Legend of Ransera

Ash 24, 121

Franky thumped his chili pot down on the table of contest table. The Ork woman there looked up and smiled, "Hey there Franky. I'll take that, and put you in the running!" She reached over and lifted the lid, "HOOOOOO, that's spicy. You're gonna scare off the humans," she said with a wink. Franky grinned wide, "Thanks, Delilah."

Franky then carried the pan of cornbread, a family recipe from his village back in the Imperium, over to the rows and rows of tables for the potluck. There were hundreds of people here, all from around the Knob, and were largely non-human. Franky grabbed one of the wooden plates and cutlery, and began lumping any food on his plate he didn't recognize. Everything here was simply sides, as the main focus were the tables upon tables of chili pots, each with a number posted in front of it.

The contest would begin soon. After it opened up, people would vote by writing their favorite number on a card and giving to the judges. The public opinion served as one vote, and the four judges held the other votes. But for now, it was sampling the side dishes. Once Franky had his plate heaped up, he made his way over to the booze wagons.

Franky took the time to take in the many tents, pavilions, tables that stretched all along the upper section of the Copper Cut. Everyone was in colorful garb, and Franky was no exception. He wore a lavender button up, top several buttons undone, high waisted leather trousers, boots to match. His sleeves were rolled up his forearms and there was a whistle on his lips as he walked, an old ditty from the Imperium.

Once there, his eyes began scanning the barrels, and a smug grin came on his face. Not one thing was being served, booze wise, that he didn't have in stock at the bar. Good. He liked having a good selection, prided himself on it. He got in line, waiting. There were about a dozen ahead of him, so Franky half turned, looking at whoever got in line behind him. "Hey there, I'm Franky. Which brew would you recommend?"

24th of Ash, 121

“Lieutenant Wolfgang, where are you off to?” the female soldier asked as she approached the carriage.

Vincent sat down beside the driver. “Private Anna, I’m off to the Knobs, another field study regarding the outbreak with Dr. Weizenbock. Well, you know where to find me.” He then pretends to look at his pocket watch and signaled the driver to go.

“How long would it take for her to realize that Weizenbock is a type of beer?” the driver chuckled as he guided the horses through the streets of the West End.

“She’s a smart girl. But it gives us enough time to disappear into the crowds of people,“ Vincent laughed as he pulls out a piece of cigarette. “Ain’t that right boys!” He pounded on the roof of the carriage.

“Sir, yes sir!” came the reply from inside the carriage.

The carriage sped through the East End and made its way into the Knobs.

“The Copper Cut right?” the driver asked as he steered the carriage left and continue to the Copper Cut.

“Where all the tents and music are.” Vincent blew another cloud of smoke.

Vincent closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and smiled. “Feels like home.” He then jumped from his seat beside the driver. The soldiers exited the carriage.

“Where to now Lieutenant?” one of the soldiers asked.

“It’s a festival day, wherever you want to. As long as we made it back to the keep by sundown or Anna found us.” Vincent blew another cloud of smoke.

He along with the driver made their way to the rows of tents looking for something specific.

“Sir looks like there’s a wide range of selection of brews today.” The driver pointed at the barrels.

“Franz, how many barrels do you think we could fit in the carriage?”

Franz approached a barrel and taps his finger on the lid. “Enough to last the week perhaps. But the others must stand on the side of the carriage.”

The two get in line. “How about on the roof and the back of the carriage?” Vincent blew another cloud of smoke.

“The roof would cave in. We could always hire another carriage to take it to Markus’s”

“Let’s just hope Anna’s not in Markus’s when the barrels arrived.”

“One can only hope right?” Vincent took another puff.

Vincent looked at the Hobgoblin in front of him. “Nice to meet you. Well, personally I’d get the Weizenbocks from Kaiserhausen. Everybody surely misses the taste of home right?” Vincent took another puff before throwing his cigarette on the ground. He then looked back at Franky.

“Where's my manners. I’m Vincent. Do you have any recommendations? Preferably something to drink after a long day of work that also pairs well with the local dishes.”

Vincent took out another piece of cigarette. He took his pack of cigarettes and offers it to Franky.

“So, how many of these you’ve been to?” Vincent then lit his cigarette. “Reminds me of the Orkhans back home. With their chicken feet dish, distilled alcohols from who-knows-what and the brawling that takes place after.”

