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

[Orin Fenix]

9th of Spring, 515AV

Orin was frantic. Rondo had made a serious and Orin was almost certain deliberate miscalculation. So, The Rearing Stallion had run out of food at the busiest time of the evening. And from the sound of the common room the patrons were not happy with the situation. Rondo had given Orin two chickens to cook. Orin had his doubts about how well that would cover the typically hungry dinner crowd and had made it known at the time. Rondo hadn’t liked his authority being challenged by someone he viewed as an upstart and had not only made his displeasure at Orin’s continuing presence in The Rearing Stallion known, he had also overruled Orin and refused him access to the pantry. Since Remi was out visiting the Syliran Fields trying to get a better sense of what the crop outputs for the upcoming and therefore what the tavern should and shouldn’t expect to come in this season. Seeing a prime opportunity to set Orin up for a fall, Rondo had devilishly waited for the complaints to start trickling in before leaving the kitchen, citing the completely bogus excuse that there were rumors of a special new spice that had been discovered and was being sold in the marketplace. Orin had just barely refrained from throwing a pot at the closing door and the retreating form of the cowardly chef. It would have landed Orin in a load of trouble and more importantly dented the pot and made it unusable for future cooking. Orin wouldn’t waste a perfectly good pot on Rondo of all people. It was completely unacceptable for the head chef to be acting this way, but no one else in the tavern would call him out on it. Ser Kevith was effectively stuck in the common room and the barmaids wouldn’t snitch because they didn’t care what happened in the kitchen as long as their wages came in. In fact, they were almost fantastically indifferent about pretty much everything but money and men.

If Rondo had been hoping that this catastrophe would either break Orin’s will or reflect badly on Orin then the man would be sorely mistaken. If anything, the adversity did wonders for Orin’s self-esteem. Thinking quickly, Orin darted into the pantry and pulled out every leftover dish from the past few days. It didn’t really matter if the patrons got served different dishes this evening. Actually, it might be kind of exciting for them. There were the remains of a few roasts, namely cow, pig and some deer. They would be cold but had been cooked and stored properly and would still be fresh enough and Orin figured that now that winter had released Syliras from its clutches the cold cuts might not actually be a bad idea. It might give people renewed hope now that spring was finally here. Orin had also brought out some vegetables that didn’t necessarily need to be cooked, namely carrots, squash, and onions. Orin quickly chopped them up and put the on plates. When they were arranged as neatly as Orin could manage in a hurry, Orin began slicing off pieces of meat and making platter of them. When Carmen poked her head into the kitchen and opened her mouth, Orin silenced her with a wave of his hand.

”Remi and Rondo are out so I’m in charge you hear me? Here’s the plan. The customers choice tonight. Cold cuts of either pork, venison, or beef with a side of vegetables and bread. Now get to it. And don’t forget their orders on the way back. Pork on the left, beef in the middle, venison on the right. And tell Brucila too even if you have to drag her away from whatever handsome face caught her eye tonight.” Carmen nodded and ducked back out. Brucila was a handful but Orin got the distinct impression she was good for business. But Carmen was the much more steady one and Orin would trust her over Brucila any day. Orin started setting out plates while the barmaids went out and collected orders. At first, Orin insisted on making sure they repeated the orders back and then selected the correct dish but they quickly caught on. Orin was kept busy simply trying to keep the plates prepared. Of course this had to happen on what appeared to be the busiest night Orin had ever worked in The Rearing Stallion.

Orin was just beginning to give in to fatigue when Brucila stuck her head into the kitchen. Orin forestalled any long drawn out discussion by quickly barking out ”Make it quick please, Brucila.” She rolled her eyes at him but continued and kept it short. ”Orin we’ve got a problem. Customer can’t pay. And he’s a squire or somethin’ so Kevith don’t wanna shake him down or kick ‘im out. Whatcha wanna do?” Orin never missed a beat of chopping and slicing even though he desperately needed a break. His piles of supplies were quickly running low and he couldn’t even take the time to go into the pantry to get out more. So Orin didn’t have any idea why he was expected to deal with this situation. He was about to tell that to Brucila when inspiration struck. ”I’ve got it. He can pay off his meal by helping me in here tonight. Send him over please. And don’t forget to take whatever orders you have out with you too.” Orin liked this idea a lot. It would avoid any unpleasant scenes and would mean that Orin wasn’t running himself ragged trying to run a three-person kitchen by himself. So he eagerly waited for whoever this was to walk through the door even if they had no experience with cooking whatsoever. That wouldn’t preclude them from getting vegetables off of a shelf or washing some plates. And even if they just knew how to slice a steak off a roast or dice some vegetables, then for Orin’s purposes that was so much the better. And Orin could always show them what to do, seeing as none of the techniques he was using at this particular moment in time required any significant amount of skill. As long as this person had hands it would be a boon to Orin. And if they were involved with the Syliran Order presumably this person had both of theirs. Kevith was a living testament to what happened to Knights or Squires who became crippled. So Orin knew more than he ever wanted to know about that.

[Marrick Corvis]

It had been a long day, and the Kelvic’s fingers massaged the bridge of his nose. Another damn wall in the investigation involving the woman in the wood. Perhaps it was just his bad luck or maybe Ser Whitevine hadn’t left a trail obvious enough for Marrick to follow. It was this, that had driven him through the oaken door of the Rearing stallion. Frustration and anger never mixed well with thirst and hunger. It was like a stone in a river or on a beach. Every passing wave wore him away just a little bit more and there was nothing to do about it but drown his pensive thoughts in booze and a good meal.

Kevith’s familiar face appeared behind the counter and he waved at him before he came over to see what Marrick needed. It was a comfort to know that the old knight hadn’t forgotten him even though it was more than a season ago since he was last in. Then again, when a rookie squire nearly gets gutted outside your establishment it tends to burn a few things into your mind.

“Not smiling today I see lad?” Kevith teased with broad grin from ear to ear. He was his usual spry self, and Marrick pondered for the space of a couple of ticks as to why he had retired. The man’s mind and tongue alone was sharper than any blade.

“Not today Ser. Not the way Oi did my first noight.” The icy eyed Kelvic’s face was placid in mocked seriousness, until he could hold it in no more and he grinned broadly at the old bartender. The pair shared a strong handshake almost as if being in the order made them brothers, though Marrick knew the rules of the Stallion. “It’s good teh see yah again Kevith. Oi havn’t tasted food near as foine as the noight Oi visited winter a’fore last.”

The old Knight’s grin practically split his face as he clapped the young squire on his shoulder across the counter. “Then why has it taken you so long to come back?” the man teased as he poured the dark haired squire an ale into a wooden cup.

Marrick’s smile turned to a smirk, as he endured the old Knights jests. “Now Ser Kevith, yah haven’t gotten so old that yeh fergot what trainin was loike have yah?” the Kelvic jibed back with a laugh of pure mirth. Though it was quickly becoming obvious that Kevith was not in the mood for such a low blow.

“I could still thump yah good little squire.” The old knight said, his grin still broad, though his eyes flashed a subtle warning.

The Kelvic nodded, and blinked slowly, though the smile still touched his eyes. “Aye, n’ if Oi gave yah cause teh do so, Oi’m loike teh deserve it.” The pair shared a furtive nod before the Kelvic got down to business. “What do Oi owe yah fer the ale?” He said as he fished through his hip pouch for his bag of Mizas.

“Just a silver bit.” Kevith’s voice was back to the status quo as he polished a glass, and filled it for another customer. As the venerated bartenders back was turned, a sinking sensation formed in the squires belly as he found that his pouch of Mizas was missing. At first Marrick searched his other pouches, even his pack, though as he chewed through the possible locations of where his money might be hiding his mind travelled back to the front gates of Syliras, back to the Kabrin road, back to the gates of Mithryn, and finally to his bunk at the Garrison where his pouch lay concealed under the fifth slat of his bunk. The dark haired squire held a hand over his mouth in concern just as Kevith returned to collect the money for the ale.

“What’s the matter Squire Corvis, you look like you just swallowed a Pycon.” Kevith said with a chuckle. Fortune would have it that the Bartenders mirth would return just in time for Marrick to tell him he had no money.

