Work Text:
It had been a long time since Herald had the privilege of being excited. With his duties, with his presence, he had experienced every manner of action and rest—and had long grown accustomed to it all. Novel experiences had started to dwindle, and with it, that rush fizzled with it. He had become… more or less accepting of it, but here and now he stood over a hand-carved set of miniature soldiers and cardamon elephants over a checkered board, and he grinned with nothing but a satisfied, giddy pride. Proof that a flicker of fiery spice still lived within his heart.
It had been completed for a few months now, too, and after a few games, it seemed that not a single soul in the Spicelands could defeat their great leader in it. Why would they? He was the Master of Weaponry, Tamer of Beasts, General of Spices, Herald of Change. A measly game was just as much of a battle domain as any field, but oh how satisfying was it still, to win.
He had even ventured, briefly, to the Great Flour Ridge, and challenged its master to a game. She had played with one hand, granting wishes between every move, but they were immortals and he, especially, was well versed in patience. He didn't mind. It was a wonder that she even agreed in the first place, but with his gift (or perhaps bribe would be a better term) of piles of gold—a common wish she had to grant—she indulged him in this.
And he was her friend. The Flour of Volition had been happy to see him, even if she was busy. She would have accepted even if he hadn't brought the gold. At least, he hoped.
Salt had come, briefly, on his own to the Temple of Spice. For relief supplies, aid, as the Salt of Solidarity rarely stepped foot on anyone's lands without business hanging over their heads. As the primary force of said relief and aid, he had little time for pleasantries. Unlike the Herald, who needed to stay settled in his stagnant temple for the most part, the Salt of Solidarity was never allowed to rest his feet at his home for long.
Salt had allowed him one game, a fast one, where he glared if Herald if he took more than a few seconds, forcing him to act. It Changed the game entirely, especially compared to the long and patient strategy of Flour's to a rush of quick thinking and analysis in the time your opponent acts. Salt, as the other combatant, the one who understood force better than any of the other Virtues, had always brought Herald a new understanding and perspective. Herald, of course, had won.
He told Herald to bring games to Sugar, after that, for she would do better with them. Herald had gladly taken the suggestion when he had the chance!
Her garden, as always, resided in the most vicious part of the Baker's Yeast jungle. The dense foliage and terrible monsters were no match for Herald and his team of spices, during one of their requested purges of monsters on her behalf. It was something they had to do often—both with Sugar's and Fount's lands, to help make Earthbread a safer place where Cookies could reach their Virtues safer. It was one that he and his people had long grown comfortable with. They were still relieved upon reaching the gardens, and he could not blame them for it one bit.
He had called out for her. Even his booming voice couldn't not unsettle the inhabitants, so happy that they did not even flinch as they chatted and lazed and laughed. It was such a dichotomy from the harsh jungle outside; it never failed to unsettle Herald. It took work to be happy, though, so Herald understood why she kept it here.
The inhabitants were never taken off guard by his entrance. He, on the other hand, was fully taken off guard when he was tackled to the ground by a being of cotton candy soft wings and a sweet laugh. Taken off guard, but not unpleasantly so.
She had played quite a few rounds with him, one after the other, catching up with him about anything and everything. He did his best to keep it all on the abundance and creation; she never did like destruction all that much, not really. Never one for the harsh and difficult, the thing that brought down a mood. Of course not; she was the Sugar of Happiness! Why would she enjoy a sad mood?
She was no stranger to games of all shapes and sizes, and she had still lost every single time. And so, Herald was ready for the final contender who he was certain would truly enjoy the game.
The Fount of Knowledge was busy, but just like Herald, he could wander when needs must. He was the one who searched for Knowledge, the one who ran toward the world unflinching in the hopes of discovery and invention.
When Herald had written to him about the new game he had invented, Fount had not sent a letter back. Instead, likely an hour after the letter was delivered, Herald was told by a Tumeric Pig and a Kulfi Priest that he had a Divine Emissary for a visitor, shoes off and eyes bright, saying he could spare exactly two hours and not a second more!
Which led Herald to this moment. Excited over his hand-carved game set, his dear friend the Fount of Knowledge sat across from him as he explained the rules.
