Ultimate Level 1

“You’ve been gone a while. You two have missed out on a lot since that fateful day.”

Max watched as the three dwarves walked ahead of Tanila, Cordellia, and himself, each of them having spent some time already discussing the goings-on of the city.

“Nomgrom has been busy since the last brew festival, and your father won another trophy to put on his wall.”

“How many does that make? Seventeen?” Fowl asked.

“Eighteen,” Batrire replied. “He’ll be excited about that. What about the rest of the city?”

Max sensed a slight shift in how Gatzer’s stride stiffened, the older dwarf almost seeming to pull up as he took a moment to reply.

“There have been many who have gone to the capital. Fowl’s parents and one of his brothers have all left and are now working there.”

“What?!” their warrior exclaimed, grabbing the other dwarf by the shoulder and spinning him around. “They left their forge?! Why?”

“Don’t worry. Your other two brothers and sister are there, still carrying on the family name, just that the… king needed a few more weapon and armor smiths. He had a contest, and well… your mother produced an armor set, while your father produced a hammer and axe that won. They were things of beauty.”

“You should have seen the excitement in our city as they left, an actual escort coming to take whatever supplies they needed as well as the furniture your mom wouldn’t leave here. They took your youngest brother, Grondir, with them. Now just the older three remain, but they have been busy from what I know. Most of the other forges in that area are struggling to find work, now that they have the king’s seal upon their shop.”

“The seal of the king… when?”

“Five months ago… maybe four. I’d say my memory is a bit foggy, but that wasn’t really something I put a ton of time into remembering. When one reaches my age, you learn to enjoy the quiet moments with an ale in your hand and no one to lecture you upon getting home late.”

Batrire’s hand squeezed Fowl’s shoulder as he stood there.

“We’ll be fine, my love. We can tell my parents and then travel to the capital and find yours. After that, we can do the wedding.”

A small snort came from Fowl, who then sighed.

“Perhaps it’s best for now. I’m not sure how they would have taken all this at once. Besides, your dad will most likely be the harder one right now to deal with.”

“Should I go on ahead and purchase a lot of ale to make the man happy?”

Their warrior gave the older dwarf a gentle shove and shook his head.

“No,” he replied, taking a deep breath and puffing out his chest. “I’ve learned to handle my own problems, and this sounds like something I need to deal with head-on. We won’t try and grease the gears with your money, and I’m ready to go see Batrire’s parents and tell them that I love her and we’re getting married.”

The tiniest gasp came from their healer, and then a giant smile appeared on her lips as she drew closer to Fowl.

“Let’s go, my love. Your father doesn’t scare me in the least.”

As the pair started to walk away, Tanila leaned in to Max.

“Is he telling the truth?”

Nodding, he smiled and shrugged.

“Everything about him from the way he was standing, walking, his voice, and even his heart says that he’s telling the truth. If I had to bet on something, I think Fowl was honest when he was glad his parents weren’t here. Now I’m really curious about what leads to this amount of trouble.”

Cordellia joined their small huddle and winked.

“Dwarves… if you think elves are moody, just wait. We might be in for a fireworks show.”

***

The last few buildings and businesses they passed grew in size, each one taking up a larger amount of space on the block where they were situated.

Different restaurants had places for wagons and carriages to be parked, one even having an area where dwarves were tossing axes at targets, loud shouts and hollering coming from whoever was winning or losing.

“It’s there,” Batrire said as she pointed to a building that had fine worked stone walls surrounding it.

“That’s far larger than I had expected,” Cordellia stated. “Just how rich are you?”

A groan came from their healer as she shook her head.

“My family is well off. They have been brewing alcohol for over a thousand years, and while I said my father has eighteen awards to his name, the family has over a hundred. While that is quite good in this town, there is one in the capital who boasts almost five hundred of the trophies. That is why they are there, and we are here.”

“Still… all this space. In any elven city they would be well off. Very well off.”

“Bah, don’t let her fool you,” Gatzer called out. “I’ve probably paid them more money than anyone else in the city, and trust me, they aren’t hurting for gold. Most of the city gets at least a cask or two each week from their brewery.”

Max’s nose twitched, and the smell he detected a few blocks ago had grown stronger, the smell of grain being turned into alcohol, one he wasn’t as accustomed to as some might expect. His time growing up back home hadn’t been spent near any of the breweries, and he didn’t want to get a skill in it, so he avoided that chance when it came.

“Seems a steady stream of traffic already, and it’s not even night time yet,” Tanila said as she motioned to the line of dwarves who were waiting outside a gate and lined up along a wall.

“Oh, that’s because of the new brew that Jataic created. Somehow, he put alcohol and magic together in his latest creation. Now it causes a dwarf to fart so hard it makes one wonder how no holes have been found in every pair of pants in town.”

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

“An ale that causes farting?” Fowl asked. “Sounds… fun.”

Chuckling, the one-eyed dwarf nodded.

“That it is… some call it a Rear Blaster or a Butt Bubbler, but if I’m honest, the real name isn’t spoken much since the last dwarf happened to blurt it out around a gaggle of kids. Poor dwarf couldn’t taste anything after that group of mothers held him down and wore out his tongue.”

Crossing the street when there was no danger of carts coming, the group moved toward the gate and a pair of dwarves in leather and holding clubs came toward them, holding up their hands.

