((OOC: Come to the kitchen, find me there, and let's get a lesson going. Whoohooo.))

 

The morning dawned slowly. A gentle mist had settled over everything and its tendrils seeped into rooms through window cracks. There were few people about the Farm, but already the level of activity was picking up. Around the central grounds a fire roared into a blaze as the Black coated men about it gazed on with dead eyes.

 

Skechid looked out of the window of his room, his hand caressed the silver dagger at his side absently. His eyes wandered about the yard and stopped at a building beyond it. The Infirmary. He wondered if his office was still as it was, or if it still existed at all. He would not go there. Not yet. He wasn't ready to face the memories. Dali. Andar. Petain. I will be with you all soon. It was not to be unexpected. The world of the Ashaman were fraught with danger. And these days there weren’t as many skilled Healers as there was then. No. Stop it.

 

Skechid wondered what he would do today, as he donned his plain, black coat. He left the ones with lightning embroidered on it off, that would be for another day. Perhaps never. His eyes settled on a pouch that hung from his cupboard. Dust caked on its surface, but he knew the inside of it would be pristine. An ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai had been sewn on its front.

 

“Perhaps that would work.” He unslung it from his cupboard and tipped out its contents. Vials, smaller pouches and even a few odds and ends fell out. His fingers traced various leaves, seedpods and dried flowers . He had not cooked for a long time. He wondered if he still had it.

 

“No harm trying.” He muttered himself. He swept the contents back inside the sack and walked out of his room, towards the kitchen. He wondered if anyone would be there this early. And if anyone would remember how renowned he had once been for his game stew.

 

Seyneru yawned as he woke up, dressed, and got into his black coat.  He was extremely tired after having channelled the whole of yesterday away.  Bloody Dedicated, he grumbled.  Many were unnerved at the rate at which he was gaining strength.  He had not been here for several months already and he was already very strong for a Soldier.  It was such that they pushed him harder than the rest.  Ever since Arath's bloody lesson, he had finally managed to develop skill to match his strength, but the imbalance was obvious.

 

Sighing, he stumbled out blearily into the snowy day, where a loud roar met him as a fire roared.  Flows of Fire emanated from several Asha'man and Dedicated, as they burnt the bodies of yesterday's training losses.  Seyneru shuddered.  Many had been burnt out trying to hold more than they could handle.  All those present were being forced ever higher, to test and flex their limits, and surpass them.  It was a good technique, but dangerous, especially with the taint on Saidin, and the Life that Saidin embued in one.

 

His black coat swirling as he turned and strode in another direction, he made his way towards the kitchens, picking his way towards the snow.  He was going to have to learn how to cook sooner or later.  Without the usage of the One Power.  If he ever saw his relations again, he would have to anyway.

Skechid hardly turned as someone entered the Kitchen. The stew before him was boiling slowly and pieces of meat were floating to the surface. A small crowd had gathered outside the window and seemed pretty eager to participate in the consumption part of things. Skechid picked up the spoon and gently stirred the stew. Behind him the over held 3 freshly kneaded Preppie-leaf loaves.  Perfect for dipping in the Marsh Stew.

 

“Forgive me Ashaman, I did not mean to interrupt.” Skechid turned to face the man who had just entered the kitchen. From his lack of pins, Skechid judged him to be a Soldier. It was not difficult to see the man had a hardness to him that signified that death had been a large part of his life.

 

“If you are here to eat, you will need to wait. And if you are here to cook, feel free to.  But if you have questions about my stew, I am afraid you may be ignored.” Skechid picked up a bunch of dried leaves, dipped them in a bowl of what looked like oil and dropped them into the stew. The kitchen immediately filled up with a strong tang that intensified the looks of longing from the audience outside the kitchen window. “I am Ashaman Skechid Aran Teobon and who might you be?”

 

Sometimes politeness was important, Skechid had to try to remember that part of himself.

 

"I am Seyneru Yoshan."  Seyneru said, nodding his head respectfully at Skechid.  "Soldier.  And in response to your question, I am here in a seemingly futile attempt to learn how to cook delicious meals.  I would ask you about the stew, but I am afraid that such skill is currently beyond my competance.  What I learnt for my grandmother is the basic rudimetary skills.  Perhaps I could assist you ... and learn from you?  If you are willing."

 

Seyneru went over to the wall, took down an apron, and channeled thin flows of Fire, just enough to set another set of logs in another area of the kitchen burning, while waiting for Skechid's response.  He took a strip of cloth from his pocket in the black coat and tied his shoulder-length hair into a neat ponytail to prevent it from getting into the way of his cooking.

 

The smell emanating from the pot was just too strong for him to resist.  While waiting for Skechid's response, he went over and looked at what Skechid was cooking that could actually make such a strong, fragant and flavoured smell.  It reminded him of the old times, more than fifteen years ago now, when he still lived in his grandmother's mansion in Andor...

A student? Skechid eyed the boy, he did look hardly more than a boy. So many who came to the Black Tower lived less than 30 years of their lives. The Creator will that they have more life than this. Skechid had long lost the interest in life. Everything was about duty and death now. He glanced at the fire the boy had made. And saw a bit of himself in him.

