Gosdrunli of Etem'arda

[Kingofdreams]

​

Minor Glossary

Name is pronounced
Gos-drun-Li of Eh-Tem-Ar-Da

Chapter 1
​

The pickaxe felt wrong in my hands. Always had, always would. I swung it against the shallow seam, watching chips of copper ore scatter across the tunnel floor. Behind me, old Thorek huffed and wheezed, his beard grey as winter sludge.

"Yer form's shite, boy."

"I know." I wiped sweat from my brow, the elongated mining lantern casting our shadows long against the rough-hewn walls. I'd been working these shallow tunnels for three years now, ever since the Elders finally let me try my hand at proper mining work on my twenty-seventh nameday. They'd relented after two decades of pestering. 'Work' was generous though. This shaft barely qualified as a scratch in Mount Etem'arda's skin.

"Copper won't dig itself." Thorek shuffled past, his own pickaxe swinging with the remembered muscle memory of six centuries. The old bastard could probably mine in his sleep. "And stop thinkin' so loud. Can hear yer brain grindin' from here."

I returned to the Swing of it.. Swing, chip, swing, chip. The rhythm never came naturally. It did for proper dwarves born mining vigor in their blood and iron in their bones.

I wasn't proper though, was I?

The leather coin purse at my belt held three years of careful saving. Forty-two silver pieces. Enough for the brewing kit , consisting of the best equipment needed for a beginner, including the copper cauldron , ladle, stirring oar, straining cloths and the best Moutainisgood yeast , cooling Trays and Kimmel. I'd been eyeing with a handful left over for ingredients. Every copper piece earned from these pathetic shallow tunnels, hoarded against the day I could finally attempt something that felt right.

The memories haunted me still. Not of this life, crawling through the Clan Durn-Kahl nursery with the other whelps. The other life. The one before. Fluorescent lights and car horns and the smell of coffee from a paper cup. I'd been someone else once. Somewhere else. The full details had faded slowly over thirty years, worn smooth like a river stone although my passions for brewing still remained and the desire to never see a loved one hurt again.

"Oi!" Thorek's bark echoed off the walls. "That's enough fer today. Sun'll be down soon."

"Sun's always down in here."

"Don't get clever with me, whelp."

He still called me that even though I've been trying for the last decade to convince him not to , at this point he suspected he was just being an ornery bastard. The full brewing kit waited in the merchants' quarter, every piece selected over months of careful consideration. My hand went unconsciously to the copper ring I wore on a leather cord beneath my shirt. The only thing that had come with me when I was found. No clan marks, no identifying features, just plain copper worn smooth by thirty years of handling. The Elders had given it back to me when I turned fifteen, along with the story of how I'd been found bundled in rough wool outside the eastern gates during a harsh winter.

We emerged from the shaft into the Clan Hall of Durn-Kahl proper, where cooking fires painted the vaulted ceiling in dancing orange.The sleek metal engravings and pictures hung near the ceiling and walls. The smell of roasting goat and fermented barley made my stomach growl. Dozens of dwarves milled about, their voices a constant rumble punctuated by laughter and the occasional crash of mugs.

"Gosdrunli!" Brakka bounded over, fifty-eight years old and still full of that puppyish energy he had always possessed. "Heard you finally scraped together the coin fer that kit. Gonna brew something proper?"

"Gonna try."

"Ha! It'll definitely be better than the swill old Murnick, down near the refinery calls ale." Brakka lowered his voice, glancing around the Hall. "Yer really leavin' when yer hundred-twenty?straight away?"

The question hung between us. Everyone knew. The Elders had never hidden it, never been cruel about it. Just matter of fact. I wasn't Clan Durn-Kahl by blood, so when I reached maturity, I'd venture out. Every dwarf did it. Found their trade, made their fortune, maybe came back, maybe didn't. Some did profitable enough crafts they didnt need to leave the Clan.

"That's the way of things, I'll still be in Mount Etem'arda."