“Oi seem to have misplaced my pouch Ser. Oi apologize for the inconvenience, I should be moving along Oi think.” Marrick’s voice was clearly downtrodden in its tone, as he had hoped to fill his belly with a meal as well to help him think through his troubles. However it seemed that that was not to be so.

Just as Marrick’s head was beginning to bow and his brow furrow, a man bolted from the kitchens. He seemed in a hurry, though not enough to warrant such a hasty retreat. When the Kelvic turned toward the old knight he caught the subtle grind of his teeth as he watched the man from the kitchen leave. The Kelvic almost was certain he didn’t ever want to be on the receiving end of that glare, and he was beginning to worry that the situation would spill onto him. However, that was not to be the case. “Nonsense!” came Kevith’s voice in his usual drawl. “There’s more than one way to pay. Drink up, and I’ll put you to work. Do dishes in the back if you have to. It will free up some of the others from having to do it. Now drink up. You’ll be busy for a while.”

The squire wasn’t sure what to say as Kevith stalked off and got the attention of one of the waitresses. Confusion blanketed his face like dust on an old piece of furniture, but regardless he picked up his beer and drank full of its contents. The cold brew was revitalizing to say the least. Bitter as boiled tree sap, with a bready after taste that made Marrick sigh in contentedness when he pried the rim of the cup from his lips. “Oh, Aye. Worth a few hours in a kitchen. Well worth it.” Were his only words before he drained the last of its contents and stood from his stool.

“Marrick!” Kevith shouted at him from down the bar with a wave. As the squire approached Kevith nodded at the door over his shoulder. “Kitchens back there. Brucilla cleared it with Orin. Aspiring chef that boy. Listen to him, and do what he tells you. There will be a meal in it when your done.” The Knights words were emphatic, and in many ways final. The Icy eyed squire found himself shrugging. It was the lot of a Squire to do as he was told even if the Knight was retired. “Well, don’t stand their shrugging your shoulders at me ladd, Roll up your sleeves squire!”

Marrick’s smirk hid nothing of his obvious reaction to the Knights teasing as he removed his gear and handed it to the Bartender. With a shout of triumph Kevith held the squires armor over his head like a trophy before he hung it from one of the many mounted antlers on the wall. Much to the entertainment of the crowd that filled the place. The dark haired squire counted himself lucky that he was going to be hiding in the kitchen for the majority of his time here. With a deep breath he opened the door to the kitchens slowly so as not to catch anyone unawares if they were trying to come through.

The Kitchens of the Rearing Stallion were much the way he had expected them to be. Though there was no grand animal being roasted, or barrels of potatoes, in fact the place seemed to lack the one thing that they needed to feed people.

Now, Marrick always liked to make a first impression. However the dumbfounded look he had when his eyes met with the man hastily channeling the chaos of the kitchen left him wanting to bury his face in one of his hands. The man was about the Kelvic’s height and seemed a bit lanky, like a new growth tree. His hands, which held his tools confidently, seemed clean and ready to work. His hair was a brushed back stress induced flow of jet black waves. For the Kelvic it was almost uncanny at how much the man reminded him of himself the day he came to Syliras two winters ago.

The call for an order came through the door from one of the bar maids and it spurred Marrick out of his near comatose state of morbid curiosity for his new companion for the evening. “Blah!” He croaked out before he searched frantically for a wash basin, or sink. “Sorry for staring, you’re the spitting image of me, when Oi first got to Syliras two winters ago.” The Kelvic’s eyes darted about desperate for a little direction. “Roight, Oi’m Squire Marrick Corvis. There’s people teh feed, so Oi’ll not waste yer toime with a long story of m’ loife, n Oi apologize if Oi’m a moight curt. Kevith said yer name was Orin, more than a pleasure teh meet yah. Oi’ll be an extra pair of hands, eyes, n. tongue fer yah te’noight. Oi need teh wash, where’s yer water basin?!”

[Orin Fenix]

When the man finally came into the kitchen Orin sighed in relief. However, Carmen chose that moment to interrupt and Orin slid the proper order down to her as the man began speaking. Orin raised his eyebrows at the first words out of the other man’s mouth. ”And you look like hired help for the night,” Orin responded tartly. Orin immediately regretted it. Orin was simply under a lot of stress and he didn’t need a reminder that he was young and looked like he lacked experience. This entire situation was getting on Orin’s nerves. Rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands, Orin launched into an apology. ”I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be short with ya. This whole mess just got dumped in my lap and I’m not holding up too well. It’s nothing to do with you and I can’t thank you enough for coming to help.” Orin tactfully left out the part where the squire, Marrick was his name, didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter. Still, Orin fully intended for Marrick to more than make up for the cost of whatever he’d bought this evening.

The squire immediately got into Orin’s good graces by asking where the washbasin was. Clean hands meant clean food. That saying was a favorite of everyone who worked in the kitchen at The Rearing Stallion and Orin was glad he wasn’t going to have to explain it to Marrick. ”Washbasin is over there.” Orin pointed to the large tub next of one of the center counters. There was a piece of soap next to it. Orin figured the soap was self-explanatory for anyone with even a passing understanding of hygiene. As Orin waited for Marrick to wash his hands, Orin figured a bit of small talk. After all, most of the tasks Orin were performing only required the barest amount of attention from the chef. His hands had chopped vegetables and sliced roasts off meat so often that it had become second nature to him. ”I guess an introduction of my own is in order. M’name’s Orin Fenix, assistant chef here. And I’ll happily listen to your life’s story. There will definitely be some free time this evening, lulls in the orders and such.” Orin grinned, hoping to make up for his earlier retort. If Marrick took offense then this evening was going to be incredibly difficult.

Narrowing his eyes at Marrick, Orin appraised the man. It was true there were striking similarities between the two of them. They probably could’ve passed for brothers but Orin was almost certain he had no close relatives. Marrick’s eyes were a lighter shade and much icier than Orin’s and they lacked Orin’s hint of green. But, their hair was the same shade of black. And while Marrick’s face had a few years on Orin’s they both had striking faces rather than one’s that were handsome in the traditional sense. However, Marrick did have Orin beat in one area. The squire had real stubble as opposed to the patchy scruff that Orin could grow. Still, there was no point in comparing the two of them. Orin knew he wasn’t every going to win a competition in attractiveness and besides, Marrick was a squire which was much more exciting than anything Orin did. And the man was a near stranger. So Orin should probably get to know the man first even if his first impression was rather charming.

Opening his mouth, Orin finally spoke again. ”Now, have you eaten? If not, we’ve got pork, beef and venison to choose from with some vegetables and bread for ya as well. Simple fare but we ran out of the more elaborate food. And I don’t want you hungry while you’re working and salivating over the dishes. Take your pick, there are plates of each down there.” Orin pointed at the other side of the table from where he was working. Hopefully, Orin would have enough ingredients here to make a few more plates until Marrick was finished with his food. While the man ate, Orin needed to know what the extent of his cooking skills were, if any. ”So, do you know anything about working in a kitchen? Chopping vegetables, roasting meat, anything? It’s fine if you don’t just trying to figure out the best way to use you. And if you’d like to learn more, I’m always happy to teach.” It was true. Orin would rather have a more skilled worker even if it took a few chimes out of Orin’s life to make him that way.

Hopefully Orin had waited long enough for Marrick to be done with his food. If not, the man should be able to listen to instructions. Orin snapped into what he hoped was a suitably authoritative mode. ”If you need to, wash up again. Then I’m going to need you to get some more carrots and onions. They’re in the pantry, on your right, third shelf from the bottom.” Orin was glad that he’d spent so many hours stocking and cataloging the pantry. It meant that his knowledge of it was nearly encyclopedic and Orin, with a bit of thought, could rattle off the exact location of almost any ingredient. It appeared that the skill would be very useful for Orin and Marrick tonight. If Orin had to keep directing the man into the pantry, then Orin would get good practice at remembering where everything was. Orin would also have to make sure that he didn't go too fast for Marrick to follow. Orin knew he had a tendency to let his mouth run away from him. In this particular case, confusion would spell disaster for the tavern. So Orin had to make a conscious effort to keep his words well under control and make his orders precise and clear. And he should also probably check in with Marrick every once in a while. Orin had found on the rare occasions when he'd had other helpers that no matter how skilled they were in other fields, they tended to freak out a bit when it came to the realm of cooking. Orin didn't really know where that came from but it had happened often enough that Orin was now on the lookout for it.

