New Sosarian Cooking Adventures

By Max Breedon

Estorrath, the greatest wizard in New Sosaria, writes a cookbook, reluctantly receives visitors, has strange visions, cooks dinner for his ex-girlfriend, hunts down a shadowlord and goes on one final sacred quest in search of the mythical Lord Eggleton.

Light hearted and surreal, New Sosarian Cooking Adventures is about as low as fantasy can get.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Max Breedon
• Release date: Jun 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310904813

Max Breedon

Born 1974. Lives in Sydney, Australia. Claims to be an 'engineer'.

Book preview

Chapter 1 - The Werewolf

About an hour before sunrise one cold and frosty early spring morning, I was woken by the sound of some very heavy breathing at the foot of my bed. The light of the full moon brightly lit my chambers and there, revealed in full silhouette, was a very large and very hairy werewolf. He stood on his hind legs as his claws gripped my bedpost tightly, and his hot and smelly breath created a rank mist before me.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. If you’re after the cure you need to go and see old Henry, I said and pointed in the vague direction of my brother’s hut in the south of Mirkwood, on the other side of New Sosaria. The wolfman didn’t move.

Lord Eggleton give me strength, I cursed as I threw off the covers and dragged my nearly 900 year old frame to the edge of the bed. Be a good doggie then and fetch my slippers, I growled as I swung my feet out and sat up in the crisp morning air. The wolfman complied: he let go of the bed and got down on all four legs indeed just like a dog. It was then that I noticed that he was wearing a backpack. I watched in silence as he sniffed around, found a scent and followed it downstairs, then returned promptly with my slippers in his ghastly maw. He dropped them at my feet and they were well slobbered on. I decided not to wear the slippers.

Come on then, I’ll get you a bowl of milk. I then realised that this wasn’t a stray cat I was dealing with, but whatever - I was being hospitable. On the topic of cats, I wondered where Ripley was - probably out catching a phase mouse, or maybe hiding in the cupboard.

I put on my winter dressing gown and ambled barefoot down the stairs into the kitchen with the wolfman close behind. It was getting brighter and the sun would be rising soon. Maybe then we could be more conversationally compatible - the wolfman and I. Then again, he may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer and I’ve had a few of those come to me in all too similar circumstances. I fixed the beast a bowl of milk and placed it on the floor, and then I began my coffee percolation routine.

This begins with sleepily cleaning the percolator. Cleaning the percolator is best done the night before, before retiring, but I never manage to remember to do it. The superior alembic that I had especially modified for the purpose of frothing milk also needs to be cleaned. You might think it strange to put frothed milk in your coffee, but I assure you that it is very tasty.

Actual coffee percolation proceeds as follows: I put some water in the percolator reservoir, replace the filter and fill the filter with ground coffee right up to the rim but not heaped. It is important not to pack the coffee tightly, otherwise percolation may fail and the coffee can be spoiled. I screw the top half of the percolator onto the bottom tightly, light the stove and place the percolator on the flame.

In the meantime the alembic is filled with milk and water in two separate chambers and also placed on the stove. The water is boiled and the steam created thus is forced, under pressure, into the milk chamber and the milk becomes frothed. Not by magic but by science.

You can tell that the coffee is ready by the gurgling sound that the percolator makes. If you time it well, the coffee and the frothed milk can be ready at more or less the same time. The percolated coffee and the frothed milk are placed in equal parts into a mug with two small measures of sugar.

This is how it all proceeded this morning, according to plan, and by the time the ritual was complete the sun was up and the wolfman had changed back into his normal self.

Wake to the sound of buzzing, indefatigably, always, oh wait, that is just a mosquito that got zapped by Ripley’s electric aura ... Good kitty,... It’s back, the buzz, I will never get any rest ... Stagger up and out, another noise outside where are my slippers, one is missing - no it’s quiet again. Might as well get up and make some joe so I won’t have to listen to anything then except the sound of percolation.

Was dreaming of having a dog that fetched ... Now what did it fetch again? It’s fading, I need to make a dream catcher, losing too many dreams. The feeling isn’t as strong today, definitely weaker Ripley jumps off the bed and nearly trips me down the stairs, now that would be demoralising - being a great wizard with a broken neck, I’d have to levitate everywhere like Steven Hawking

Can’t help it, can’t be helped - the buzz it’s back again, cat miaows, *mow* *mow* *shut up!!* Kitty needs a meal, but not before my mourning routine ...

Chapter 2 - The Ocean Man

He was an elderly but sturdy looking man with long, dirty grey hair, a massive black handlebar moustache and a good physique for his age. Like most men and women who have just polymorphed back from their werewolf form, he was fully naked except for a ring on each hand, some sort of obsidian charm around his neck and, of course, his backpack.