It was obvious to Franky he was talking to a soldier, a young one at that. The posture and confidence alone confirmed that. He was similar in his younger days back in the Imperium. At the recommendation and the mention of home, "That they do, mate."

Franky took the proffered cigarette, nodding in thanks, "Hello Vincent, I'm Franky." Keeping his eyes on the young man, "See that little barrel there toward the back of the cart, the one stored in that dark maple instead of oak like the rest? That's an Imperial Red if I ever saw one. It's Ash, that's the one you want."

Franky puffed on the local tobacco. It was weaker than the goblin weed he was used to, and didn't even have colorful smoke. Still, had a nice, warm bite to it. He took a long drag off it as the line moved forward, "This is my first one here in Zaichaer, but we had our fair share of festivals in the Imperium." Then he grinned, "You a fan of them chicken feet? I always liked how chewy they were. Though I don't brawl, as much, as when I was a young pair of boots like you."

Soon it was Franky's turn in line, "Two of the Imperial Reds there." The young boy that was working that particular cart sighed. He didn't even want to be there, and he sloughed off to grab and tap that keg, grumbling about old men. Looking back toward Vincent, "You on leave or just off duty, lad? You got that fresh off the chain look in your eyes."

Franky looked over, seeing the chap making an absolute mess of an attempt at tapping the keg. Franky walked over, set his plate of food on top of the barrel, "Watch close lad." He grabbed the drill, held it straight and punched through the wood in no time and the corked tap followed without spilling a drop. "Gotta be fast and decisive with it."

The kid poured two flagons and Franky grabbed them with one hand, taking his plate with the other. He offered one to Vincent, "When you get to the chilis, look for the one with the crimson steam. That's how picked the good mess fires when we had the whole contingent together." It also happened to be the chili that Franky had made
The hobgoblin spotted a table that just emptied out and made for it. Over there, he saw a couple of other soldiers, both men, both getting simultaneously slapped by women who stormed off after. "Friends of yours?"

Vincent’s eyes followed the hobgoblin's finger to the mentioned barrel at the back of the cart.

“Imperial Red huh?” Vincent took another puff before turning to Franz. “Check how many barrels they got in stock. We should get several.”

“Peace offering for the geezer too.”

Vincent chuckled. “That’s why get two extras. One for the geezer and one for Markus.” The line moved forward. Franz made his way to the side and looked for someone he could talk to regarding purchasing the barrels.

Ah, so he's from the Imperium. Vincent thought to himself. “So how do you like the city so far?” He took another puff. “Yeah, back home there’s this group of Orkhans who used to cook chicken feet. It doesn’t look appetizing, but once you bite it, damn. Could serve it with other side dishes too.” Vincent paused when Franky said boots. “So you serve too?” he took a long drag and blew a cloud of smoke upward. “By the looks of it, I’m guessing you’ve smoked stronger stuff huh?”

As they approached the cart Vincent looked at the young boy with a look of uncertainty. He threw his cigarette butt on the ground and extinguish the rest of it with the sole of his boot. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? Well, you’re never truly off duty. They could come banging at your door in the middle of the night to help resolve some disputes. Unless you’re higher up in the chain.”

Vincent then glances back at the young boy struggling with tapping the barrel. He was about to help when Franky walked over and tapped the keg with precision.

“You work in a brewery around here or used to own a brewery?” He remarked at Franky’s expertise in tapping a keg.

“Thanks” Vincent took the flagon from Franky. Franz made his way to take their spot in line, he ordered a flagon for himself and several other barrels that the soldiers back at the barracks ordered.

Vincent walked with Franky, he took a sip from the flagon and stopped walking. “Wow, I’ve gotten so used to the ‘refined’ taste of beers in the West End. They don’t know great-tasting beer from a mediocre one.” He turned to look at Franz. “Add another extra barrel of the Imperial Red!” He shouted. Franz raised his thumbs.

“Crimson steam. Is it like piping hot or something? I’d like to work my way from the not spicy to the mouth-watering, head exploding spicy. To find that sweet balance of spiciness yet still enjoyable.” He followed Franky to the table that just emptied.

Vincent chuckled. “Women right? They’re unpredictable at times, and apparently, they cannot be wooed with only a uniform and sweet words.” He gestured at the two soldiers. He then turned toward Franky “Oh, you aren’t waiting for someone right?” Vincent gestures at the empty seats.

