“Surprises tend to come when you least expect them. That’s why they’re surprises after all!” - Old folk saying.

Dinner that evening was another eye-opener for Celia.

The fare they had enjoyed in the city of Gulski itself was different from what could be had in small, landlocked villages like these. The city was near the sea, and both fresh meat – both bought from traders or raised in nearby ranches – and seafood were abundant. In small villages like these, however, the people could only rely on what they grew and preserved for themselves for the most part.

As such, Celia gasped in surprise and coughed several times when the matron herself went out to the small shed nearby the longhouse and fetched a preserved leg of lamb, bringing it to the house for their dinner. The leg was dark in color, almost a shade of black, and it gave off a most pungent smell that strongly stank of rot of all things.

Yet none of the other occupants of the house looked offended by the smell, with a few even showing amusement at Celia’s reaction.

Neither Aideen nor Calais quirked an eyebrow at the seemingly rotten leg of lamb either, both of them having been raised or lived most of their lives in the Lichdom, where the local fascination with death led to quite a few rather unusual dishes that involved foods other people would have thought to be well past their expiration, at times.

When the matron sliced the leg though, Celia saw that beneath the dark surface, the flesh inside still had a deep reddish-brown hue that was not atypical of cured meats. To her further surprise however, the matron had not trimmed off the dark outer layer, and instead just sliced the leg into thin pieces and cooked it all in a large stewpot with some local winter vegetables.

By the time a large, hearty bowl of stew was placed on the table, the rotten smell had diminished, mixed with a rich, meaty aroma that in turn gained a strong hint of pungency as well. The stew itself was primarily preserved meat in a milky broth, mixed with some small potatoes cooked whole, shredded cabbage freshly harvested from beneath the snow, and thickened with old bread from the day before.

The meat tasted rich and heavy, yet with a cloying pungency to it, almost like an overripe bit of cheese. Fortunately, the small potatoes and shreds of cabbage helped milden the almost overpowering taste, while having been enriched by their stay in the thick broth themselves. It was an odd sort of taste, that almost made Celia recoil at first, yet after having swallowed it, she found herself wanting more.

Aideen and Calais just devoured their stew without blinking an eye, though.

“Ain’t a taste you’d find anywhere outside these parts, dearie!” boasted the matron proudly as she ladled seconds into their bowls. The family as a whole ate voraciously, but then again, given the harsh environment, they likely needed the food to keep them energized and to stay warm. “How d’ya be liking it, hmm?”

“It’s… quite something,” admitted Celia as she munched on another spoonful of the stew before washing it down with some homebrewed ale – a thick, sweet one that was apparently made with the leftover whey from the brownish sweet cheeses the locals particularly love – before she continued. “Sure is a flavor that one could crave after a while, though.”

“Speaking of which, madam, are these homemade as well?” asked Calais as he raised the spoon in his hand. The spoon itself was made from ivory of some sort, with a light yellowish hue, carved with scenes of hunters on the hunt for various beasts, both on the land and sea. It was clearly a handicraft that would have fetched a good price if sold in cities.

“They are, dear!” replied the matron enthusiastically with a smile on her face. “My Sven here’s the best scrimshaw maker in the village! He made those himself!” she said, proudly presenting her taciturn husband’s handiwork. Said husband also acknowledged her words with a nod and a grunt, though Celia thought that the man looked more shy than anything to receive such praise from his matronly wife.

“Might I be able to purchase… eight sets of these scrimshaw tableware, Mister Sven?” asked Calais politely to the man.

“How much?” asked the taciturn man bluntly. It was likely not out of rudeness, but more that the man was not one for many words, Celia thought.

“How about a gold coin for each set? I’ve seen other similar works during my travels, but they were of lesser quality, and often with overinflated prices,” replied Calais openly. “Now that I had the luck to dine in the home of a skilled artist, I’d be a fool to pass up the chance to cut off the middleman, wouldn’t you think so?”

“Hah, I like you. You got yourself a deal! Inge, be a dear and fetch eight sets from my trunk, will you?” said the man, upon which one of the teenage daughters went to a trunk set beside the workbenches on one side of the house and brought out eight small bundles which she laid out before Calais. “Eight sets, as you asked for.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied Calais as he checked one of the bundles to see the contents within, nodding in satisfaction at the workmanship of the ivory tableware within. The man of the house said nothing about him checking the contents, as it would have been poor form if one of the sets had not been his handiwork, after all. After Calais inspected them to his satisfaction, he counted out eight gold coins and slid them over the table to the man, who nodded and smiled at the purchase. “These will make for fine souvenirs.”

“Souvenirs for people back home, eh?” asked Aideen with some curiosity. I assume you probably got two sets for your parents, one for your grandpa, another two for Mimia and Èirynn… who’s the other three for?”

“Ah, they’re for my nephew and nieces, Aunt Aideen,” replied Calais.

“Nephew and nieces?”

“Oh- Right, you just returned, so you wouldn’t be aware of them…”