and cooked off, it'll keep for bloody ever. Bacon Scones! I'll check on the Gallantine o' Pheasants and sherry veloute. ...good, slather the rendered fat over the pastry, and.... bake off when the heat gets high... Got this for a moment?"

Uncharacteristic of his normal resting demeanor, Keystone seemed light on his feet and positive of expression. He usually wasn't like this unless he was pummeling someone senseless. He exited the room with a platter, laden with with toasted slabs of bread, layered with chunky red-and-black bean paste liberally topped with a crumbly, marbled local cheese. This and an assortment of stonefruit were left outside, in a then uncluttered area of the smithy proper. He politely rapped the edge of the plate with his knuckles to inform of its presence to Rocksteady and his apprentice, and returned to the confines of the dwelling for more work.

"Now, here's something that's not part of my cuisine, nor yours... been working on it for quite some time, y'see, 'till I got the recipe down right. My gift to travelers and very busy folk." Keystone worked a simple dough on the main table, flour covering the majority of its surface as he labored, cutting and pulling the dough as needed until it formed long, impossibly thin strands. "It's like dumplings, right? But long and thin, you folk call 'em noodles. Noodles where I'm from're shorter, broader affairs, but we'll get back to that."

Keystone gathered up an armful of the lightly floured pasta and deposited it into a pot of boiling, salted water for about a minute. After it was strained out, the massive craftsman formed the noodles into rough nest shapes, densely packed but still separate starchy threads, and flash cooked them in oil for just a few seconds. "Now then, the dumpl.. er, noodles are fully cooked, but the oil's removed all of the wetness from 'em, eh? They will keep like this forever, or until the mice have at 'em."

A smile swept across his face, and the otherwise beater of wholesale posterior began emphasizing his speech with angular hand gestures, "Now, here's the best part: All you need do now is drop them in hot water and cover for a couple of minutes, and they're done. Fully done. Put on a kettle, done. Usually, I like to cook 'em up with bits of meat n' seasonings or desiccated veggies, whatever I can ram in there, y'understand, but it sets alone very well if you just need something to fill your belly."

"It ain't perfect yet. Almost. I think I'm really on to something with this, though."

Keystone wet a towel and cleaned up the main table, paying special attention to the floor around it. The changeover from the penultimate to the last round of items going into and on top of the stove was just about to take place, and cooking with Master Keystone was drawing to a conclusion for the day. From the look of the spread so far, the members of the Rocksteady household had a great feast ahead of them for their next two meals, plus enough preserved and preservables to last them a week or two.

A feeling of tired pride washed over Keystone as he sat down and treated himself to a mug of ale (not Avar's!). Wistfully, he thought aloud, "All those pastry leftovers - might have to make bread pudding for tomorrow's breakfast, eh?"

The Legend of Zelda: Decedents of the Hero (OPEN)

"..."

-Cricket

Titans of Gotham [Spots Available!]

Peachy, just peachy. Living the dream.

The Legend of Zelda: Decedents of the Hero (OPEN)

They're just giving time to weed out the less dedicated. Gives Cricket more time to sharpen his knives, anyway.

Forgotten Realms: Tales of the Dead

IC post edited. That was weird.

Forgotten Realms: Tales of the Dead

A highborn man of social standing, such as our Master Keystone, should have his victims neatly pile and inventory their belongings for him after their inevitable death by fisticuffs. Preferably with an apology note for the inconvenience.

...gotcha, declare action to loot corpses. On it.

Forgotten Realms: Tales of the Dead

Keystone nodded to Avar as he wordlessly snagged breakfast and walked out to work, then gave Tim a light smile. He refilled the youth's cup before getting something to eat for himself, cramming a couple of fruit-filled pastries back and sipping a cup of strong, freshly-brewed goodness for himself. When his mouth was clear enough to facilitate speech, he turned his attention to Saran.

"I'd ordinarily tell you all I need's rest and time. Seeing as my work's not done and I've a little pocket-money, yeah. Healer's a good idea."

He took a moment to mentally review the "pocket-money" at his disposal. It was a lot. Keystone had to work and fight for a long time, sacrificing everything but the most basic of comforts to buy the house he was raised in, and bring it up to full repair. The money he had to his name now far overshadowed any amount he had been near in his life. This was more than enough to fund the start of a mundane enterprise and hire an administrator to run it in his absence. Regardless, before this chapter in his life was done, he had the feeling he would need the cushion of fluid currency.

Still, it felt good to be able to spend real money on little luxuries, for himself and his new friends. Also a new sensation: He had plans concerning financial stability for himself and those few close to him.