The two soldiers approached them. “Sir, yes-“ as usual they raised their hand for a salute but were quickly cut off by Vincent. “You’re never truly off duty.” He turned and looked at Franky and paused. “Taking part in the contest by any chance? It feels like that I have a higher chance of getting out of the contest alive if I’m with an expert, and you good sir looks like someone who truly knows your chili.” Vincent chuckled, he then took another sip from the flagon.

Franky kept a smug grin. Typical young soldiers, with more cents than sense. Buying the barrels here insured probably a 150% markup, at a minimum. But that was youthful exuberance for you. He took a deep drag off the more humble cigarette, Franky grinned wide at the loaded question given by the human. How much could a non-human like this city, truly? At least without living in some deep level of ignorance and naivety.

"This city keeps me young at heart for sure. Certainly quite different from back home, but that's what I was looking for." Franky glanced off with his bit of smirk, "Where's back home for you, with all these Orkans?"

A chuckle, "Ages ago I served. I know this face looks like a spring chicken, but the stuff we smoke will do that to ya." This was a common joke about the Goblin Weed, "Gave my life to the Imperial March, and now I'm retired. The grandkids doin' me proud these days though." Any who were somewhat familiar with Imperial history knew that the Imperial March was the campaigns of invasions against the Imperium's neighbors.

The next bit brought a bit of sour to the back of Franky's throat. Another young soldier with this belief but without having gone to war. All with any basic history knew that Zaichaer hadn't seen any real strife in generations, not since the Graveplague. Generations of soldiers who never had an enemy upon which to sharpen their teeth. Border skirmishes and policing one's own people only made for puffed chests and urine soaked boots when real war came.

But none of that was this lad's fault, it was the fault of his superiors, and the superiors above those.

"I own a tavern just up the way in the Bulge, the Hobbled Gobbler. My retirement project." A smile at the lad's opinion on the Imperial Red, and question on the chili, "Oh it'll tickle your bum a bit on the way out, for sure." It was certainly a rite of passage for the non-humans back home in his village.

"Anyone wooed by a uniform and sweet words ain't worth either." A laugh as Franky sat down, "Time doesn't wait on me, and I wait on no one."

At the mention of the contest, Franky winked, ripping off some bread, "Like I said, look for the crimson swirls. But sure, I know a thing or two, though my knowledge is greater on the eating end than the cooking. My pap was his contingent's mess captain, taught me a lot for sure."

Franky bit into the bread, some sort of pumpkin roll. Most interesting, he wasn't even sure how to bake something like that using the gourds. "It's nice to see you lads down here with us more..." A grin as he sipped from his flagon of Red, "Common folks." It was a veiled jest, considering that nonhumans outnumbered humans at this fair ten to one.

"So what do the soldiers of Zaichaer do these days? I hung my boots up long ago, and we obviously never crossed swords here. Not since those that came before us both fought back the Menders together. Stickin' it to those poofs in Kalzasi yet?"

His voice carried the interest of an old veteran to a younger generation. A bit of an offering, an opening salvo, opening the door to an exchange of stories from a common world.

“Well, if young at heart means you got to be quick on your feet and have a keen sense then I’d say it’s quite true. Well considering they have quite different views about life in general I guess.” Vincent’s word trails slower and softer as if he didn’t want to offend anyone with that remarks.

“I’m from Kaiserhausen, way up near the northern border. Well, it’s not just Orkhans.” He paused. Then he looked at Franky. “Well Mr. Franky, you should come and visit sometimes.”

He blew another cloud of smoke upward. “I’ve smoked some weird shits that the goblins have back home. Well as the story goes, tried it once, never quite fell in love with it. So now I’m stuck with this.” He raises the pack of cigarettes and placed it back in his pocket.

“No shit, you got grandkids already? So, are they here with you or back home?” Vincent blew another cloud of smoke. “Imperial March huh? It sounds familiar, it feels like something that a soldier would be aware of but well, I’ve must have doze off. But I remember my grandfather reliving his golden days, telling his war stories. It always fascinates me, especially when he took me aboard his airship. Perhaps you guys have crossed paths before. He used to wear a reddish-colored insignia of a lion’s head wearing a crown.”

“Well, that’s one way to make a retirement project. Isn’t it more stressful than just lounging around, drinking booze, and smoking? I mean, you gotta enjoy old age right?” Vincent took another sip from the flagon he was holding. “You got better stuff than this? If so then well apologies in advance if more of us go there for a drink.” Vincent gestures at his fellow soldiers.