[Marrick Corvis]

At the man’s sour remark, the Kelvic couldn’t help but smirk at how quickly he had come up with a witty response. It was clear he was under a lot of pressure. Feeding a full house alone in a place like the rearing stallion was a crime. One that should have carried a painful punishment, however he didn’t run the Rearing stallion, and Kevith looked as if he was not fond of the other chef who had abandoned Orian to his fate.

The Kelvic chuckled heartily when the chef apologized. His immediate response was to raise his hands in the poor fellow’s defense. “Believe me, Oi understand completely. Apologies are unnecessary. Honestly, Oi thought yeh were havin a Jest at me.” As Marrick processed Orin’s explanation the situation began to become clearer. “But Oi can see now, that yer fren that ran out the front door of the Stallion not two chimes ago is a roight prick leavin yeh teh the dogs loike this.” His brow furrowed in empathetic frustration of the situation and was all too grateful when Orin pointed him to the nearest wash basin so he could get the days grit out from under his nails.

A frantic scrub ensued as he thoroughly cleaned his hands up to his elbow with soap and cool water. When at last he felt not a streak of filth remained he dried off and joined Orin on the opposite side of the preparation theater. As the skillful cook spoke his piece, Marrick inspected the tools he could use, sliding a long knife from the racks. With a slow and careful slide he sharpened its edge against a nearby whetstone. When he’d finished the Kelvic smiled back at the cook when he mentioned the lull in the evening.

“Oi havn’ eaten yet Ser Fenix. But Oi don’t think we have toime enough teh loight the candles and roll out the foine silver.” The Kelvic chewed on his lip a moment and tried to assess the situation. He’d cooked for maybe three people at a time, and most certainly not to a clientel with expectations like the folk that frequented the Rearing Stallion. “Oi downed a Point’a Ale. Oi’ll jest make do fer now with a heel a’bread n’ a bit of beef. No need teh take the good stuff.” The Kelvic sliced off a small heel from one of the long loaves of bread, and a small hunk of beef from a roast. Not wanting to dirty up the meat he placed the cold bits of faire onto a small plate and cut off little bits of them and nibbled while Orin assessed his paltry skills.

He felt a bit out of his league while he watched Orian skillfully slice meat into beautifully portioned bits for a plate. “Well, Oi’m no chef. Oi used teh help my mother,” The Kelvic hesitated. Even after years of losing Gypsy he still had a hard time not seeing her as his mother. “Her name was Gypsy, more of an adopted mother. Oi used teh help her in the kitchens when Oi was young.” The Kelvic filled his yammering trap with a long sliver of meat, allowing what he’d told Orin to process. With a soft hum, he swallowed. “mmm. What did yeh season this with? Never moind. Oi’m alroight at prep, a bit of a scavenger when it comes teh food. Oi’m not too swift with a Knoife, fer fear of meh fingers, but Oi’m a good observer, and quick learner.”

As the dark haired squire mopped up the last of the meat juice with the remaining tuft of bread he set the plate aside in dish tray and set to washing his hands again, along with his knife. It didn’t take much, and he was at Orin’s side in a snap. “Carrots n’ Onions Ser, Aye!” The Kelvic followed the chefs direction on locating the cupboards that held the vegetables. They were just where he had said they would be, and it was marvelous to see real food even in its unprepared form. “Oh, their beautiful! Oi hav’n seen anythin save fer woild onion fer ages.” The Kelvic picked up each basket, and laid them out next to one another in easy arms reach near his station and plucked a particularly round onion from top and inhaled deeply of its scent. “So much sweeter. Almost somethin tame about em.”

Within the space of a handful of ticks he had pulled both a Carrot and an Onion from their respective baskets and laid them out on his cutting board. He was so excited to put his hands to use in this fashion again, almost like being next to Gypsy again in the kitchen. Yet, as he held the long knife in his hand something stopped him. This wasn’t his foster Mothers Kitchen.

“Fergive me Ser Orin, but this isn’t meh Kitchen. How would yeh loike me teh cut these? Oi’ve doiced onions before n’ Quartered em. Same goes fer Carrots, but is there a particular way yeh’d loike these? It’s yer Kitchen after all’n Oi don’t want teh sully yer skill by givin yeh something yeh wouldn’ want teh cook with.” Marrick remembered a quiet night in Ravok when he was barely a boy when Gypsy had told him to cut some onions a particular way, when he’d asked why she had told him it was the way she liked it. “Well, let me jest try a carrot n’ a onion for yah, in case yeh have a better way.”

The Icy eyed squire slid a smaller onion from the basket beneath his knife, with a single and simple slice down the middle he laid out the two halves and began to slice them into one inch lengths, and then he diced them into one inch bits. When he was done he laid down the other half of the onion onto the corner of Orin’s work station, and got to work on the carrot. The Carrot was simpler. He sliced the vegetable length wise, into halves, and then quarters before he laid the remaining half next to the Onion on Mr. Fenix work station. “Is that alroight, or do yeh have an easier way?”

Marrick’s eyes were two icy disks, focused with a burning intensity on Orin’s work station. He didn’t want to admit it, but for whatever reason he wanted to impress the skillful chef. And he knew he wouldn’t be able to do that unless he humbled himself first.

[Orin Fenix]

At least Marrick hadn't taken offense at Orin's words. Orin would never have snapped at the man if this entire situation hadn't been bad for Orin's nerves. Still, Orin needed to remain civil with those who he was working with. Otherwise, Orin would be no better than Rondo. After seeing how much resentment Rondo had caused amongst the other employees of The Rearing Stallion Orin had no intention of ever becoming the type of boss that Rondo had. Although mostly it had been Orin who had suffered. Apparently the man had been much better before Orin had arrived. Orin had a shrewd suspicion that Rondo was worried that Orin would usurp his place. While Orin would never do that, Rondo didn't know that Orin just wanted a peaceful kitchen. It was true that Orin, after the two seasons he'd spent honing his skills, would be willing to say that he was now a better chef than Rondo. If the older cook didn't keep pushing Orin then maybe they could've worked together to make wonderful dishes the likes of which Syliras had never seen. However, instead Rondo had declared Orin his enemy and at this point it would take a whole lot more than an apology or even an olive branch to bridge the gap that Rondo had made between the two of them.

Still taking out his frustration on Marrick wasn't exactly right, good, or honorable so Orin just counted his blessings that Marrick had taken Orin's comment as a joke. And it had been a joke even if it had been in bad taste. Orin wondered where the man had gotten his sense of humor. Most of the squires Orin knew were almost deadly serious all the time. Marrick's apparently easy-going manner was refreshing. He certainly didn't pick that up in Syliras Not that there weren't fun loving members of the Order. Orin just hadn't personally met any.

Marrick's accent was a curious one, although not entirely unpleasant. Orin debated with himself for a moment but curiosity was one of Orin's biggest sins, in that he couldn't hold himself back from asking questions that were probably better left unsaid. "So, you don't sound like you're around here. Mind if I ask where you're from? I just mean I've never heard someone talk the way you do, the accent I mean, and it's unusual. In a good way. It's very pleasant." Hopefully Orin had finally managed to phrase his inquiries politely enough. Otherwise Orin was just going to have to expect a poor reaction from Marrick.

When Marrick mentioned he'd seen Rondo leave Orin spoke out with the standard phrase he had memorized whenever someone talked about one of Rondo's faults around Orin. "Rondo is a fantastic chef and The Rearing Stallion is blessed to have his presence." Orin very carefully bit down on the bitter 'when he bothers to be here' before it could slip out and ruin his incredibly diplomatic statement. Maybe if Orin repeated it enough times he'd even come to believe it. I'm being unfair now Orin thought grudgingly. Rondo was actually a boon to the tavern. And he was an amazing cook. If the man didn't have such a high opinion of himself than Pron would've loved to learn from him and master the culinary ways that Rondo knew. However, it was a bit late for that.

