The sneeze jolted Prunhiline from her vivid daydreams of slaying dragons, trolls, ogres, and every creature imaginable. Her warrior instincts flared; something was off. She paused, straining to hear, but the house fell silent again. Shrugging it off, she resumed sharpening her favorite dagger, only to hear another sneeze. This could be a problem.

Prunhiline headed to the small library next to the sitting room, where she found Britina slumped in her favorite chair. Her eyes were red and glassy, and a loud sneeze followed by a rasping cough confirmed it; Britina was sick. This was bad, so, very, very bad.

"Bri? You ok?" Prunhiline asked, concerned.

"Yesh, I’ll be ok. Jusht ah head colda," Britina managed, punctuating her words with another sneeze and a cough.

"We could try what my clan does! When someone’s sick, we hunt the biggest creature on the plains and don’t stop until we’ve got it," Prunhiline suggested eagerly.

"Yous? Hunting while shick? Ah's seen you shick!" Britina sniffled and coughed, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"Well… When I got sick, we would do the straw ceremony, and there was a big hunt afterward. It always helped. Every time the hunt was over, I was feeling better." Prunhiline said with some pride. The remedy always worked, even if it sometimes took weeks.

"Yous mean thay ran away. Ah can shee that." Britina commented through another coughing fit.

"No! Everyone would go on the hunt, but the person who drew the straw dipped in blood." Prunhiline felt a little insulted that her people would run away from anything.

"And the rest ran away, didn't they?" Britina teased, trying to laugh but cutting off with a violent sneeze.

"No, they went on the big hunt. I would sit at night and see their campfires on the horizon. They always came back once I was… well?" Prunhiline started to realize that maybe Britina was correct. Was she really that bad when she was sick?

"It's ok, ma love, ah've seen you sick, and ah'm sure the big hunt helped everyone. Ah think maybe Ah'll go lay down." Britina got up slowly with Prunhiline's help, and they went to Britina’s bedroom.

"Maybe you need soup. I could make some," Prunhiline offered, her tone serious and determined.

"NO! Stay out of the kitchen. Maybe just have someone bring me some." The idea of Prunhiline being in the kitchen unsupervised caused Britina to sweat more than the fever did.

As Britina slipped into an uneasy nap, Prunhiline sent a message for help. She knew she couldn't do this alone. Now was a time for support! While waiting for help, she grabbed a cookbook from the library and quietly headed to the kitchen. The universe held its breath, knowing chaos was about to unfold.

A little while later, Morfark arrived at the house. After knocking a few times, he entered with great caution. Prunhiline had sent a message saying she needed help. He was concerned that maybe one or both had finally gone mad. Just in case, he brought his finest and sharpest dagger and updated his will.

"Hello?" He called out with his hand on his dagger.

"In here, Morfark!" Prunhiline attempted to yell from the kitchen quietly.

"The kitchen?" He asked, stopping at the kitchen door. Please don't be sandwiches, he thought. Please, please, please. The universe chuckled at the poor assassin.

"Yes, get in here!" Prunhiline hissed at her friend.

"Prun, I thought you weren’t allowed in the kitchen unsupervised," Morfark called through the door, his voice edged with caution. He didn't want to enter. He wasn't ready, even if his therapist said he was.

"Britina is sick! Get in here!"

He entered the kitchen with great worry for both the mage and himself. What he found shocked him. The kitchen was clean! Prunhiline was standing at the stove, mixing something in a boiling pot. Upon closer inspection, the pot was glowing purple. He went back to worrying.

"My dear, I don't think that is the correct color for soup." Morfark pointed to the pot.

"I know that! I followed the recipe in the book." She pointed at the book titled "Easy Portals to Exotic Places."

"That’s a spellbook," Morfark said flatly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He marveled again at how these things kept happening. It was like the universe conspired against the warrior.

"Oh? I did think the ingredients were a bit weird, and it was with the cookbooks. But hey, I'll eat anything." Prunhiline said with some pride. Britina accidentally placed one of her spellbooks with the cookbooks while sick.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

"I know, I've witnessed that," Morfark said as his stomach felt queasy.

A slimy tentacle slithered out of the pot, only to be smacked back with a wooden spoon. "It keeps doing that!" Prunhiline muttered, frustrated, keeping her voice low to avoid alerting Britina to her unauthorized kitchen misadventure.

"Which spell did you do?" Morfark had become very concerned for his well-being. A tentacle started to slip back out but retreated when Prunhiline tapped the pot with her wooden spoon. Morfark looked around the warrior and read the title. "Fun and Excitement With Elder God Portals." He shuddered. This was going to be one of those ancient evil-released days.

"Hello?" Britina called from the top of the stairs. "Prunhiline? Whose are youse talking to? Youse better not be in the kitchen."

Both Prunhiline and Morfark began to panic. "Quick! Keep her upstairs while I deal with this," Prunhiline whispered fiercely, shoving Morfark toward the door.