 

“Cooking?” Skechid waved his hand and smothered the fire the boy had started with Air. “First off, if you want to learn we won’t start with the fire.” He gestured at a chair and continued as Seyneru sat down. “The kitchen is sacred. There isn’t exactly a standard rule to how to cook or what to cook. Even if we both put in the exact same ingredients and cooked it exactly the same way, we’d end up with different dishes.” He picked up a ladle and stirred his stew a little. “First off, I will teach you the basics of purpose, preparation, proportion and presentation.” He picked up a plain white dish and placed it on the kitchen top. “Let’s start with purpose. Dishes are generally separated into different kind of courses. Some are simple dishes as snacks or appetizers. Some are full meals. Some are soups, stews or braises. Some are breads and cakes, others are desserts.”

 

He placed a spoon in the middle of the dish. “Tell me what your experiences are in terms of cooking. What are your preferences, your likes and dislikes? What do you know and what do you want to know? And we’ll continue from there.” Into the dish he spooned a small dollop of stew and passed it to a little boy who had stared at him in naked hunger. His face never lost the cold of death.

 

Ciprian Isandes Neramovni groaned as he rolled out of bed. His body was constantly aching and he just needed a break from this addiction to this excruciating, yet exhilarating saidin. But he couldn't return to Far Madding after what had happened, and the Black Tower was the only place he felt he could be himself. And there was the perk of being surrounded by beautiful, muscled men.

 

After splashing water on his face to wake himself up, Ciprian rushed down the stairs and into the mess hall to break his fast. Hearing the cocks crowing and the chickens gawking, the cows mooing and children crying, he went to the Training Yards to find somewhere quite, somewhere he could meditate before he started his day. Just when he began to quiet his mind, just his luck, a group of Dedicated began their training. He scowled and shook his head, but walked to the kitchens anyway. He was hungry enough.

 

As he approached, he saw a cluster of people around the kitchens. Even without saidin, he could smell a wonderful meat stew being cooked. His stomach grumbled. Avoiding the crowd altogether, he went to the back entrance of the building and made his way into the kitchen, where he saw an Asha'man judging from the pins on his collar, and an young student he thought he recognized, talking.

 

"Tell me what your experiences are in terms of cooking. What are your preferences, your likes and dislikes? What do you know and what do you want to know? And we’ll continue from there.”

 

"Sir, sorry to interrupt, but what can I do for a bowl of that?"

 

Ciprian Isandes Neramovni,

Soldier of the Black Tower

Seyneru watched as Skechid put out the flame he had created, smothering it with a negligent wave of his hand, weaving Air.  Seyneru watched, slightly envious at the skill at which Skechid manipulated his weaves.  But what Skechid said did make sense.  Cooking did not only make use of fire.  "Let’s start with purpose. Dishes are generally separated into different kind of courses. Some are simple dishes as snacks or appetizers. Some are full meals. Some are soups, stews or braises. Some are breads and cakes, others are desserts."

 

"Tell me what your experiences are in terms of cooking. What are your preferences, your likes and dislikes? What do you know and what do you want to know? And we’ll continue from there."

 

Seyneru paused to consider this for a while, before speaking.  "I do suppose that I put some heavy emphasis on main staples, but I do like rich, thick, creamy soup that they usually serve up before the main course.  An appetizer.  My grandmother used to call it  "Cream of Chicken".  I don't really know what the ingredients of the soup are, because I never learnt cooking, nor was interested in learning how to until I came to the Black Tower, and learnt to bake with the One Power without burning my supper black."  He laughed wryly.

 

Then there was an interruption nearby.

 

"Sir, sorry to interrupt, but what can I do for a bowl of that?"

 

Seyneru Yoshan

Crafter of the Five

((OOC: Umm, hi, am I supposed to wait for your to "finish" your post before I continue, or what? Heh. Just wondering.))

Post finished.  You can reply now...

Skechid turned his head to face the newcomer. His cold gaze rested on the new arrival and watched as he licked his lips in nervousness.

 

"I did not think Soldiers would invite themselves to lunch so easily, young man." Skechid gestured for the Soldier to stand beside Seyneru. "This is a lesson, and you will stand here as a student. If I am pleased with you, I may decide to permit you lunch. Otherwise, this may be a hard start to the day for you. Are you good for that?" Skechid smiled coldly as the man nodded with a slight look of apprehension.

 

Skechid picked up a tray of spices. "Cooking is an art of the senses. Taste, smell, touch, sound and sight. You may presume to be able to rank these in importance, but a true cook would not be able to. The smell and taste of a dish is as important as its sound, smell and feel. Too gritty, and you stew would be a failure, too thin and it would be a soup. As such your first task is this." He opened a bag and dumped some things in front of the two Soldiers. "Before you I have put three versions of the same ingredient. You have coarse black pepper, ground black pepper and whole black peppercorns. Tell me, according to what your imagine your 5 sense to tell you, the difference between the three and the respective reasons why you would choose one over the other. Fail to do so, and this lesson is at an end for you." He nodded you Seynoru. "Since you had the advantage of turning up first, you may also go first. Begin." Skechid picked up his spoon and began to stir his stew, seeming to ignore the two of them completely.