Still, focusing on Rondo wouldn't do Marrick or Orin or The Rearing Stallion any good. As the man ate Orin smiled. It was good to be reminded why Orin had gotten into cooking in the first place. Even though this was the simplest of tavern fare, food brought people together in a primal way that almost nothing else did. Orin was a firm believer that sharing a meal with someone created instant trust, even between two strangers. "No sir, nothing like that. I'm just Orin. Besides I'm supposed to be the one that's being all respectful to you ain't I? Seeing as you're a squire and all? That's how that works right? Regardless, eat up. It's small thanks for your help." Orin honestly didn't know whether or not there was a proper honorific when addressing squires. Orin had learned, though, to err on the side of caution in all matters relating to the Knighthood. It wasn't good to draw their attention.

The good news was that Marrick wasn't a complete beginner when it came to working in the kitchen. Orin had to smile when the man spoke about Gypsy, whom he referred to as his adoptive mother. It reminded Orin of those rare times when one of the citizens of Mithryn, particularly the women, had taken pity on Orin's plight and let him have free reign in the kitchen. Otherwise Orin had been forced to sneak in his time for years until his talents had finally been discovered and then finally accepted. "She sounds like a wonderful woman. And I'm glad this might be bringing back good memories of her." Orin was pleased to see that Marrick jumped straight into work. The man quickly went into the kitchen and came out with the vegetables Orin had requested. Orin found it funny how hesitant the previously bold squire had been when the man almost shyly started to cut up the onions and carrots. "Tonight, since we're worried more about quantity than quality, cut them however you'd like. Basically, I'm just trying to have us keep up with the dinner rush. Don't forget to peel the onions if they haven't been already. And if you want to learn another way to cut them up finely, watch this." Taking an onion and a carrot up, Orin placed them on the table in front of him.

Orin chopped the two ends off the onion. Next, he peeled it in quick, efficient motions, being sure to do his best to keep his nose as far away as possible. He tossed the pieces of skin into a bucket located under the table then took up a cutting knife. Slicing the onion in half lengthwise, Orin took up one of the halves and set it on its side. He sliced vertically, doing his best to keep the slices evenly spaced. His best was pretty good, if Orin said so himself, although it felt weird to be going slowly enough for Marrick to watch and analyze his movements. When the whole onion was cut up, Orin set the knife down so he could push apart the pieces of the onion. They came away easily, and when they were all separated Orin repeated the process with his second half, going a bit faster this time although hopefully still slowly enough that Marrick could follow. When done, Orin picked them up, cradling them in the palms of his hands, and put them on a plate. "That's the simplest method, just called slicing. I can also teach you how to mince and dice without too much trouble. Why don't I show you what to do with the carrot, which is fairly simple although again, there are multiple methods depending on the dish or recipe. Grabbing a carrot, Orin cut off the leafy end. After that, Orin anchored the tip of his knife on a table then began pushing the carrot through lifting the blade up and down in a rocking motion to create nice round cuts, that resembled coins. When done, Orin swept them onto the same plate as the onions he'd sliced and placed Marrick's cuts into a second plate. While the squire was experimenting, Orin would carve some of the roasts for the upcoming requests from the common room.

[Marrick Corvis]

Marrick watched as Orin made something as simple as cutting up onions and carrots seem like an art form. His skill with a Knife would have earned him a knight’s title if he’d used it for stabbing brigands and bandits out in the wilds, though to the Kelvic, he found the chefs use far more promotional of Sylir’s Peaceful way than the use of a sword or bow. He paid close attention to the method that the dark haired dicer used when he made his cuts. It was indeed simplistic and Marrick felt the slightest pang of guilt making this master of main courses show him something so simple. Especially since it was something he’d done before.

When Orin had finished with the carrot the icy eyed squire nodded firmly, and got to work. Marrick was certainly not elegant when it came to cutting up carrots. He topped and tailed each vegetable and slid the leavings aside off of his cutting board. He paid close attention for any remnants of dirt. While he went through the motions of preparing the orange roots. As his rhythm began to normalize he felt it was reasonable to get back to the conversation. Orin’s questions were pleasantly innocent. “Roight, So Oi apologize fer not respondin sooner teh yer questions. Oi wanted teh be certain Oi didn’ take mah fingers off. Yah understand, Oi can’t string a bow without meh wigglers.” The Kelvic chuckled darkly while he focused almost solely on his knife and the carrots.

“Oi don’ moind yeh askin me where Oi’m from. Tis a sad tale. Perhaps one evenin when we’re both enjoyin a point or a few drams of the good stuff that Ser Kevith hoides under the counter, Oi’ll give yah the long version.” Snap-clop, snap-clop, snap-clop, his voice cut over the sound of his knife as it severed bits of coin shaped carrot. “Oi’m from Ravok, though that wasn’t where Oi learned teh speak common loike this. Gypsy taught me how teh speak. Oi’ve spent a few noights since Oi got here tryin teh piece together where exactly she was from n’ Oi’ve decoided that its loike teh be some sorta Svefran.” Snap-clop, snap-clop.

As his cutting board grew full Marrick paused for just a moment before he searched a moment for a large pair of bowls. Like some sort of detective who discovered a clue, he made a subdued yet triumphant hoot before he drew a pair of them out of the shelves beneath his work station and laid them out past the far side of his cutting board. With a grasping hand he began to shovel handfuls of the coined carrots into the first bowl. “But aye, from Ravok, Svefran Mother, Bastard of a father or Master Oi suppose. Oi don’t think Oi ever had a father per say.” When his cutting board was clear he found a clean cloth and wetted it with some fresh water before he wiped away any carrot residue from its surface with a long and pleasant slide of the blade.

“Regardless,” He said, his voice tanged with pleasantry. “It pleases me that yer ears foind it comfortable teh listen teh. Oi’ve found many a’folk have a hard toime understandin me. Enough so that Oi’ve been tryin teh adopt the Syliran way a’speakin.” The Kelvic chuckled for a moment before he added. “With wee, Oi mean little success.”

As he held aloft a fresh onion he tipped his blade a moment in thought before he set it down, and used his newly freed hand to slide the leavings from his work station. As they neared the edge he nudged the bucket under the table out to where he could slide the unused ends of the carrots off like a waterfall of failed food.

When his area was clear once again he began anew with the onions. Topped and tailed, peeled and the bits pushed aside. All the while he had been thinking about what Orin had said about Rondo, or perhaps it was the way he had said it. “Fergive me if Oi speak outa turn a bit, but yer statement about the other cook seemed a bit… practiced. Oi’m no expert when it comes teh the polatics of a tavern, but if Ser Kevith grinds his teeth at someone he’s loike teh have a reason.” The Kelvic’s knife slid neatly through the many layers of the onion he chopped, though the long sections he chopped were far from perfect. It made a very different noise from the carrots as he sliced. A more crunchy sound, pleasant as it was.

“Anyway, Oi thought it was Kevith’s Woife that held the whisk in this tavern?” Marrick grinned at his little euphemism as he drew his knife through the onions. As he was speaking the fumes from the onions hit his eyes and he blinked the tears away for just a moment before he wiped his cheeks and continued. “Naught meh place teh say though. Oi’m sure Rondo is an excellent cook, otherwoise Kevith n’ Miss Remi wouldn’ hoired him. Nor you, fer that matter.” The Kelvic paused a moment and grinned at his teacher from across the work station pleased at his own flattery. He hoped that Orin had caught his subtle hint. He enjoyed watching people smile, and he’d hoped his words had lit a personal warmth in his companions heart.

His cutting board grew full again and instead of picking the onions up by the handful he instead tested to see if it had been affixed to the work station. Sylir’s blessings it wasn’t. With his knife he slid the chopped onions into their own separate bowl next to the large wooden bowl of carrots and when it was clear, got back to cutting up onions again. Something had been bothering him, and it wasn’t just the onions. No it had been Orin’s concept of what The Order was. What the knights were. He wasn’t entirely wrong that they were indeed a force to be respected, but the chefs idea almost felt like fear and that just wouldn’t do.