"It is called Chaturanga." He said, and launched into a quick explanation of the rules, the goal, the pieces, one by one. Each type of piece moved differently, and Herald made sure the Fount understood the significance of each one. He absorbed the information as if he was baked to. Because he was.
"What a fascinating game you've got here, Herald!" Fount clapped, smiling bright. "Please, do me the honor of going first?"
"Of course."
Fount grasped the game quickly, moving as fast as Salt (who didn't quite have the time to care) and yet as thoughtfully as Mystic Flour (who didn't quite have the care to be heedful of time), gaze racing across the board before every step, and all the excitement of Sugar (who had both time and care, but none of the understanding), analytical and enthralled with each move.
At least, Herald had thought he'd been enthralled. Despite it all, it didn't seem to last long. After a few moves, something shifted, and The Fount leaned one elbow on the table and his chin on the back of his hand. He glanced up at Herald, still pondering his move. "So..."
"Yes, Fount?" Herald hummed, moving a minister forward, covering his king.
"It's been so long since we last spoke!" Fount adjusted his monocle so he could better peer over it at Herald. "I must admit, I have so much to tell you!"
"Oh? What has changed since we last spoke?"
Fount took the briefest pause to move a knight, the motion oddly quick and uncaring, unlike his previous moves before he spoke. Then,"So much!"
He started to ramble. Long and excitable, his hands waving in excitement as he spoke. He wove tales of the lands he'd explored recently—Crispia, Wholegrania, the Candystick Archipelago, all lush with wilderness and undeveloped, unlike Baker's Yeast. He rambled on the stars he's mapped, naming constellations he'd already attached tales to. He took longer between each move, so wrapped up in his own words that he barely glanced at the board before carelessly moving a piece forward.
Was he already bored of it? Using it as merely an excuse to speak with a fellow Virtue? Herald enjoyed the chat, loved it even, and learning of all the new things that Fount now Knew is exciting! Some of these discoveries would certainly Change Earthbread, and not for the worse.
He was talking about a new species of some creature or other when Herald realized, distantly, that he was a little annoyed. He had thought this game would alleviate some boredom, hold some attention, for at least a few moves for one of the Virtues. Salt was busy. Flour was uncaring. He could forgive that; he could expect that.
Even with the Fount, He didn't think it would be the whole game. Why would he? Fount was worse than Sugar, whose attention is as fleeting as happiness itself. Still, this was... Beyond that. Immediate. Absolutely and utterly bored with the game seconds after it started.
Herald met Fount's eyes across the board, and he smiled even wider, speaking a little faster. Herald returned it, leaning back on his lower hands as he relaxed. It was a game, it was meant to be entertaining, but Fount has never been an easily entertained Cookie. His own knowledge and curiosity were only captured for as long as it took to commit it to memory.
And he liked Fount. Secretly, more than the rest, perhaps. Though he felt that way whenever he was with every Virtue, their best traits shone the most when Herald could see them in person. Fount is energetic and excitable, a great change of pace from whatever Herald was doing at any given moment. However, he was also wise and soothing, his milk tempering Herald's spice with ease.
It was with great mirth that Herald could say the reverse is true as well; he helped liven Fount up, change the first step of new knowledge, and also allowing—a change in perspective, a change in pace. A change in the terrible habits he held, when he got too invested and involved in some new spell or research.
Fount always says Herald has a way of making him just a little livelier, a little freer. It was something Herald thought back on, whenever he himself started to wonder what it was all for—it lit the everburning spark in his chest (even if he was starting to get too comfortable with the thought, the idea no longer half as invigorating now that he'd used it so much, it still helped). He was always happy to make his friend so… exuberant.
Why should Herald feel disconcerted that Fount is having fun? No, this was a good thing.
Herald moved an elephant far. Fount paused his tirade to shift, to straighten, staring at the board again. Herald watched with a sudden sense of unease as the Fount's eyes squint into satisfaction, like when he discovered something he already knew existed, he had just needed to prove it. Like something he'd worked hard for, and things had fallen into place.
He moved a knight in that distinctive leap and said, with just a little arrogance, "Check."
"What?" And indeed, Herald sees the knight has cornered his king. When had it gotten close enough to attempt such a thing? Herald supposed the knight was something of a surprise, though. He moved his king one step to the right, glancing up at the Fount as he did—
He was no longer leaning on his hand. Instead, his fingers drummed just a little on the table, anticipatory.
