III-34 Commis (I)

"Alright, Chef. You're officially a commis now. You know what that means?"

"Are you going to start paying me to peel these potatoes?"

"You're being a felling smartass with me, boy."

"No, Chef. I just got used to saying yes, so you stop yelling at me."

"Oh, now you're being a smartass. Well, keep peeling those potatoes. Don't let me see you cut your hand. Otherwise, you're going to be peeling a thousand more."

"Yes, Chef."

"All right. Listen, as a commis, you're not just going to be peeling bloody potatoes. You're going to be portioning meat. You're going to be learning the sauces, preparing the sauces. You're going to be chopping the vegetables. You're going to be cleaning up the kitchen. You're going to be helping all the other chefs at their stations. You're going to be working at the grill. You're going to be working with the soups. You're going to be working with the pastries, all of it. You're going to be working under me and my senior chefs. So, whatever we need and whatever we can teach, you're going to be learning. Always."

"Yes, Chef."

"I want you to read recipes every day." Now, I understand that some words are hard for you, so I've prepared a dictionary for you. If you don't know any of the words, write a note and leave it inside the recipe book so that I can explain things to you. What this means is you're going to need to come in a little earlier, so you're not confused about what you're making for the day. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Chef."

"Right. But understand, you are an assistant chef now. That makes you a chef in training. You're not a janitor. You're not someone's serf. You do what me and the other senior chefs tell you to. But not anyone else. They have their own business. Don't let them offload their work onto you. If you do, I'll fire you on the spot, and then I'll kick their asses. Assistant chef is still a chef. You better respect yourself and respect the people you work with. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Chef."

"Good. Because without people like you, the kitchen does not run. Never forget this, Chef. It doesn't matter how high someone's skill gets. It doesn't matter who they are in life, or how supposedly bloody important and noble they are. Your skills don't define who you are. What you do, and if you show up, and what you give does. This world isn't run by Masters, Heroes, and Legends. No, no, it's functionally run by Adepts. Adepts who keep the things working, who keep the people fed, who keep the houses built, who hold the line, steel in their hands, and blood in their veins while the giants above them do their little dance and steal the credit. The world is commis, Shiv. Never forget that."

-Georges Archambault and Shiv

III-34

Commis (I)

Adam drew in a deep breath as he basked in the light of his mana core. So high up, he let the core's hum drown out his senses as much as it could. His awareness was still too strong. He could hear everything, and if he focused, he could see everything thanks to his Heroic-Tier Awareness. 

Awareness that could travel. And that Awareness kept returning to his mother. 

Their conversation had been one of beautiful agony.

Seeing her was...well, there were no words for him to describe it. He couldn't have dreamed of this moment in a thousand lifetimes. For all he could achieve as a Pathbearer, defying death was not one of the skills he imagined ever having. But Shiv had that. And through Shiv, Rose Van Erren had been returned to life. 

But she wasn't whole. Not truly. Words for memories were missing. Her emotional state was frail, and most interestingly, and somewhat terrifyingly, though she still had her path, she lacked any skills. She was effectively weak as a Pathless right now, undeveloped, unleveled, a whole new person rather than the powerful Diviner she once was. 

But by the end of her conversation with Adam, her Divination skill returned at the first level, as did Foreshadowing. He wasn't sure why that happened, and neither was Valor, but it likely had something to do with Shiv's Vitaemancy. But that wasn’t the most important part.

His mother was alive. His mother was alive, and she remembered him. She asked to hold him. He wanted to tell her so much, but ultimately, few words truly flowed. In place of dialogue, there came tears, and old memories exchanged. Memories of her reading Hark! Little Sparrow to him. That was the book Shiv used to prove that Rose was inside his soul. And when she mentioned it once more, Adam knew she was real. And that realization made Adam's insides twist in agony. 

But it was a sweet agony, a delightful pain. He would experience this pain for every passing second across the rest of his life, if it meant keeping his mother by his side for good.

They moved her away from the infirmary, where the orcs likely suspected she was. A group of Umbrals were guarding her now, and she resided in a compound for dignitaries in the surface district. Even so, Adam's anxiety swelled inside him like a straining muscle. The tension there grew and grew like a coiling knot that got tighter every passing second, and it never stopped getting tight. 

