Hark, gentle reader of this glowing scroll. It is I, Sir Reginald of the Stout Heart, writing to you from a future so bewildering it makes a goblin’s riddle seem plain as day. My quest to slay the Wyrm of Cumberdale took a most unexpected turn, depositing me in this era of horseless iron beasts and scrying mirrors that speak with the voices of a thousand different merchants. My current quest? To survive breakfast. Which brings me to the subject of this chronicle: the demonic bread-warming contraption.
The Silver Casket of Apprehension
In the chamber dedicated to food preparation—the ‘kitchen’—there sits a polished silver casket. It bears no crest, no heraldry, only a maker’s mark I cannot decipher. Atop this strange device are two deep, dark slots—fiery chasms that yawn toward the heavens. My first instinct was that they were portals, perhaps to a lesser plane of torment from which foul imps might spring. I spent a full morning observing it, sword drawn, but nothing emerged save for a few crumbs from a previous ritual. I confess, its gleaming, impassive surface unnerves me more than any snarling beast I have faced in the field of battle.
The Ritual and the Sorcerous Handle
My host, a kind but clearly mad peasant named ‘Dave,’ demonstrated its use. One takes a slice of the unnervingly soft, pale bread of this age and inserts it into the chasms. Then, and this is the most perilous part, one must depress a sorcerous handle on its side. The lever descends with a foreboding click, locking the bread into the beast’s belly. A low hum begins, the sound of a thousand trapped hornets, and the chasms begin to glow with the very embers of Hades. It is a terrifying spectacle. I am certain that some form of arcane energy is being channeled from the very walls of the keep through a black, serpent-like cord plugged directly into a mysterious wall socket.
The Volley of Twice-Baked Hardtack
After a period of anxious silence, where one questions all of their life’s choices, the contraption launches a surprise attack. With a sudden, violent CLANG, it discharges its contents skyward! The bread, now transformed, is ejected with such force I was compelled to duck on my first attempt. It is no longer soft and pale, but browned, rigid, and radiating a suspicious heat. It is, in essence, a form of twice-baked hardtack, suitable for a long march, yet created in mere moments. Is this witchcraft? Undoubtedly. Is it convenient? I am loath to admit, yes. The resulting wafer is crisp and holds yellow grease (I am told it is ‘butter’) far better than its limp predecessor.
My Official Knightly Verdict
As a man of honor and duty, I must provide a full accounting of this device. If you’re looking for a genuinely funny product review from someone who has faced down actual dragons, you have come to the right place. Let us weigh the merits of this ‘toaster,’ as it is called.
- On the one hand (The Good): It is remarkably swift, producing rations without the need for a campfire or a single piece of kindling. The resulting hardtack is palatable, especially when slathered with the aforementioned grease and crushed berry paste (‘jam’).
- On the other gauntlet (The Evil): The mechanism is startling and liable to cause a man to spill his morning mead. Its inner workings glow with an unholy light, suggesting a pact with a fire demon. The black serpent-cord is also a tripping hazard of the highest order.
My final judgment? This demonic bread-warming contraption is a baffling, terrifying, yet undeniably effective piece of household sorcery. It performs its single, strange task with alarming efficiency. I shall grant it three out of five battle axes. I will continue to use it, but I shall do so with my hand upon my pommel, ever vigilant for the day it finally reveals its true, nefarious purpose.