Beers and Beards

Book 2: Epilogue: Change

Our covered wagon clattered down the cobbles of Minnova. Its fabric sides were nicely stitched up with an enormous Thirsty Goat logo, and I’d paid the gnomish [Enchanters] we’d been using to put some strengthening and lightening enchantments on it. The runes glowed faintly from beneath the cart, and we had to send someone under there once a day to replace the monster core charging them, but it was worth it. It also had a magic refrigerator since going on a road trip with Bran without fresh ingredients would have been a missed opportunity.

This cart would be able to take most forms of long range punishment, and could even block a strike or two from monsters. Plus it practically floated over the stones. A good thing, given how bumpy the ride would have been otherwise. We were going to be spending a week on the road, so I’d spared no expense for comfort. The seats were padded with thick brown goat’s wool, and a small table ran through the center for eating or sleeping on. There were several cloth partitions that could be set up for privacy, and a series of kegs ran along one side for easy drinking.

Of course, that left us fairly cramped, with Balin, Annie, Johnsson, Richter, Aqua, Kirk, and myself in a single wagon. Oh, and suddenly guildmaster Malt as well. At least Kirk had volunteered to spend most of the day walking, so things were simply tight instead of crushing. He was also carrying more than half our total supplies in his porter space, which made him very nearly the most important person in our caravan. If he got killed or dropped dead en-route we’d be hooped.

I watched the single-storey buildings of Minnova rattle past, and shooed away the occasional cat that tried to hitch a ride. The purple light of the crystal poured in through the fabric sides and cast deep shadows within the cart. I stared at the black shapes as they bent and twisted, and reminisced.

It was a bit surreal, actually. Just over two years ago we’d entered the city from the other direction, heading to an uncertain future in a failing brewery. Now we were exiting triumphant, the greatest brewers in all of Minnova leaving to compete in a national brewing tournament.

It was poetic, in a way.

I turned to Aqua, who was chatting with Annie beside me. “Hey Aqua, think you could write a song about us winning the contest? Immortalize it in music and whatnot?”

Aqua gave me an “I’m busy” wave.

“I could write you something for the tin-whistle, Pete!” Malt called merrily. He had somehow managed to get his comfy chair from the guild installed in the wagon and was lounging while drinking a bottle of his own Marvelous Malts. I decided to ignore him and moved forward to chat with the dashing duo instead.

Johnsson and Richter sat in the driver’s seat, ensuring that our three unigoats stayed on course. Our wagon train was now five wagons long, with Opal and Bran adding a wagon of their own last minute. Copperpot was in front, followed by Bran and Opal’s fancy carriage, then us, next was Raspberrysyrup’s ginormous stage wagon, and finally Whistlemop bringing up the rear with his ostentatious merchanting affair.

“Johnsson, Richter, how goes it?” I asked. “Who’s driving?”

Johnsson held up his hand. “Me.”

“Thanks for the hard work, driving.”

Johnsson gave me a confused glance. “What?”

Richter barked a note of laughter, then smiled and nodded.

I grinned back. “Any accidents yet?”

“Nah. Only had to dodge a single hitball scrimmage.” Johnsson said. He was leaned back in his chair and relaxed, with the nonchalance of someone that has spent decades driving. “Little moustachios need someone to give ‘em a toss.”

“You almost hit dat old dwarfess.” Richter chastised.

“Well she shouldn’t ‘ave tried to beat me across the street. It’s a dumb idea even with a movement Ability.”

“And da cat?”

“Cat’s don’t count. They go where they want, and sometimes that’s under wagon wheels.”

“You know, we’re barely out of the city. How are we going to survive all the way to Kinshasa if we nearly have an accident every minute?” I asked, amused.

Johnsson shrugged. “It’ll be fine once we hit the highway.”

Richter frowned. “Though we’ll need ta keep an eye out for monsters. You ‘ave a high Perception, Pete?”

“Pretty high. One sec.”

I pulled up my character sheet for the first time in a long time. I really had started to stagnate in Minnova, and I could see how dwarves became so set in their ways. No new Milestones or Stats for long stretches of a time really put you in a rut.

Status: Provided by the Firmament

Name: Peter Roughtuff

Age: 50

Conditions: [Blessed]

Race: Dwarf

Blessings: [Flesh to Stone], [Flash of Insight x 2], [Strength of All: Held], [Regeneration], [Minimap], [Refine Brew]

Title: [Otherworldly Brewer]

Milestones: [Power Pick], [Basic Slash], [White Lie], [Mental Maths], [Big Money], [Bottomless Barrel], [Thick Skin], [Friend: Gnomes], [Pete’s Miniature Remembrance], [Check Quality]

Strength: 15.4

Vitality: 19 [23]

Stolen novel; please report.

Agility: 12.2

Dexterity: 13.8

Wisdom: 15.4

Intelligence: 15.8

Perception: 18.4

Charisma: 17.4

All those Milestones were really burning a hole in my pocket. Now that I had my first personal Milestone though, I really wanted to see what would happen if I combined it with my future [Manasight]. Apparently more rare Milestones earlier meant better Specialisation paths. I also had that Karmic Reversal sitting around, whatever it did. Maybe Berry knew.

“My Perception’s about 18,” I reported.

“About..?” Johnsson turned and gave me a confused look.

“EYES ON THE ROAD!” Richter and I screamed at the same time. Johnsson looked forward and yanked on the reins just in time to avoid sending Penelope into some roadwork.