“As fer bein respectful that’s all well’n good, but te’day Oi showed up teh the Stallion with empty pockets. Humility is a good thing, it breeds empathy loike rabbits in spring toime.” The Kelvic chuckled darkly just as he nicked his finger with his knife. “Mezeen, Marrick.” He growled his phrase of "well done." in Shiber, as he laid down his knife and sucked at his finger. Which of course only made the oils from the onions mingle with the wound making it worse. He hissed a moment before he turned and quickly walked to the wash basin and got to cleansing his cut. It wasn’t particularly deep and he realized he had been cutting them wrong. What was it that Gypsy had taught him about the way to hold your fingers?

“Say Orin, Yeh use yer finger nails as a sorta guard roight? As yah chop Oi mean? Oi’m a moight rusty at this.” Once the bleeding had ceased the Kelvic went back to his station and carried on. It wouldn’t do to have his blood served up in the next dish. “Where was Oi.” He said as he withdrew a fresh onion from the basket. He topped and tailed it just as he had with the others, before he remembered his place in the conversation. “Oh roight, respect. Don’t worry about none’a that shyke with me. The first duty a’ the knights is teh the people, n’ Squires are but a page with a bit a trainin.” Marrick exhaled slowly as he remembered what had brought him into Syliras in the first place. His Patron was there somewhere, but no one seemed to know exactly where. It concerned the Icy eyed Kelvic greatly and he wished nothing more than to have simply bonded with the man, searching was a headache.

When he’d finished another full cutting boards worth of onions he slid them off just as he had with the others and presented the two bowls of cut vegetables to the chef and smiled. “Will this be enough ‘quantity’ teh get started? What seasonin were yah thinkin? Boiled? Oils?” The Kelvic’s smile blossomed into a grin as he realized he was getting a little overly excited as his curiosity began to take hold of him. “Fergive me, Oi’m curious teh a morbid degree when it comes teh new things. Besoides. Oi love good food, n’ oi’ve always wondered what went int’a such things.” The Kelvic eyed the meat that Orin cut with doe eyes. “Did Oi mention that Oi love good food?”

[Orin Fenix]

Satisfied that Marrick had a firm grasp of the basic cutting techniques, Orin decided to risk a glance out in the common room. Placing his carving knife down cautiously Orin darted over to the door between the common room and the kitchen. It wasn't too crowded and not that many patrons had been served. At the very least not that many customers had been given Orin's leftovers. A whole crowd had already came and left though which was how Orin had ended up in this predicament. It was still early enough in the evening that a lot more people might be showing up. With two of them in here they were making much better time than Orin had alone especially since Marrick was either a natural or had a lot more experience than he'd told Orin. Either way Orin planned to capitalize on this unexpected blessing. He was already running through ideas about how to spice up his fare, metaphorically and maybe literally speaking.

Orin came back to their work station. He was pleased to see that Marrick www double checking the carrots, ostensibly to determine that they were dirt free. Orin nodded in approval. "There's a saying we have here: The only good kitchen is a clean kitchen. So keep on looking for issues with the food. It's happened before and it's never pretty." Orin gave Marrick a shy grin. It was a silly piece of knowledge but Orin thought it was very important. Orin didn't often get to share his knowledge and he was finding that it was actually really enjoyable. Mostly that was because of Marrick. An eager pupil seemed to make all the difference.

Orin laughed at Marrick's admission that he was afraid of cutting off a finger. "Very sound policy I use it myself most days. All days actually. Although, and Orin let a bit of a teasing tone enter into his voice, "a little blood might be exactly what this dish needs. Most of the people out there would actually prefer human flesh, the bloodthirsty lot. Mostly just thirsy for alcohol actually. But you get what I'm saying." Orin had jerked his head to show that he was talking about everyone in the common room. Not that Marrick had ever been comfused. Honestly Orin was convinced that by the time the food reached them they were roaring drunk. Orin sobered up a bit at the thought. "In all seriousness though it's better to be safe. There are dishes which call for blood. Never human blood though."

Orin was about to resume his own task of putting the vegetables on the plate and carving off slices of meat when Marrick revealed where he was from. Ravok was essentially the sworn enemy of Syliras. As far as Orin knew that is. Just as Syliras was the center of peace and civilization and the main bastion of Sylir worship, Ravok was the same for Rhysol god of chaos and evil. The man clearly didn't want to elaborate on it and Orin didn't blame him. Growing up in Ravok couldn't have been at all easy for him. Now that Orin was thinking about it though, he actually didn't know anything specific about the city of Ravok. Sure there were all sorts of superstitions and rumors but Orin could count the number of actual facts he was sure of on the fingers of one hand. He normally would've launched into a series of questions with more than a touch of sympathy. This time, though, Orin remembered Marrick's request to have a few drinks before talking more about it. Offering up a small smile, Orin replier as simply as he knew how. "Sure I'd like that. I have to warn you though I don't drink if I can avoid it. But we can certainly spend some time together. Evenings and week afternoons are bad for me though as you might have guessed." Orin shrugged, embarrassed. He hadn't quite realized how little free time was available to him until that moment. He didn't really have enough friends for it to really be a problem.

As Orin listened to Marrick's explanation about Gypsy, his upbringing and his lack of a father Orin couldn't help but feel a connection to Marrick. He was probably imagining all of it but he was getting the distinct impression that Marrick's childhood, what there was of it, had been as difficult as Orin's in its own way. "Gypsy sounds wonderful. Where's she now?" It sounded like she was gone, either from Syliras or she had passed away. But Orin had learned not to make assumptions. As he waited for Marrick's response a very silly thought entered Orin's brain. He didn't have much of an accent from his time in Mithryn. What little remnants that had survived had been smoothed out completely by his time in Syliras. Still, people in Mithryn certainly had accents that were quite distinct from Syliras proper. And Orin could imitate them for short times and with enough preparation could slip into one. "Ai can pick up a wee bit of an accent meself if I try, y'ken? Ai just try and speak all fancy-like for the hoity-toity Syliras folks so they don't catch that Ai'm a Mithryn brat, don'tcha know?" That had been a lot more fun that it had any right to be. And it had been a horrible exaggeration but some people in Mithryn actually spoke in that manner.

When the conversation swung back to fathers Orin was surprised to feel a spike of mixed anger and sadness. He thought that he'd come to terms with everything his father had done to him. Apparently it took more time than Orin had given it. Orin hadn't even realized that he'd instinctively shrunk in on himself as if preparing for a blow. His shoulders were hunched and his head was bowed submissively. Orin placed his hands on the table and looked at Marricj through eyes that were half-lidded to keep Orin from crying. "At least you had Gypsy though, right?" Orin hadn't allowed himself the bitter comments he wanted to say about how Marrick was better off without a father and that if the man hadn't cared for him then it would've been worse living with him. After all Orin didn't know the situation at all and it would be completely unfair to assume that Marrick's situation was the same as Orin's own. Orin had also tried to keep the pain out of his voice but he wasn't sure exactly how successful he was.

Watching Marrick work on the onions gave Orin enough time to gather his composure. It was really silly of Orin to be set off by such a statement however close to home it might have hit. Orin was an adult and this was all the emotional baggage of a child. Orin mentally wrapped it up and shoved it away where he kept all his fears and anxieties. It was getting crowded there but it always had been and Orin couldn't fret about matters outside his control. I wouldn't worry too much, you're perfectly understandable." Orin's words were more than a bit absent as he was rummaging overhead for one of the pans that hung there. He took it off of its hook and placed it on the table.

