Bran observed the carnage as the crowd hooted and hollered. So noticed the only dwarf left behind and were pointing and laughing, or giving approving nods. The wisest had probably figured out what he was doing.
The first to hit the market like a spell from the wand was the chef of the Rusty Battleaxe. He screeched to a halt at the butcher’s row and opened his mouth just in ti to get smashed into by two gnos and a dwarfess. A quick tussle ensued with Abilities being thrown out left and right. It wasn’t uncommon for most Titled to have the odd combat Ability picked up over the years, and they were all on display now.
“[Basic Slash]!"
“[Basic Dodge]!”
“[Interdiate Cleave]!”
The first four combatants were soon t by another five, and it beca too chaotic to pick out any individual person. Bran chuckled to himself as Rusty Battleaxe went down with the gno from House of at’s teeth in his ankle.
Bran looked away to surveil the rest of the market. Kebab Cuisine and The Fickle Fig werehaggling with the vegetable rchants over what was left of the cabbage cart. Joejam and a couple other gnos were making their way into the general stores, and a single dwarfess he didn’t recognize was deep inside the dungeon-goods stalls.
Bran nodded, it was turning out just as he'd expected. Most of the chefs were going for tried-and-true recipes. At least half were fighting over goat at - an easy crowd pleaser - and the rest were concentrating on vegetables. Those in the vegetable section would go to the butcher's row for pork or chicken later, both of which would stay relatively cheap.
His plan was simple. First, see what everyone else was making while avoiding the mad rush and chancing so foolish injury. Second, make sothing unique that would stand out amongst a sea of chicken and goat dishes. Third, monopolize so of the garnishes or spices that he knew would be in short supply.
It was an easy way to sabotage his competitors while they fought over choice cuts of goat and fresh vegetables.
Now that he had a rough idea of what the others were cooking, it was ti to make a decision. He pulled open the Ability he’d received from creating 800 new recipes: [Recipe Book]. A gleaming immaterial book appeared in his vision, much like a notification would, and he spun through the pages as quick as thought. He imdiately discarded all the goat dishes - no point in those, and briefly considered so chicken based als. No, he wanted to stand out even more. He would cook with foods no-one else would dare touch in a competition like this.
His ntal finger landed on two particular recipes and he smiled in satisfaction.
Mushrooms Aaron
1 Spoon Oil
5 Large Blackcap Mushrooms
½ Mug Cave Crab
½ Mug of Unigoat Cheese, Cread and Whipped
¼ Mug of Aged Brittle Unigoat Cheese - Grated
¼ Spoon of lemon juice
4 Green Onions - Finely Diced
Pinch of Salt and Pepper
1.Massage mushroom caps to clean and remove stems.
2. Saute caps in dium hot oil.
3. Mince mushroom stems and stir in a bowl with all remaining ingredients except grated cheese.
4. Stuff mushrooms and top with grated cheese.
5. Cook on low oven rack for 10 mins then switch to top rack for 2 mins.
Cavetrout Cakes with Vegetables and Tartar Sauce
2 Erdroots - Boiled and Diced
½ kg Cooked Cavetrout
3 Spoons of Sour Cream
2 Spoons of Butter
3 Green Onions - Finely Diced
1 Spoon of Salt
1 Spoon of Tarragon
¼ Spoon Pepper
½ Spoon Mustard
½ kg Mixed Vegetables
3 Eggs - Beaten
Erdroot Flour
Breadcrumbs
Frying Oil
1. Begin steaming vegetables.
2. Put all the top ingredients into a bowl and mix thoroughly.
3. Form the mix into equal sized patties.
4. Brush the patties with egg and coat in breadcrumbs.
5. Cool in Cooling Space for 2 Hours or overnight.
6. Fry in oil on high for 3 minutes each side then serve with stead Greens and Tartar Sauce.
Bran nodded. These two plus so tartar sauce would definitely make him stand out. He wouldn't have ti to cool them, but he could make do by baking instead of frying. The tartar sauce could be mixed with beer for a subtle kick that the dwarven judges would appreciate and for the gnomish judges he would simply add a bit of extra lemon to the sauce instead.