"Aye. Ninety years is a long time though."

"Is it?" I thought of my previous life, how quickly those years had slipped past. Here, time moved differently. Slower. Dwarves didn't rush. Couldn't afford to when you had centuries ahead.

Brakka clapped me on the shoulder and wandered off towards the food, leaving me standing in the Hall's organised chaos. I pushed through the crowd, heading for the quieter corridors that led to the apprentice quarters. My room was barely a room. More of a deep carved alcove with a curtain. It was mine though, and tomorrow, it will hold my kit.

I pulled the curtain shut and lit the small oil lamp bolted to the wall. My workbench sat empty, waiting. I'd spent years practising with borrowed pots and communal equipment, sneaking time in the Hall kitchens when the cooks weren't looking, testing different ingredients in this strange new life. Tomorrow will be different though. I'd have my own equipment, and I could brew whenever inspiration struck without begging for access.

I sat on my stool and pulled out my notebook, one of my few luxuries. Proper paper was costly, I'd located a merchant who sold damaged sheets at a bargain though. The pages were stained and torn along the edges, perfectly functional for recipe notes.

Dreamcap Ale - First Attempt

Goal: Create something marketable. Prove the concept.

Base: Standard cavern barley ale

Additions: Dreamcap mushrooms (how many?), bitterleaf, sweetroot

Magical infusion effects : Enhanced dreams, mild euphoria

Expected sale price: 8-10 silver per bottle?

The question marks multiplied as I wrote. The coins were 100 copper coins to 1 silver and 10 silver to 1 gold. I managed to save up 42 silvers with shallow mining they'd allow a foundling dwarf to do. I'd need to test ratios carefully. Elder Grimda had been teaching me rune work since I was fifteen, two-hour sessions every Seventhday after mining practice. She'd noticed my affinity for magical infusion and decided someone ought to make sure I didn't blow myself up. The lessons had been grueling. They'd given me something the other foundling children didn't have though. A skill that was mine. I closed the notebook and extinguished my lamp, reclining onto my bedroll in the darkness.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll buy the kit and begin.

---

The merchants' quarter was brighter than the other quarters like the craftsman and industry. It was busy when I arrived the next morning, my coin purse heavy at my belt. Forty-two silver pieces. A fortune by apprentice standards to have on hand in one go. The brewing equipment merchant was a stout, grumpy looking dwarf named Gornik, his stall packed with copper pots, ceramic jugs, oak barrels, and more specialised tools. I'd been visiting for months, asking questions, examining his wares.

"Ah, the foundling brewer." Gornik grinned, showing gold teeth. "Finally got the coin together?"

"Aye. The full kit we discussed."

"Right then." He began pulling items from his shelves. Grunting from the strain of some of the items "Copper pot, medium size. Oak barrel, quarter-cask. Six ceramic jugs, reinforced. Muslin straining cloth, double-layer. Bronze stirring rod. Corking tools and wax." I watched him lay everything out, my heart pounding.

"Thirty-eight silver for the lot. That's the price we agreed on, and I'm holdin' to it."

I counted out the coins, watching my savings evaporate. Thirty-eight silver pieces. Three years of work. Gone in moments. Worth it though. Worth every copper.

Gornik helped me pack everything into a canvas sack. "You need ingredients too? Got some basic herbs if yer interested."

"What've you got?"

"Bitterleaf, sweetroot, hopvine. Standard herbs for brewing anything. Two silver gets you enough for ten bottles."

I hesitated. That would leave me with only two silver. Barely anything.

"I'll take it."

He packaged the herbs in paper bundles whilst I counted out two more silver pieces. Forty silver spent. Two remaining. I hauled my purchases back to my quarters, arms aching from the weight. The copper pot alone was substantial. When I finally pushed through my curtain and set everything on my workbench, exhaustion and exhilaration warred within me. This was it. My chance. I arranged everything carefully. Copper pot, aged oak barrel the size of my torso, ceramic jugs, muslin cloth for straining, and the herbs Gornik had sold me. I'd been growing dreamcap mushrooms in secret behind the Hall's refuse heap for months, so I had those ready.