Orin was taken aback by Marrick's observations about Rondo. He wasn't aware that Ser Kevith also had a bone to pick with Rondo. Orin sighed and carefully considered his reply. It would take all of his paltry skills at diplomacy and grace to come out of this without offending anyone who it might get back to. It's...complicated. Remi runs the kitchen and she does it well enough. Rondo is probably technically the better cook when push comes to shove but seein' as Kevith owns the place and Remi married him he can't really take over as he'd like. On the flip side a lot of our custom comes from Rondo being here so Remi doesn't to offend him too badly and she's made it clear Kevith is supposed to stay out of kitchen affairs unless it becomes a financial issue. I think they'd struck a pretty careful balance before I showed up although I can't know that for sure. Remi hired me without consulting Rondo so even if he wanted an assistant which I don't think he did, since too many cooks spoil the pot or whatever that expression is, he objected to my presence on principle. He's been trying to make me look bad since day one and there ain't much I can do about it besides keepin' my head down. Remi likes me but Rondo is more important to the business since he's supposedly famous and all. And he actually is an amazing chef. Even if I'm better." That last part was muttered and hopefully far too quiet for Marrick to hear. It wouldn't do to spoil his pretty speech with one bitter comment after all. There were probably nuances of the situation that Orin was missing but that seemed to be the gist of it. Orin had gotten pretty good at spotting these types of issues. Mostly that was a defense mechanism since tension like this spawned bullying and bad behavior and Orin didn't want any of that. "And they didn't really hire me for my cooking skills, since when I started I barely knew what I was doing. I think they mostly just needed an extra hand in the kitchen for cleaning dishes and grunt work and whatnot. My abilities just turned out to be a nice bonus. I still do most of the dredge work though." In all honesty Orin didn't mind the chores. He didn't like the atmosphere but if he and Rondo got along then a lot of his problems would go away. If a season of working together hadn't even brought an uneasy truce between the two of them then Orin doubted it would ever come.

Marrick’s attitude towards the Knighthood was refreshing, if a bit naive. While there were obvious exceptions, the general impression that got regarding the Syliran Order was of a bunch of arrogant men and women, both Knights and squires, who demanded respect and who thought they knew best for everyone. Orin couldn’t honestly say that they weren’t a well-meaning bunch and it was their right to be respected seeing as they kept Syliras safe from all threats. Still, Orin had found that they were surprisingly close-minded and incredibly focused on eliminating any and all threats, no matter how small. Orin wasn’t afraid of them precisely. After all, he was a law-abiding citizen and they cared about those laws sometimes to the point of foolishness. Orin just wasn’t sure he agreed with their particular brand of justice. And he found some of their punishments completely out of scale with the scope of the crime. Still, it was far better than the alternative of lawlessness and danger in the streets. Orin just hoped, probably far too optimistically and idealistically, that there could be a happy medium. Still Orin wisely didn’t give voice to his thoughts.

Nor did he have to as Marrick cut his finger open. Orin immediately jumped up to try and get a look but Marrick had it well in hand. Marrick cleaned it up, and Orin handed him a cloth to dry his hands off with and mop up any remaining blood. From where Orin stood, the cut didn’t look too bad. Even if Orin wasn’t a medical professional he had seen more than his fair share of cuts especially on his own hands. The bleeding stopped relatively quickly and so Orin shrugged. ”Now you’re one of us!” Orin held out his own scarred palms and knuckles for Marrick’s inspection. Mostly it was from knife cuts but there were also scars from burns when Orin had accidently grabbed a pot without protecting his hands from the heat. He’d learned never to do that again.

When Marrick asked about how to properly cut, Orin smacked his forehead with his hand. ”I’m sorry I’m an idiot and a terrible instructor. I kind of forget that not everyone has had the training I had and just assume they’ll do it properly. I’m working on it though. There are two ways you can prevent injuring yourself while cutting. The first is, whenever possible, cut away from yourself. Less likely to cut your body that way. And here, let me show you the other.” Taking up the cutting knife, Orin curled his fingers so the onion was under his fingertips, holding it in place. The blade of the knife pressed against his knuckles and he began slicing parallel to his curled fingers. ”Much less likely to hurt yourself that way, since you can check against your knuckles. I’m sorry about that, I need to pay closer attention to my assistants. And seriously, if you have any questions, any at all, about cooking ask. It’s better for me to teach you properly once then to let you develop bad habits and then have to go correct them. Actually, that’s true of pretty much everything isn’t it?” Orin grinned when Marrick asked if he’d done enough. ”More than enough I would say. And when it was just me in here I was just going to serve them as is, seeing as I don’t have enough hands to juggle another cooking project in the time we have. But now that I have you I think I’m going to saute the carrots and onions. Not much I can do about the meat besides heating it up some unfortunately. Do you know how to saute?” As he spoke, Orin bustled around the kitchen taking out the garlic and marjoram as well as one of the precious remaining lemons. Finally, he went into the pantry to grab the bottle of olive oil they were currently using to cook with. Once he’d laid it all out, Orin picked up the pan he had taken down before and turned to Marrick, ready to tell the squire the next step.

[Marrick Corvis]

Marrick nodded thoughtfully as he committed Orin’s statement to memory. ‘The only good kitchen is a clean kitchen.’ That was bloody right. Though, the Kelvic also appreciated the dirty flavors of camp cooking he knew that cleanliness was a wise course of action to take regarding food. It kept sickness at bay.

As Orin teased about blood as an ingredient the Dark haired squire listened in fascination. “Blood? Well, Oi suppose that makes sense. Seein as how liver is’a good bit’a meat, n’ that’s full a blood.” As the Kelvic digested this new information he realized he didn’t know what they were making and he practically slapped his forehead in order to jar his brain into function. “Oh, aye, what are we makin? If yah don’ moind me askin? Oi know Onions n’ Carrots are pretty standard fer most meals, whether it be stew, or somethin a bit more solid.”

“As fer not drinkin, its prolly fer the best. Keep yah outa trouble fer certain.” A previous rough night out in the main room of that very tavern played out in his mind as he remembered getting drunk, and nearly disemboweled by a hired sword. He considered alternatives though and thought of Orin’s profession, if he was a good cook, he would certainly appreciate good food. “Perhaps instead of a drink we could have a meal at the white swan. Oi know the owners pretty well, and Oi know the cook, She’s a real gem. Perhaps we could arrange a special meal after hours in the restaurant?” The Kelvic grinned back at his teacher with genuine enthusiasm.


When Orin asked Marrick where his foster mother was now, his smile dried up like a muddy puddle of water in the desert sun. He felt a coldness fill his chest and he tried very hard to remember his loving mother alive and smiling. Healing his hurts, feeding him extra meals under the table to keep him from starving. After what seemed like an eternity, he responded with a simple. “She embraced Dira. A few years back.” Marrick’s long sigh left him slowly, along with the stress of that buried memory.

Though his melancholy would not last. As Orin began speaking like one of the older local families from Mithryn. The Kelvics jaw dropped and his brows rose in surprise, as the chef started rambling. Of course when he uttered the word ‘y’ken’ Marrick couldn’t help but laugh loudly. “Oi’d ‘ave never guessed yeh were from Mithryn. That’s where Oi’m normally posted. Did yah know Katelyn Growin up, n’ the Marx’s?” the Icy eyed squire found himself comparing accents as he heard his own so close to Orins and he couldn’t help but question how or why he hadn’t made the connection sooner. “Maybe Gypsy was from Mithryn.” His eyes looked outward into the void of empty space as his mind began to click and whir in thought. “The accents were close.” Eventually when he was through chewing on the idea, he shook his head and moved on to the task at hand. “Aye, Gypsy was a real lady. Salty as she was.” The Kelvic chuckled a soft and pleasant burble.

When at last Orin relinquished a bit of the situation regarding Rondo he licked his lower lip a tick in thought as more information was added to the pile of political niceties of the kitchen of the Rearing Stallion. It was just like the Squire Dormitories, or even the Offices of Stormhold. Promotions were political in most cases. He narrowed his eyes in thought as he imbibed every last snippet of information that Orin gave him like a sponge soaking soapy water from a bucket.


Remi Ran the Kitchens. Rondo was her first cook. Kevith owned the place, which he knew already but important in the grand scheme of things. Rondo drew in a lot of the clientele. This little fact made Marrick hum thoughtfully. As the food he’d experienced a year ago was Remi’s cooking. The flavors still tickled at his memory. At that point the Kelvic began to process the information and form a hypothesis about the situation that was unfolding there in the kitchens of the white swan. Remi hired Orin, because business was getting heavy. Rondo was reticent but seemingly willing. He sounded egotistical, and a chef of his caliber would take an offense to having another chef in his kitchen who may very well cook better than him. Marrick pursed his lips, as the ideas began to take root in his mind.

It was a complicated situation as there was at least several parties involved that either wanted or didn’t want Orin there. In Marrick’s mind the dark haired chef that stood before him, full of skill needed a new vocation. One where he could truly shine, and at last receive the credit he deserved. He hummed again as he thought it all over. It was a dangerous thing to present the Raven Kelvic with a puzzle. Sylir’s peace he’d want to solve it. Or it would eat at him like a personal failure until everything was just right.


