BFNT: Lolien
This city is an angel with a busted smile, and it breaks my heart in new ways every time I visit. Lolien is so naturally pretty, yet every smile has a knife attached to it. Even the nicer homes have been kissed by the entropy of war. Everything here is at least 5% ramshackle.
I'm sitting out on the veranda of the Gentle Rains Inn and a light rainfall is coming down from between the trees. The rain is dampening the sawdust smell that usually fills the air, blending nicely with the burbling sounds of the Ores as it flows by. You can just barely make out the larger graffiti (present in at least three languages) painted across the high walls of Fort Tritos. One in particular that I saw earlier made me laugh: “Get out of our kitchen, Le’Cheff!”
But, I'm not here to talk politics, I'm here to talk food, and there's nobody as good at both as the Verdant Glade. Now, I would never go so far as to refer to myself as a vegetarian, like a lot of elves do, but I LOVE me a druid circle.
The druids of the Verdant Glade are not exactly your typical tree-hugging hippies; they're a bit closer to guerrillas. Every army marches on its stomach, and these guys are no exception.
They can do things with a humble potato that would blow your mind. My friend Blaise has such a ridiculous degree of control over the flames he works with. The inside gets perfectly fluffy and moist, while the outside is so wonderfully crisp and… and my gods, once they start in with the seasonings? It's game over, man.
When a druid tells you they've got “a new hot pepper,” believe me, they mean business. This year's crop of Aganazzar’s Scorchers had to be magically contained, lest they start to SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUST!
After a few bites of hot curried rice, one might start to have weird thoughts creep into their skull. Things like, “Maybe… maybe if I'm eating like this every day I don't need to eat meat,” and “You know? I do feel pretty good after that meal. I don't have that need to go lie down for about an hour,” or “Maybe the elves are right, and the Crown of Ania is being needlessly cruel and rapaciously extractive to what is surely, undoubtedly a capital-H Holy place,”...
...nah. It's probably the three cups of honeyed goatweed and mushroom tea I had a bit ago starting to kick in. The goatweed itself is pretty choice, too, by the way. These folks don't only grow beautiful peppers. Man, these trees are green. How do they get them so green here? Must be some secret druid fertilizer.
Moments ago, a fireball erupted in another part of the city, not nearly as far off as one would appreciate, rudely shaking me from my tea-and-smoke-enhanced reverie. I remember all too quickly where I am, and I can once again see that shattered smile. I quickly decided to give my thanks to Blaise and the rest of the freedom fighters of the circle, and get back to the relative sanctity of the inn. The best way to ensure being safe in Lolien is not being here. It's hard to not get political in this place, it fills the air as much as the bees. But, those bees are the fuzzy little miracles that grant Lolien the angelic title I gave it at the top of this very article, the creators of that liquid gold that flows through not unlike the Ores themselves — honey. Around Lolien, everybody says ‘Honey is Power,’ and if you're looking at The Honeypot, you can believe it. This place is massive, apiaries going on and on in neat rows, as far as you can see. I was supposed to have an interview with the proprietor, but apparently "something came up" that required Mr. Maclaski’s direct attention. I apologize, readers, but these things do happen. Author's Note: It's all gravy. I finessed a bottle of their Dandelion Mead for the road. By the time this hits print, I'll be elsewhere. A little later, I'm gonna go meet up with Blaise over at the Temple of Music and Song for a while, and then I'll be on my way. Can't stay too long in Lolien, or it might be my last mistake.
Catch you later, readers. Thanks again for your contribution to the Crammin Chronicler.
Moments ago, a fireball erupted in another part of the city, not nearly as far off as one would appreciate, rudely shaking me from my tea-and-smoke-enhanced reverie. I remember all too quickly where I am, and I can once again see that shattered smile. I quickly decided to give my thanks to Blaise and the rest of the freedom fighters of the circle, and get back to the relative sanctity of the inn. The best way to ensure being safe in Lolien is not being here. It's hard to not get political in this place, it fills the air as much as the bees. But, those bees are the fuzzy little miracles that grant Lolien the angelic title I gave it at the top of this very article, the creators of that liquid gold that flows through not unlike the Ores themselves — honey. Around Lolien, everybody says ‘Honey is Power,’ and if you're looking at The Honeypot, you can believe it. This place is massive, apiaries going on and on in neat rows, as far as you can see. I was supposed to have an interview with the proprietor, but apparently "something came up" that required Mr. Maclaski’s direct attention. I apologize, readers, but these things do happen. Author's Note: It's all gravy. I finessed a bottle of their Dandelion Mead for the road. By the time this hits print, I'll be elsewhere. A little later, I'm gonna go meet up with Blaise over at the Temple of Music and Song for a while, and then I'll be on my way. Can't stay too long in Lolien, or it might be my last mistake.
Catch you later, readers. Thanks again for your contribution to the Crammin Chronicler.
Keep your eyes sharp, your ears sharper, and better food next time,
Bok Globule
Bok Globule
4th of Opal, 5 UE
Aganazzar’s Scorchers
The Honeypot Original Logo
Dandelion Mead