Herald didn't have much of a choice, either his own soldiers block his king's path forward, or to his right makes him more vulnerable. It was best to move right.
Herald waited. He assumed, for a second, Fount was taking his time to remember where he was in his speech. Instead, the Fount relaxed entirely.
"Checkmate!" He crowed as he moved his castle directly in front of his king, "That's the correct term, yes?""
"Only if you've won. The king can take pieces too—" except he couldn't, because there was a knight. The knight who had checked him was right behind his king. Herald had thought he'd get to take that later; it was a precarious position to put that knight in, but he hadn't wanted to move the soldiers into an even more open position while the king was right there. Fount had put that knight there, knowing that the Herald would be hesitant. That initial check had been a set up.
Fount laughed, as Herald looked up, astounded. "So I used the term correctly, then!"
Herald huffed, plucking his king with his lowest right hand, taking Fount's own in his highest.
"Well played, my friend! You've beaten me at my own game." Herald chuckled, shaking his hand. Fount lit up, the stars in his hair literally glowing brighter. "Did you enjoy the game?"
"Did I enjoy it? Herald, this was the best game I've played since they invented games at all!" Fount stood, leaning over the board. He looked for all the world like he was trying to memorize every crevice of each piece. "Herald, if I may..."
Herald opened the Fount's palm, placing the king in his hand.
"It seems only fit for the greatest at the game to receive the first ever created board," Herald said. "By all means, my friend."
Without much pretense, the Fount practically leapt over the short table, wrapping his arms around him. Herald, for all he was never surprised, honestly hadn't expected it.
Still, he wrapped his own arms around his friend, laughing as he only half listened to his excited exclamations on the gift. It was always nice to see the Fount again. Herald was sure he'd never grow bored of it.
Burning Spice grew bored of Shadow Milk's tirades before the first word even left his mouth. The only thing stopping him from cutting him down, if only to stop his incessant yapping, was that there was certainly more fun in a battle with the Ex-Fount if there had been rules established beforehand. Otherwise, he'd be pulverised in seconds.
That, and Golden Cheese promised him a spar—several spars, even—so long as he 'behaved.' He let her treat him like a misbehaving child so long as she gave him a respite from his terrible, endless boredom.
"Say, Spicy," Shadow Milk looked at him as he lay in thin air, upside-down. He had to crane his neck to look at Burning Spice upside-down, and did so in a manner that would unsettle a lesser Cookie. He didn't need to either; those eyes in his hair were all staring at him with a gaze so sharp and slit-pupiled, it reminded Burning Spice of Nutmeg Tiger whenever she found a prey worthy of a chase. They squinted in delight when he asked, "Wanna play a game?"
The one who was in charge of watching them tilted his head. This one was Shadow Milk's own Ancient pairing, the one who wielded truth. He was not like any truth that Burning Spice knew, but the Fount had always been deceptive, so this being was likely the same.
He was also more than boring. Even as he tensed, Burning Spice ignored him, because he would not do anything. Too placating and abundant. No, there were better things to focus on now. "What game?"
"Chaturanga, of course!" Shadow Milk turned his head, but not the rest of his body, to look at Burning Spice with a stretching grin, "The modern version, though. Improved version."
"Chaturanga?" The watcher asked. Ovens, what was his name? Burning Spice had no clue. Had he introduced himself? He probably hadn't been paying attention. What use, when the knowledge would be boring, unchanging, something he'd heard before time and time again. Just another Vanilla Cheese Cookie, or Mint Chocolate Cookie, or White Berry Cookie. Just another nameless face that would be destroyed, eventually. His name didn't matter. What did matter was that he was a piss poor replacement for Knowledge, and he knew that would annoy Shadow Milk more than anything. Good.
"Chess," Burning Spice scoffed, "Is what you renamed it, isn't that right?"
"Oh, who cares what it's called. Wanna play a round? You used to like it!"
"Fine." Anything to pass the time. Shadow Milk laughed, and with a flourish, settled on the ground and reached into his other realm for a board. Checkered, instead of plain, with a cross to denote the edges and the center.
