Chapter 6 - Cooking with Hale 2!

🍲 Hale's Cozy Stew Cooking Summary 🍲

In the heart of the forest cottage, Hale English decides to cook something warm and hearty: a thick, flavorful stew. With rain tapping softly on the windowpanes and a fire crackling gently nearby, Hale moves calmly through the rustic kitchen, sleeves rolled up and hair tied back.

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Step 1: Gathering the Goods

Hale heads out briefly, collecting fresh herbs like wild thyme and forest parsley from just beyond the porch. Inside, he lays out thick-cut root vegetables: carrots, golden potatoes, wild parsnips, and some rare purple onions he bartered for at the Traveler's market. A few chunks of marbled meat from a recent hunt—lean but rich—rest on a wooden cutting board, seasoned with salt and cracked pepper.

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Step 2: The Base Begins

He heats a large cast iron pot with a touch of oil over the hearth. The onions go in first, sizzling gently, followed by garlic and herbs. Hale adds the meat next, browning each piece with practiced patience. The smell fills the cabin with savory depth.

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Step 3: Broth & Simmering

He pours in a blend of bone broth and creek water he boiled earlier for purity, along with a dash of red wine (saved for special meals). The stew begins to simmer, vegetables added one by one, sinking into the flavorful depths.

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Step 4: The Long Wait

The lid settles on the pot. While the stew slowly cooks for hours, Hale uses the time to tidy up, sharpen his knives, and scribble a few notes in his recipe journal. The aroma grows richer, more comforting by the minute.

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Step 5: Final Touches

Before serving, he stirs in a spoonful of forest cream for smoothness and sprinkles some crushed smoked salt across the top. A sprig of thyme finishes it.

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Result: A Masterful Forest Stew

Served in thick wooden bowls with a side of hearth-baked bread, Hale's stew is rustic, soulful, and deeply warming—perfect after a long day. Travelers often say no one makes stew like Hale Eryndor: not just food, but a memory in a bowl.

Under the deepening slate clouds, a brief calm settled among the group as Garrick and Nico uncorked two of the freshly bottled potions, curiosity overtaking routine.

"Let's see what these actually taste like for once," Garrick grunted, raising the healing potion.

Nico laughed lightly and followed with the regeneration bottle.

"I was just wondering that myself."

They clinked the vials together with a mock toast and drank.

> Healing Potion: A thick, soothing sweetness — like mashed strawberries, sun-warmed and freshly pulped. Garrick raised his brows in surprise.

Regeneration Potion: Tart and oddly earthy, gooseberries swirled with river water — not unpleasant, just unexpected. Nico swished his mouth like a wine critic.

> "Tastes like a berry died for my sins," Garrick muttered, smacking his lips.

> "It's not bad. Weirdly nostalgic," Nico said. "Like something you'd drink under a waterfall during childhood."

Goldie snorted quietly at the commentary. Aurelia, crouched nearby helping label the vials, glanced up.

Nico opened the Water Breathing potion next, took a hesitant sip — then gave a puzzled expression.

> "This one's hard to place… tastes like blueberry water, but muted… like it forgot it was supposed to be fruit."

As the laughter and tasting wound down, Aurelia, brushing her silver-blonde hair back, glanced toward Riven, who stood still at the edge of the cliff overlook, arms behind his back, his coat catching the wind like a flag.

> "Riven," she said teasingly, "we could invite more girls into this multiplayer run, you know. Might spice up your energy."

Riven let out a chuckle, one brow arching.

> "That won't be necessary," he said, voice amused, yet curt.

Aurelia tilted her head, intrigued.

"Wait… you don't like women or something?"

The question hit sharp and sudden, enough that even Garrick and Nico paused.

Riven blinked slowly — that polished exterior never cracking — but the air felt heavier for a moment. He gave a soft smile, the kind that said nothing and everything.

> "Let's just say... I don't find companionship necessary right now."

"The mission is more important than idle distractions."

Aurelia's eyes narrowed slightly with curiosity, but she didn't press. She could tell Riven's deflection was intentional — there was something deeper there, but buried under years of trained composure.

> "Hmm…" she murmured thoughtfully. "If you say so."

Just then, Garrick glanced at the sky, the first flickers of lightning reflecting in his eyes.

> ⚠️ "Storm's rolling right on us."

"We keep talking, we're gonna be soaked and smited."

Riven's posture straightened.

> "Then we pack. Goldie, Aurelia — finish wrapping the top crates. Hale, how's the structure?"

> "Stabilized and sealed," Hale called back. "But we're not surviving a lightning strike if we linger."

With practiced rhythm, everyone moved into motion.

Bottles packed. Scrolls secured. Wards sealed. The quiet before the downpour was nearly reverent — a brief human moment among storm and steel.

And far away, Oliver still wandered, unaware that the skies and fates were about to shift... for all of them.

...

Meanwhile...

Within the outerlands of the Southworn Frontier, the sky had already begun to churn into a steel-gray ocean of clouds, warning of what was coming.

A towering structure halfway built stood crooked yet solid — Hale Eryndor hammering away at the outer struts with radiant precision, his hair pulled back and sweat tracing down his brow. Below, the faint shimmer of wards and anchor-glyphs lit the base, tracing the geometry of defensive enchantments.

At the base of the tower, surrounded by crates and glowing vials:

Garrick grunted, elbow-deep in alchemical herbs as he crushed and mixed with weathered hands. Beside him, Goldie — precise and unflinching — dipped droppers into swirling blue, red, and golden liquids, bottling faster than most humans could count.

Nearby, Nico organized the potion racks by type, careful not to mix the volatile ones. A faint, dreamy glint lingered in his eyes, despite the weight of their situation.

And then, in the shade of a leaning pine, Riven stood, arms crossed behind his back, posture proud, his long coat flicking in the gusting wind. A faint smirk curled his lips as he stared up at the coming storm clouds.

> ⚠️ Systematic Alert — Weather Warning: 100% Storm Imminent.

The clouds thickened into shadows, lightning threading silently through the distance.

Hale's interface pulsed red as he received the message. He cursed under his breath and hopped down from the tower.

> "Storm's rolling in fast. Pull the gear back inside. We can't afford to lose even a single vial."

> "Tch," Garrick muttered, corking another healing potion. "One thousand down. Still not enough... Not nearly enough."

> "It never is," Goldie said quietly, snapping a seal on a bottle of Regeneration.

> "Should've brought a damn ceiling," Garrick growled as he started hauling the crates into the shelter.

Over 1,000 potions crafted, but they all knew the truth: with the coming battles, and the unpredictable flux of nature, double that wouldn't be enough.

And somewhere in the woods far beyond, Oliver was fighting through his own survival, unaware of just how much the others were preparing... and what they were truly preparing for.