Vincent snorted and spits out beer in his mouth. “Well, that’s one way of describing it.”

“You’re right on that one Mr. Franky.” Vincent sat down. “Well, then I guess we’ll be accompanying you. That is until they found someone who could be wooed with a uniform and sweet words.” He looked at the two soldiers. “Crimson swirls. Same here, I love eating, well not so much in cooking cause it seems like a stressful job especially when learning about cooking from your sister-in-law, she’s like a devil in the kitchen.” Vincent stood up and survey the crowd of people lining up at the contest table. “Well, that’s quite a line. Maybe I’ll wait for a bit more. Got the whole day anyway.” Vincent took out his pack of cigarettes and placed it on the table.

Vincent chuckled at the remarks about them mingling with the non-humans. “I for one don’t want to be attending a festival full of people who are not truly enjoying themselves but only for the sake of being seen by others. Well as I said earlier, different views on stuff.” He took a sip from the flagon. “Back home, I used to attend festivals similar to this. Orkhans, Goblins, Elf, Awoken, Ratharis, and even the Mortallens joined on rare occasions. I guess the way we were raised affects our views on the world. When my grandfather retells the history of the family for the hundredth time about how the family would not have survived if not for the assistance of the other races. I know for a fact that each one of us is unique and helping each other fill the gaps help keep the machine running properly right?” Vincent took out a piece of cigarette and lit it.

“Like it would be faster to build a building with the help of a few Mortallen rather than having like fifty or more humans doing it. It's less time-consuming and more effective. Goblins could do the more detailed crafts better and they don’t demand as much. Awoken, hard workers and it’s like they never get tired. You learn a lot from them.” He then blew a cloud of smoke.

“Aside from keeping the city from starting a civil war? Keeping the borders safe I guess and the usual folks with magic. Well, maybe that’s the duty of the Defense Corps or the ZADC. Us? The Riverland Corps is just about making sure that the boys on the front line got bullets in their rifles, have their swords sharpened, enough food to keep them from raiding the townships. Well, the outbreak too and making sure that the other half of the city doesn’t go into war with the other half.” He took another sip from the flagon. “I guess that’s why most of us have secret lovers to help pass each day.” Vincent raised his flagon and pointed at his pack of cigarettes.

“What was it like? During the Imperial March. It must’ve been a nightmare for the guys handling the logistics right? With the parade last season, it seems like they’re preparing for something, I don’t know if I’ll be able to step foot on the field when the time comes. It’s one thing shooting at a practice dummy and shooting at someone rushing at you with their weapons drawn, someone who’s probably spent their lives on the battlefield.” Vincent paused and took a long drag and blew the cloud of smoke upward.

This lad certainly didn't seem so bad. He definitely wasn't like some of the more racist people of this city. That boded well at least. "I'll most certainly have to. Do you have a recommended time of year to best visit Kaiserhausen?" And being inclusive on tradition and personal things? This lad definitely wasn't your typical Zaichaeri, and Franky appreciated it.

As for the smoking, Franky let loose a barrel chested laugh, "Yeah, my pap used to say that there ain't a thing goblins ain't tried to smoke before. And there's plenty of it that's pure shite, sometimes literally."

A softer smile, "My family is all back home, in Brekari Village. My wife looks over the family, my mum and siblings are all still in the service, and my grandkids should be entering any day now, just as all those before us."

Franky grinned, "Maybe, I did meet quite a few flyboys in my day." And in reference to the retirement, "You'll see when you get older lad, being a soldier too. Sitting still and growin' fat just ain't something that I'm built to do. Plus, I drink and smoke and lounge plenty with the tavern." Then he winked, "Plenty of company comes through the tavern too."

Franky scoffed playfully, "Of course, and you're certainly welcome to come get a drink. We stay pretty busy, but when you do find me. I'll show you the real treats." Franky now pulled out his own smoke box, plucking one out for himself, and setting one up just in case Vincent wanted it. Franky struck a match on the side of the table, and lit the hand rolled cigarette. Deep, purple smoke began to waft off of it, giving off the pungent scent of moss and mushrooms.

Franky now carried a bit of a tone of both teacher and veteran, "Back in the Imperium, community status still carries racial weight. Maybe not quite to the same degree as here, but certainly shares many similarities. But the Imperium had long since made one decision above all others. The Imperium respects the choices made by an individual more than those things they cannot change. They show this by giving the highest of societal respect and privileges to those who enter the military and their families. Those who choose to defend our country and way of life are granted the best way of life, regardless of background and origin. You can always earn your place within the Imperium."

