Book 7. Chapter 32: Legacy of the great warlord To'Wrathh
Several hundred and twelve gigabytes of data were downloaded within seconds, extracted and compiled. To’Orda’s processing drives spooled up, unpacking the rich data and funnelling it through hyper-optimized processes, passing through thousands of logic gates each instant, feeding directly into his neurocortex, returning one final inevitable answer: “Nnnn… six out of ten.” He said.
“Eh, sauce was pretty good in my opinion, I give it a six point five out of ten.” His rock argued, sitting under the mite sunshine, shade occasionally flowing over it from the trees above.
On the other side, one Deathless crossed his arm, eyes narrowing down in hatred. “You dumb toasters, seriously? How the fuck could you rate Morrokofer craw crab at a six? Are you defective or something?”
A raven above watched the process with curiosity, as the rock both answered back in a strange dialect of human he had never heard of, while the images of a stylized Odin flashed through and translated the discussion between machine, human and rock-machine.
“No you dumb meatbag,” The rock’s images spat vitriol. “Ain’t no taste of the crab in any of that, it’s all Morrokofer. What, you also like ketchup pasta swimming in ketchup and a side of ketchup as garnish, toasted on a bed of ketchup? Maybe pair it up with a nice vintage bottle of three year aged ketchup mixed with some mustard to taste? Disgusting.”
“That’s different.” Drakonis said. “This is good cooking. The Morrokofer is the entire point of that dish, the crab claw adds a little extra flavor to it, and something to bite in that can hold the sauce in.”
“The goddamn crab claw is swimming in my sauce Drakonis.” The rock said, doodled up image tapping a finger down onto a crudely drawn out palm, a separate set doing the same with the odin iconography for Kres to follow the events. “Swimming in it. You promised us a crab dish. Where’s my goddamn crab dish Drakonis?”
“Look you daft cun-” Drakonis stopped, took a deep breath and held his hands together. “You’re not supposed to drink the fucking sauce like it’s fucking wine dumbass, you use it as a dip for the bread after, so the more you got of it, the longer the meal lasts. What went wrong with this one? How many memories does she have?”
What went wrong with the dish was To’Wrathh. As To’Orda had usually discovered, his feral little sister had great genius in trying new things, and that same genius cut both ways, with her lacking the common sense age and experience gave. She was only a few months old after all, excluding her time as a spider.