Chapter 24

  Ignis and Grok exited the hideout, turning right as they discussed the ingredients they would like to procure with the newfound influx of gold jingling in their pockets. They moved through the city, the towering structures and vibrant crowds a stark contrast to the dimly lit confines of their subterranean dwelling.

  "You are going to love this herbalist! He is always fun to visit," Grok rumbled, a hint of amusement in her gravelly voice. They turned a corner, finding themselves in a secluded alleyway. A single door, almost hidden amongst the overgrowth, marked the entrance to their destination. The entire building was enveloped in a riot of vines and flowers, a verdant oasis amidst the stone of the City.

  Ignis, his eyes wide with wonder, traced the intricate patterns of the climbing vines. "We have vines like this back on Earth," he mused. "They're beautiful, but they can wreak havoc on buildings, working their way into the cracks and causing structural damage over time. I'm going to go out on a limb here," he chuckled, "pun intended, and guess you fix that problem with magic?"

  Grok let out a hearty laugh, her deep voice echoing in the narrow alleyway. "What's the difference between technology and magic? Our worlds use them the same way, just with different names." She gave Ignis a playful shove towards the door.

  Stepping inside, they were greeted by a scene that seemed to defy the laws of nature. The air hummed with a vibrant energy, a symphony of rustling leaves and fragrant blossoms. Vines snaked up the walls, their emerald tendrils interwoven with vibrant flowers of every imaginable hue. At the center of this botanical haven stood the herbalist himself, a figure as captivating as his surroundings.

  "WELCOME, WELCOME, WELCOME!" he boomed, his voice a rich baritone that resonated through the shop. "Aren't you the brightest bulbs with such strong roots? Welcome to Sylvan's Garden!" He was a portly, tree-like creature, his bark-like skin adorned with intricate patterns that resembled leaves and flowers. With a flourish, he groomed a cluster of green onion-like herbs, their delicate white flowers swaying in the gentle breeze created by the opening door.

  Grok stepped forward, her gravelly voice a stark contrast to Sylvan's melodious tones. "I seek rare ingredients for my alchemical concoctions," she rumbled, her keen eyes already scanning the shelves, identifying a multitude of intriguing herbs and fungi.

  Sylvan winked, a mischievous glint in his pine-cone-like eye. "Ah, an alchemist! Such a noble profession, to turn unknown bits and bobs into powerful concoctions! But beware, my friend, for my herbs are not for the faint of heart. They possess power that can only be wielded by those who are truly worthy."

  He launched into a passionate aria, his voice soaring through the shop as he serenaded his beloved herbs. Ignis watched in awe, captivated by the sheer theatricality of the display, while Grok shifted impatiently, eager to get down to business.

  When Sylvan finally finished his performance – a ballad extolling the virtues of morning dew as he misted a group of tall, orange-flowered plants – he turned to Grok with a mischievous grin on his face. "Now tell me, Orc," he began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "what makes you worthy of clippings from my precious herb garden?"

  Grok, never one for theatrics, simply grunted and held out her hand. In her palm lay a small, intricately carved box. She opened it, revealing three tiny copper acorns, their surfaces gleaming with an otherworldly light.

  Sylvan gasped, his eyes widening in surprise. "By the Great Root! These are... Seeds of the Copper Core! A most rare and potent ingredient. To even possess these proves you are indeed a worthy alchemist."

  Grok, now having earned Sylvan's respect, launched into a detailed explanation of her alchemical aspirations. She described the potions she envisioned creating, the ingredients she already possessed, and the specific herbs she sought to acquire. She even revealed her budget, a gesture of transparency that further solidified her credibility in Sylvan's eyes.

  Sylvan listened intently, occasionally interjecting with suggestions for alternative herbs that might yield even better results. All the while, he expertly snipped ingredients with glowing, magical shears, carefully placing them into wax paper pouches and tucking them into his apron.

  As the conversation began to wind down, a dramatic shift occurred. Sylvan's cheerful demeanor vanished, replaced by an air of profound sadness. He began to sing a mournful operatic tune, his voice heavy with grief. The herbs in the shop seemed to sway in sympathy, their leaves drooping as if sharing in his sorrow. Sylvan's song reached a crescendo of despair, and then, with a final, heart-wrenching note, he collapsed to the floor, seemingly lifeless.

