“I think... that looks good.”
I took the two fish out of the frying pan and set them on two separate wooden plates. I then scooped some mashed potatoes out of the pot, and added a roll. I’d taken over part of the cooking in the past few weeks given I’d had a “home economics” class in school that was exclusively focused on cooking. (What, I liked eating cookies in class.) I’d made do with what was available and had gotten pretty good at this whole cooking thing. Especially given Gerhman only grew potatoes, carrots, and beets. We also only had the flour he had bought on his last trip to town, and the only protein was whatever we managed to fish up. (Which I was also getting pretty good at.)
It had been about three weeks since I’d first woken up here and already it was starting to feel like home. My “landlord” and I had settled into a routine where we’d trade off certain chores each day.
“Dang, I need to get you to cook more often. You can make more than three dishes.”
I looked over at Gerhman as he walked through the door.
“Well... now I can. It’s definitely better than the first few times.”
We both shuddered and Gerhman said,
“I’m trying to suppress the memories. So much smoke... so much stench.”
“Let’s not talk about it. Anyway, let’s eat.”
We sat down and it wasn’t long before Gerhman nodded.
“Nice. You even took the scales off this time.”
“Oh please, you didn’t know much better than I did when I first tried to make fish. I also deboned it this time.”
I froze before pulling a small bone out of my mouth.
“Well... most of them.”
He snorted and took a bite of bread.
“Not bad, but it still tastes a bit off.”
“We don’t have any more yeast. And since when have you been a food critic.”
He put a claw to his chest.
“Me? A critic!? Well I never. Here I am tryin’ to give you a spot of constructive criticism and you call me critic. How rude.”
“Shut up and eat your fish.”
He shook his head before taking another bite.
“So, you ready for tomorrow? It’s a pretty long trip to Halvstead and all. I’ve gotta get there for the festival.”
“Ah yes, Mr. Entertainer needs to go sing for the masses.”
Apparently, Gerhman was a bard. Like, he sang and played instruments for a living. I’m not sure how you can support yourself like that, but apparently he does.
“So what about you? You gonna try doing anything?”
I shrugged.
“I dunno. Probably not. I don’t really know what I would do.”
“Well, you’ve traveled around a bit, right?”
I nodded.
“Well, why not tell stories about them?”
“Yeah... no.”
“Why not?”
“I suck at public speaking. I seize up in front of crowds and can’t remember what I was going to say.”
“Oh please, that’s just stage fright. Everyone gets that.”
“Still no. I’ll probably just pick up the food we need and stuff like that.”
He shrugged.
“Suite yourself. Either way you’d better get ready to travel. We leave at dawn.”
“Why not, like, noon?”
....
“We leave at noon!”
(The next day)
Waking up is not an easy task for me, nor is it pleasant. But compared to Gerhman, I’m a morning person.
“Get out of bed.”
He let out a croaking sound before rolling over. I poked him.
“C’mon. Get up.”
He burrowed under his blankets and groaned,
“Go away.”
I sighed,
“Don’t make me do this again, Gerhman.”
“It’s Gary, or G-man! And no!”
“Definitely not G-man. Oh well.”
I quietly cast “glacè” and covered my hand in a layer of ice. I then lifted a corner of his blankets and grabbed the first part of the griffin in reach. There was a high pitched yowl and Gerhman shot out and began rubbing his butt.
“Bleedin’ Tartarus your claws are cold! Why’d you have to grab my ass!”
“It got you out of bed, didn’t it?”
He grumbled before trudging off.
“I’m gonna go take a bath. What time is it?”
“Noon.”
He froze and slowly turned around.
“Pardon?!”
“It’s noon, time to go.”
“WHY DIDN’T YOU WAKE ME UP! ODIN WE’RE NEVER GONNA GET PACKED IN TIME NOW! WE’RE GONNA BE—“
“I packed everything. The only thing missing is the lazy griffin who’s supposedly singing and dancing and whatever. Now let’s move, before you get even more irrational.”
I walked past him and grabbed my backpack before heading out the door. He stayed frozen a bit longer before chasing after me.
“I am not irrational!”
With that, we started our journey to the border of the Gryphon Empire. It took us around a week on the open road, but finally, we arrived.
“Well, Cain. Welcome to Halvstead.”
We both stood on a hill overlooking the valley where the town was located. A river divided the town almost in half and was spanned by three wooden bridges. Log houses built in a distinctly Gallic style lined the cobblestone streets and people could be seen go to and fro throughout the town. I whistled,
“That’s... not exactly what I expected.”