He didn't want the orcs to be where his mother was. If what Shiv had said was true, if these gray-skinned monsters were truly so smart, so perceptive, and so cruel, Adam didn't even want his mother in the same world as an orc. Precautions had to be taken. A great many precautions.

And though he wanted to talk with Null Mont about the orc problem, the Weaveresses had retreated to “consult with her fellow Exalted Mothers about problems.” Apparently, consulting meant fleeing to her private quarters in the obsidian tower and drinking copious amounts of strange-looking fluid.

“And that was another problem to deal with,” Adam muttered to himself. “Wrangling a drunk idiotic spider-wasp. Ascendants, what has my life become?

He watched as another section of the ruins flattened out. The rubble had been drawn out of the ground and shaped into a massive sphere. It was then flattened and placed beside several other spheres of condensed detritus. The Geomancers and Can Hu were going to start sorting out the materials within these spheres to see what could be extracted for use and what could be cast away. 

Adam could still see and smell bits of flesh and crushed bone lodged within the spheres. A great many people had died during their struggle against the Reollector, and there was still so much of ruin to clear. But they needed space. They needed space because Adam was going to order the emergency construction of an orc quarantine zone. If they were going to get an orc army, that was going to be essential—the monsters were going to be restricted to their own area in the gate.

They couldn't be allowed to mingle with the other people here. Not the martial Pathbearers. Not the Pathless or former slaves. Not anyone. The orcs were simply too dangerous, and Adam wasn't going to risk them going on a killing spree or hurting anyone. Especially his mother. What kind of commander has to defend himself against his own army, Adam thought.

He drew in another breath as he tried to calm himself. Despite his apprehensions, they were going to need an army, and they didn't have time. The only other easy choice was the eldritch. There was no way Adam could lead an army that would drive him insane. He didn’t know if the Outsiders even could be led. So. Orcs it was probably going to be.

Blackedge was being held by Roland Arrow and Roland Arrow alone. Other defenders were nowhere to be seen, and though Adam wished to deny his thoughts, to turn from the most cynical interpretation of the situation, he expected most of the other defenders to be wounded, spent, or just dead. And Roland Arrow couldn't hold the town alone. Not against that monster Sullain, who now had some of Shiv's Vitae, and would likely use it as a weapon against Blackedge if he figured out its mysteries before Valor or Shiv. 

“There's just no end to the work,” Adam moaned. He rubbed at his face and he felt his mental fatigue building. “No rest. I need to talk with Uva about this anxiety. It’s killing…”

Just as he mentioned Uva’s name, he caught sight of a shape slithering out from the Abyssal Gateway. A translucent string burst free from the Dimensional threshold and twirled through the air. Adam immediately recognized it to be Uva's Psychomancy, and he accelerated to greet her. 

His vector-wings flared. The Gate Lord tore across the horizon. There was no buildup to his top speed. One moment he was still, the next he was moving at maximum velocity without any air friction or propulsion. He met the grasping strand head on, and immediately Uva's thoughts flowed over into his.

“Adam, prepare yourself for coming in fast.”

“Understood,” Adam replied. He fully opened the gateway, and it trembled with greater frequency. “How did it go? Any pursuers or problems?”

“Better than expected. No. Clean escape. But we have a lot of ingredients with us, so be ready for that. And don’t shoot the basilisks.”

“What?”

Uva didn't blast him with memories then, but she did send several other images. Images of basilisks, of cave-biters being secured beside basilisks, of five basilisks racing across the Umbral Wilderness, of Shiv and the orcs exchanging curses and laughter while riding atop the basilisks.

“Uva, what in the hells is even going on? What are you showing me?”

“You’ll see soon enough.” She sounded annoyed, but also reluctantly amused. “Just don’t shoot us.”

What was she— And before Adam could finish his thought, the massive head of a basilisk burst out through the Abyssal Gateway. A veil of static blackness clung to the huge creature for a moment, but it pushed through, rearing its body back as it let out a shrill screech. Its gem-like scales glistened beneath the azure light of the gate. And upon its back, Adam could see Shiv pumping his fist, while Uva's strand led back to a dense knot within the basilisk's mind. 

