Chapter 6 - The strange neighbour

Strider watched from a wooden stool, his cloak draped over the back of the chair, as Oliver moved with a blur of purpose. The young man didn't just cook; he engineered.

Oliver dragged several blocks of Cut Stone, a pile of Charcoal, and some sturdy Twigs toward the Science Machine. To Strider's eyes, these were just raw materials. But as Oliver activated the machine, the golden lever shifted and the gears sang a metallic tune. The stones snapped together, the charcoal ignited into a contained, magical heat, and within moments, a heavy, three-legged Crock Pot stood where there had been only rubble.

This... this is a miracle. I have seen the forges of the Dwarves and the kitchens of the High Elves, but never have I seen a hearth born from the air in a single heartbeat.

Oliver just shrugged, already reaching for his storehouse.

{Tossing ingredients into the pot} It's all about the right recipes. In this world, you either know how to build or you starve.

Strider watched in silent awe as Oliver dropped in raw chunks of meat, some wild vegetables, and even a handful of Nettles he had gathered earlier. The pot didn't simmer for hours like a normal stew; it vibrated, and a delicious, rich aroma filled the room almost instantly.

{Lifting the lid} Dinner's served.

He dished out three distinct plates: a thick, hearty Meaty Stew that felt like it could give a man the strength of an ox, a delicate serving of Meated Nettles, and a bowl of perfectly browned Meatballs.

Strider took a bite of the stew. His eyes widened. It wasn't just food; it felt like a burst of pure vitality. The weariness of his weeks on the road seemed to evaporate with every spoonful.

This is more than a meal, Master Oliver. It is a draught of strength. Travelers would pay a King's ransom for such a dish on a cold night.

{Grinning} Glad you like it. It's a staple for me. Beats eating roasted berries any day.

They ate in a comfortable silence, the orange glow of the Pumpkin Lantern casting long, steady shadows against the walls. When the plates were cleared, Strider stood and donned his worn cloak. The suspicion that had brought him here was gone, replaced by a deep, cautious respect for this strange master of machines.

I must return to my duties and to those who await my report. I thank you for the hearth and the bread, Oliver. You are a mystery I have yet to solve.

Oliver walked him to the porch, the Miner Hat on his head casting a beam of light into the dark treeline.

No problem, Strider. Look, if you're ever in a jam—out of food, or if the creatures out there get too thick—you know where the mansion is. You're always welcome here.

Strider paused at the edge of the light, looking back at the glowing house and the boy who treated the shadows like old friends.

I shall remember that. May the stars watch over your clearing.

With a final nod, the Ranger vanished into the darkness of the trees, leaving Oliver alone with the hum of his machines and the quiet, satisfied feeling of a successful night.

******

The morning after his dinner with the Ranger, Oliver was back in "efficiency mode." He had plenty of spider meat, but for the next tier of his expansion, he needed something alive.

[Thought: Rabbits are good source for meat but meat is just the side benefit. If I'm going to build a Prestihatitator to unlock the Magic tab, I need live subjects. Rabbit earmuff also need live rabbits to make.]

He stepped out onto his porch, his hands busy with Twigs and Grass. Using the Alchemy Engine to refine the fibers, he began to assemble several Rabbit Traps. Unlike the crude snares a local hunter might use, these were built with the Science Machine's precision—sturdy wicker cages that snapped shut with a hair-trigger spring.

He walked to the edge of the clearing where the grass was long and dotted with small burrows. He carefully placed the traps, baiting them with berries.

{Adjusting his Top Hat} Let's see if this world's rabbits are as predictable as the ones back in the Constant.

******

While Oliver was busy with his snares, the atmosphere in the high halls of Imladris had shifted. Aragorn sat across from Lord Elrond, recounting the previous night's events in detail.

He is a good man, My Lord. He welcomed me into his home without a second thought, shared his hearth, and fed me a meal that tasted of more vitality than any waybread. He even offered me help should I ever find myself in trouble.

Elrond listened, his ageless face softening. The tension that had gripped him since the "Master of Shadows" appeared began to dissipate. His fear of a new dark power was being replaced by a deep, scholarly worry.

It is a relief to hear he lacks malice. But it bothers me, Estel... Why would a man with such a hospitable heart, who spends his days farming and cooking, choose to practice such dark arts? To command the power of black magic is to invite a stain upon the soul, yet he treats it as a common tool.

He spoke of it as 'ordinary magic,' though he admits he has not mastered it. He is aware of the cost; he mentioned the danger to one's sanity should the power be rushed.

{Sighing} He lives a lonely, dangerous life in the deep woods, surrounded by his 'Science' and his shadows. If his heart is truly good, it is a tragedy that he must rely on the Void to survive. We must continue to watch, not as hunters, but as those concerned for a neighbor who walks a thin line.