Franky took a long pull on the cigarette, "And you're most certainly right, takes all types to build a city, just as it took all types for us to capture them. Most of my drinks and cooking at the tavern come from many walks of life, alongside the favorites of both Zaichaer and my home."

Franky nodded, "Sounds like you got a lot on your plate in your role for sure." Franky had been wondering since he'd arrived about the tone of the city. If soldiers were actively tasked with preventing civil war, then that meant they were already on the precipice of tearing themselves apart. That was interesting. The Imperium had on multiple occasions used the weakening of a civil war in other countries as a signal to invade.

A long draught was pulled of Franky's Flagon, followed by a longer pause. "Logistics were hard for sure. My contingent was constantly one to pierce through deep into enemy lines to disrupt their own supply chains, but that often meant we were also cut off. Those made for some long, hungry winters. And then there was the siege that last two years with naught but a tainted well." Another somber pause, "The real nightmare isn't in the logistics, or that first battle, or when you kill a person for the first time. The nightmare is when you stop seeing people for what they are, when they become just numbers or targets or mouths to feed. And the more you get promoted, the more you have to do that, until war is nothing but papers to you. That's where monsters are born."

A softer smile now, "That's why you gotta have someone who means the world to you. To keep you as a person, grounded and sane." Another quick drink, "In four days, I'm hosting an Imperial tradition called the Cart. It's how we honor those whose jobs were carrying out our logistical support and supply chains. It's no secret that the merchants never have songs sung about them, but we honor them for it wouldn't be possible to have won without them."

Franky looked at Vincent, making sure to catch his eye, "You'll do fine lad, you've got a sound head on them shoulders. Stay alive, remember who and what's important to you, and when you return from your first battle, drinks will be on me."

Franky nodded up toward the long chili table, "Line's dwindlin, ready to get lit up?" Franky had a devilish grin, "I'll teach you a trick with drinks and the spicy chilis after." Franky stood up, walking to the serving table, flicking his spent cigarette to the ground and stomping it out. He grabbed one of the segmented bowls, and moseyed along the choices. He ladled in some interesting looking green chili into one segment, found another that looked to be a white type soup with some sort of bird meat, and then in the third and final section, he ladled in his own. The crimson swirls that wafted off it brought tears to the back of Franky's eyes, invoked the desire for him to unleash the stored strength that all hobgoblins shares, and sent him back to his days around those fires in the crisp Imperial fall.

Once he had his bowl, he returned back to the booze cart, the line shorter now as people were eating, and he asked the attendant, "Got any of that Syltori Fogger in there?" The lad went digging through the carts, finding a pale white wooden barrel. He tapped it and poured two flagons for Franky, "Thanks mate."

Franky made his way back to his table, setting one flagon of the milky looking lager at Vincent's spot. It was an ale of a particularly high alcohol content, made from a mix of snowberries and mint, and was the perfect drink to use for sating the fire in one's mouth that would be inspired by some of these chilis. Once Vincent was back, Franky held up his own flagon, "Skoll!" making sure to look Vincent in the eye before taking a drink.

“Best season to visit?” Vincent paused and thought of it for a while. “I guess in a way it depends on what activities you like to do. Frost is a good season to go if you’re into hitting the gambling tables and the hot baths. Glade and Ash usually for the festive, drinking, eating to your heart content, and enjoying the bounties of the earth. Searing’s usually when you want to see a little more actions, where most of the mercenaries companies would hang around and stuffs or preparing for their expeditions. I’m planning on visiting sometime this season or maybe next season if you want to come along.”

Vincent coughed up smokes. “Literally? Damn.” He gulped fresh air. “But I do envy them sometimes. Living life as if no care in the world. Just doing what makes you happy and high.”

Vincent studied Franky’s facial expression. He took another sip of Imperial Red. “So, you plan to have them move with you here once they’re done with their service? The countryside’s good though.”

He chuckled at the remarks. “Well Mr. Franky, I don’t intend on growing fat but I intend on lounging around drink, smoke maybe hit the gambling table too. Maybe I should open up a business too. Get that money working for you right, leaving you to do things that you love doing. Oh and don’t forget about the ‘company’. That’d be nice.” Vincent let out a laugh.

