Govnu’s beard!  You shouldn’t sneak up on a dwarf that way.  It’s a good way to get a mash paddle upside the head!

Greetings, though.  Your timing is actually excellent; I was just doughing in the mash, so I will be able to rest a bit and chat.

Hmm? Oh, that’s when we begin cooking the grains to make food for the beer spirits.  What’s that? Why are you laughing?  You’re damned right there are beer spirits!  Here, put this on, I will show you.  It’s a monoscope; the leather strap goes over your head; and the brass eye piece goes over the right…that’s it. Now turn the copper bit to focus and look at this slide.  See the little buggers?  We always knew there were beer spirits, but with these marvelous contraptions we can now SEE them.

But you didn’t come here to look at beer spirits did you?  You came for a tale, I warrant.  Yes, I did say I would tell you of how beer would save Urthgardt from certain doom!

Have a seat, lad.  I shall just light my pipe, and decide where to begin.

My father, Mikkus, was a clockmaker in the city of  Caernagon, the capital of the Kingdom of Men. I was but a stripling then! Barely enough hair covered my chin to even cast a shadow.  I was Father’s apprentice, and had my own workbench in a corner , where I helped with minor repairs and some smelting and casting of parts.  My mother was named Kettil, and came from a family of brewers; it is from her that I take my surname now.  She ran an inn with her clan in Blackforge Mountain, but like all dwarves, she trained with and served some time in our militia.  She was slain in the Orc Wars when I was very small, so I remember very little of her now, only that Father was very proud of her and missed her terribly.  He took me and left the Mountain, I imagine to escape the memories of her at every turn.  We set up shop in Caernagon and he did his best to raise me and teach me to be a proper dwarf, and a good engineer.  And I did my best to be interested in it.

The human king was still Artholas then, but he was a boy as well at the time.  The old king, his father, was Jakob, and the queen mother,  Alanna, was distraught when he passed of a sudden one night, some said through…questionable circumstances.  Human lineage works in a strange way, or at least it did at the time; I’ve been out of touch with human politics for many years.  A Queen of Men was not allowed to rule over Men alone, so she would be the regent of the boy King and advise him.  When he came of an age, he would rule his own kingdom.  Why, here in Blackforge, a Dwarven queen would simply carry on with…er…queening. Ahem.

Yes, well, the Queen did not do much advising, for there was a magus by the name of  Sotur Li who became the boy’s primary councilor.  He managed to worm his way into the Queen’s affections, and some say even her bed.  The hold he had over her was complete.

Old King Jakob was much loved by his people.  There were many years of peace, prosperity, and freedom under his reign.  The Lords and Ladies under his rule were able to manage their holdings as they saw fit.  When there were disputes with the King, ultimately the nobility accepted his final word because they recognized his wisdom for what it was, and they loved him for it.

Old Sotur Li had no use for love.  He preferred to rule by fear.

What he did need, though, was my father’s skills.  One day, a month into his role as Royal Advisor, the magus blew into my father’s shop, his normally fine silk robes smudged with soot and partially hanging in tatters.  In his arms he carried an enormous book nearly a handswidth thick, bound and locked with bits of iron, copper, and bronze.  The cover was covered with runes of a sort.  I could not make much out from where I sat.

“I need this book opened, Clockmaker,” the magus demanded.   ”The safety of our Kingdom depends on it!”   I got down from my chair and wandered over to get a better look.   The locking mechanism was all gears and teeth and copper, so I could see why Li had brought it to us.

“Where did it come from?” My father asked, slipping a headpiece on with a magnifying lens.  “The work is very fine.”

“There is no need for you to know that,” the Regent smiled, beginning to smooth out his singed robes.  “It is a matter of His Majesty’s security.”

My father laughed and winked.  “Well, His Majesty’s gold is certainly as good as any other! Let’s see what we have here…”

Sotur Li did not seem amused.

I watched him as my father examined the locking mechanism.  I was naturally curious about such a high-ranking official in the King’s court.  He wandered casually about the shop, with a shuffling kind of  walk on the balls of his feet.  He was humming tunelessly.  There was something about those eyes that made you want to not meet them.  It was an…emptiness, almost.  He was tall, with pale hair and paler blue eyes that glittered like chips of ice, but showed little emotion.  He seemed to be especially interested in the assorted clocks in different states of repair about the workspace.

With a SNAP and an “Aha!” my father sat back in his chair and removed the magnifier from his face.  “There you are, Regent!  Quite a puzzle it was, too.” Upon releasing the hidden catch, the bronze and silver teeth holding the tome closed had retracted into the binding.  Mikkus leaned forward to open the book, but the transformation of its cover was not complete.  With a series of whirs and clicks, the lock assembled itself into a two-foot high clockwork golem with arms and legs.  Our jaws hung open as jets of steam appeared from various joints as it began to walk with a clumsy gait across the table towards my father.