  "Umm, did we just kill the herbalist?" Ignis whispered, his voice laced with concern.

  Just as panic began to set in, Sylvan's hand twitched. He slowly began to crawl towards a large, luminous pink flower, his mournful song gradually regaining its tempo and volume. With each inch he crawled, the music grew more intense, culminating in a passionate crescendo as he reached the flower and planted a fervent kiss in its velvety center.

  As the music faded, Sylvan gently pulled away from the flower, his wooden lips stained with its pink pollen. He then meticulously wiped his lips with another wax paper envelope, a look of contentment spreading across his face.

  "This one is on the house," he declared, presenting the envelope to Grok with a flourish. "Loveshade Pollen. It can only be harvested upon the death of a lover, the immense grief felt by the harvester intensifying the potency of the pollen. Often used in potions to spark a like-minded interest in the heart of an unrequited love," he winked, "or to turn the expired lover into an undead puppet if you're into the freaky stuff. I don't judge."

  Placing a pouch of gold on the counter, Grok scooped up the small paper bag overflowing with wax paper pouches packed with herbs, bulbs, pollen, and other alchemical treasures. Grok and Ignis made their exit before the dramatic gardener could launch into another aria, offering a hasty wave as they slipped back into the empty alleyway.

  With their purchase complete, Ignis and Grok turned their attention towards their next destination: a chef's table tasting. Ignis enthusiastically explained the concept to Grok, emphasizing the exclusivity and artistry of such an event. He pulled the flyer from his inventory, only to realize with a frown that it lacked a crucial detail: the location.

  "They always think they're so clever," Ignis mused, tapping the flyer thoughtfully. "They like to hide the entrance to these events behind a riddle or a challenge. It's meant to weed out those who won't truly appreciate the intricacies of dishes that can take hours to prepare a single bite. I once found one by entering a speakeasy through a stockroom in a dive bar." He reread the flyer, his eyes scanning the cryptic verse:

  A creature of the sea, born of ice and fire.

  A gift from the earth, a treasure to desire.

  A touch of heaven, a taste of the divine.

  A symphony of flavors, a culinary design.

  Lost in thought, Ignis and Grok wandered through the market, the riddle echoing in their minds. Suddenly, a shop caught Grok's eye. "Princess Soapery" proclaimed the sign above the vibrant pink storefront, adorned with white accents and glittering displays. Intrigued, the pair stepped inside, Ignis still mentally wrestling with the riddle.

  Grok, drawn to a bar of soap that resembled a slice of pink cake with deep blue swirls and white frosting topped with shimmering glitter, hesitated. Was it meant to be smelled or eaten? Opting for the former, she inhaled the sweet scent of vanilla and honey.

  "HA HA HA HA! I'VE GOT YOU NOW!" a voice boomed. A tall, blonde human woman in a long pink dress and white apron materialized before them, a magic wand clutched in her hand. Bursts of shimmering magic erupted around Grok and Ignis, momentarily startling them into a defensive stance. "Now that you've smelled my soap," the woman cackled, "any bathing without it will leave you feeling unwell!" She struck a dramatic pose, clearly relishing her villainous monologue.

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  Ignis, however, remained unimpressed. "It's just a glitter wand," he shrugged, brushing the sparkling particles from his shoulder. "Cool, I guess, but that stuff gets everywhere. So, kind of evil-lite?"

  "Come, you must wash your hands in a basin with my soap," the woman insisted, her tone shifting from menacing to motherly. She grabbed Grok's arm, gently guiding the towering Orc towards a washbasin and placing a bar of cherry-scented soap in her hand.

  "You too, beanpole," she chirped, turning to Ignis. "I have some more rugged scents just for you. I am the Princess of Bubbles, and you are in my kingdom! You must do as I say, or my army of Suds will wash you away!" she declared with a maniacal giggle.

  Grok, surprisingly, seemed to enjoy the experience. "She's a bit out there," she admitted to Ignis, "but this really does smell good. Pierce's cleaning spell is great, but this makes me feel...pretty." She inhaled the sweet fragrance of the cherry soap clinging to her hands.