He settled into a cross-legged position, Shadow Milk doing the same, hovering a few inches in the air to match Burning Spice's height.
The Ancient went to rest on one side, to watch.
"Couple of new rules, 'course. Dunno what version you're familiar with at this point. It's changed so much!"
Herald knew that wasn't the truth. Still, he stared, unamused, until Shadow Milk started to explain.
"They replaced the king's jump with castling?" Burning Spice muttered, as Shadow Milk started to detail some of the more specific changes. "What idiocy."
"It makes it more structured! Let's others predict what you're doing a little easier." Shadow Milk clicked his tongue, "So boring. But the bishops are better! More action. Some people tend to forget about them, heh."
He supposed. Shadow Milk turned the board so that white was facing Burning Spice.
"Please," Shadow Milk started, pitching his voice high and mocking, "Do me the honor of going first?"
Burning Spice paused, because the phrase was familiar. Then, he remembered from where, and laughed without humor, flicking a pawn forward at random.
Shadow Milk reflected him, copying the move. "When was the last time you played?"
Burning Spice thought for a second. "Don't remember."
"Hope you're not rusty!"
Shadow Milk spoke about anything and nothing, as he once did centuries ago. This time, the tactic was easy to spot, after centuries of seeing it before. Distractions, or acting like he wasn't paying attention to push the other into overconfidence. Burning Spice had been easy to trick, back then. It did not make Shadow Milk easy to beat now that he knew the trick, though.
"You know, someone did beat me eventually."
That, for whatever reason, caught Burning Spice's attention. "That so?"
He nodded to their watcher, who looked up (with his eyes still closed) at the attention suddenly on them. Without much shame, he said, "I cheated."
"It was a very fun game!" Shadow milk clapped, absently moving his horse forward, "Check!"
Burning Spice stole the horse without half a thought with another piece, crushing it in a palm as he took it. He'd been doing that with all the pieces he had taken, which had only caused an annoyed sigh from the owner of the board. Here, though, he laughed.
"Oh, I remember when I won from that move!"
"I was foolish, back then."
"Oh, were you? And that means something now?" Shadow Milk scoffed, "Please."
It didn't take long after that for Shadow Milk to fall silent, more focused on the game than on running his mouth. After a moment, he spoke, "Check."
There was no way to reach the rook that was checking him. He moved his king, knowing what would come next, considering there was only one way to move: directly into a trap.
"Aaaaand... Checkmate!"
Not even that had changed, it seemed. Burning Spice yawned, handing his king over to Shadow Milk, who held it up with a laugh.
"That was a very impressive game," The ancient murmured, "Most games had Shadow Milk winning with ease."
"Uhuh!" Shadow Milk snickered, "Glad to see the great inventor of chess has finally learned to play."
"Inventor? I thought that Shadow Milk had..." The ancient pursed his lips. "Ah, my apologies."
"Nah, Spicy's the one who made it up. Well, made the game that it came from. Chaturanga." Shadow Milk waved it off, "I ended up beating him, so he gave me the board. I was obsessed with it for a bit, so now everyone thinks it's mine. I don't correct them."
"And you... Don't mind?" He asked Burning Spice.
"Who cares? Chaturanga is long dead."
"I see..."
"Besides, fighting and destruction is far more fun than this pathetic thing I once thought of." He groaned, "Even with all the new rules, Chess is more boring than Chaturanga."
"Yeah, yeah." Shadow Milk shoved the whole thing into his other realm, stretching, "You have no taste."
"You have no spice."
"No duh. I'm Shadow Milk."
He remembered for a second when such a thing meant comfort or temperament. When it meant the Witches baked them, thinking of each other.
Then, he remembered that he didn't really care.
"When will Golden Cheese Cookie be back? She promised me a spar."
"Oh! She shouldn't be long now..." They continued to speak, describing what she was doing, but he tuned him out, not needing the details. It was alawys something regarding her fallen kingdom. Well, half-fallen. It'd die out, eventually.
And then where will her Abundance be? He couldn't wait for when that Cookie would Crumble. For now, though, he was forced to be patient. Unchanging. Utterly and entirely bored.
At least the chess game had taken some time. It was a shame that the only other player in the world who could defeat him was the most annoying Cookie on Earthbread.