Adam's jaw dropped as over three hundred meters of giant snake smashed its way across the gate. Umbrals and Weaveresses threw themselves aside. Recently summoned air Dimensionals surged to intercept the massive creature.

“Uva, are you inside the mind of the basilisk?”

“Yes,” Uva said, her voice deadpan. “Shiv especially requested my aid when he started losing the race.”

“The race? What race?”

And just then, another two basilisks burst through the gateway. They were equally large at over a few hundred meters long. They blasted across the same ruins behind Shiv’s basilisk, sending tides of displaced rubble everywhere. The second-closest basilisk was being ridden by that orc who wore the midnight robes, and he constantly whispered into its ear. Adam could hear Whisper muttering random hisses, and none of it was comprehensible to the Gate Lord. But the snake seemed to understand just fine.

Behind Whisper, Mortar smacked his basilisk over the head and terrified it into moving by loudly firing flack into the air. It tried to bite at him, but he dodged back, laughing as barely avoided death.

A final basilisk came through the gate carrying two orcs on its back. But rather than being mind controlled by Uva, being whispered to by the Whisper, or bullied by Mortar, the last one simply slithered happily along. It snaked across the ground to the pace of Band pulling his bow, making his violin sing a jaunty tune while Tequila whistled along.

The absurdity of the scene before him managed to do something for Adam—something he didn't manage to do alone: it emptied his mind as thoughtlessness overtook him.

Some of his mental fatigue faded. He felt a sense of relief come up over his being as his mind got a moment of rest. Rest, followed by immediate exasperation and the spiking of stress as he realized all the damage Shiv and the orcs caused.

“Shiv! We just fixed the ground outside the felling gateway! What are you doing!” 

***

Skill Gained: Riding Proficiency 1 (Common)

15 adult cave biters, 21 captured vampires, 8 tons of varied mushrooms, 2 tons of mangoes and loom grapes, one of those hypercaloric, amber-red bulbous plant-bulbs found in the Umbral Wilderness, 20 tons of river fish, one ton of deep river weed, and five basilisks.

That was the haul. It was frankly a stupendous haul, an incredible haul, but most importantly it was a haul Shiv couldn't have obtained on his own. Uva used her Psychomancy to render each of the massive serpents docile. Meanwhile, Umbrals and Weaveress came in to help them with the unloading process—but all the members of the Arachnae Order couldn’t help but gawk at the large serpents now crowding the space below the Court Leviathan.

Yeah. Definitely going to need to start up a giant monster zoo for myself or something. Wish I could fit them in my cape, though. That would have made this easier.

Uva cast a psionic command. The basilisks’ eyes glazed over, and their instincts to resist or harm vanished from within them. Even so, Umbral Geomancers came by to secure them in place, locking them to the ground using alloyed bands and barriers of concrete. They remained parked near Shiv's special cooking zone, and he let out a grunt as he picked up an entire cave-biter carcass as an offering for Courtney.

As he rose into the air, he stared down at each of the basilisks and grinned. They were magnificent creatures. He let one dose him with its venom again, and the effects of Plaguefueled spiked to even greater heights than before. And now, he had more than one supply of venom to dose himself with.

Plaguefueled 63 > 64

The boost in strength made things easier for Shiv as well. The cave-biter went from being something he had to wrestle with a bit to merely a hefty weight he could drag in one arm. The world also moved slower, Shiv’s body was hardier, and most of all he felt good. Very, very good.

I'm going to need to make sure I don't get addicted to this, he thought. He was actively studying what Uva was doing for him, which part of his mind she was actively suppressing to stop the development of a lingering urge. 

He didn't have her fine control over Psychomancy, nor her deep understanding of psychology yet, but he was developing both of those skills. In time, he would be able to control his own mind completely. And that would allow him to get as plague-blitzed as he wanted while still remaining functional. Otherwise, he would be little more than a drunken brawler every time he wanted a major boost.