“What were you expecting?”
“Griffinstone.”
“You’ve been there?”
“In passing.”
“Huh.”
He nodded his head before asking,
“Did you hear that they kicked the pony governor out with his guard friends?”
“Yup.”
“Apparently Princess Celestia is letting them be self governed now.”
“Good for them.”
Gerhman shrugged before continuing down the road.
“I just wanna know what caused all that to go down.”
“Oh, I dunno. It’s not like I was there.”
Soon we were walking the streets with the surprising assortment of creatures. There were mostly griffins, but there were quite a few ponies as well. And I even saw what looked like a minotaur working in the blacksmith shop.
“I thought that you said ponies avoiding the Gryphon Empire?”
Gerhman chuckled,
“Most do. But some don’t really care. And some more so than others.”
He pointed to a group of a children. Mixed in amongst the ponies and griffins were—
“Hippogriffs?”
He nodded and gave me a cheeky grin.
“It’s like the old saying, ‘war make for interesting bedmates.’”
“War?”
He winked and said,
“Don’t you worry none. That’s one of the stories I tell each year at this festival.”
I shook my head and sighed,
“Songs, stories, and sass. You’re the whole package, huh. Must have to beat the ladies off with a stick.”
....
“Gerhman?”
I looked over to see him glancing around in confusion.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Look around.”
“What?”
“Look around, what do you see?”
I did a slow 360 and noticed nothing in particular.
“Not much really.”
“Yeah, where’s the decorations? The lights? The stalls?!”
“Well did you get your dates mixed up?”
“No, I’m sure it should be starting in, like, two days!”
“Then ask somebody.”
I followed behind as he approached a griffin running a small stall selling kitchen utensils. The shopkeep smiled and said,
“Mornin’ chaps. Need some new pots or pans? Cause let me tell you, I’ve got everythin’ you need at great prices.”
Gerhman shook his head and said,
“Fraid not mate, but I would be happy if you could help me out with some questions I’ve got.”
The shopkeep shrugged.
“Business is a bit slow right now, so ask away.”
“What’s goin’ on with the festival? I’ve been coming here for it every year for the past five years and not once has it been so... dead.”
Shopkeep gave Gerhman a look of recognition and said,
“I thought you looked familiar, you’re that bard what performs each year!”
“Yeah! So did I mix the dates up?”
The griffin sighed and rubbed his neck.
“Naw, you’ here on time all right, problem is the festival’s been cancelled.”
“Cancelled!?” German shouted.
“Ay, and it’s a crying shame.”
“But why?”
The shopkeeper sighed and pointed behind him.
“You’d be better of just asking the Jarl.”
Gerhman nodded and walked off towards the center of town. I caught up and asked,
“Jarl?”
“That’s right, Gryphonian government’s probably pretty foreign to you. Alright, so basically the whole country is ruled by the king, King Cróga. Now, he doesn’t personally rule the whole kingdom. It’s divided into six Holds each ruled by a Jarl. The Jarls are all elected in their Hold and can create its laws, but are ultimately responsible to the laws the king has in place.”
“So, basically the Jarl can add on laws and stuff.”
“Yeah.”
“What are the six Holds?”
“There’s the central Hold where the king is, Andfangol. Next is the Hold composed mostly of bogs, lakes, mountains, and peat: Gaisgeil. Then there’s the grassy island of Glasoileán. The dense forests of Nebelwald. The Hold known for fishing and merchantry, Havbrygge. And finally snowy Sneggora.”
“Huh, and where are we?”
“Gaisgeil.”
By now we had reached a large wooden building that obviously was the Jarl’s house. Gerhman gave me a poignant look.
“Watch your manners in the Jarl’s presence.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
“No, like be warned. So far you’ve only heard my accent, which is an Andfangol accent, same as that shopkeep. That’s because there are a lot of transplants in Halvstead. But Jarl Fiadhaich is Gaisgeil born and bred, so he’s got a strong Gaisgeil accent.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Fine. I’ll let you do all the talking.”
With that we entered the building. The inside was decorated with various shields and weapons as well as paintings of landscapes from across the Empire. Standing by a table near the center was a mountain of a griffin wearing a tartan sash. He looked up and said in an odly soft and high voice,
“What arr yew two goin’ on about bargen inta mah home like thas?”
...oh sweet mercy this is going to be difficult.