For dessert, he would make the elm bark creampuffs he'd been working on last night.
Decision made, he set a large pot to boil, turned the oven on to preheat, then grabbed a pan and sack from the prepared supplies. With a second glance to ensure everything would be ready for his return, Bran ran towards the least occupied section of the market - the dungeon supplies. He was briefly interrupted by a gno in simple leathers who stumbled out from the at mob. A simple swing of the frying pan and a *gong* and the obstacle was ‘removed’.
A dozen more strides and he was in amongst the dungeon supplies. It was oddly muffled in here, and Bran realized that they must have set up the market to filter out the sound from the arena.
With darting eyes, he spotted his first stop and ran up to the only spice vendor he could see - a small kiosk labeled Quickkettle Spices.
“Are you the only spice seller?” He asked the gnomish proprietor; an elderly gent with a white handlebar moustache.
“Aye.”
“How much for all yer tarragon, basil, dill, and pepper, I also need so salt.”
The spice rchant laughed. “You got the sa idea as my first custor! That’ll be four gold fer all my tarragon and dill. I’m not the only one with basil, salt is with the general goods, and I’m almost out of pepper - she nearly cleaned out. It’ll be another two gold for the rest of it.”
Damn! Bran was glad he’d co here first. He weighed the likely cost of his remaining ingredients and grinned. He should still have enough. “I’ll buy it. Put it in this sack please, I don’t want the others to see what I have.”
The shopkeeper dutifully weighed out the spices into little burlap bags, then passed them over. Bran could feel eyes on him as the winners of the at fight made their way into the dungeon supplies. He felt a trickle of sweat fall down his back, and as soon as he’d shoved the spice bags into his sack, he turned and ran.
And almost tripped on a boot stuck in his path. He managed to stay on his feet, but careened through the fabric curtains into a tent labeled Dungeon Sundries. He landed on soone in a tangle of limbs and fabric.
“Owf! Gerroff !” Bran hollered.
“Midna’s Mangy Mullet! You gerroff !!”
So shouting and scuffling later and the two detangled. Bran recognized the dwarfess that had run into the section first and gave her a wary nod.
“Did ya buy tha last of the pepper?” She asked, pointing to his burlap sack. “I couldn’t afford all of it.”
“Aye.” Bran said blandly.
She held out her hand for a fist bump. “I’m Rubelia. I own The Hungry Duckling.”
“Bran, The Thirsty Goat.”
Her eyes widened. “The Bran? I bought so of your recipes.”
Now wasn’t that a nice feeling. Having soone buy your work was the greatest thing in the world. Hopefully it was one of his originals and not one of Pete’s.
Outside the tent, there was the sound of angry shouting.
“By tha Grace o’ Tiara, what do ya an there ain’t no pepper!?” One voice bellowed.
Another, with a higher pitch. “I need tarragon for my chicken tarragon!! How are you OUT!?”
“I’m gonna ram this spoon up the arse of whoever did this!!”
“Soone look over there! Whoever it was couldn’t have gotten far!!”
“It may have been the one I tripped! He went that way!”
“[Enhance Perception]!”
“[Quicken Steps]!”
He and the dwarfess gave each other wide eyes and nodded. She snuck out of the tent while Bran stopped long enough to grab so sweet vines and a packet of bundled elm twigs. He tossed three gold coins to the confused shopkeeper and ran. He'd probably overpaid, but there was no ti to haggle.
The two decamped in opposite directions, Rubelia in the direction of the now empty butcher’s row, and Bran in the direction of the vegetable suppliers. His next ingredients would be found there.
