Day Two: (A challenge for myself and any others, Partially inspired by Duke Timothy)

This a story of Morguhn Sheridan

I love to cook. At the time of this story, I lived in the Barony of Endless Hills, which was filled with a plethora of great feast cooks. So I was happy to just to cook an occasional lunch or dish for an event, because so many wanted to share their skills.

I was attending an event outside my Barony, held at a rustic campground. The site had barracks style bunk cabin space, and then there were large platform tents.

I was told at troll I was the only one who opted for a tent, and asked if I was sure about my choice. I was.

I dropped my gear off at a large tent at the edge of the lake away from the crowd but within sight of the list field. I moved the metal cots with mattresses until I configured a double sized bed with doubled up mattresses. I rolled back the doors of the tent facing the lake and felt spoiled as all get out. It was the fall, a warmer weekend than usual but too cold for bugs at that point in the season.

Just as I finished unpacking and arranging the space, the autocrat knocked, when I popped my head out he asked if I was sure I was okay. So I lifted the door and he saw my accommodations. He stepped in as I rolled up that door as well. Sat in one of my chairs facing the lake, and we chatted.

His shoulders relaxed he started to share, and verbalized his thoughts about the event. He knew I was a friend to lean on.
As he ran through his behind the scenes concerns like a checklist, we got to Sunday morning breakfast.

He had no arrangements for food for Sunday morning.
I could tell he wished he had.
So I offered to make French toast, if he could get someone to bring eggs, milk, bread, and butter. Toss in some OJ and brew another large batch of coffee and we were set.

The camp was in the middle of absolute nowhere, and the closest possible place to get ingredients was 45 minutes away. He chuckled and said it was unlikely, but if he did get the ingredients, he was holding me to it.

The event was lovely as all get out, and it was late that Saturday night, standing with Duke Morguhn and one of his squires laughing by a campfire that I was told someone managed to get French toast ingredients.

I was surprised, but happy to know before I slept that I had a commitment to honor. I let the earliest hint of sun wake me and sat up facing a foggy lake. Quickly got dressed, and marched to the kitchen. I had just got the ingredients from the fridge to the counter when Morguhn walked in with his consorts. He asked what I was up to, and I told him I had agreed to make French Toast. He offered to help, and that's when we discovered there wasn't a single frying pan or working griddle in the large industrial kitchen. Pots and pans owned by the camp seemed to be locked up or removed for the season. So we improvised. We found large industrial aluminum cookie sheets. We placed them over the burners and thought we'd be fine. deep green evening gowns

It. Was. Not. Fine.

The sheets warped from the heat forcing the butter to run into puddles in two corners while the other corners raised away from the flames. We made horrible French toast, and despite all the obvious reasons it was not going to plan, Morguhn laughed so hard tears came from his eyes. He stayed with me through the entire debacle. People walking in thought it was so funny they even ate the half soggy, half charcoal pieces of woefully wronged food. So we made three loaves worth of this vile stuff.

I have never laughed so hard at an event at something that went so wrong. This is how I remember my friend, Morguhn.

This is a story of how beautiful failure can be when you have a powerful heart.

Feel free to share, or join in. Share one short story a day about someone you know who made you smile.

-These are the words of Baroness Ingegerd Kastanrazi
Retired Baroness of Endless Hills, AEthelmearc
Resident in the Kingdom of Atlantia