Night Hunt by Noora
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Noora’s entry won first place in the International category of our Chronicles of Tyria anniversary contest for 2019. You can find out more about Noora on Twitter: @Nooramorph
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”It has now been nearly two weeks since the start of our journey. We had set out with one goal in our minds; we wanted to record down the rarest, most prestigious cooking recipes in Tyria. You see, cooking is not the most highly regarded pastime in charr society. Most of our cuisine is limited to sliced meat prepared in different ways and army rations. The dry plains around Ascalon don’t make for the best farming fields, and some older charr say that if we were meant to eat greens, we would have teeth like a cow. I was not raised in the traditional charr way, however. My name is Ikur Ironjaw, and my parents were fishers living in the bustling coastal city of Lion’s Arch. It was there among the colorful, varied food stalls where I acquired my fascination with the different styles of preparing food that exist within Tyria. You would be surprised how many different ways one can filet and season a sea bass! In this book I will present—”
I was jostled from my writing by my traveling companion, a bright human woman who went by the name of Lumelie. We had known each other for years, cultivating our sparks as elementalists together. We had been traveling in the back of a hay cart for the better part of the day, and I was just getting used to the jerky movement of the dolyak-drawn cart. However rough the ride was, it was a welcome break from hiking, as we had been on our feet ever since our ship set ashore near Gendarran Fields.
”We’re soon passing into Snowden Drifts. The cart owner said that she won’t take us further than that, remember?” There was a tense edge to her voice. Our journey hadn’t been going very smoothly. Most of our coin had gone towards the ship journey from Lion’s Arch to Gendarran Fields and to the supplies for the journey from there to Hoelbrak.
”I remember,” I replied while gathering my writing supplies into their container. It was a wooden cylinder specifically designed to hold rolls of paper or parchment, with smaller compartments for quills and inks. I had started writing my book countless times, but I just didn’t seem to get the beginning right, and my supplies were beginning to dwindle. At this rate, we would have to ask around for more paper the next time we were in town.
We packed up our supplies and slipped on the warm cloaks and gloves we had bought in the previous town. It had been a challenge finding clothes tailored for charr bodies this far from the Citadel, but eventually we lucked out. The cart came to a slow stop, and we climbed off, swiping bits of hay off our clothes while thanking our driver profusely. There were still a few hours of daylight left, and we had planned to make our way to a nearby trading outpost on foot by nightfall. It was snowing slightly, big soft flakes falling slowly from the skies.
After a few hours of hiking, the sun began to set behind the mountains, coloring the sky in vivid colors and stretching the shadows of the pine trees around us longer and longer. Stars were winking into view among the sparse, slowly drifting clouds. It would be dark soon, and we would have to make our camp here in the wilderness if we didn’t find shelter. Striking up embers to light a fire would be no obstacle for us, but it was the wood I was more concerned about. We did not have axes packed with us, and all the trees around us were old, sturdy pines with thick trunks. I couldn’t see any younger saplings or even fallen twigs we could have gathered into a bonfire, only these towering, ancient evergreens. I could still see somewhat clearly, but I knew that my companion’s human vision might not work so well in the growing darkness. I knew her well enough to know that she was too proud to ask, so I reached out my hand towards her, to lead her in the darkness. She stopped and was silent for a moment, but then I felt her take my hand, and we continued trekking through the snow.
The blizzard was on us quicker than anyone could have expected. The wind howled furiously and the snowflakes that had previously seemed so peaceful and soft were now flying around angrily, stinging our faces. The snow had gotten deeper, and my heart sank when I had a sudden, dreadful realization that we had strayed from the path at some point. Doubling down on our tracks would be pointless, since they were quickly filling up with fresh snow. We were exhausted.
Suddenly, Lumelie stumbled and I could feel myself being pulled down with her. We went down softly with the snow cushioning our fall. My legs felt like lead, and I couldn’t get up again. My friend wasn’t moving either. While laying on the snow, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, as I could see movement on the edges of my vision. Shadows darted to and fro amongst the trees, big dark shapes moving swiftly. I could only glimpse parts of them, a beak here, a muzzle there. I tried to conjure up a flame in the palm of my hand to hurl at them but could not. The long journey had taken a toll on my body and mind, and I simply couldn’t summon up the concentration for it.
I felt myself being picked up by the scruff of my coat like a cub and flung over a huge, furry shoulder. The towering beasts carried us with them like this for a long while. They tossed us and our belongings between them as they ran through the snow, big paws kicking up sprays of snow. They weren’t being gentle with us, but they didn’t cause us any serious hurt, either. Among the howling and panting I could hear fragments of wild, barking laughter. I hoped my ink bottles hadn’t been shattered in the rough treatment they were getting. Craning my neck, I could see Lumelie carried in the same way as I was. I could not remember how long we were carried like this, but the blizzard had died down at some point.