“Sorry, no cutting in line. If you want a drink you’ll have to—”

“Batrire?”

The one who had cut off the first moved quickly, and Max realized it was a female dwarf, her voice and the shape under the armor catching his attention.

Batrire nodded and held her arms open.

“Ruggula? Is that really you?!”

“Aye! Praise Ockrim, the prodigal daughter has returned!”

Both women embraced and laughed, each of them squeezing the other tight as a pair of dwarves closest to the open gate started to make for the unprotected entrance.

“You two! Don’t make me send you to the back!” the other guard shouted out.

Max grinned as he watched the pair, trying not to eavesdrop on the whispers they were talking in.

Finally, after they pulled apart, the red-headed guard turned and looked at their warrior.

“Fowl Hammerfall. You have grown. Not just in height but most likely a pair between your legs if you’re walking as you are and not slinking in by a side door.”

“Ruggula. It seems your mouth is as lovely as I always remember. One day, I hope to grow a pair as big as yours.”

The guard laughed and came to Fowl, the pair hugging each other for a moment before the green eyes of the woman fell upon Max and the two elves.

“So… a party of five… and with elves and a human. I’m guessing you all have returned home to announce you’re going to enter the tower?”

Fowl’s mouth started to open, and Batrire quickly moved to where he was and elbowed him.

“Well, we wanted to tell my parents the big news before we took the next step,” their healer replied. “It’s been a busy time since I left home, and I felt we should come back.”

Nodding, Ruggula took a step back and nodded at Max and the others.

“Well, I guess that means you all can skip the line, except you,” the guard stated, looking at Gatzer. “You’ve already had your share of alcohol for the day. If you want to get in again, get to the back of the line.”

“But—” the one-eyed dwarf started to protest, stopping when the red-headed guard moved quickly to stand almost chest-to-chest with him.

“No complaining, or we won’t let you in for a few days,” she growled.

“Bah! If these youngins weren’t around, I’d say things not meant for dwarves of culture!”

Ruggula started to laugh, shaking her head, and raised her finger, pointing at the end of the line.

“Well then, I guess that means we understand each other. Now move before I play everyone’s favorite game, toss the drunk dwarf .”

Gatzer glanced at Tanila, who shrugged, somehow surprising Max as she kept a straight face.

“Perhaps the line won’t be that long,” their healer stated. “Regardless, I’ll tell Father what a help you were. Maybe that will earn you a free pass in the coming days.”

As the older dwarf shot the guard a hand gesture, Batrire motioned for everyone to follow her.

Max saw the gate of the entrance they went through had a large crest that symbolized the family name. Somehow, inside his mind, he understood it, but he was not sure if it was knowledge he had acquired somewhere or the language skill he possessed.

“Those runes and images, they talk about honor, beer, and Ockrim,” he said as they passed by it. “ Honor comes from brewing for our god. Am I correct?”

Fowl started to cough, and he could feel Tanila and Cordellia both staring at him.

“You… interpreted that perfectly,” Batrire said slowly. “I… I’m impressed. Do you see these symbols, the cup, barley, sun, and crown?”

Max nodded as their healer moved closer to the metal doors. She touched them, almost with an affectionate stroke, her fingers gliding across the relief that stood out on the door.

“As a child, my father always told me what our family means to Ockrim. That we brew to make him happy is the goal in everything we do. Each part of the process is an act of worship.”

Her tone seemed distant, yet it was also filled with joy.

“Whenever I was young, my dad would carry me around the shop with the rest of the family. His brothers and sisters would sing and tell stories, yet the most important part came when they tested a new batch. A small shrine is in there for Ockrim, and each glass deemed worthy was set out first. The next morning I would come running and see that the glass was always empty. Proof, Dad said, that Ockrim was pleased with what we had done.”

“Does he actually drink it?”

Batrire turned and smiled at Cordellia, shrugging as she shook her head.

“The little dwarf in me says yes, but the older one who caught my uncle one time draining it dry says no. Still, part of me doesn’t care what I saw. It was hard not choosing to be part of the brewers. There is a history here, yet my parents didn’t complain too much when I took the path I did.”

“Too much?”

She nodded again at their ranger and then pointed at a large warehouse that was away from the noise where any dwarf who made it inside went.

“Inside those walls is a history of my family. Pictures, busts, and other memorials to each dwarf who took on the family skill are immortalized in there. A special room exists, and only those who brew will ever be there. I… No matter what happens, I won’t ever have a place in that room.”

Laughter from inside the large stone ale house that was bursting at the seams stole from the quiet moment they were having as Batrire’s gaze fell to the stone floor.

“Perhaps he’ll let you in now when you tell him how far we’ve come in the tower,” Fowl said softly, slipping his arm around hers. “If not, we’ll start our own room and tell each of our children how their mother kept me alive through demons, dragons, spiders, and more.”

She sniffed and looked up at Fowl, her eyes slightly misty and stroked his beard for a moment before giving it a sharp tug.

“Damn you, Fowl Hammerfall,” she muttered. “You’re going to make me cry before I see my father, and when he kicks your arse, don’t blame me.”

In a moment their dwarven warrior was covered head to toe in armor.

“Bah, I’d like to see him try!”

‎