His Plaguefueled had amused the orcs to a considerable degree. Apparently that was a skill some orcs had as well, but only the incredibly reckless orcs, as Whisperer described. After all, getting Plaguefueled means that the path-bearer had to get extremely sick several times, and had to suffer from a plethora of different viruses and diseases until their body finally fought it off.

Or until they died, Shiv thought to himself.

As Shiv had held the cave-biter up to Courtney, the leviathan simply regarded at him for a moment before one of its tentacles descended, wrapping around the carcass. Shiv was glad he didn't need to manipulate any of its minds for it to respond, but as Courtney held on to the cave-biter, Shiv frowned. The leviathan continued clinging tight to the biter and did nothing else.

And that’s when Shiv realized. Courtney wasn't very smart. Courtney was so stupid that she required an entire army of vampires to help her use her body and to do her thinking for her. She could do some basic things, but eating or absorbing biomass might be too complicated without someone guiding her.

“That's all right, Courtney,” Shiv said. “You're trying. We're trying. We’ll both get smarter.” He let the court leviathan hold on to the carcass for now. 

He would have to get the Weaveress Biomancer later. See if she could help Courtney digest some biomass. He didn't want the poor leviathan to starve to death after all. And with an ample supply of her meat, he could provide regeneration to everyone. He still didn't know what a cave-biter could provide. 

Probably nothing nearly as good as regeneration on its own, though. 

“Always remember, Shiv. Shit ingredients, shit food, yeah?” Geroges’s voice echoed through the Deathless's mind. 

“Georges, if you could see some of the produce I have here…” Shiv muttered to himself as he looked down at his massive hall. Most of his other harvested dangled off the sides of the basilisks. “Ah. I’ll show you when I get you out of Blackedge.”

There was enough stuff here to supply the Swan-Eating Toad for a good month or so, at least. And that was another reason why he looked forward to freeing Blackedge—he would get to show Georges just how much he improved. Hang in there, chef. I’ll build an army and get you out. Even if it has to be an army of orcs.

As soon as Shiv touched down on the ground once more, he found himself intercepted by Adam before he could speak to any of the orcs. The Gate Lord immediately pulled him aside and gestured at the basilisks. “What the hells is wrong with you?” Adam hissed.

“Food,” Shiv said.

Adam just stared at him and let out a low groan as one of his eyes twitched. 

A large smirk grew on Shiv's face. “Are you going to tell me that you can't imagine this tasting good?”

“No. That’s not the problem. The problem is you blasting the ground apart—and racing with the orcs. What are they, your friends now? I thought they were terrifying monsters that killed without blinking.”

“Yeah, but… They challenged me to a race and shit. What was I supposed to do?”

Adam stared at Shiv like he was simple. “Tell them no!”

“Adam. I’m not going to let an orc beat me at anything.”

“You are practically a bloody orc, you giant idiot. And now…” Adam gestured at the basilisk. “Fine. Make them into food I guess. But dammit we just fixed the place.”

Shiv leaned in very close to Adam so that the orcs didn't hear him. Then he whispered, “Sorry. How about some pan-seared basilisk with abyssal mango and loomgrape glaze paired with cauliflower, mushrooms, and glass peppers? I promised to cook for you and your mom, right?”

Adam’s expression softened. “Yes. You did. So. How did it go?”

“Pretty good,” Shiv said. Then his expression flattened into one of discomfort. “Too godsdamn good.”

As soon as Shiv turned to regard the orcs, he found them staring at him. All of them had their arms folded. They knew he was talking about them. Whisper in particular had a certain gleam in his eyes. A gleam that made Shiv more nervous than anything else. “We're gonna have to watch that one. He's a social expert among the orcs and that's saying something considering they're all godsdamn social experts with Adept-Tier Social Skills at the least.”

In fact, it took Whisper promising that he would visit later to get Lucian—their turncoat vampire—to go with the Umbrals. Lucian was to be placed in a separate space from the rest of the vampires currently still stored in Shiv’s cape. Whisper had plans for Lucian, and Shiv wasn't sure if he approved of this or not. 

But Whisper was an experienced orc and from what he claimed he created several spy cells of his own on other in other dimensions and worlds. 

