Chapter 15: South by Southeast

Chastity walked a well-trodden dirt road leading southward from Goldenberry Village, against the course of the Deep River as it wended its way through the Riverlands. Tufts of thistle and other light brown grasses encroached at the edges of the road. The ground was cold and firm beneath her boots.

She had set out at first light, hoping to make as much progress as possible before nightfall. Judging by the position of the pale sun it was near midday. It would be a multi-day journey into the Evervale, and the thought of sleeping out of doors in these frigid conditions was not exactly appealing.

Despite a less than ideal night’s rest in the undersized bed of the Underfoots’ guest room, her Focus Points were back to full. Chastity also added the Paladin Codex to her Inventory. It felt strange, slipping the hefty book into some invisible compartment, but she knew the answers she sought were buried within its inscrutable text and she could not risk losing or damaging it.

The neophyte Paladin carried nothing more than her regular equipment with an added bedroll and meager rations (mostly crackers) in a small leather pack provided by the villagers. She felt bad enough, having imposed herself on the Underfoots, dipped into their limited stores, and inadvertently endangered Charlie. But the villagers, and Mrs. Underfoot in particular, would not hear of it.

‘You saved my nephew, O bless you! Bless you, your ladyship!’ she had said, much to Chastity’s chagrin.

Speaking of Charlie…

Tink. Tink. Tink.

Charlie Cucumber strolled alongside Chastity, weighed down by a pack that looked far too bulky for his diminutive frame. But he bore it in stride, whistling a halfling tune to himself as they walked. He showed no lingering effects from his nasty encounter with the Lesser Lute Spider (although the puncture marks beneath his shirt were starting to scar over). Despite Chastity’s protests, and real concern for his safety, Charlie simply insisted on escorting her until at least the road turned eastward–with the enthusiastic consent of the villagers.

Tink. Tink. Tink.

“Charlie, what is that noise coming from your pack?” Chastity asked, her patience finally wearing thin after hours of listening to the repetitive noise.

Charlie’s face brightened.

“Just some jars of pickled fish! In case we get hungry, which I reckon we will. Folk cannot live on crackers alone, now can they?”

Chastity frowned, feeling a spasm in her gut. Back when she was training for Team USA she consumed nearly 4,000 calories a day. Mostly it had been lean proteins, complex carbs, and healthy fats. True, she was no longer near that level of intensity, but she had not had a square meal since arriving here (nor a round, triangular, or any other shaped meal for that matter).

If I get truly desperate…

“Er… tell me, Charlie. How do you make pickled fish? What goes into it?”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“You really want to know?” he said, perking up like a puppy who just heard the word ‘walk.’

“As far as I can tell, we’ve got miles to travel and little else to discuss. And I know pickling is a point of pride for you.”

Grinning widely, Charlie stopped and took off his pack. He dug around until he pulled out a jar, struggled back into the straps, and continued on. He began to recount his recipe, adding colorful commentary along the way. Apparently you could remove the skin or leave the skin on; Charlie preferred skin on.

Why, Charlie. Why!?

Riverlands Pickled Trout (Recipe)

Ingredients:

1 Deep River Trout, filleted and pin boned

A halfling handful of coarse sea salt

Fresh dill

Goldenberries

Black peppercorns

Cider vinegar mixed with ice melt (may substitute fermented goldenberry juice)

Preparation:

Step One: In a bowl, combine the sea salt, dill, crushed goldenberries, and black peppercorns

Step Two: Rub the mixture generously over trout, inside and out. Place in a covered dish and bury in the snow for two nights.

Step Three: After curing, rinse the trout in cold water to remove excess salt. Pat dry with a cloth.

Step Four: In a jar or other container, layer the trout with fresh dill sprigs. Pour the vinegar or fermented juice over the trout until it is submerged.

Step Five: Seal the jar and store in a cool, dry place for no fewer than seven nights. The longer it cures, the stronger the flavor.

Those ingredients, individually, don’t sound so bad, Chastity reasoned.

“Care for a taste?” Charlie asked, opening the lid and proffering the jar.

Chastity wriggled her nose at the blast of fish and vinegar.

“Maybe later!” she blurted, her hand reflexively shooting up to cover her mouth.

“Well I brought plenty, so just let me know when you get peckish,” Charlie said, taking one last luxurious whiff before closing the lid.

They continued on. After another half hour, Chastity noticed some shapes in the distance. The landscape was subtly changing. A notification caught her attention.

Ding!

[New Location Discovered]

[Riverlands Farms]

[You Have Gained Experience]

The bucolic region stretching out before the travelers lay abandoned, the empty shells of quaint farmhouses and barns scattered across a wintry expanse. Once fecund, the ground was a patchwork quilt of frozen earth and snow drifts. Fences, once stout and sturdy, were bowed and broken, their weathered timbers groaning in the chill wind. A thin layer of frost clung to every surface.

As the river carved its wide bend through the landscape, partially encircling this region, the road turned inland and passed between empty farmsteads. One nearby house stood forlorn, its windows dark and empty like hollowed-out eyes. The chimney was a mute sentinel, its throat choked with snow. Chastity could just detect remains of the ruddy paint that once graced its walls.

This must have been a place of great warmth and life before the endless winter set in, Chastity thought. I can imagine that farmhouse glistening like a ripe tomato in the sunshine.

Charlie had grown uncharacteristically quiet since coming upon this new location.

“Charlie, this is where you grew up?”

The young halfling nodded.

“Nearby, yes. But we were often invited over to that house yonder for supper at the Harvest Moon celebration each year. The Beetroots’ place. Hot mugs of spiced cider…”

Charlie lapsed into silence again.

Chastity considered sheltering for the night in one of these farmhouses. But while they looked abandoned, they were still somebody else’s property; it wouldn’t do to trespass. Plus, there were still some hours of daylight and plenty of road ahead.