A Unique Cuisine

[Bunnysmack]

Iridrax lay upon the ramparts of the goblinoid fortress, furrowing his brow and squinting down at Nathaniel as his summoner walked the magic-blasted grounds of the keep. "You really have to stop calling on me to deal with something this repetitive and simple. You have more than enough power to do this task without me."

Nathaniel smirked up toward the towering prismatic dragon and tapped his chin, "Mmmmnnnn, when we struck our pact, in your plane, remind me again...Who paid you three hundred gems for your occasional services throughout the century? Who helped contain the chaos-storm threatening your territory there? Besides, this is actually necessary work. Damned things multiply like insects, and if they aren't cowed they often overrun the nearby areas. ALSO, my tavern's signature dish can only be prepared in a place where I don't care what collateral damage occurs." The man waved an arm around the various nearby battlements, "The fortress of goblins that regularly prey on farmers, travelers, and anyone else that seems especially vulnerable? I'm cutting down on the ongoing public safety hazard, and supplying my customers with tasty pub food. This is multitasking at its finest Iri!"

Iridrax rolled his eyes, snorted out a puff of rainbow hued smoke from his nostrils. The irritated dragon then went back to surveying the grounds to see if there were any remaining goblinoid forces; he also made a passive-aggressive point of turning is back to the insufferable mage in the courtyard below him. Nathaniel let his smug smirk linger a moment longer before running a routine power-calculation and making sure that what he was about to do wouldn't reach Iridrax's position. The prismatic might have agreed to assist in tasks of extreme tedium, but being blasted by immense amounts of magical energy was a bit beyond the terms of their arrangement.

This...Was the tricky part. The spell he was casting was so simple that Nathaniel was reasonably sure he could literally cast it in his sleep: a simple illumination cantrip. The working attached to the cantrip, however, that was always the more difficult part. As the mage called up the tiny orb of glowing white light, he infused the spell with the power of raw magic. Forces of raw creation flowed violently into the spell, but, as he'd done countless times before, he carefully directed the flow of all that chaotic power toward a specific result he'd fixed in his mind's eye.

With a gasp, he released the magic, and the power of creation coalesced into a specific outcome. Nathaniel looked around himself and saw exactly what he'd aimed for: A herd of large Rothe. Manifested into existence out of nothing but the power of raw source magic. The newly formed beasts all turned to the mage, stamped their hoofs, and started to point their deadly-looking horns at him. With a grin of pure excitement, Nathaniel rapidly called energy to form in each of his palms, licked his lips, and said aloud, "That's right...No other restaurant in the world serves its customers 'Hellball Seared Rothe Shank'."

A moment later the courtyard was obscured in blinding light and concussive sound.