"Wars are usually not of concern for most village folks, unless there was a draft enacted or their village happened to be right in the middle of an army's route, or the other side was a rare degenerate ruler that lets his troops loot and pillage. In most cases however, wars just meant the tax collector changes to a new guy, and even then not always." - A lecture on wars and its impact on circulation of goods.

Cal had left Salir woods behind her by sunrise the next day, and felt better than she had been for a long time. The feast yesterday brought back many pleasant nostalgic memories for her, memories from a time long gone, when Xain's great-great-grandfather still ruled over the empire.

A time when she was young and still lived under the care of her late parents.

In the distance she could see smoke as it rose from chimneys, and farmers who worked their fields around a small, but cozy village of maybe forty households. Konstaz village, if the map was right. The farmers who worked the fields looked somewhat wary though, as occasionally looked over their shoulders as they worked, and she could see members of what she assumed to be the village militia spread around the perimeter.

She could also see a pair of mages as they worked with the villagers in the distance, where one created large blocks of ice that they then dropped into the small lake that served as the village's water reservoir - one that was only three-quarters full or so - while the other built a new house with earth magic while several burly villagers helped with the work.

Though the mages clearly took some time off their work to have created a structure that looked like a castle out of a fairy tale, with earth as its base and slides made of ice that led out from its many windows, where the village children played with joyful laughter.

Cal had not masked her approach, and made a beeline for the closest militiamen from her location, the boy - and he was a boy, a human kid likely not even out of his puberty years yet -, had unkempt brown hair and freckles on his face, as he held a spear he does not seem very certain what to do with.

"Oh! Welcome! Are you from Jonkver, ma'am?" Asked the boy when he noticed her approach.

"Uhh.. no? I was last in Hoststadt. Jonkver is in the other direction." She replied as she pointed out the mistake to the boy.

"Oh, beg your pardon, ma'am. We sent a courier with a report asking for aid that way and thought you might be someone coming to check."

"Did something recently happen? Everyone seemed on edge."

"Horrible creatures, ma'am, like ones outta nightmares. They raided us three days ago and made off with a couple oxen."

"They look anything like this one?" She asked, as she brought out the severed head of the juvenile Sickle-Fiend from her storage.

"Oh. Oh! Yes! That be one of them, I must call the magus, they need to hear of this!"

"Which one?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"Ice or earth? I can get there faster than you running there and back here."

"Oh, my bad! Try the ice lady, she's less busy right now."

"Got it, keep up the good work, kid."

Cal already made her way to the Ice mage with large strides before the boy could retort.

The Ice mage turned out to be a dwarven woman of middle age, who turned to face Cal as she noticed her approach, but kept one hand busy as she made more ice to fill the reservoir. Her face was rather severe, but not unkind, with a thick, full beard fashioned into five braids that ran halfway down her chest.

"Can I help you?" Asked the Ice mage.

"Heard there was a Sickle-Fiend attack three days ago." Replied Cal, as she showed her the severed head. "I just want to make sure they're all accounted for. How many came here?"

"I see, you ran afoul of them too then. We got one when they came here, so there ought to be four more on the loose."

"More like they ran afoul of me. That's all of them then. You can tell the villagers they don't need to keep watching over their shoulders." Cal said while she dumped the four carcasses she carried for a moment, before she stored them back.

"That is a relief. I thank you for the good news, now we can focus on the job properly instead of keeping half an eye on guard at all times." Said the dwarf woman with a sigh. "I notice you carried their whole carcasses with you, do they have any particular use or value? We kept the one we got on ice, for we know not what use it might have. Never seen these beasts before."

"They are pretty rare, yes. But they don't really have any real use if you're thinking of alchemy or the likes. You keep the shells for proof of subjugation and cook the rest."

"Cook? As in eat them? You shitting me, girl?" Asked the dwarf with disbelief in her eyes.

"I guess the people here have never tried them, huh? They're a delicacy back where I'm from." Cal pulled out the one carcass that missed its arms and legs. "That one's missing its limbs 'cause I had them for dinner last night."

"Now that's intriguing. The village elders were troubled because they had planned to celebrate the solstice tonight with a feast, but couldn't because they can't afford to slaughter more cows after losing some oxen to these beasts."

"I can whip up something, sure, mind if we use the one you caught and one of mine? Should be enough for the village."

"I'll have to ask Dairrp first, he does have half the share of the one we got." Replied the dwarf. "Oh, where are me manners? Fredegund Steinmauer, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Celeysria Ambervale, likewise."

Dairrp Kegbottom was the earth mage who worked on the house, a rather young goblin - probably not even twenty yet - but clearly talented with magic for his age. He too was intrigued at the idea of exotic delicacies - not in the least surprising, for goblins have a reputation of willing to eat most anything - and agreed to let Cal cook the beast they caught for the village.