“Well until what time is the tavern open? I find that nighttime is the best time to get a drink or early morning. That one to two hours of quiet, without anyone telling you what to do, and nothing is expected of you.” Vincent looked at the smokebox. He carefully observes the hand-rolled cigarette and the purple smoke coming out of it. A look of suspicion on his face. “Well Mr. Franky, I don’t mean to be rude. But that’s not-“ he paused and squished his cigarette on the table, he then grabbed the hand-rolled cigarette and lit it. He coughed out small clouds of purple smoke. “Wow, that’s stronger than I thought.” He eyed the cigarette stuck between his fingers.

Vincent carefully listened to Franky’s explanation. Somewhat reminded him of his father’s and his predecessors’ view on life. “Mr. Franky, I think if my granddad’s still alive and kicking, you’d be drinking buddies. I mean that’s what everyone wants right? Results. Hell, I don’t care who I have to work with or what methods I’d have to resort to if it means getting results. But still, I guess deep down everyone’s still afraid of the unknown. What they can’t explain. I mean like throwing fireballs out of your hands, I wouldn’t trust that person with my life, cause, let’s be honest here, would you trust a person who could throw fireballs or stomp the ground and pillars of earth rose from the earth.” Vincent blew another cloud of purple smoke upward.

“It’s not logical like we’re messing with something we shouldn’t be messing right? But I can’t also deny the fact that it’s there, around us. As long as they stay in their little corner of the world, guess it’d be fine. But with all that power at the tips of your fingers, doesn’t sound too pleasant.” Vincent paused and blew another cloud of purple smoke. “Damn, Mr. Franky, you got more of this? Feels like the fog in my brain is lifted.” He took a long drag.

“I think that you and my sister-in-law would hit it off. She got like this, hmmm how could I describe it? Passion about foods and drinks. She says that even a simple dish could tell a thousand stories that couldn’t be expressed in words.” Vincent fiddled with the lit cigarette in his hand.

“We sure do Mr. Franky, we sure do,” Vincent remarked regarding the workload and duties. Franky’s next words took him by surprise. It was something he knew deep down but wasn’t willing to accept. Vincent let the words sink, he took a long drag, blew the cloud of smoke upward, and stared at the sky. “Three million.” He paused. “Three million, that’s our number, Mr. Franky, three million.” That’s what Vincent remembered from the census that the Riverland Corps did last season.

“Someone important huh?” Vincent blew another cloud of smoke. He blinked and saw the clouds overhead passed him. He smiled. He turned to look back at Franky when he mentioned an Imperial tradition. “I’ll be damned if you say the tradition doesn’t involve free-flowing booze.” He chuckled. “In four days huh? Well, live life to the fullest.”

Vincent locked eyes with Franky. “You too Mr. Franky, you too. The best drinks you got.”

“So, the carriage is packed to the roof. I won’t be putting barrels up the roof though, it could cave in. Maybe we should rent another carriage?” Franz said as he approached the table.

“Franz, splurge it. We’d still be turning a profit selling it in the barracks.” Vincent grinned. He then looked at the line near the chili table. “Well, don’t want to attend a chili festival without tasting the chili right?” Vincent stood up and followed Franky. He motioned for the soldiers to follow him. They each grabbed a segmented bowl.

“Sir, I think I’ll help Franz with the barrels” one of the soldiers pleaded, he was wiping tears from his eyes.

“Come on, that’s what we’re here for right?” Vincent replied as he tried to fight back the tears from falling as he ladled some green chili and yellow chili into two different segments. “Get the different one, so we could get all of them without returning back and forth.” The soldiers nodded in unison.

Vincent approached the pot with crimson swirls. He closed his eyes, tears rolls down his face. What in the world is that? Would anybody be sane enough to try it? My eyes got watery even from a distance. Vincent thought to himself. He looked around, Franz and the other soldiers have quickly filled their bowls, made their way to an empty table beside Franky’s, avoiding the pot with crimson swirls like the plague. “Fuck it.” Vincent ladled it into the last segment on his bowl.

Vincent half-jogged to the table. He placed the bowl down. Franz came over and placed a bowl of bread. “Sir whatever that is, be safe.” Franz then rushed back to his table. Vincent then took a moment to wipe the tears from his eyes. He paused and looked at Franky then he smiled, “Skoll” he replied as he raised his flagon and took a sip. It reminds him of the time he spent drinking with the goblins back home. He couldn’t understand them when they’re drunk but he understood ‘Skoll’.

