Caldo Tomate and the Golden Bouillon - A Silverplate Story
A fun little story for the Silverplate Campaign setting.
Caldo Tomate and the Golden Bouillon
Characters:
Caldo Tomate - spicy tamale gunslinger
Fuego - lil bell pepper sidekick. Spicier than he looks, sweeter than he acts
Patch the Sour Kid - surprisingly sour gummy
Dr. Limón - lemon cleric/healer
Ol' Smokey the Ol' Trapper - Jerky prospector
Valentino - Horchata alchemist
Prologue
Desert valleys were unforgiving places. Life in the constant dry required preparation and dedication, perseverance and sense. The summers were intensely hot, but it was the winters that caught so many unaware with their cold. Every desert was different, but you had to understand what to look for to realize this. Knowing was the difference between life and a miserable death. This particular desert had winters that were surprisingly wet and cold. The rain wasn't plentiful enough to fill a rain barrel, but the plantlife exploded at its merest presence.
Ol Smokey gave a sigh as he looked out across the green and tan landscape. This was the best time to be out and about. The cheeseweed plants were nearly in bloom, it was cool without being freezing cold, humid without being damp. It was well after dawn, but a blanket of clouds kept off the glare of the sun, letting Smokey go without a hat for a while and open wide his normally squinty eyes. The dark, wrinkled face smiled as he scanned for the telltale signs of what he sought. Streams from the rare rains carved wrinkles into every hillside, and those blossomed with opportunistic plants that had waited for the rains to come again.
Hours passed in a timeless haze without sun or shadows to mark them, but at last Smokey saw what he was here for. To the uninformed it looked as though a landslide had come down between two sides of a mountain canyon, spilling out into a wide fan with streams still pouring out from the recent winter rains. A glistening frosting topped the mountain, promising that these streams would run for a while yet as the season moved into spring.
He stopped a while along a stream long enough to run a few pans of mud and pick through the tailings. Sparkles amongst the dregs told Smokey all he needed. He dipped a pinky in the mass and tasted it just to be sure. Yep indeedy, this here was the good stuff. Pay-stock, with the real treasures just begging to be extracted. He needed to head upstream to find the ore veins, but he was on the right track!
Heading back to Pinto, the lima-mule, Smokey unlatched a hooded cage from the bulging pack saddle. The sugar-pigeon cooed in surprise as it blinked in the fading light. Smokey unfolded a writing table and chair, picked a pencil from his hatband. A few more tools made a few measurements and details were noted as Smokey described his claim and sent the message back home.
He was singing to himself as he set up his camp in the fading light. It was going to be milk and honey from here on out. This was what life should be.
The scene leaves Ol Smokey lighting his campfire as the pigeon takes wing. Up away from the desert it spies a landscape brought to life. It sees, unknowing, the creeping figures approaching the camp, readying to ambush the old jerky, and indifferently flies on toward home. It is only an hour before the pigeon takes a perch in a tree-sized bush to sleep. Dawn sees it take wing again, flying toward a hill that the warmth of the morning air turns into a rising elevator. With the benefit of height it soars easily over miles, watching the vegetation below transform from desert to shrub, to woodland and then full forest. Another night and another day and the forest opens into a meadow speckled with the land bound forms of grazing beasts. And up ahead there was home.
Home was a tall structure of interlinked pretzel logs, mortared in chocolate. A dusting of powdered sugar was still visible among the winter decorations which hadn't been taken down despite being near the cusp of spring. The window glazing held back the chill air, but one open spot led into the loft where the other messenger birds lived. Today there were three figures standing in the loft as the pigeon entered and landed. Two weren't known, the third was the kindly old graham cracker that raised and fed it.
"...no, I do understand why you need it, Valentino," said one of the strangers, "but I can't help but think it's disgusting, and every time you drag me along it makes me think about it."
"I only ever ask you to help me gather the guano, Caldo, and never any of the truly dirty work." the second replied coolly as the pigeon pecked for some feed and held up its leg for the message's removal, "if you want me to show you the full process so you can be properly disgusted..."
"Okay, okay, but I don't have to like doing this," Caldo grumbled as he scraped up another trowel full of guano.
"... because I know how you love your little pistols and they won't work without..."
The graham cracker cleared his throat, catching their attention
"This one has a note from Smokey"
Attention snapped to him.
"Come quick, it says," the graham read, "Found bouillon, staking claim. It's just directions afterward."
Caldo and Valentino shared a look of surprised eagerness before both sprinted for the stairwell.