And if we can release our own spy back into the First Blood, Shiv thought, we might be able to counter everything they do ahead of time.

According to Uva, Weave had tried for years to infiltrate the vampires and bring them down from within. But though Aviary found the first blood an open door, Weave didn't have the culture or the lasting infrastructure for such operations. Even the vampires who turned away from the First Blood wanted little to do with the composer. 

And more than that, Weave's campaigns against the vampires were usually either disruptive or defensive. The simple truth was Weave fought to survive, while the First Blood spent millions of lives regularly just to expand.

“We’ll have to talk with him at some point,” Whisper said, looking at Adam. “You cannot hide him from us forever. And he is the Gate Lord, after all, isn’t he?”

Shiv glared at the orcs. But Whisper was right. “Adam,” Shiv said. “Don’t let them smell any weakness.”

The Gate Lord scoffed. “I think all the fear I have in me for this year got scared out of me by the Recollector already. I can handle a few orcs.”

Shiv waved at the orcs, and they came forth immediately. “Watch them carefully. They like playing mind games.”

Adam nodded and narrowed his eyes.

A social battle was upon them. Frankly, every encounter with an orc was a social struggle. And this one held its own hidden threats and rewards.

“You called for us, Insul,” Whisper said. Slowly, his eyes turned away from Shiv. The weight of his gaze fell upon Adam with the suddenness of a stabbing blade. “Ah, Gate Lord Arrow, we heard of your father, the mighty Roland Arrow. Some of our brethren had experiences with him.”

“Experiences,” Adam said dryly. “What kind?”

“The kind where they ended on the right side of his arrows.”

“The right side?” Adam said, confused.

“Yes, the pointed ends. The ends that killed them. Very good shots. We hope that your archery honors his.”

And immediately, Whisper was using his psychology and social warfare on Adam. Shiv let out a grunt of displeasure. “Hey, Whisper.”

“Yes, and so,” Whisper said.

“Knock that shit off. I know what you're doing. Stop throwing Adam off. Adam, this one here talked a vampire into surrendering. But not before he convinced the poor vampire to cut out one of his buddy's Lineage Cores.”

“Oh, but that's where you're wrong, Insul,” Whisper continued. He also kept using Shiv's title. Shiv suspected that was to influence him somehow.

Psychology 14 > 15

And when he leveled up from that suspicion, Shiv figured he was right. “They are not, as you say, buddies. They might be vampires, just like some of us...” Whisper eyed Mortar, and the automaton-wearing orc just sneered. “...Are orcs of a feather. But we are not, how you say, affable with each other. Biological symmetry and racial identities are one thing. But personal preference and beliefs is another. No, I simply facilitated his revenge. Retribution he never expected to fulfill. I saw it in his eyes, you see. I read it on his face. He wanted to hurt the other vampires. I gave him his freedom.”

“How?” Shiv asked. “I am curious about that. You killed everyone else you came across. Took their cores. He’s the only one you spared.”

Whisper smirked proudly. “Did you know that there is such an Awareness Skill Evolution that lets you read micro-expressions?” And despite everything, Shiv felt his curiosity provoked.

“There is,” Adam said, frowning as he confirmed Whisper’s statement. “But that's usually something that those with the Path of the Investigator develop. How do you have it?”

Whisper’s smile grew wider.

“Right,” Adam breathed. “Perceptive psychopath.”

“What an apt description,” Whisper replied with a grin, as if Adam was flattering him.

“Bit ugly,” Mortar said. “I don't like thinkin' myself as a psychopath.”

“What would you describe yourself as,” Shiv asked.

“Just an orc who likes to have a bit of fun. Set things on fire. Blow things up. I’m a simple fellow.”

Shiv snorted because he knew better. “This ‘simple fellow’ likes to play stupid,” Shiv said, pointing at Mortar. “But, uh, you could probably talk strategy with him, can't you?”

Slowly, Mortar's exaggerated smile died down a bit. “Hmm, talk strategy.” He looked at Adam. “Can you?”

Adam straightened his shoulders. “I will have you know that I graduated at the top of my class at Phoenix Academy for-”

“How many battles have you been in?” Mortar interrupted. He leaned down to meet Adam face to face, but he made sure not to breathe on the young lord. Instead, he started sniffing through his nostrils. “How many battles?”

