Crafting
Cooking
Cooking is short, cheap and immediately useful: raw fish restores almost nothing, cooked fish keeps you standing through a fight. It trains off a single right-click rather than a gump, which makes it the least ceremonious craft in the game.
Fish
The first three tiers are food. From Copperfish up a cooked fish restores nothing at all and grants a short bonus instead โ the reason to fish a particular tier rather than whatever bites.
| Skill | Raw | Cooked | Effect |
|---|---|---|---|
| No requirement | Restores 10 HP | ||
| 65.0 | Restores 15 HP | ||
| 70.0 | Restores 20 HP | ||
| 75.0 | +10% Gather Yield, 1 min | ||
| 80.0 | +10% Craft Success chance, 1 min | ||
| 85.0 | +10% Gold from kills, 2 min | ||
| 90.0 | +10% Virtue XP, 2 min | ||
| 95.0 | +5 to all stats, 2 min | ||
| 99.0 | +10% Skill Gain chance, 2 min | ||
| 100.0 | +5% Critical Hit chance on attacks and spells, 2 min |
Dishes
Grandmaster work. Every dish needs 100.0 Cooking and a Cooking Stove locked down in your own house. Each names the exact fish it wants โ no substituting a pile of Copperfish for a Feast's Valorfish โ so a dish is gated on your Fishing as much as your Cooking. There is no failure roll: these cost far too much to lose to one.
| Dish | Fish | Spices | Restores |
|---|---|---|---|
| 60 health a minute for 15 minutes | |||
| 120 health a minute for 15 minutes | |||
| 180 mana a minute for 15 minutes | |||
| 120 health and 180 mana a minute for 15 minutes |
Rares
Five yard pieces found only by working this skill. Any work at the skill can turn one up โ every swing or craft, success or failure, and the hours you put in while logged out as well. Each stands in your yard or your house, carries its own story on its tooltip, and trades like any other item.
| Piece | Its story |
|---|---|
| A slatted hut no bigger than a wardrobe, hung inside with split fish over a bed of alder chips that has smouldered since the last good season in Skara Brae. The smell reaches three gardens over. The cats come from a good deal further than that. | |
| Tier upon tier of iced sponge, baked for a Britain wedding that was called off on the morning with the cake already on the cart. The baker would not let it go to waste, and through some mix of sugar, spite and very good icing it has not gone stale in thirty years. Nobody has dared to cut it. | |
| A beehive of fired clay on a stone plinth, still warm to the touch though nobody has lit it in years. The bakers of Occlo say an oven remembers every loaf it ever made. On cold mornings the whole garden smells of fresh bread, and nobody can find out why. | |
| A wheel of Vesper cheese as tall as a child, aged in the canal cellars for longer than the canals have run clean. In all that time exactly one wedge has been cut from it, for a visiting sultan of Nujel'm, who has written every year since to ask for another. The answer is always no. | |
| A tavern's chalkboard, propped where hungry people walk past. TODAY: FISH. TOMORROW: FISH. Underneath, in a different hand, somebody has chalked 'ask about the fish', and underneath that, in the first hand again, 'it is fish'. |