Morfark quickly ran to the stairs. "My dear, you should be resting. Let me help you back to bed." He ran up the stairs, hoping not to show his panic, as he guided her back to bed. He could tell from her pale face, red eyes, and nose that she was very sick and didn't need the stress of Prunhiline in the kitchen fighting back a tentacle horde; really, who needs that kind of stress while feeling under the weather?

"Ah'm sick, and shees brings an assassin ta take care of me." Britina wheezed. She wasn't surprised since Morfark was one of Prunhilines's closest friends.

"She means well, I promise. And don’t worry, I won’t do anything unethical to target anyone while sick." Morfark placed one hand on his heart in earnest.

"Fraid of Prun?" Britina grinned, and her bloodshot eyes showed a twinkle of humor. She knew most people were afraid of the tall warrior.

"Deathly afraid of Prunhiline." The assassin didn't mind admitting. "Besides, my dear, we have changed the list a bit. Your name is still number one, but it's carved in stone. Deeply carved in stone." He whispered the last part.

"Stone?" Britina looked at the assassin, confused.

"Yes, my dear, with an asterisk declaring it for the suicidal. You will stay on the list. We are proud of our work, but we aren't stupid." Morfark opened her bedroom door and gently led her in. They entered just in time for a loud bang from the kitchen. Morfark held his breath, but Britina didn't seem to hear it.

Britina smiled and laughed between coughs. "Where's Prun?"

"Um, downstairs?" Morfark said, attempting to hide the anxiety in his voice. He stood between the mage and the door, hoping to block the sounds from the kitchen battle. He was hoping the elder gods were losing.

"Where downstairs?" This was said with concern and malice. She had finally finished the last cleaning and renovation of her kitchen. The previous fiasco with those two in the kitchen had left it a disaster.

"Um, sitting room?" Morfark smiled as best he could. He hated lying to the mage, but he also hated dying too. She would kill him if she knew he had left Prunhiline in the kitchen alone.

A ringing echoed from downstairs, making Morfark grimace. Prunhiline may have switched from a wooden spoon to a war hammer. Britina and Morfark stared into each other's eyes. Morfark prayed that the illness would make Britina's mind muddled.

"Are yous sure?" Britina asked, squinting her eyes at the assassin. She knew she was being lied to.

"You rest, I'll go check." He quickly ran back downstairs and into the kitchen, which he instantly regretted. His therapist was wrong; he wasn't ready. At least there weren't sandwiches.

The tentacles had escaped, and Prunhiline kept them at bay with a spoon and a butter knife. Considering her weapons, she was doing very well against the tentacles. She was pretty proficient with butter knives and spoons. Ask the orcs, and yes, dear reader, that's another story for another day.

Morfark muttered a quick prayer to one of his dark gods, drew his finest dagger, and joined the fray. Together, they wrestled the writhing tentacles back into their infernal pot. While Prunhiline held a lid on the pot to keep them trapped, Morfark read through the spell to find out how to close the portal. He found the ingredients, and they sealed the portal shut. They both stood basking in the glory of their victory for several minutes and then froze in terror at the sound coming from the kitchen door.

"What's going on here?" Britina asked, giving them both the best glare she could muster.

They were dead. It would be fire. Burned to death in a kitchen by an angry mage. Morfark said several prayers to all of his dark gods, a few gods of light, and a couple that didn't care about light or dark. Hopefully, one of them would listen. Maybe?

"Well?" Asked Britina, sneezing hard into her sleeve. Britina gasped for breath and returned to glaring at the obviously guilty pair.

"Um, soup?" Prunhiline said as innocent as the tall warrior could muster. Her six-foot-seven and five-quarters didn't feel as big under the glare of the five-foot-ten-ish mage.

"Yes, my dear, soup. You sit, and I'll bring some to you. My grandmother's special recipe." Morfark quickly added. Maybe he will live through this. "Me-maw knew how to cook a soup that could cure death." Or, in his case, avoid it.

Britain rolled her eyes as Prunhiline helped her to the loveseat in the sitting room, and Morfark quickly made her some soup. He added a dash of this, a dash of that, some herbs, some spices, and a tentacle. A tentacle? Oh no, it was still wiggling about. He chopped it up quickly and deposited it into the trash. He made a mental note to take out the garbage before he left.

Morfark walked out of the kitchen with the soup and a confident smile. He was going to live through this. One of the gods was on his side; he didn't care which one. He was going to thank all of them. The gods in question looked at each other and shrugged; they were looking forward to the explosion.

The universe laughed at his optimism and whispered, "It's not over." The gods went back to betting on the outcome.

"Thank you, Morfark, the shoup is delicious. I's starting to feel sho much better. You know, for an assassin, yous are an exsellent cook." Complimented Britina. He was a man of many talents.

"Thank you, my dear. And I assure you, no surprises in the soup." He winked at Prunhiline. They were alive!

Prunhiline grinned, fished a wiggling tentacle from her pocket, and took a casual bite. Morfark turned a shade of green, coughing as he thought, This is how I die.

"Morfark?" Britina asked, concerned. "I's hope youse aren't getting my cold."

Morfark smiled at the mage and did his best not to vomit. The warrior, indeed, would eat anything. "No, my dear, I'm fine." And he shoved the warrior into the kitchen.