When Orin told him the reason why they had hired him, he was truly impressed. “Well, regardless of where yeh were, yeh seem a roight master of meals now Ser.” His beaming grin touched his eyes causing his crow’s feet to stand out. He had to admit he enjoyed how genuine the chef was, and he knew many folk that would have enjoyed his company. It brought the Kelvic a selfish pleasure to think he might have known the chef exclusively amongst the company he kept. Especially when Orin claimed that he was one of them. The comment caught Marrick off guard, only for a tick, and the mysterious smile he gave Orin was a tell all its own. The scars on Orins hands were clearly self-inflicted and he wondered what the chef might think if the Kelvic showed him the scars on his back. The thought made the icy eyed squire laugh inwardly, though he had a feeling that such a sight wouldn’t surprise him, at least not much.

When Orin showed him the proper method of cutting he nodded thoughtfully as he stashed this technique away in his memory as well. He could already imagine how fewer times he’d cut himself while preparing food. It made obvious sense, though seeing it was very affirmative of those thoughts on the process involved.

As the next step of their project unfolded the Kelvic listened closely as Orin slid a pan from the racks and prepared the pan with some oil. The word sauté was foreign to him, though he observed the cooks tools, and he pieced together his thoughts on the situation before he spoke. “Is sauté anythin loike pan fryin up somethin? Oi’ve done that a toime or two with mushrooms. Ever heard of somethin called chicken of the forest? It’s an orange mushroom that tastes bloody near teh chicken when yeh pan fry it up.” Marrick watched Orin as he produced a few cloves of garlic and a lemon. His heads subtle lilt was replaced with a nod when it became clear that the method of cooking was similar and the Kelvic set about preparing the cooking stage for his companion. “What sorta heat do yah need? Higher? Lower?” The Kelvic made himself ready at the stove and checked the temperature of its surface by passing his hand over the top without touching it. It seemed warm already, which was a good place to start. “Let me be yer hands. Say the word n’ Oi’ll snap to!”

[Orin Fenix]

Orin paused for a moment. He'd been joking, mostly about the blood. Still if Marrick wanted to have a serious conversation about what dishes used blood as an ingredient Orin was more than happy to oblige. "Well, it's not normal to cook with blood but there actually are a few dishes that use it. Let me think." Orin wasn't entirely sure how in depth he should go on this subject. Most people were grossed out when Orin told them he would serve them a dish filled with blood but Marrick seemed genuinely interested. Orin figured a specific recipe would do the squire more good than vague ideas. "Here's one for you. Organ soup. Most people don't want to know it even exists but it's actually quite tasty and lets you use the entire animal essentially. You use the heart, brain and liver usually, and place the blood with the organs in a pot of water. Then you simmer it, which just means bring it up to a boil then back off just slightly on the heat for a good while. And that's basically it." It was true. You could add anything you'd add to a regular soup but Orin was forgetting that Marrick might not know that. After all soup was the dish Orin had started out with. To him it was so simple that anyone with even a rudimentary knowledge of cooking should know how to make it. Since Marrick had been so good so far, Orin wasn't thinking that the man might know have the same foundations as Orin did. When Marrick asked what they were making Orin tilted his head. Honestly Orin was just trying to keep up with the dinner crowd and give them something simple but tasty. "I'll show you, how's that sound?" Without waiting for a response Orin went back to his preparations.

Orin nodded in agreement at Marrick's statement. He didn't want to get into it much but Orin was terrified that if he started drinking more than a mug of ale every so often he'd never stop. After all that was what had happened to Orin's father. Orin was terrified that he'd become the same person. And that thought had kept him away from serious drinking. The thought of a meal was infinitely more appealing. "You know the cook over at The White Swan? I've heard wonderful things. Unfortunately they usually keep me too busy here to get out much. And since I get to eat here basically for free I never really saw the need to go anywhere else." Orin dropped his gaze. Truth be told, he would love to go out and see more of the city. Sometimes he felt that he was simply going through the motions and that he went to the same few locations day in day out. As if he were an automaton and not a real person. Scuffing one foot against the floor, Orin smiled shyly at Marrick. "I would actually enjoy a meal there. But please don't trouble yourself on my account. It's my pleasure to have you here helping, after all. Don't know if I'd have been able to do this without you." That seemed to be the appropriate response. Orin honestly wouldn't expect Marrick to do anything for Orin. They were practically strangers and as a squire Marrick likely had far more important matters to attend to then spending time with a socially awkward cook.

Orin's grim suspicions about Marrick's surrogate mother were confirmed by his response to Orin's inquiries. His heart went out to the squire. Orin knew all too well what it meant to be alone in the world with no one to look after one's self. Orin wouldn't wish that fate on anyone. Impulsively Orin reached out to give Marrick's shoulder a squeeze. His words were simple, but Orin tried to convey the depth of his compassion for Marrick's loss. "I'm very sorry to hear that. I'm sure that wherever she is she loves you very much. It's a terrible thing for a child to lose his mother." And from the depth of Marrick's reaction Orin could tell that Gypsy was a true mother to the other man even if they hadn't shared a drop of common blood.

Orin was so glad that he'd managed to pick up Marrick's spirits with his silly accent. He fell into a relieved grin and chuckled along with the squire. It felt good to laugh. Orin didn't do it often since there was little to laugh about it his life. "Yes I'm from Mithryn but I've been here for almost a full season now. Still adjusting though. How long have you been in Mithryn?" At the mention of Katelyn Orin furrowed his brow. The name sounded incredibly familiar as did the family. Finally the image of a fiery redhead who was a few years older than Orin. He'd interacted with both her and her family on a few occasions. Mithryn was a pretty small and close-knit community even if Orin hadn't enjoyed his time there. Everyone seemed to know everyone and everyone knew everyone else's business as well. The gossip was atrocious. "I did indeed know her although we weren't bosom friends or anything like that. How did you meet her?" Orin wondered what Marrick's observations of the Outpost were. He refrained from asking outright. Hopefully he could ease into it gently. After all if Marrick loved it there then Orin didn't want to risk offending the squire. When the conversation swung back to Gypsy Orin didn't know quite how to respond. "I would've loved to have met her." Hopefully that was enough. Orin knew that he personally didn't like dredging up the past. He didn't know if Marrick was the same way or not.

Marrick was silent for a long time after Orin finally told him what was going on in the kitchen. Orin eyed him warily as he went to sharpen a knife which had been feeling a bit dull recently. They kept a whetstone in the kitchen just for this. When Marrick finally responded it actually wasn't regarding the kitchen heirarchy but Orin's comment about why he'd been hired. Orin blushed at the compliment. "I appreciate you saying that but it's hardly true. I might be pretty good but I only really know how to make tavern fare. To be one of the great ones, cooks I mean, I'd have to branch out and get away from Syliras." Orin covered his mouth, horrified at what he'd just said. Not that it wasn't true. But it made Orin sound pretentious. As if he was better than the work he was doing now which wasn't at all true. Orin just meant that if he wanted to grow more as a chef it wouldn't happen if he stayed for much longer in The Rearing Stallion. But contemplating such a change was terrifying and Orin had been putting off thinking about it. He looked at Marrick hopelessly unsure how to recover from his statement.

Jumping into work seemed as good a way to get out of that bit of awkwardness as any. "Yes that's exactly it. Sauté in essence is just a fancy word for frying we cooks like to use to make ourselves sound important. Probably should've started off with that shouldn't I? My apologies I forget not everyone has the same grasp of cooking terminology I might when I'm teaching. I'll keep that in mind in the future." Orin wracked his brain for knowledge about the mushroom Marrick was describing. It didn't take long before it came to mind. "I actually have heard of it though usually I would have actual chicken to work with. You've had it though?" Orin was frankly a bit surprised. While he knew about that particular plant he wouldn't have expected many to know about it. Marrick was a squire. Perhaps surviving off the land was a skill they had to learn.

