Book 2: Chapter 21: The Octamillenial Cooking Contest

Book 2: Chapter 21: The Octamillenial Cooking Contest

Markus and Moony had managed to get us some nice seats in the lower part of the arena, and Balin had helped them keep it. He stood with his golden armour, keeping seat thieves at bay.

“My Hero!” I fluttered my eyelashes and he rolled his eyes so hard I could see it through the plate mail.

“Sit down ya sunnova nanny goat. Ma Annie says you’ve been teasin’ her, and I’m gonna make you pay fer that later.”

“Penelope, go say hello and thank you for holding our seats to Balin.”

Balin flinched, but Penelope simply hopped onto my seat and baah’d remorsefully.

*meeeeeeh* [Translated From Primma Donna Goat] “Forsooth mine squire, the last time I greeted the golden one I nearly bent my horn in twain!”

I snuggled in close and she plopped down onto my lap. Given that she was a bit larger than a mastiff, it made for a tight fit to say the least.

I grunted as one of her rear hooves found a spot where I wasn't armoured. “Urff. When does it start and how long is it going to take?”

“It begins in twenty minutes,” Annie said. “Or it should if they manage to start on time.”

I looked down on the arena, and was struck by how different it looked as a spectator. To be fair, it was also a completely different setup than when I’d competed.

The Beer Brawl had been a bunch of picnic tables with a shrinking ring of black-clothed attendants. Now, one side of the arena was dedicated to multiple portable kitchen spaces, complete with islands and magical ovens. It looked like something straight out of master chef. And that was nothing compared to the other half, which was covered by a teeming market filled with sights, sounds, gadgets, gizmos, geegaws, and even some food. It was crazy, chaotic, and a complete mess.

I spotted brightly coloured dungeon ingredients, a collection of fish tanks that overflowed with too-large occupants, and even a gnome selling substandard leafy greens. He was fighting a Dwarven purveyor of gourds for a place at the front of the vegetable stalls. Their yelling was loud enough that it carried even to the stands.

“Get yer crappy collards away from me pumpkins! I donnae need ya ruinin’ tha ambiance with tha stench!” The dwarf swung a pair of miniature pumpkins threateningly.

[Translated From Angry Toothless Gnome] "I find their aroma as pleasant as your flowery breath.”

The dwarf roared and grabbed a literal battleaxe from behind his stall. He charged forward and began hacking at the gnome’s cart.

[Translated From Angry Toothless Gnome] “My Collard Greens!!!”

Annie watched the byplay with narrowed eyes and hissed. “How is that gnome still in business!? I’ve sent City Hall after him at least two times!”

I ignored her and her crusade against vegetables and turned to look around the audience. It was interesting to see who was out, and I noted a significantly larger Gnomish presence than the Barck Beer Brawl had drawn out. Really though, I was looking for one particular Dwarfess, and I spotted her sitting amongst the nobles in the box seats.

But right now, he had a contest to win.

“EVERYONE, PLEASE WELCOME THE CHEFS WHO MADE IT THROUGH THE PRELIMINARY ROUNDS!”

Bran did his best to stay focused, which was difficult while the announcer loudly named all the chefs. Thankfully, unlike the Barck Beer Brawl, none of the chefs were expected to introduce themselves. There were over two dozen of them, so that would have taken a while.

Eventually the announcer moved on to the judges, who did say a few words each. There were a total of eight judges - four gnomes and four dwarves, with an even mix of males and females. It was clear that the format encouraged meals with the widest appeal, and Bran made a mental note to avoid food that was too dwarf or gnome-centric. He could see from the eyes of some of the chefs around him that the others were doing the same.

He also took stock of the various foods and ingredients he could spot in the market on the other side of the arena. Each contestant had been given sixteen gold to buy ingredients. Top-quality knives had been prepared for anyone who lacked proper utensils, but every chef that reached this far had their own tools.

All in all it was an interesting format, and Bran had to wonder who had come up with the idea. Likely some up-and-comer in Kinshasa. He'd spotted a few ingredients that would be useful, but he had another idea in mind, one that would make him stand out from the other contestants and was impossible for anyone else to replicate.

“CHEFS, TO YOUR KITCHENS!” The announcer cried, and the crowd roared in response.

Bran pulled his eyes away from the market and made his way to a countertop and oven with his name on it. He gave it a once over for sabotage or imperfections and then nodded, it all looked good.

“PREPARE YOUR SPACE! YOU HAVE EIGHT MINUTES BEFORE THE MARKET OPENS!”

Bran placed his wooden box of knives on the counter and carefully opened it. A dozen lethal utensils of excellent dwarven steel reflected his face, their luster an indication of how well he cared for them. He laid them in their proper places, then gave each a reverential once over with a clean cotton cloth. Then he muttered “[Maintain Tools]” and the knives seemed to grow even sharper, if such a thing was possible. He nodded in satisfaction - it was time for the final step.

He pulled a large piece of folded white burlap out of the case and unfurled it, revealing a dopey picture of Penelope smiling her threatening smile, and the words Thirsty Goat Brewpub stenciled in black ink. He pulled out a few pins as well, and carefully affixed the piece of heraldry to the outside of his counter.

Then he turned to his dearest friends, and gave them a thumbs up. Up in the stands Lady Mirra looked scandalized, but Opal looked pleased as could be.

Even from here he could hear Pete squeal, which made it all worth it. His actions seemed to throw off some of the other competitors, which also made it worth it, though he noticed that Tilakatan of Kebab Cuisine had done something similar with her own restaurant’s ‘Logo’ (such an odd word) - a South Erden bird called a Crane.

“CHEFS, PREPARE FOR MARKET TIME!!!”

The crowd grew frenetic, shouting, jeering, calling, and roaring. Bran was pretty sure a few people had to be using volume based Abilities. It didn’t matter to him though - he simply dropped into that cool calm place of focus that came upon him whenever he cooked. His surroundings sharpened and the only thing that mattered now was the here, the now, and the food.

“GO!!!!” The announcer cried, and every single chef charged at the market, some of them activating movement Abilities as they did so.

Every single chef except for Bran, who calmly waited at his kitchen counter.

Unmoving.