Adam's boasts died halfway, but the young lord wasn't going to be intimidated so easily. “You ever kill a dragon-knight, orc?”

Mortar considered that. “Well, that depends what you mean by kill?”

“How does it depend?” Adam said, scowling. “Did you kill one or not? Because I have. I faced a lance. I brought down a lance. We brought down a lance,” Adam said. Looking at Shiv.

“That's impressive,” Mortar nodded. “And I have to say that depends on because well, after my bomb went off, a good few of my allies disintegrated, too,” So he let out a giggle. “Technically, I killed a few dragon-knights, I just wasn't supposed to. Real shame, really. They were nice blokes.”

Adam's eyes widened slightly as he took a half step back from Mortar. “Shiv, I'm not sure about this one. He seems very likely to—” And then his voice trailed off as he looked at Shiv. “Never mind, we're fine. I remember that we’re already dealing with one destruction hazard.”

“Hey,” Shiv said. “I don't really—-” And then Adam just stared. Shiv coughed. He had detonated his inertial sheath near Adam a few times. That aside, he was pretty destructive. Was indelicate when he moved around. “Shit,” Shiv muttered.

“Hm,” Adam replied. “You’re becoming self-aware.”

“Ah, problem with controlling the yield, eh?” Mortar replied, chuckling at Shiv. “That's all right. Every good artillerist learns their lesson. Of course, usually someone else pays the price.”

“What about these two?” Adam said, looking between Band and Tequila. 

Adam eyed Tequila's two wands, in particular. And the orc had the audacity to wink at him. “You recognize these?”

“Dynamancy wands,” Adam said. “You use both of them at the same time?”

“Yes, it makes you kill twice as fast. And I like going fast,” Tequila replied. “Also like a few other things,” he clapped his hands together. “Like rice wine. You got any rice here?”

Adam considered that for a beat, “I'll have to ask one of our quartermasters.”

“You don't need to do that, I can do that,” Tequila said. “Just simply direct me.”

“No,” Shiv cut him off. “If you're going to do anything or talk to anyone, I better be with you, or Adam better be with you.”

“You suspect us so much,” Tequila said, sounding almost offended. The orc almost pouted. But then he broke out in a smile and rolled his eyes. “Ah, I suppose I can't blame you. But can you blame me? I do like to socialize. I have to do it enough for the both of us here,” he briefly patted Band on the shoulder. Band simply nodded, as shyly as an orc could.

Band didn't speak very much, but he held on to that violin in a death grip at all times. Adam looked Band up and down. Slowly, he narrowed his eyes. His mouth opened and closed. And finally, a sense of certitude crawled over his features.

“What?” She said, “what's wrong?”

A moment passed as Adam eyed the orc and gave a small laugh. “You’re a Diviner!”

Band's eyes widened in return. Tequila drew in a breath.

“Yes, you are,” Adam continued. He pointed at the violin. “Not just a Diviner, your bloody Divination Skills mixed with your instrument. How did you do that?”

A loud, coughing laugh of incredulity came from Tequila. “Is that how you keep knowing what spells to use at what time? Is that how you keep knowing who to summon? You can tell what enemies are coming. You can listen in on the system using your violin. Band, you scoundrel. Why didn't you ever tell me?”

Band scowled slightly at Adam. Instead of saying anything, he briefly pulled his bow across his violin, and a horrible screeching noise followed.

“Ah!” Adam cried, clutching the sides of his head. “What the bloody hell was that for?” Adam's eyes came aglow with a violet hue. “Oh… Oh. How… That’s not… I didn’t know you could communicate with me through Divination Music… But… You're a disciple of Vivalde. How? You’re an orc.”

“Who's Vivalde?” Shiv said. “And did he just communicate with you

“Legendary Republic Diviner.” Adam's breath hitched. “He once trained my mother.”

Band pulled his violin once more, and Adam shook his head. “No, no, you can't.” Adam drew in a long breath as he reconsidered. “I'll talk to her later. Maybe, maybe it might do you both some good if you spoke, I think. I'll need to think about this,” Adam said, shaking his head. “I need to be present too.”