“Hmmm, this tastes delicious.” He sat down and placed the flagon beside his bowl. He looked back and saw Franz coughing and downing a flagon. The other soldiers did the same. He then turned back and look at his bowl. He grabs a piece of bread and dipped it into the first segment with the green chili. He took a bite and waited for a few moments. “Well, it’s not that spicy, I mean it’s still kinda manageable.” He then took another piece of bread and dipped it into the second segment and took a bite. “Well, it’s spicier than the first one.” He began exhaling air to cool his mouth and lips. He then grabs another piece of plain bread and ate it. Beads of sweat began forming on his forehead. He glances at the segment with the crimson swirls and pauses. He stared at it, tears flowing from his eyes.

“Mr. Franky, you know, I never regretted smoking with the goblins back home, even if it’s shite. I also never second-guess my decision to enlist in the army. Early morning training regiments sleep-deprived and stuff. Never doubted when I enroll in the academy to defend my homeland. Even when my dad took us sky jumping, I never second guess my decision. But right now, with this bowl in front of me, I began second-guessing my decision of coming here.” His hands tremble as he was about to grab a piece of bread. He then places the bread and grab the spoon and began stirring the chili that Franky recommended. He lifted his spoon. Every fiber in his body is against him, he tried to bring the spoon closer to his mouth but his hands won’t budge.

“Hey, Mr. Franky. Is there a moment in your life, when you know that the universe is telling you to stop but you did it anyway?” He then looked at his trembling hand. “My grandfather used to say to me that life is like a cocktail, complex, carries a kick, and doesn’t last. So, take the time to savor it. I learn a lot from him. But I guess he’d have his doubts too at moments like this.” He wiped his tears and look upward “Hey Gramps, guess I’m still braver than you.” He said softly. He closed his eyes then shove the spoon inside his mouth. He opens his left eye, then his right, and looked at Franky. “Well, it doesn’t taste that-“

Then he felt it. That scorching feeling in his throat, it was as if every nerve in his body exploded. It was as if he’s drinking lava and a volcano exploded inside his head. His body’s trembling, he opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He pounded his fists on the table. “What was that?” he managed to croak out the words, fighting back the tears and stinging in his eyes.

Franky sighed contentedly at the mention of bringing his family, "While that sounds lovely, I'd never take my family away from their home. It takes a village to raise the grandkids properly for the army. They need their home," then he grinned, "But they're coming to visit next season, the entire lot."

Franky plucked a second cigarette out, tucking it behind his ear, offering another to Vincent to do the same.

"I keep the tavern open until usually two or three past midnight, depending on the crowd, reopen around 7 or 8 depending how old I'm feeling, though mornings are usually just the people that rent rooms."

Now that they were back at the table, chili in bowl, Franky could only let a devilish grin grow upon his face at Vincent's subordinate's words of caution. They were fair words indeed, and it was interesting to see the dynamic play out. The hints of caring and daring, the camaraderie and yet the desire for advancement.

Franky joined in on the green chili. Slightly spicy, smoky, a nice blend of peppers and some... other vegetable he couldn't quite figure out. He'd have to track the cook down, find out what it was. Franky moved onto the white chili and blanched outright. He didn't even take another bite. It was so bland and boring that it could've been cooked by Zaichaeri high command.

He turned the bowl about, presenting his own to himself. He took in deep wafts of the smell, feeling his blood boil, his eyes widen and tear up. His breathing quickened, and Franky found himself instinctually letting loose his hobgoblin power. HIs muscles swelled so fast, a creaking noise could be heard, crimson steam shooting out from his nostrils, his shirt growing extremely tight. Then he took a bite, setting his entire being on fire.

The burning sent his mind back. It sent him to the night that he and his wife, before they were married, fucked under the hot summer moon next to his contingent's mess fire, her controlling the smoke with her undulations. It sent him back to the steam baths with his friends and soldiers after another successful conquering. It sent him back to his final battle, seeing those bombs explode overhead, feeling his skin burn and peel from the noxious yellow gas and the world going dark.

"Whew, that's certainly got some bite to it."

Franky's body was sweating in response, but it yearned for more of the burn. Franky took a soothing drink of the snowberry ale, and continued after his own chili. Maybe it was vain, but he knew what he loved. Grinning over his bowl at Vincent, "Hot enough for you, mate?"