The mushrooms, green onions, erdroot, and various vegetables were more expensive and poorer quality than he would've liked. Most of the best produce had been taken by the ti he got there, and he was left with so slightly-wilted green leafy fronds Pete had once called ‘Gai Lan-ish’ but which every dwarf knew as ‘Dungeon Greens’. Bran sighed as he handed over another two gold and stuffed it all into his sack.
As he turned to leave, he was accosted by the chef from House of ats. The squinty gno had a rapidly healing bruise on one eye and was limping. He carried a pile of wrapped ats that he set down on a nearby counter as he turned an angry glare on Bran.
“Was it you?” He asked, adjusting his newsboy cap.
“Dunno what yer talkin’ about.” Bran said cagily.
“You don’t have the charisma to lie to .” The gno scoffed. “I saw you heading to the dungeon supplies first. It had to be you. Give so pepper, I need it.” He held out his hand.
“I don’t have any.” Balin sidled sideways, trying to get around. House of ats moved to intercept.
“If you don’t give so pepper, I’m going to yell and get everyone running over here. They’re ready to take whoever bought all the spices apart,” He threatened.
Bran considered for a mont, then shook his head and readied his pan.
“Your funeral. [Project Voice] - ” House of ats was interrupted as the frying pan whizzed through the air and spanged him square on the forehead. He went down like a sack of ore.
“Never underestimate a Hurler! And don’t waste ti sayin’ your Abilities out loud in a fight, idjit.” Bran muttered. He had just enough ti to slip the pile of at into his sack as he ran past. He didn’t particularly need it, but it would cost the gno dearly.
The general goods section was next, and it was oddly calm. A gno with an eyepatch and a scar running from temple to chin stood at the entry to a circle of carts filled with butter, eggs, cream, salt, erdroot flour, and other mundane ingredients.
“You fight in there, I beat your ass and take all yer stuff.” The gno proclaid with a gruff grunt, and Bran gave him a wide berth. Two other contestants were lying unconscious at the entrance, so it clearly wasn’t an empty threat. Bran filled his sack with pickles, mayonnaise, eggs, sour cream, goats milk, cheese and various other ingredients for another four gold.
As he made his way out of the general goods, Bran spotted House of ats walking in his direction with The Rusty Battleaxe and the dwarfess proprietor of The Fickle Fig. The gno, now spotting a massive goose-egg on his forehead, pointed Bran out.
“There he is!”
“Yearn’s Yams, the little bastard! I should've trussed him up!” Bran hissed and ran in the opposite direction. He might've guessed that the Netherspawned bastard had [Regeneration]. After all, most professional chefs were Blessed by Barck.
“[Basic Charge]!” The Fickle Fig shouted and was upon Bran in an instant. Bran swung his pan nimbly, but his dexterity and skill were unable to outmaneuver her Ability boosted agility. She swung a wooden spoon up in an arc directly at his forehead and for a brief mont, Bran despaired.
Then there was an explosion of heat and sound as the air beside them erupted in a massive fireball. Bran took the worst of it; he was thrown down to the ground, his head ringing. He could feel the skin on his back crisp from the heat.
The Fickle Fig was blown off her feet and flung into the approaching House of ats and Rusty Battleaxe. The three desperately tried to untangle, then shrieked as another fireball impacted by their feet. In a ss of limbs and singed moustaches, they turned and ran away.
Bran tried to stand as well, but the fireball had knocked him briefly senseless. His vision narrowed like he was going down a mining tunnel, and every thought was pain. With a groan he looked up to et the feet of the proprietress of Kebab Cuisine, Tilakatan. The brown-skinned gnoss gave him a wide smile, her wand held at the ready.
“If you would kindly please pass that sack, you have sothing that I need.” She said, her voice sickeningly sweet given the circumstances.
With a sinking heart, Bran reached a shaking hand out to the bag at his side, trying desperately to grab hold of it. He would be damned if he gave it up without a fight!
“Thank you!” And with that, Tilakatan grabbed the bag away from his shaking hand.
He passed out.
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