Roland gathered the innards and stuffed them into a strange, drawskin back, then hung that bag on the spit. Next, he set about deboning the carcass.
The blade flashed and blurred between his fingers, glimmering in the flickering firelight. Within minutes, a pile of glistening bones lay, neatly ordered, next to the deer. Roland then walked over to Faust’s backpack, and rummaged around in it for a few moments before removing a bundle of pots and pans of various sizes. He then sliced off a large hunk of meat and placed them in a pot, then carefully dropped one of the sticks into the pot so that it was just poking out over the lip. He hung the pot on the spit, then repeated this process for a slightly smaller slice, although it was still much larger than one would expect. Next, he drew four further, more reasonable slivers, put them into pans, and fixed the handles to the spit so that the base of the pans jutted out above the licking flames. After that, he broke the leaf into four equal pieces, and crumbled a piece into each pan, then took the remaining stick and lightly tapped the side of each pan, in turn. Then he dropped the rock he had picked up into a third pot. Finally, Roland removed his shoe and hung it over one of the supports.
As the meal cooked, Roland’s glazed eyes stared into the licking flames, his gaze brushing over the burning wood as would an indifferent god regard a ruined city. He could feel fatigue trickling through his limbs, mingling with the pulsating pain emanating from his broken rib. He wanted to sleep. And he would, soon enough. Once this meal was finished.
Paying no attention to the goings on around him, he idly withdrew the onyx amulet he had taken from the necromancer’s mansion from one of his pockets. As he turned it over in his fingers, the assassin ponderously contemplated putting it on. After all, what would be the harm? But his weary mind could not work up the resolve to don the adornment.
After some unknown amount of enervated pondering, Roland caught movement from the fireplace – the two sticks had simultaneously rolled to the other side of the pots they were in. Shaking himself, Roland rose and carefully levered the two hanging steaks out of the pots and onto large wooden plates. The steaks, rare, had come out more or less unseasoned, and were bathed in their own bloody juices – a simple, yet no less substantial dish, hopefully catering to the tastes of their recipients. Strolling over, he presented the slightly smaller steak to Elanor, accompanied by a set of cutlery. Then, he carefully placed the larger steak inside Mihail’s containment zone, without cutlery.
As he returned to the fire, he was met with a wafting aroma, originating from the simmering pans over the fire. The scent surrounded his senses, washing through his body and purging it of aches and maladies. Eyes slightly watering, he watched as the shoe lightly tumbled from the support. Delicately maneuvering each steak, medium-rare and with a balsamic glaze, onto a plate, he then took the final pot and portioned its contents out to each steak – steamed vegetables, marinated in and concurrent with a deep red port wine sauce. He then presented these dishes to Anya, Kavok, and Faust, before finally settling down with one himself, the shadows on his cloak pirouetting in the flickering light. Still gazing into the apocalyptic fire, he began to eat.
The blade flashed and blurred between his fingers, glimmering in the flickering firelight. Within minutes, a pile of glistening bones lay, neatly ordered, next to the deer. Roland then walked over to Faust’s backpack, and rummaged around in it for a few moments before removing a bundle of pots and pans of various sizes. He then sliced off a large hunk of meat and placed them in a pot, then carefully dropped one of the sticks into the pot so that it was just poking out over the lip. He hung the pot on the spit, then repeated this process for a slightly smaller slice, although it was still much larger than one would expect. Next, he drew four further, more reasonable slivers, put them into pans, and fixed the handles to the spit so that the base of the pans jutted out above the licking flames. After that, he broke the leaf into four equal pieces, and crumbled a piece into each pan, then took the remaining stick and lightly tapped the side of each pan, in turn. Then he dropped the rock he had picked up into a third pot. Finally, Roland removed his shoe and hung it over one of the supports.
As the meal cooked, Roland’s glazed eyes stared into the licking flames, his gaze brushing over the burning wood as would an indifferent god regard a ruined city. He could feel fatigue trickling through his limbs, mingling with the pulsating pain emanating from his broken rib. He wanted to sleep. And he would, soon enough. Once this meal was finished.
Paying no attention to the goings on around him, he idly withdrew the onyx amulet he had taken from the necromancer’s mansion from one of his pockets. As he turned it over in his fingers, the assassin ponderously contemplated putting it on. After all, what would be the harm? But his weary mind could not work up the resolve to don the adornment.
After some unknown amount of enervated pondering, Roland caught movement from the fireplace – the two sticks had simultaneously rolled to the other side of the pots they were in. Shaking himself, Roland rose and carefully levered the two hanging steaks out of the pots and onto large wooden plates. The steaks, rare, had come out more or less unseasoned, and were bathed in their own bloody juices – a simple, yet no less substantial dish, hopefully catering to the tastes of their recipients. Strolling over, he presented the slightly smaller steak to Elanor, accompanied by a set of cutlery. Then, he carefully placed the larger steak inside Mihail’s containment zone, without cutlery.
As he returned to the fire, he was met with a wafting aroma, originating from the simmering pans over the fire. The scent surrounded his senses, washing through his body and purging it of aches and maladies. Eyes slightly watering, he watched as the shoe lightly tumbled from the support. Delicately maneuvering each steak, medium-rare and with a balsamic glaze, onto a plate, he then took the final pot and portioned its contents out to each steak – steamed vegetables, marinated in and concurrent with a deep red port wine sauce. He then presented these dishes to Anya, Kavok, and Faust, before finally settling down with one himself, the shadows on his cloak pirouetting in the flickering light. Still gazing into the apocalyptic fire, he began to eat.