Keystone took a moment to change into his wool coat and native clothing, outfitting himself for a morning in town. Unsure as to local prices, he kept his gold coins on his person, and shoved 50 platinum wrapped in cloth deep into a pocket and buttoned it closed for good measure. It was much more than he was accustomed to carrying with him, but it was always better to be prepared.

"Tyr's people, or is there a better place in town for a patch job?" Keystone asked Saran, pausing in thought briefly before continuing, "When I'm better patched up, Miss Saran, would you be as kind as to see me through the market? I've got a number of things I'm keen on picking up today, and could use local eyes on it. Really give a broad range of my native cuisine, or something close to it."

He stopped on his way out, noting the old Dwarf's morning labors. "I'm right excited to see what bit of forge art you're going to craft for me, Master Rocksteady. I'll be seeing to my injury, sir. Need anything while I'm out?"

Forgotten Realms: Tales of the Dead

While not quite out of his element, Keystone had to admit that a man with a more developed sense of propriety would be embarrassed by the conversation, as presented in a very matter-of-factly manner by a woman of obvious confidence. His words from moments ago, phrased partially for the purposes of making sure he wasn't stepping on anybody's toes, had failed to take into consideration his own observations of the dynamic of the household.

Also in hindsight, his own concerns were phrased awkwardly. It was a weakness of his, declaring intent without any hope of subtlety. Attempting subtlety only led to confusion.

While most of his concerns were not answered in the reply that followed, enough were that he felt a little stupid. That, and reassured. In the future, Keystone promised himself that he'd be more direct with Saran than he was generally with other ladyfolk; his own upbringing and experience tended to work against him in this regard.

In his mind, Saran seemed to be evading or holding something back. It was her right to do so; Keystone had several things about himself he'd rather not declare to his new friends, at least not right away. Things like, "A former(?) prostitute looks after my home while I'm away!" or "Hey guys, I slammed my father's skull into a bartop until he expired messily!" weren't polite topics of conversation from the get-go. There were odd and dark things in his history. Everyone had secrets, Saran was no exception.

She was also very persuasive. Keystone made sure her needs were well tended to before his own.

***

Keystone awoke early. He was, by nature, an early riser; force of habit after years of irregular guard shifts and punishing training schedules. He detangled from the limbs akimbo position in which he found himself, made ample use of the facilities available to him in the low dwelling, and tiptoed into the dining area to retrieve his belongings.

The sun had not yet crested the horizon, but there was just enough cold morning light for Keystone to see by. It was strange, he recalled that his night vision wasn't always this sharp. Shrugging the thought off as inconsequential, located his money and counted out another hundred platinum coins. He scrounged up a scrap of paper from his pack, penned a hasty note, and left it on the table. As quietly as he could, Keystone set half of his recovered coins upon it like an opulent paperweight. The note read:

Master Rocksteady,

Gone for breakfast for everyone. Thanks for hospitality. Please use money for order, best stuff you can find. If you need more, 50 in top of pack. Trust you, take what you need.

Keystone

As he placed the remaining 50 coins in his traveler's pack, a jolt of pain raced across his back and down his arm. Still not at his best since his fight with Glith, he nonetheless decided to strain himself with last night's more entertaining activities. He gave special consideration to the idea of taking it easy today, limiting himself to light actions and cooking. Maintenance exercise would have to wait for tomorrow. At least he could stand straight and move unaided, a brisk morning walk would have to suffice.

He dressed in monk's clothing and grabbed his gold coins, leaving most all of his personal belongings in the humble home, and exited into the young morning.

In his experience, all city merchant hubs, large and small, had a few things in common. The early morning belonged to street sweepers, particularly inebriated people stumbling home, and Practitioners of the Baking Arts. It was the latter that drew his attention. They weren't difficult to find, the smell of dough rising and sugar caramelizing was distinctive in the relatively still air. His anticipation for breakfast pastry did not overrule his good sense, however. Keystone kept a low profile and stayed out of the way of what little foot traffic the market presented.

In the end, he wound up purchasing more than probably should have. A gold coin's worth of fresh honey-bread and fruit pastry, tarts and the like, followed by another for packaged black tea. It seemed no matter where he went in his travels, everyone drank tea. Little constants like this kept him centered.

Keystone returned to the Rocksteady residence quietly, set out breakfast, and prepared a kettle of strong, black tea.

Forgotten Realms: Tales of the Dead

"Save", no.

Wasn't talking about saving. I am a horrible person.

Forgotten Realms: Tales of the Dead

I'd just as soon fade to black before the situation gets too personal, but bear in mind three facts about Keystone:

Constitution of 17,
Very large hands,
and it's 1d8 vs L creatures.

Carry on.