  Ignis chuckled, observing the unexpected transformation in his Orcish companion. "You know, I know you're female, but I never really saw you as...feminine or girly. I guess the same goes for Evolon. Or any woman that can kick my ass, now that I think about it." He paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "That scent does suit you, though. I'm getting Evolon this rose-scented soap. She'll hate it!"

  "Grok understands," she replied, a hint of vulnerability in her voice. "Strong warriors want to be the one to save the dainty maiden, not be saved by an even stronger woman warrior. Grok loves smashing heads, but sometimes even I want to feel like a girly girl." She placed two bars of the cherry soap on the counter, along with a bar of rose petal soap for Evolon. After paying, the pair continued down the street, leaving a trail of cherry blossom scent and shimmering glitter in their wake.

  "Food from the sea and treasure..." Ignis murmured, returning to the riddle. "That reminds me of something. Do you have oysters here in Dunblag? Rock-looking seashells, and when you open them, they have a tasty muscle inside, and sometimes pearls?"

  "Grok is not sure," she replied, "but if it's from the sea, you would find it at the port market." She surged ahead, leading the way westward towards the city's bustling waterfront.

  They soon arrived at a chaotic market overflowing with strange and exotic seafood. Copper-wooden crates filled with ice displayed a dizzying array of creatures, their unfamiliar forms and vibrant colors a testament to the diversity of this alien world. After navigating through several aisles, Ignis finally spotted what he was looking for. Waving Grok in the direction, he led her through the throng of fishmongers and customers towards a building with a display of oysters out front. Several familiar flyers were plastered on the wall behind it.

  Approaching the oyster vendor, Ignis cleared his throat and asked, "These oysters look lovely. They would be an amazing addition to a chef's table tasting, don't you think?"

  The haggard Orc behind the oyster display, his face weathered and adorned with several large warts, looked up and simply pointed down a dark alleyway between two buildings. Crates of bizarre alien fish floated in and out of the alley on magical levitation pallets, adding to the air of mystery.

  "A dark alley!" Ignis exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "This is going to be awesome!"

  Grok, however, seemed less enthusiastic. "Grok does have one question I have to ask," she said sheepishly to her much smaller companion.

  "Grok, you're a member of the party now," Ignis reassured her, a playful grin spreading across his face. "We don't have secrets. Ask away." He rubbed his hands together, a gesture of excitement and anticipation, as they ventured deeper into the dimly lit alleyway.

  Grok hesitated for a moment, then, with a surprising vulnerability in her voice, posed the question that had been lingering in her mind. "Why are you so...puny?" she asked, her gaze fixed on Ignis's slender frame. "You are a rich cook on Earth. You make food. Do you not eat the food? The other humans do not seem to have this problem and Flint seems to eat too much."

  Ignis chuckled, a warm and genuine sound that echoed in the narrow passage. "You know what movies are, right?" he began, launching into an explanation. "Like plays you can watch from nearly anywhere. Well, I was watching one, and someone said something so profound it changed my life. For a long time, I lived for food, and was quite unfit." He paused, a reflective look crossing his face. "The profound words went something like this: 'I don't like food, I love it... if I don't love it, I don't swallow.' And it changed everything. I stopped gobbling down whatever disgusting junk I could find and elevated what I cooked, only swallowing what was truly delicious. I ended up opening a food truck, then a restaurant, and eventually, I won a very prestigious award for my cooking. Eventually, I just ran the company, stuck in constant meetings rather than cooking. In hindsight, being an adventurer on this planet is so much more fun, but travel rations..." He trailed off, his voice tinged with a hint of longing for the culinary delights of his home world.

  "Earth has so much food you can waste so much," Grok muttered, her voice filled with a mix of awe and disbelief.

  "It's true," Ignis agreed with a sigh. "We had it all, and few ever realized it."

  As they continued down the alley, following the trail of flyers, they came to a nondescript door. Ignis pushed it open, revealing a stark, empty room. A thin, tall Orc stood behind a small counter, his eyes glued to a thick tome.

  Looking up from his book, he asked in a monotone voice, "What was the ingredient of the day?"

  "Oysters," Ignis replied, a confident grin spreading across his face.

  "This way, please," the Orc said, opening a door to an adjacent room. This one was equally bare, furnished only with two chairs and a small table between them.