"If you don't mind me asking, what brings you here? Him, I understand, it's common for young mages to take jobs like these, but a veteran like you?" Cal asked as Fredegund led her to where they kept the frozen beast.

"Ah, I grew up here, lass. Made it a point to come over once a year to help out as long as I'm in the neighborhood. 'Tis the least I can do."

"Admirable." Cal praised. "And good thinking to keep the one you caught frozen. They spoil quickly unless frozen or kept in a stasis-capable storage."

"I'll take that compliment."

The Sickle-Fiend kept frozen had a hole that gaped on its upper torso, clearly the cause of its demise, but otherwise seems undamaged. After Fredegund removed the ice that encased the carcass, Cal inspected it and made sure that the flesh hadn't spoiled. She was satisfied to see that it was well preserved.

"It's in good shape, I can use it. How many people are there in the village?"

"Counting us, it should be one-hundred twenty or so."

Cal calculated silently in her head for a moment, as she thought on how to prepare the feast for that many people, before she made her decision.

"I assume this village does not grow rice." She asked, answered by a shake of Fredegund's head. "Any wheat, oats, or barley instead?"

"They grow wheat here mostly, there should be plenty of those still."

"That's good. Can you get them to set up three or four of the largest soup pots they have over fire? Have some water set to boil in them while you do that. I'll also need a couple sacks of dried wheat. And any dried herb they have around, I'll see what I can use."

"I'll get them to set it up in the village square then."

"Got it, I'll clean this up first and meet you there."

By the time Cal made her way to the village square, she found that a crowd already waited - mostly the housewives of the village, and the one tavern keeper. The farmers were still out as they worked in the fields, though now aided by the militiamen as well.

"These ones big enough?" Fredegund asked, her finger pointed at three large soup pots as tall as a man's waist with water heated up inside them.

"About right." For her part, Cal deftly brought out the two cleaned Sickle-Fiends, and chopped their upper torsos up into large pieces along the joints of the carapace, their limbs already separated first. Then she carefully slit open the lower torso of the one Fredegund caught, shook her head, and chopped it into large chunks as well after she removed its guts.

She had more luck with the one she brought out for the feast, her hands carefully extracted lumps of orange globules from the creature's torso, which she carefully deposited into a bowl and set aside, before she turned the torso into chunks and evenly divided the pieces between the three pots.

The only parts she had not uses were the guts - which she tossed into a waste bucket - and the head of the creature Fredegund froze. The head she kept for a different purpose, as she expertly extracted the brain from the creature and placed it into a large bowl.

This time around, she added a couple dozen peeled cloves of wild onions, a generous amount of salt and pepper, a few bundles of dried aromatic herbs - some from the village's stock, some her own -, half a bottle of oil, and some grated horseradish and ginger, before she mashed everything into a thick, dark paste with a pestle. She then carefully folded in the roe into the mixture with a large spoon, as she waited for the rest to cook.

After an hour, she fished out the pieces of Sickle-fiends from the pots - all of them a bright, vibrant red now -, and poured in a measured amount of dried wheat into each, while she asked for some volunteers to help her keep the pots stirred while it cooked.

Cal herself expertly separated the flesh of the creature from its shells, and set the steaming meat aside in a large bowl. Some villagers who first looked askance were visibly attracted by the fragrant aroma the flesh gave out.

As the porridge started to thicken, she poured in the thick paste she made evenly into the pots, and shortly after a subtle, but fragrant aroma emanated from the pots. She cooked them for a while more, stirred constantly, while she turned the meat into fine slivers, which she then mixed into the porridge as well.

By now the sun had passed its apex and was halfway to setting, and a good chunk of the farmers have already finished their work. Most of them were attracted to the porridge by the fragrance they could smell from afar.

"Give it a taste and tell me what you think." Cal asked, as she filled two bowls with the thick, fragrant porridge and passed it to the other two mages.

Fredegund's brows quivered in appreciation as she tasted the porridge, while Dairrp was far less polite and ate as if he was starved for a week, his head only lifted from the bowl after he polished it down to the last drop not a minute later.

"How are these things not extinct yet? You'd have thought they'd be hunted to death with how good they taste." He asked with a blissful look on his face.

"Oh, they live either really deep in forests or under the ocean floor. Not worth enough to hunt that far just for food, to be honest." Cal answered, eating from her own bowl of porridge. By now the rest of the villagers already formed lines and served themselves of the feast, all prior distaste long forgotten. "Even the merfolk don't bother, so we usually just caught any that got driven out from their homes."

"I'd never have expected something so revolting to look at to taste anywhere near this good." Admitted Fredegund. "Guess i need to broaden me horizons some."

"You'd be surprised what many merfolk delicacies look like, I bet. And I can say from experience that most of them taste way better than they look."

"Now you made me hungry again. Let me have seconds."

By the next morning, when a group of adventurers from Jonkver sent to handle the creatures came, all they saw of the "creatures" were a pile of empty shells piled on the ground.