The end of its arms then sprouted wicked blades that began to spin as it advanced toward Mikkus.  He backed away with a shout, hands grabbing for some sort of weapon to defend himself from the tiny enemy.   I picked up a smith’s hammer and lunged at the thing, swinging down with all my might.  Gears and springs and other bits  flew across the room as the golem met its timely end.

“What manner of sorcery is this, magus?” My father snarled, picking himself up from the floor.   He took the hammer from me and advanced on the wizard.  ”I make clocks, not weapons.  How dare you bring this…devilry into my place of business?”

Li ignored him, poring over the newly opened book, muttering to himself.  ”These runes…this all looks Dwarven.  That witch!  What am I supposed to…” He stopped cold and looked up at the red-faced dwarf stalking towards him. “Do not threaten me, little one.  You know not the forces with which you meddle. It seems I have further need of you.”

My father spat at his feet.  ”I’ll have no more of this, magus.  Leave the way you came in.”

Sotur Li drew himself up with his nose in the air, almost on tiptoe.  ”Have you forgotten my station, dwarf?  When His Majesty’s Regent has need of you, you WILL make it happen.  As the only dwarf AND engineer in this city, you must translate this manual for me, for the security of His Majesty.  And you will help me use what it contains in defense of our homeland.”

“I’ll do no such bloody-”

“AND to…repay your expertise and workmanship, I will give your son the position of my personal clocksmith  in the Palace itself.  He will report to me directly, so fear not; his safety is assured, as your work here may become somewhat….hazardous for a young dwarf.”

My father’s face had passed through red and purple and was becoming downright blue. His beard waggled as he struggled to form some protest.

“I thought you might come around to my way of thinking. Boy! You are with me.  I will send men to gather your things.”

And so it was that I moved into the palace.  I was old enough to know that there was no choice.  I was determined to make my father proud, though, and make the best of it.  Without the friends that I would make there, I most likely would not have survived.

Ah! But that is a tale for another night it seems.  The grains have finished cooking, and I will need to transfer the wort into the kettle for boiling.

Farewell! Until next time…

Brann Kegbelly

My name is Brann Kegbelly, and I am a Dwarf.  And by this, I don’t mean a shortened, misshapen version of a Man.  We are quite our own people, thank you very much! Harrumph. Yes, well, getting on with it then.  Our males wear our long beards proudly, some woven in braids, some wild and woolly and free, some tied neatly with leather straps.  A Dwarf’s beard is a symbol of honor, and may only be shorn when that honor is lost.  But such things are rarely spoken of.  Our females are of a height with us, mayhap slightly shorter, but broad and strong themselves.   They must be, to work along side us as they do sometimes; and to bear and raise our children if they choose.

Our people, are, by and large, craftsmen.  Ow! And women; thank you for the reminder, dear.  Most of us in our crafts are drawn to working with things of the earth: stone, metals, gemstones.  There are countless Dwarven blacksmiths, engineers, masons, architects, miners, jewelers; all good talented dwarfs who live for their work.   For a Dwarf, the most important task is the one we are doing right this instant!

There is none of this Elfish business of laying about in some shady wood singing songs and spouting poetry, not in these mountains!  No, when our work must be finished, when we can no longer swing a hammer or lift an axe, then we go home to our families, and share meat, bread, and stories and play with our children, much like you do in your world, I would imagine.  But then the next day, we will be back to it, earning our living with hard work and pride in our craft.

There is one other thing that Dwarves share a love for.  And since you are here reading this, perhaps you do, as well.

Beer.

For us it is lifeblood! It is another form of nourishment; our workers draw strength from it.  Our priests of Govnu bless it and we share it in communion in our temples.  Our warriors draw courage from it, and when they march in the fields during wartime, sometimes it is the only food they have.  This is why our brews are so thick, and dark, and heavy.  It not only quenches our thirst, but often feeds us.

I, myself, have a special bond for this nectar of the gods.  For I have the good fortune to be able to make it.  I shall allow a few moments for your awe-struck envy to subside.

…

Right, then, moving on.

Strangely enough, brewers among our people did not always share the same respect and honor as our smiths, masons, and miners.  Some viewed us as merely a step above servants.  Except among the warrior class.  Among fighting dwarves, a brewer could always find defenders, friends, and allies.  These Dwarves knew our value, as our craft occasionally was the only thing keeping them alive.

There would come a time, however, when all Dwarves, and indeed the other peoples of Urthgardt as well, learned to honor our brewers, and their own as well.  I would like to think I had some small part in that.

Attend further, and you shall hear of how beer saved the lands of Urthgardt.

Until next time,

Brann Kegbelly
Brewmaster
The Hoppy Dwarf Brewing Company