  Grok and Ignis took their seats, and suddenly, the room was filled with a flurry of activity. Several Orcs rushed in, their movements swift and purposeful. A young Orcish woman approached the table and placed a blindfold and a piece of rope in front of each of them. "Place the blindfold on your eyes and tie your hands behind your back," she instructed, her voice firm and unwavering, "or leave and never return."

  With a shrug, Grok and Ignis complied. Soon, Ignis could hear the sounds of shuffling feet and the clinking of ceramic on wood. "Open your mouth," the same woman commanded. The pair obeyed, and a single bite of food, delicately balanced on a smooth spoon, was placed in each of their mouths.

  "The fish is perfectly cooked," Ignis declared, his chef's brain working on autopilot, momentarily forgetting his unusual circumstances. "Crispy on one side, flaky and tender on the other. The splash of citrus adds a refreshing touch, cutting through the richness of the fish. However, a pinch of salt would elevate the bite even further."

  "Open!" the female voice instructed again.

  They were served another bite. Ignis, lost in the symphony of flavors, mused aloud, "Hearty and complex. This tastes like a root vegetable in a nice broth, but it could use some texture. Maybe some crunchy bacon or breadcrumbs."

  "Open for your final bite," the woman said.

  "Sweet, creamy, velvety smooth," Ignis observed after swallowing the delectable morsel. "Like a combination of custard and cake. A little red wine would pair with this perfectly, washing away the sweetness before any aftertaste overpowers the experience."

  "And now," the woman declared, her voice suddenly chilling, "you will die."

  Before Ignis could react, strong arms grabbed him from behind, lifting him and the chair he was bound to. His blindfold still in place, he was forced to rely on his other senses as they carried him from the room. He could feel the movement of a levitating cart as they traveled through the city, completely blind to their surroundings. After what felt like an hour, the cart came to a halt. They were lifted out, carried through a bustling hallway filled with a cacophony of sounds and smells, before finally, their blindfolds were removed.

  Standing before them was a single Orc, clad in a white apron, clapping his hands. Dozens of other Orcs emerged from behind him, joining in the applause.

  "After all this time," the large Orc boomed, sharpening an enormous knife with a theatrical flourish, "I have finally found you. The trouble you put me through to get this face-to-face cannot be understated. Today, you die."

  He paused, allowing the dramatic tension to build, before a wide smile spread across his face. "Or at least," he continued, "it will feel like going to the heavens, as eating mundane morsels on this drab little world will feel like the hells in comparison."

  Ignis took a deep breath, finally allowing himself to smile, masking the nervousness he had felt since entering the dark alleyway. "I assume my critique did not offend?" he asked, his voice steady.

  "Of course not!" the Orcish woman from before exclaimed, approaching the table with a glass of red wine. "Those elements were intentionally left out of the otherwise heavenly bites, as Chef Zep only allows the finest of palates to accompany him at his chef's table."

  Golden silverware was placed before Ignis and Grok, and a stool was positioned between the table and the bustling kitchen. Chaos erupted around them as ingredients were chopped, cooked in a myriad of ways, and plated for an unseen dining room.

  Finally freed from his bonds, Ignis swirled, smelled, and sipped the wine, cleansing his palate of the lingering sweetness. Grok, ever observant, mirrored his actions.

  For the next few hours, they sat back and enjoyed a culinary spectacle. Dish after dish was prepared before their eyes, each one a masterpiece of flavor and presentation. Zep, the Orcish chef, explained the ingredients and techniques, while Ignis, ever curious, inquired about the magical spells used in the preparation of the eleven-course feast. Grok, slowly working up a buzz on her sixth glass of wine – each one carefully selected to pair with the corresponding course – simply savored the experience.

  Ignis, eager to share his own culinary expertise, traded recipes and techniques with Zep, who, delighted by the exchange, invited Ignis into the kitchen to demonstrate how a human from Earth would prepare a "cheeseburger."

  Stomachs full and spirits high, Grok and Ignis drunkenly meandered their way back through the city. As the sun dipped below the western walls, they arrived back at the hideout, where an excited Pierce, Evolon, and Flint were eagerly discussing their own crafting progress. With a smile and a nod, Ignis stumbled towards his bunk, collapsing onto it with a contented grin on his face.