Peek: Kobolds of the Pantry

Klore sometimes wonders what the point is.  He also sometimes wonders if he's blessed to even have the motivation to wonder, or cursed to not simply accept.  Sure, the ones with vacant stares are hardly alive, but they also don't have to actually process what life is.

He at least counts himself lucky to not embrace the insanity of this dungeon, as some of his fellows have.  It's a different kind of insanity, to worship the Maw and even hope to be chosen to be its latest meal.  He's just glad he's never had to prepare any of his kin for that.  The Maw treats cooks like him better, but he personally thinks its only because the meals he provides give the Maw a direct boon.  Or the dungeon is simply a glutton.

Which is to say it certainly is a glutton, but he doesn't know if that gluttony actually translates to caring for people who make food.  He sighs as he tends his oven, using his innate fire affinity to quickly get it to and keep it at the perfect temperature.  He still remembers the first time he had to cook.

The Chef was a worshiper of the Maw, and if not for a hacking cough he developed, he'd probably still be teaching other kobolds how to cook, the meals at odds with the rest of the conditions they all find themselves in.  That first day, Klore had to separate eggs.  He resists reaching up to feel the broken horn at the memory.

He didn't know to use a safety bowl to do the actual separation, and so he contaminated dozens of egg whites when he broke a yolk.  The Chef broke his favorite wooden spoon when he broke Klore's horn that day.  Klore still doesn't know what the Chef was actually making that day, either.  There's a lot of ways to use egg whites.

It couldn't have been something for the Maw itself, or else Klore would have been on the menu in their place.  He sighs as he looks at the recipe for today, trying to push aside the complicated feelings, but he's getting to be good enough that the act of cooking doesn't occupy his mind like it used to.

Preparing cave whelks used to take his full attention, but now it's something he could do in his sleep.  Heating the shell properly is a delicate process, to heat it enough for the whelks to abandon it, but not so much they actually cook.  Then a quick stab of the knife to end the thing, clean it, and tuck it back in the shell to await the other ingredients.

No, now he has time to think, and even wishing for more complex recipies gives him more to think about.  He actually likes cooking.  He likes taking simple things and making something delicious from them.  But the pride in a job well done is tainted when the compliments to his work only come from the ones who embrace the Maw.  The ones with empty eyes would eat whatever is put in front of them.  The others...

They look at him with pity.  That's what hurts the most.  To do something he likes, something he knows he needs to do, something he could even hope might improve someone's day, but be looked at like a walking tragedy.

Most of the others have it so much worse than he does, but they look on him with pity.  They've accepted the truth of their situation, but didn't break like the others.  He thinks they do it out of spite, refusing to give the Maw the satisfaction and hoping it chokes on them if it ever chooses them.

"Cook," comes a smooth voice from the entrance of the kitchen, and it's all Klore can do to not cut himself in surprise.  He finishes with his whelk before setting down the knife, trying to use the time to clam himself.  He's the only one in just yet, so the Voice can only be talking to him.  He'd like to pretend he didn't notice, but that would invite the Redcap to actually do something to get his attention, and the scion is not especially subtle if it doesn't have to be.

He heads to the doorway, and sees why the Redcap didn't enter: he has a fresh hat.  The Maw would not stand for the food to be contaminated by a stray drip.

"Yes, Voice?"

"You will find an assistant.  Master wishes more meals for the army, so you will acquire help."

Klore gives the fey a confused look, before realizing it wants a response.  "Er... yes, Voice.  Before or after I prepare and cook the meal?"

Eyes gaze over the kitchen from the shadows under the dripping hat as the Redcap surveys the room.  "Finish the meal, first.  You may use the time after to find your assistant.  Your workload will increase in a week's time, so ensure they are able to help you in that time."

With that, the creepy scion leaves, and Klore breathes a sigh of relief.  He returns to shucking whelks as he considers who to make his assistant.  The youth are always eager to have something to do, but he wouldn't want to pick one that's rebellious and condemn them to being taken by the Maw.

As he goes over names, he at least knows what he'll start training them with.  Separating eggs really is a simple, if time consuming task.  Unlike his old Chef, he intends to make sure they get a safety bowl.  He won't be breaking any horns or spoons, but he also wouldn't want to ruin a meal.

Partially inspired by Kebbitevoke, who wanted a look at the kobolds under the Maw's thumb.