*MAAAAHHH!!!* [Translated from Primma Donna Goat] “You dare yank on me!? I shall eat your socks while you sleep, varlet!!”

“Sorry Princess!” Johnsson shouted back, shamefaced.

“Don’t forget that we’re doing a quick stop to pick up Balin at Greentree. He sent word that he’d meet us there,” I mentioned. “He says he has a surprise.”

“Aye aye, bossman.” Johnsson muttered, echoing Kirk’s nickname for me.

Our wagon clattered onwards, to destiny!!!

Or Kinshasa, whichever was closest.

*Bing!*

New Quest: On The Road Again

New frontiers! New sights! New Dangers! New people to get angry at you!

Thus begins the next major step on your journey!

Reach Kinshasa Alive: 1.4/273.5 km traveled

Rewards: 1 Agility

Do you accept?

Yes / No

Well, that wasn’t ominous at all.

—

Somewhere else.

On the side of a cliff stood a white stone gazebo. Mist fell from a great waterfall that stretched beneath it, vanishing into the clouds below. A black mountain rose up behind it, seeming to touch the sky. A circular marble table covered by a complex game-board sat in the centre of the gazebo. The edges of the board stretched into the distance while still somehow filling a defined space. Eight ornate figurines sat upon the board – a dragon, an elf, two humans, two dwarves, a gnome, and a beastfolk.

The two dwarves lay across from one another. One held a bottle and the other a shepherd’s crook. The gnome, which was frozen in dance, stood between them.

The gazebo was otherwise empty.

Suddenly, there came the sound of raucous laughter from outside.

Picture, if you can, a blonde human woman with a mullet. She is garbed in the clothing of an adventurer, with a telescope at her waist and joy on her face. Except she’s the size of a skyscraper and formed of the ghostly ectoplasm that is soulstuff. She’s also surfing a waterfall straight up into the sky.

“Midna really likes that Barista Brew.” Archis commented as the woman bailed and fell screaming down the mountain. He was as impeccable as usual, in his many-pocketed wizard’s robe. He looked much like an old man, though his skin was made of aged, crinkled paper, and shifted with constantly swirling runes and letters.

The only thing out of place was the bright pink shirt he wore under his robe that proclaimed: ‘Raspberrysyrup on Tour’.

“Not as much as Aaron and Barck like that Liquid Gold.” Lunara’s tone was scathing as she glanced down at the two figures curled up together on the ground. One was the God Aaron, a beastfolk that seemed to be made of wisps of multi-coloured cloud, and Barck, whose green body shifted and stirred as wind streamed across him from Aaron. They were laying in each other's arms and snoring.

“Where’s Yearn?” Archis asked, looking around.

“She’s driving.”

Archis’s eyes grew wide “What? Really?”

“Yes. I’m worried. She’s been far too well behaved recently.”

“It could be that she’s distracted with all the changes happening around the world,” Archis theorized. He liked doing that. “With all the strong feelings about, there are a lot of opportunities for her to get new Blessed.”

“I don’t think so…” Lunara growled. “I still can’t find her Chosen.”

“He’s up in the human kingdoms, it’ll be fine! You should be more worried about what’ll happen when your Chosen butts heads with Peter Roughtuff.” Archis’s tone was matter-of-fact.

Lunara lifted her nose into the air and sniffed. Her skin, a supple velveteen darkness, was smooth and unblemished - as befitted an elf. Her robes of woven moonlight were perfectly arranged around her. “Peter Roughtuff hasn’t been taking advantage of his Gifts at all, and he isn’t able to get help from Barck. I’m not concerned. And what about your own Chosen? Shouldn’t you be more worried about her?”

“My Chosen is pretty much untouchable by now. She may not win, but she already set what I wanted in motion.”

“Bah. What fun is the Great Game if you don’t try to win it?”

“To each their own. Also, I think you may need to worry about more than just Barck helping Pete.” Archis pointed to where a shining being was devouring a set of beer-basted ribs. Solen’s visage was that of a proud dragon made of roiling sunlight, which sat in juxtaposition to the dark brown sauce covering his scintillating hands. A tankard of ruby-red liquid that smelled faintly of iron sat half-empty beside him. Across the table, a gnomess lay comatose in a chaise lounge, several plates of goodies sitting empty before her.

Lunara frowned. “I cannot fathom how they’re all so besotted. It’s just beer and food.”

Archis spread his hands. “We are what we are, and always will be.”

“You imply we are incapable of change.” Lunara scoffed. “Solen is a God of chaos. He’s nothing but change.”

“Ah, but he's always change.” Archis said, his eye twinkling. “That is constant.”

Lunara frowned. “And yet while I am now the Goddess of Law, I was once the Goddess of Tradition. Where Solen is now Freedom, he was once Service. Change is clearly possible.”

Archis shrugged. “So, then I am wrong.”

“Hah! You admitting you were wrong? Now there's some change; these are strange times.”

Archis’s eyes twinkled. They spoke of magic, knowledge, and darker things. “They are, aren’t they? But that’s the point. Now, are you going to swing that axe?”

Lunara swung her axe down and expertly drove the nail entirely into the wooden round. It was a perfect strike, but then, everything about Lunara was perfect and orderly.

Archis frowned. “This feels unfair.”

“Unfair is what Peter Roughtuff is walking into. This is Axeschlaggen. Now, it’s your turn.”

He swung.

He missed.

But that was okay. He wasn’t trying to win, he just wanted to play the game.

And if he got bored, he knew lots of ways to overturn the board…