A chuckle, "I've never liked stopping when the universe said otherwise. Mum called me dense for that." He looked over at Vincent's companions, who were all in some state of spice induced distressed, "Your mates a bit too.." A teasing grin, "Local for my chili?"

Franky smirked, "Shame the ingredients ain't the easiest to come by, I'd make this a staple at the tavern otherwise."

Franky finished his bowl, cooling down with a bit of cornbread. He stood up, "I'm gonna go try some others, hopefully your heart doesn't give out before I get back. Though that doesn't normally happen." Franky chuckled, walking over to try some of the other chilis as well, grabbing a pan of cornbread and bringing it back to the table.

"Don't forget to cast your vote before you leave." Franky winked.

Franky had already cast his on his last trip up to the table, for himself, because of course he did.

Vincent grabbed the flagon filled with milky-looking lager and took three gulps. On his third one, he let the lager rests in his mouth a bit longer before swallowing it. He then wipes away the sweat from his face.

He breathes a sigh of relief. “Mr. Franky, what the hell was that? That stuff is amazing. It felt like those people at the festival that eat burning charcoal. Even now I could still feel the heat in my body. It’d be perfect for next season.” He lifts the flagon filled with milky-looking lager. “Truly a lifesaver. What’s this stuff?”

He then grabs another spoonful of chili and ate eat. “The burning sensation hasn’t quite left my mouth, yet I’m already going for my second spoon. It’s hot but at the same time, it's addicting. The milky-looking lager soothes the burning sensation just enough for you to continue eating it." He then turned his head and looked at Franz and the two soldiers. They were pounding the table and sweating furiously. “Well, they avoided this chili pot like the plague. I don’t know what will happen if they get this chili instead, they’d pass out perhaps.” Vincent laughed as he took another sip from the flagon.

“Well, you could even make a contest using this.” He took another spoonful of chili and took a sip from the flagon right after.

“Anyway Mr. Franky, is the chili pot all of it? Or you’d have some extra at the tavern? I’d like to purchase it. You know, for the boys back at the barracks to taste.” He grinned as he looked at his fellow soldiers who were downing their second flagon.

“Wait, you’re joking right?” Vincent placed back the spoonful of chili that he’s about to eat, he watched Franky made his way to the contest table.

“Lieutenant Wolfgang, how’s Dr. Weizenbock?” Anna approached the table and places the flagon on the table. She took out her handkerchief and covered her nose. “What are you eating?”

“H..hey Anna.” Vincent chuckled as he saw the flagon filled with the Weizenbock brew. “Well, remember what the Major said about having ears and eyes in the ‘local populace’. What’s better than a tavern owner who also happens to be one of them, right?” Vincent smiled. “Here Private, sit down and grab a spoon.”

“I was under the impression that you sneak out here to avoid the mountain of paperwork at the office and is that an order sir?”

Vincent chuckled. “Well, to put it frankly that’s what I’m doing right now. No Anna, that’s not an order, just a request from a friend.” He grabs a piece of bread and dipped it in the chili.

“So, you’ll be waiting for your new friend? The paperwork aren’t gonna write themselves.”

“Yes, and a few more business to attend to.”

“Another purchase of barrel?”

Vincent ignored Anna’s question. He took the cigarette that’s tucked behind his ear and lit it. “It’s a festival after all.” He blew a cloud of smoke upward.

“Franz, grab a barrel of two of whatever this milky lager is. You got the rest of the day off. It won’t be good if you boys passed out while doing the paperwork. Before that, go and cast your vote for the chili pot with crimson swirls.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Franz replied as he helped his fellow soldier to their feet and made their way to the booze cart.

He took a long drag. He waited for Franky to return.

“Mr. Franky, I’d like to stay more and chat, but it looks like I’ve got some matters to attend to back at the office.” Vincent glances at Anna then back at the bowl in front of him. “Thanks for your time Mr. Franky, I’ll be sure to drop by the Hobbled Gobbler. I’ll be bring something from back home when I visit. That’s some delicious chili Mr. Franky, I’m still feeling the heat in my body.” Vincent downed the flagon filled with milky-looking lager. “You know it, Mr. Franky, the rest pale in comparison with this one.”

He blew another cloud of smoke and made his way toward the contest table to cast his vote. Vincent looked at her. She nodded and looked at the number voted by Vincent and cast the same vote.

“Private, has anybody told you that you’re like a bloodhound in human form?”

“It’s just that you’re too predictable sir,” Anna replied as she opens the door to the carriage.