Ashrak/Ashrak Pickle
The Ashrak Pickle
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Overseeing his new region, Viscount Bowie summoned one of the small village’s elders.
Ashrak was a broad pastureland on the coast next to the Flow Peninsula. It was far from any urban centre and largely undeveloped. Between the few small villages and tribal camps were untouched plains and the population was very small compared to the space available to them. The peasantry was active in herding and farming, but not much else. There was not yet an established culture, the language slightly changed from top to bottom and from east to west but only in certain pronunciations, and the people were unremarkable.
When the elder arrived, the Viscount met with him near the garden of his manor.
- “Tell me, what does Ashrak have that no other region has?” the Viscount asked.
- “What do you mean Milord? Ashrak is quiet with long stretches of land and simple people. We do not have much, and any other region would surely have more than us.” The elder replied.
- “There is nothing you people do or make that can only be done or found in this region?”
The man scratched his head and thought for a short while.
- “No.” he answered.
The Viscount turned his head away from the man in disgust. Lord Bowie had lived in many places on Dwilight, in roaring Port cities, festive villages; even the desert was more alluring than Ashrak. A man used to playful communities, high spirits and cultural significance would find himself severely understimulated as the Lord of Ashrak. Bowie would have none of that. He thrived off stimulation and instead of rotting on the frontier he was determined to change the region in his image.
- “Alright, here is what you are going to do. Go to each of the villages and find out whatever it is your people do really well. Slightly alter it in an original way and then bring it to me. I don’t care what it is just create something unique.”
The man reacted as if he was given a daunting task and that his life was just threatened.
- “What do you mean Master Ironsides?” the man asked sheepishly.
Lord Bowie rolled his eyes, must he always be surrounded by dolts.
- “Please, for the sake of my sanity, I want you to be creative. Travel around Ashrak and find what makes your people special, what other regions come to Ashrak for. Do that and bring whatever you find to me, I will be the agent of originality. Okay?”
The man nodded and then left with his small group. Lord Bowie entered his garden in a sour mood. He could never find anyone reliable. Why he bothered to even speak to such insignificant peasants, he could not decide. For the moment, there was really no one else in Ashrak to speak with.
Two Weeks Later
While Viscount Bowie was overseeing the digging of an irrigation line around his estate, with the intentions of building a plantation, the same elder from earlier returned. The man had a big smile on his face and carried a wooden bucket.
He approached the Viscount who turned his attention away from the irrigation.
- “Speak.” The Viscount commanded.
- “Lord Ironsides, I did as you asked and I brought what you wanted. Here try this!” the elder said with enthusiasm.
Lord Bowie took the bucket and opened it. A strong sour smell came out and some warm water spilled out onto his foot. Inside the bucket was a pile of thick green pickles. The Viscount looked at the elder in disbelief.
- “Pickles?” he said unimpressed.
- “Yes Milord, the Ashrak Pickle. You said to find something that only Ashrak does well, and we make excellent pickles. My wife alone made the ones you are about to taste. She is a divine pickler. Please try one, you will be amazed.”
Somehow, Bowie thought he would not be amazed at all, but for the sake of finishing the task he started, he tasted one pickle. Fairly adequate was his first impression. He shrugged and finished the pickle.
- “The Ashrak Pickle? If that is the best you can do than that is what we will offer. Just to be safe however, I am going to teach you people a new type of dance: the Ashrak hip and elbow shake. Gather the village elders for a big party next harvest...and bring your pickles.”
The elder left satisfied while the Viscount sighed. At least the new dance might become popular culture. That was the best he could wish for. That is, unless this part of Dwilight had an acquired taste for pickles?
Bowie Ironsides
Viscount of Ashrak
Summer of 9 YD (December 14th, 2009)
