Snake Surprise
Dawn was breaking over the barrens of Kalimdor. The herds of kodos were beginning to start the days grazing, the birds were coming out from their nests to welcome the suns appearance with song, and somewhere in the vast stretches of plains a rogue named Varley was emerging groggily from a brown sack, wondering vaguely where he was and exactly how he had gotten there. He pulled himself free of the sack, noted with a passing curiosity that everything he had been carrying with the exception of his clothes had been taken from him and groaned. It was going to be another one of those days. But how had he ended up in this position? He certainly didn't remember throwing away all his items and going to sleep in a sack in the middle of nowhere. Had he been on another bar crawl? Furrowing his brow with the effort, he mentally retraced his steps of the past few days.
He'd arrived in Kalimdor after hearing rumours of an immensely skilled elven chef who lived in the forests of Ashenvale. He'd been looking for employment as a cook in several inns around Azeroth, but he was always turned away. With the training he'd receive from the master though, he thought smugly, every innkeeper would be begging him to work their kitchens, instead of their usual bizarre requests to hunt down monsters, gather their various body parts and return them. Sometimes he wondered if someone had tattooed "Monster exterminator! No monster too big, grotesque or deadly!" on his forehead while he was asleep.
He soon found the chef he'd heard so much about, and she took him on as an apprentice despite a rocky start between the two. She was rather highly-strung, and had banned him from making dramatic, pyrotechnic laden "heroic" entrances within moments of agreeing to teach him, much to his dismay.
Still, he thought, that didn't explain why he was here in the middle of the barrens. He reached up to rub his forehead in contemplation, only to discover to his surprise that there was a note stuck to him. He peeled it off and read it eagerly.
"Dear Person whose name I haven't bothered to learn yet.
I've decided to test your skills by taking all your equipment, knocking you out and leaving you in the middle of the Barrens for dead. You have until the end of the day to create a new recipe and return to the inn and give it to me. If you fail, I'll never teach you how to become a proper gourmet chef.
Kind regards,
Your Master."
"Oh man! Make a dish of my own? That could take hours! Hours that busy modern rogues like me don't have, what with my go-go sleeping in sacks lifestyle." he complained loudly. "No, the solution to my problem lies with some sort of scheme, preferably a zany one if the plays I've seen in Stormwind are any indication. But what? Think Varley, think!" He pondered the situation, staring blankly at the area around him. His face lit up as he noticed a signpost labelled "Crossroads" pointing in the distance, a plan beginning to formulate in his mind.
"I know! I'll go get a recipe from the Orcs, claim I invented it and rake in the glorious profits! Varley you handsome devil, you've done it again!" he congratulated himself. "But if I know my history lessons, those Orcs won't just hand over their cookbooks. No, I need a cunning disguise, something to allow me to blend in with the Orcs seamlessly… Man, it's a good thing I've seen so many plays! I know just the thing!"
And with that he set off towards the Crossroads, whistling to himself merrily.
It was another typical day at the Crossroads for the two orc guards posted at the entrance, the sun beating down on them as they talked between themselves.
"Did you happen to observe that fabulous performance by the Crossroad Theatrical Society last night? I had tears in my eyes by the end of it!" said the guard Zurgzug to his compatriot Mogrash.
"Oh yes, it was an enthralling piece! I'm not certain I understood all of the deep philosophical subtext though." replied Mogrash.
"Ah, then allow me to enlighten you my good sir! Killrog the destroyer believed that the spirit and the body were- I say, can you hear that noise?" said Zurgzug, as he noticed a small but rapidly approaching figure on the horizon, which as it grew closer revealed itself to be a human holding a large axe, charging towards the city while screaming a bestial war cry. Zurgzug waited until the lone raider was almost upon him before lightly stepping to the side and holding out his leg, tripping the attacker and sending him sprawling on the floor.
"Uh… Can I help you?" He asked as the man got up, coughing out a mouthful of dust.
Varley got to his feet, and squinted at the two Orc guards who were eyeing him with equal amounts of confusion and annoyance. Things were not going according to his plan; the Orcs should have recognised their traditional greeting and let him enter the city unharmed. These must be especially rural orcs, untrained in even the simplest of etiquette he mused. Nevertheless, the plan must continue if he was to have any hope of becoming a master chef.
"Rargh! I'm a bloodthirsty orc! Death to all humans I say!" he said to the orc who had tripped him up. "But before that, where do you orcs keep your recipes? I, uh, need to burn them, in accordance with our savage culture and hatred for all things involving reading."
The orc looked confused, and Varley sighed inwardly. He should have known better to use words with more then one syllable. He decided to try a different approach.
"Listen, either you teach me how to make a delicious home cooked meal, or I'll beat the instructions out of you! Do we have a deal?"
Varley came too several hours later in a rubbish dump on the outskirts of the Crossroads, very much the worse for wear. Rubbing his bruised head gingerly, he sat up, noticed low the sun was in the sky, and sighed in dismay. He had only a few more hours to come up with something that resembled a meal, and his brilliant plan had come to nothing. Curse those orcs and their uncivilised ways! It was painfully obvious they'd never seen a play where a bold adventurer battled bloodthirsty orcs in their lives. Now it looked like he'd have to make something that was vaguely edible with the very limited tools at hand.
"Let's see… I'll need some sort of meat product… Ah! Those venomous looking snakes over there should be perfect!"
He soon stumbled back, holding a live snake by the tail and bleeding slightly from several wounds.
"Okay, note to self, never make live venomous snakes the basis of a dish ever again… Now I'll need some sort of container to serve this in."
After scavenging an old tin from the rubbish dump and cramming one very angry live snake inside it, he set off back in the direction of Ashenvale and his master, hoping desperately that he'd make it there in time.
He burst into the kitchen just five minutes before midnight, much to the shock of his master who was slicing some fish in preparation for the next day's menu. She jumped up with surprise when he kicked open the door dramatically, the knife she was using flying from her hands and twirling majestically through the air before embedding itself with a dull thunk in the floorboards, only inches away from Varley's left foot.
"Master! I've completed your task! Behold, the culinary sensation that's about to sweep Azeroth, the Varley Snake Surprise!" He proclaimed, as he handed the tin – which he now noticed still had its old label of "Nuts" printed on the front- containing the snake to his teacher, pausing slightly as he saw the knife stuck so near to his foot. He'd always wondered why his master was so highly-strung.