I grabbed a spare robe I had lying around and handed it to him. After expressing his gratitude he said, My name is Ocean, o wizard, and I am very sorry for the intrusion so early in the morning.

I knew him and welcomed his good manners. You wouldn’t happen to be the Ocean Man of Nordhaven?

Yes, it is I.

Sit down, be comfortable, I said. Coffee?

Please. I cleaned the percolator again and made some more coffee for my guest.

Ocean was an ancient warrior. Not the greatest, nor the strongest, but likely the oldest and maybe one of the wisest. He had probably been around for as long as I had, but there was no way he could be 900 years old, not without being a master wizard. Maybe he slept in a stasis chamber.

We sat at the dining table with our coffee. I retrieved my pipe from somewhere, packed it, lit it and puffed. Well then, I said.

Well, he began, for starters I think I killed one of your chickens last night. Werewolves were prone to all manner of mischief.

That’s forgivable because you can buy me a new one.

He stroked his moustache and sipped his coffee, then wiped his moustache with the sleeve of the robe of mine that he was wearing. Thanks for understanding. He appeared cold, tired and a little sullen.

You know you really ought to get the cure, I said.

I’ve tried the Montor Cure, he said, but it’s really a terrible experience and not much of a cure.

The Montor Cure consisted of nothing more than locking your lycanthropic self in a dungeon every time there was a full moon, to spare yourself the embarrassment of finding out the next morning that you had killed somebody’s chickens, or a small child, or worse.

You do realise that my brother Henry has an actual working cure for lycanthropy, I said.

Ocean’s glum look lifted. Is that so?

Indeed, no more turning into a werewolf on the full moon, I said. And what’s more, once you’ve taken his cure, he can teach you how to polymorph into a werewolf at will.

I will make time to see Henolazir as soon as he will receive me.

Don’t even bother to make an appointment. Just show up.

OK.

But that is not why you’re here, is it?

He shook his head and sipped at his coffee. Lay it on me, then, I said.

Well, I came upon this strange tome in my travels and I immediately thought of you, said Ocean. I think it may be unique.

He went over to his pack, retrieved the tome from within and handed it to me. It was a navy blue spell book the likes of which I had never seen. I opened it and quickly scanned its table of contents and introductory paragraphs.

Well, what is it? He asked after a while.

It’s a tome for the spell Wis Wis, I said.

What the hell does Wis Wis do?

I don’t know, I’ve never heard of it before. Where did you get it exactly?

At the bottom of Fort Grunthos.

And you made it out alive?

Apparently.

Fort Grunthos was a castle in the Eastern Desert occupied by all manner of monstrous humanoids such as ettins, giants, ogres, cyclopses, orcs and the like. Needless to say, it wasn’t a very nice place to visit, at any time of year. Legend had it, however, that it was once occupied by Lord Eggleton himself.

And did you recover any other artefacts or treasures that you would like to show me?

Not this time, he said.

Well, this tome is interesting enough. Thanks for bringing it to me.

You’re welcome. Let me know what it does one day.

And with that Ocean finished his coffee, grabbed his things and departed.

Henry henry henry henry has the cure cure cure cure

Moss agile advance surreptitious

Lay cloth irrevocably delicious

Ripley sleeps Ripley sleeps Ripley sleeps

The birdmen are coming

Dreaming of Eggleton where is he now Was he ever

The birdmen are here They bring good fortune

Don't drop the silver potion now you

won’t be able to get another

Hhhhhhhhgggggggggnnnnnnnnnnnfffffff

Chapter 3 - Wis Wis

With Ocean gone, it was just me and ‘the cat’. Ripley sat by my feet, glowing softly. Fully grown, she was rather petite for a phase beast, weighing in at only one and a half stone, and she was a little over a yard long, in imperial measurement, from the tip of her nose to the tip of her tail; about twice the size of your ordinary house cat. I patted her head; her fiery blue aura was cold to touch and her velvety black fur bristled. She stood up and walked away.

What a terrible, unappreciative creature, I thought.

Ripley wandered back over, sat by her bowl and looked at me blankly with eyes like pools of blood. Ah, I got your attention, and I let you touch me, so now you will get over here and feed me, if you know what’s good for you! I often wished that I had an adoring phasewolf instead, but to be perfectly honest, I’ve never been much of a dog person.

In any case, I resolved to learn the Wis Wis spell from the tome that Ocean of Nordhaven had kindly brought me. I won’t bore you with the technical details of the process of spell learning as it simply amounts to memorising the magic incantation as laid out in the spellbook to such a state of comprehension that it can be cast by the proficient mage at will and without failure.

It would be a first for me to learn a spell without actually knowing its effect and whether or not it is dangerous. By casting the mystery spell, I might permanently polymorph my self into a rat, or worse. But I had a