Marrick seemed awfully eager to take over the whole operation and Orin trusted him not to mess up too badly under Orin's practiced eye. "Medium heat. Definitely not too hot. Why don't you show me what you can do. Coat the pan with the oil, then put the vegetables in. Squeeze the lemon over them and then stir them around. The onions starting to brown are a sign it's done. Think you can handle that?" Orin could probably do it in his sleep but he knew that tasks he found simple these days were still complicated enough for others. However his instructions seemed clear enough. And if Marrick didn't think he was up for it Orin was sure the squire would say so and there would be no harm done. Besides Orin would be standing by to take over if anything went wrong. And Orin had discovered that people learned cooking best by doing. This was as much for Orin's abilities as a teacher as it was for Marrick wanting to learn more about cooking.

OOCSorry for the delay. Also Kate confirmed we would've met.

[Marrick Corvis]

Organ soup, did have quite a bit of appeal for the Kelvic. After all, they had been a guilty pleasure of his in his youth. Especially the liver. Orin’s recipe sounded like the perfect mixture of efficiency and flavor. Yet Marrick found himself toying with it already. Add onions, garlic, wild mushrooms and more. So much would go well with something like that. Something that had appealed to him greatly when wandering the Bronzewood, rare though wild foods were. And simmering, it sounded almost like boiling. Yet another method to add to his repertoire. When the tall dark and handsome chef offered to show him what they were cooking he stepped aside ready to watch with eager eyes.

When Orin asked him of the cook at the white swan, the Kelvic nodded and fixed the man with a broad smile. “Oh aye, She’s a sweet lass. Samantha’s their chef, though Oi think Tresa controls the kitchen.” As the man spoke of his imprisonment at the Rearing Stallion Marrick stroked the scruff at his chin. “Tis a shame, how are yeh supposed teh learn new recipes if they keep yah cloistered here?” The Kelvic made it a personal mission of his to find a way to get Orin away from the rearing stallion. Even if it was just for a meal. Orin’s eagerness in regard to a meal at the White swan brought a smile to the Kelvics lips and a nod to his head. It was a noble goal to be sure, and what could bring people together more than a meal.

Orin, the poor lad, seemed lacking in confidence. Yet was filled with compassion. The Kelvic sighed as he gave his fellow cooks hand a pat as it rested on his shoulder. “Aye, though in this world, it seems an all too common sart’a thing that folk lose their Kin.” For a moment he chewed his lower lip in thought and shrugged as if a lode stone hung from his neck. “Its part’a the reason Oi joined the Order. Folk need protectin.”

“As fer Katelyn, Oi met her on a roide along the Kabrin. It was just a day of ridin, so Oi decoided that it was toime fer a day in the field when Oi wasn’t swinging meh sword about. She was bareback on that ol’ pony a’ hers, Sebastian.” A little smile alighted on his lips like a little song bird for a moment as he spoke in remembrance. “Oi was such an ejeet, Oi challenged her to a race. She fell flat on her arse, n’ got banged up. Oi brought her home. A good friend, koind as she is a tease. She’s a squire now, somewhere in the city. Oi’m certain yeh’ll cross paths with her at some toime or another. After all she frequents the Stallion.”

Marrick’s drawn out sigh was as much for the wonderful smells emanating from the pan that Orin worked over as it was to release the stress he felt. “Gypsy’d have loiked teh meet yeh too Oi’m certain. She loved good food, and had a strange knack fer takin in strays. At least fer as long as she could keep em.”


The Kelvic watched the particular method that Orin used to stir the contents of the pan, and turn them about so they would cook through without burning. As the Chef began to humbly deny the compliment that Marrick had laid on him the icy eyed squire snorted and fixed his companion with a smirk as mysterious as it was amused. When he covered his mouth at his somewhat short sighted comment, the smirk blossomed into a grin.“Aye, and yeh need a good loife balance teh become a great chef, or perhaps a sart’a place that throives on innovatin. Tis true, though, Syliras can be as bland as butterless bread, when it comes teh her food. Yet, that jest tells me yeh havn’t gotten about her streets yet.” The Kelvic realized that Orin had sold himself short with the Rearing Stallion. Then again that did happen often in Syliras when people first arrived. They needed a Job and the offices of employment were all to happy to stick you anywhere you fit, not necessarily the best job for you. “Don’t feel bad about it, yer genius is clearly bein stunted. Do yerself a favor. Ask Ser Kevith or his Lady fer a day off here and there. Call it research. All they can do is improve the food their cookin up back there.” The Kelvic realized he was idle and that just wouldn’t do while folks were waiting for their food.

Quick as he could he found some of the serving plates that he had so often eaten off of there in the tavern and set up a stack at their work station for when the food was ready. “Roight, Oi wouldn’t worry about it much. Yeh are already on yer way teh new culinary destinations Orin. It’s only a matter a’toime.”

When the chef got back to teaching him saute, Marrick perched nearby and watched with renewed interest. Pausing only a moment to slice a sliver of cheese from a wheel on a shelf at his shoulder. He nodded thoughtfully, as he stuffed smokey dried up crumbles of cheese into his mouth while the cook presented new information, and methods. Though when he talked about the chicken of the forest the Kelvic nodded. “Oh Aye, it does taste loike chicken, thought the textures a bit different. Oi get out inta that area now and then. If Oi come across anything edible would yeh loike me teh bring some of it back to yeh. Perhaps yeh can do some’a that innovatin we talked about.” Marrick’s little smile returned as he imagined the culinary delight that Orin would be able to make with anything he brought back from the forest. The concept made the squires toes curl a little in anticipation.

When at last Orin turned over the cooking station to him, Marrick eagerly stepped in, and listened to the chefs instructions. He nodded when the vision was clear in his head. “Aye, Oi can do that.” As ordered, he picked up the bottle of olive oil and uncorked it, taking but a furtive moment to check its contents. It smelled like oil. The kind you’d poor on bread, or mix with vinegar to eat over a salad. He eyed the size of the pan a moment and made an educated guess that a spoon of the oil would be enough to coat the pan, and get onions and the other vegetables cooking. If not he still had the bottle. With a firm hand he used a wooden spoon from one of the large firkins that held ladles and other long handled cooking tools. He poured out a spoonful and used the spoon to spread the oil in a spiral pattern and watched with satisfaction as the heated pans surface lapped up the oil like dry skin does a balm.

He added the Onions first for flavor. Their little tiny white and yellow flesh sizzled and danced on the hot surface. Marrick wafted the steam into his face to get a good whiff of them cooking and shook the pan over the open flame a bit to loosen any slivers that clung to the Iron Skillets surface. Anything that didn’t come loose he scraped over with the spoon and gave the pan another forward and backward sliding shake. Once the onions glistened with hot oil, he added the vegetables in handfuls, using the same spoon he had been stirring with to shovel any stragglers out of the large wooden bowl. The carrots, renewed the ecstatic sizzle that the pan made as he shook it back and forth again to keep its contents from sticking to the pan. As he observed the carrots and onions, he sucked at the inside of his cheek a moment in thought. It seemed like there wasn’t enough oil, but he’d hold off on adding anything else just in case he had missed something.

He picked up the Lemon that Orin had pulled out of the cupboards and retrieved his knife, only to half the tangy fruit, and score the flat face he had just made. He left the other half near the sautéing station as he knew they would likely need it again, for another batch of the zesty carrots they were making. He used the tip of the knife to pick out the seeds from his halved lemon. When no more seeds remained he gave the lemon half in his hand a strong squeeze, releasing its contents over the pan. As the lemon juice met the hot surface of the pan it hissed and steamed, while the Kelvic ground the score in the lemon together until naught was left but pulp.

With a stiff shake and stir he loosened the pans contents and indeed by then the onions had begun to brown, and the carrots had begun to get soft at the edges. “Roight, how’s that. Oi can almost taste it. Ah the tragedy of cookin fer others. Yah can’t eat it yerself, Oi mean of course theirs quality control n’ all that, but damn this smells loike paradoise in a pan. Tell me the next bit, and Oi’ll keep stirrin these up. By the toime yer done, we can move on.” Marrick was focused hard on the pan before him and its contents, though he divided his attentions between his cooking food, and Orin’s next set of instructions. He was excited for the next step and Orin was his Patron for this little adventure.