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Tales of Midgard - Part 12

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  • Tales of Midgard - Part 12

    34.

    An Unusual Recipe

    Hand written instructions found on the floor of the garrison mess hall in West Muntock:

    How to make the most of your rations…

    Comrade. The war stretches on and we all face many hardships, not least the need to get by on the meagre food rations provided to us by our noble commanders. Fear not, however. This recipe will help you to make the most of your rations. Many months of testing and refinement have gone into this recipe and the authors are confident that it represents the very best use of the ‘food’ available to you. You will need: one day’s rations, a small hammer, a fork and a dagger.
    1. Take the hard biscuit from your rations and break it into bite-sized pieces using the hammer.
    2. Boil your daily turnip ration until soft (about 2 hours), mash it with your fork and set it to one side to cool.

    3. Using the dagger, slit your wrists and allow the blood to drain from your body before you are forced to eat yet another supper of mashed turnip and stale, rock-hard biscuits.*

    *Be careful to do this away from concerned comrades who may attempt to save your life, and later feed you turnips!

  • #2
    35.

    Home Cooking

    Dear Mum,

    Thanks for your letter. I’m glad to hear that things are still peaceful at home. Long may they remain so. Send my love to Father and kiss little Jess for me.

    Now, Mum, I’ve got a favour to ask of you, and you must promise not to be angry, nor to chide me for rudeness. You know how I’ve always teased you about your baking? I think it’s fair to say the whole family knows that your talents lie elsewhere. I mean, I’d cut off my right hand for a bowl of your venison stew after six months on these poxy rations, I surely would. But you’ve never been much of a baker.

    So you might think it strange that what I’m asking - nay, begging - for is another of your fruit cakes. Make it good and strong, Mum, just like the last one you sent and the same size too.

    And before you wonder, the answer’s no - it didn’t get eaten. But that rotten, rock-hard cake of yours was in my backpack when the enemy’s archers took us by surprise, and I’ll be damned if it didn’t stop an arrow that would’ve run me through entirely!

    So thank, Mum. Thanks for your terrible, inedible baking. Keep up the good work. And send more cakes!


    Your loving son,

    Trevon

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    • #3
      36.

      The Dragon’s Egg

      The merchant’s son had never been left in charge of the shop before. He was not the brightest child in the family and his father had little faith in him as a salesman.

      “If anyone calls in, tell them I’ll be back soon,” he had said as he left for an urgent guild meeting, “Don’t try to broker any deals. Just mind the place doesn’t burn down.”

      “Yes, father,” his son had replied obediently. But now, here he was, about to broker the deal of the year - no, the deal of the century! His father would be so proud of him when he returned!

      “You see the crust that has formed around it,” said the mercenary who had brought this treasure into the merchant’s shop, “A thousand years of heat from the heart of the mountain, where the lava flows, that is.”

      “I have heard tales, of course,” said the wide eyed merchant’s son, “But I never thought to see one for myself, much less own one!”

      “It’s not cheap, of course,” said the mercenary.

      “A dragon’s egg? Why, it’s almost priceless!” said the merchant’s son, “Name your price. It is my family’s great good fortune that you find yourself in need of immediate funds.”

      “Yes, well, you’ll make a tidy profit, for sure. I don’t want to feel cheated,” said the mercenary, “Shall we say, your store and everything in it?”

      “Done!” said the boy, excitedly.

      Later that day, the merchant and his son arrived home for supper.

      “How was trade today, dear?” asked the merchant’s wife, “Was our boy helpful?”

      “Helpful? Hah!” the merchant scoffed, tossing the ‘dragon’s egg’ onto the kitchen table, “I left him alone for half an hour and he sold the business for a horse’s turd!”

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