Eventually my eyes began to discern a faint orange glow in the distance, and after our captors’ long strides took us over a small hill, I saw that the source of the glow was a huge, roaring bonfire. There were snow-covered huts spread around it, and huge round kegs everywhere. More of these animal people were dancing, drinking or lying passed out in the snow around the fire. As we approached the fire, the ones that had been carrying us set us down almost gently and shook off their animal forms. In a blur, their silhouettes turned humanoid, but nearly twice the height of regular humans. A tattooed arm pushed big tankards full of drink into our hands. I was hesitant, but surely nobody who offered us drink could be our enemy. I gingerly sampled some of the liquid, holding up the heavy tankard with both hands. It was sweet with a bit of a sting to it and had a pleasant aftertaste.
I glanced at Lumelie, but she wasn’t where I last saw her; she’d been whisked away to dance near the fire instead. She seemed to be enjoying herself, mimicking the moves of the rest of the revelers, spinning wildly, and beating her feet against the ground where the snow had melted away by the fire’s heat. Our exhaustion seemed to have been burned away by the warmth radiating from the fire. I joined her, and the rest of the night was a blur to me. I can’t remember any words being exchanged during the entire evening. I mostly remember getting a good share of that sweet-tasting drink.
I woke up to the familiar sounds of cooking. My head was pounding, and I was sore all over. I lay sprawled in some kind of communal tent or lodge, in a heap of snoring, tattooed giants. Lifting myself on my elbows, I shoved aside a large brown arm tattooed with an intricate design in black ink. While surveying the room, I noticed our belongings were gathered into a corner near me. Despite my soreness, I quickly sprang to inspect them to check if my writing supplies and notes had been damaged. Fearing the worst, my claws fumbled on the latch of the scratched, splintered cylinder. When I finally got it to open, I saw that my notes had been ruined. My ink bottles had shattered – spilling their content over my notes - and my quills looked battered. Letting out a defeated sigh, I went through the rest of our items. All our rations had been eaten or scattered during the nightly festivities, but the rest was alright, if not a little scratched and scuffed. Wrapping myself in a heavy woven blanket, I made my way towards the sounds of cooking, to what I assumed were the kitchens.
Lumelie was already up, stirring a huge kettle with a comically large ladle. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, and she was using both of her hands to grip the ladle. Her light hair was tied back with an embroidered ribbon. She greeted me with a wave of her hand, and halfway through the gesture used her raised hand to wipe sweat from her brow.
”Finally up? Never thought I’d see you sleep all the way through breakfast.” Last night’s drinking had had almost no lasting effect on her. I was jealous of that. She grinned at me, and I suddenly realized I was starving. Continuing to stir the steaming pot in broad circles, she added, ”Our hostess wanted to have a word with you. I was already appointed to cooking duty by her. She’s right outdoors.” She released her grip of the ladle to point at the door leading out from the
kitchens.
Still kind of dazed, I started towards it, grabbing with me a bowl of porridge that I assumed Lumelie had set up for me. To my empty stomach, it was hot, sweet and delicious. There were a handful of nuts and berries scattered over it. I shoveled it into my mouth in large spoonfuls while walking between the tables to a doorway at the far end of the kitchen. Walking out under the tall arch of the wide-open door, I saw the remnants of last night’s feast. The bonfire was burnt out by now, reduced to a smoldering pile of ashes and embers. There were discarded tankards lying everywhere. The bright sunlight reflected from the white snow hurt my eyes, and I had to shield them with my hand to be able to keep them open. A tall norn woman was barking orders at people sluggishly cleaning the area. Her muscled arms were crossed across her chest, and I thought I could recognize the tattoo designs snaking across them from last night.
As I was observing her, she talked, her back still half turned towards me, ”I didn’t expect to find travelers during our nightly hunt. How did you like our feast?” She turned to face me, and I got a clear look at her face. Her eyes were bloodshot with dark circles under them, and her mouth was drawn in to a tight line. I suspected she might be suffering from the same kind of headache I was.
”I have never experienced anything quite like it,” I answered, hesitantly but truthfully. I was still cradling the bowl of porridge in my hands.
She suddenly looked apologetic. ”I am sorry about your belongings. I fear we were too rough with them while bringing you into the homestead. If there’s anything we can do to replace them, just say the word. Anything at all.” I contemplated on this silently for a moment.
”Actually, there is something you could help me with.”
We spent a handful of days with these norn, helping them clean up the feast’s aftermath. When it came time for us to continue our journey, they supplied us with ample rations to replace the ones we had lost, and one of them left with us to escort us to their capital city of Hoelbrak.
”...our first recipe is the well-guarded secret of brewing norn mead. This sweet drink is highly valued among norn, and consumed in large quantities during feasts. For the first time, the methods used in its brewing are recorded down in writing for all to read - thanks to a wild night of revelry after me and my companion were rescued from a blizzard. Read on for a list of the ingredients you
will need...”
Excerpt from the travel journals of Ikur Ironjaw, 1325 AE.