“What the hell's happening, Adam?”

“He's a Diviner. He used to train under the same master who taught my mother.” Adam eyed Shiv. There was something else he wasn't saying. Something about Rose and how she related the matter. But Adam wasn't going to reveal it in front of the orcs right now. Probably wise.

“Anyhow,” Whisper said. “Not to rush you, Insul, but I do recall you boasting about your cooking skill.”

“Wasn't a boast,” Shiv said. “And you all promised to help me once we got back. I want to see how good you are at something that isn’t killing. We’ll be doing the cooking here.”

“What are we making?” Tequila asked with a glint in his eyes.

Shiv looked at one of the basilisks. “Remember our wager? Last basilisk to arrive gets eaten.”

Almost immediately, Band began playing a mournful tune, as Tequila placed one of his wands over his chest. “Ah, Gemstone.” He looked upon his basilisk, its eyes staring off in the distance, its massive, split tongue whipping at the air. “We will miss you, Gemstone. You served, and you rode free and happy. But this is a cruel world, ruled by cruel Pathbearers. Drift away upon that memory of your final, last, free and jubilant ride.” 

It annoyed Shiv that Tequila's pre-eulogy for his basilisk started to bother Shiv. “All right, well, Gemstone is going to be donating some meat soon. But I want to know how good you guys are as Commis. You know what a Commis is?”

All four orcs looked at him and nodded. “Yes, head chef.”

Shiv's mouth slammed shut as he frowned. He was looking forward to explaining to the orcs what a Commis was, just like Georges did to him before. “Wait, just how much cooking experience do you all actually have?”

All the orcs stared at each other. And then they started smiling, showing rows of teeth. “Well, I wouldn't like to toot myself too much,” Mordor said. “But I did run a restaurant chain for a while.”

Suddenly, a clenching feeling of inadequacy overcame Shiv. “You what?”

“It wasn't very successful, and the lizardmen locals, were extremely racist and hypercompetitive, but I still managed to endure for a year before they finally broke down my walls and set me on fire over my own grill, killing me.”

“I was an assistant for a fey alchemist who also doubled as a gastrointestinal healer,” Whisper said. “Their food and soup mixtures were delectable. The alchemist tasted good boiled too.”

Tequila comparatively shrugged. “Well, my main experience comes with mixing wines and alcoholic beverages, but I did learn how to cook to a slight degree just to have an accompaniment with my libations.”

And just then, Band pulled something out from his chainmail suit jacket. It was a blade. A blade that Shiv recognized to be Moonsteel, and practically the exact same make as the one George's handed Shiv before he was thrown from Blackedge. Shiv's eyes widened. “How did you get that?”

Band simply grinned. “From chef.”

“What chef?” Shiv said.

Band shook his head. “Cook meal, then tell. Or maybe not, if meal bad. If meal shit.”

Shiv squinted at the orc. “Do you know Georges Archambault?”

Band just sneered. “Will tell. Only if meal. Not raw and shit.”

Shiv's lip curled. “All right, motherfucker, that's how you want to do it? Fine.”

“That is how I want,” Band said. “Motherfucker.”

Part of Shiv knew the orc was provoking him, but cooking was special. And Band was going to die of a food coma for this.

Just then, Uva walked by. “Shiv, I-”

“Turn that one's mind off, Uva,” Shiv said, pointing at Gemstone. “I got something to prove.”

“What?” Uva said. “We need to process the prisoners. We need to-”

“We need to cook one of these basilisks. And they're going to help me,” Shiv said, glaring at the orcs. “They're going to help me, and they're going to be the first ones to taste the dish this time.”

And, as he said that, Whisper reached into his midnight robes and pulled out several aprons. They were prepared. Shiv's disbelief only grew as Whisper produced sauces, salts, and other implements as well. “Chef,” Whisper said, “do you have condiments, or shall I provide the ones I have on me?”

“Challenger,” Shiv called out, “you planned this, you bastard. You blind-sided me with cooking orcs.”

“So, is that a yes or a no, chef?” Whisper asked.