Magic hummed beneath my fingertips as I traced the purification rune across the copper pot's surface. The metal gleamed, impurities lifting away like morning mist. Simple cantrip. Children's magic. I'd practised it relentlessly over the years though, along with infusion techniques that could coax flavours from the most stubborn ingredients.

Elder Grimda's teaching had been worth the effort. Fifteen years of lessons had given me precision in runework that most apprentices lacked. I measured out the barley into the pot, my hands steady. Water next, purified with another whispered rune. The liquid swirled and swished, every trace of mineral and sediment settling to the bottom. I could have bought purified water from the Hall stores. Where was the satisfaction in that though?

The herbs came last. Bitterleaf grown in the underground farms for depth, sweetroot from the upper ground ones for balance, and a pinch of dreamcap, slight because it required delving deeper to get or grow, because I was feeling ambitious. The [Infusion] rune required more concentration. I pressed my palm flat against the pot's side, feeling the warmth of the metal, and spoke the words Elder Grimda had taught me when I was twenty. Power flowed from my core, down my arm, into the brew. The herbs dissolved, their essences spreading through the liquid in spiralling patterns visible only to my mage-sight. Green and gold and deep purple, swirling together until they achieved perfect harmony.

I slumped back against the wall, breathing hard. Infusion work always left me wrung out like wet cloth. Footsteps brought my attention to my curtains.

"Showin' off again?"

Elder Grimda's rough voice made me jump. The old crone stood in my doorway, curtain pushed aside, her silver beard braided with amber beads that clicked when she moved.

"Just practising."

"Practising, he says." She shuffled closer, peering into my pot with eyes that had seen seven hundred years of foolishness. "Yer infusion's too strong. Dreamcap'll give whoever drinks this the worst headache since Thorek fell off the ale wagon." he wondered how long they had known each other.

"I can adjust it."

"Course you can. Yer a natural at this, boy." She settled onto my spare stool with a grunt. "Didn't spend fifteen years teachin' you rune work just to watch you burn someone's brain out with a dreamcap." There it was again. That casual reminder of how much time she'd invested in me. Or maybe he was just more sensitive to time unlike her.

"I'll manage."

"Aye, reckon you will." Grimda's gnarled fingers drummed against her knee. "Always been something strange about you. Good strange, mind. Strange though. Like yer mind's somewhere else half the time."

My heart stuttered.

"Just thinkin' about recipes and everything else" I deflected.

"Recipes." She snorted. "Right. Well, keep yer thinkin' focused on that brewing. And remember, lad. Being orphaned don't make you less. Different's worth something in this world."

She heaved herself up and shuffled out, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my too-strong dreamcap infusion.

I stared at the pot, watching steam curl slowly towards the ceiling.

I found three empty bottles buried in my clothes chest, relics from previous purchases at the merchants' quarter. The glass clinked as I arranged them on my workbench.

The brew had cooled enough to handle. I ladled the amber liquid through muslin cloth into the first bottle, watching the herbs strain away. The colour was perfect. Rich gold with hints of copper that caught the lamplight.

Second bottle filled. Third, I corked them with wax stoppers, sealing each with a preservation rune that would keep the contents fresh for months.

The moment my finger lifted from the final rune, the world exploded into light.

Words appeared across my vision in a script that definitely wasn't dwarven. My heart hammered against my ribs as I read:

BREW ANALYSIS COMPLETE

Dreamcap Ale - Apprentice Quality

Alcohol Content: 7.2%

Magical Infusion: Moderate

Effects: Moderate euphoria, enhanced dreams, temporary headache

Market Value: 1 gold per bottle

Brewing Experience Gained: 250 XP

The text hung there like fire against my eyes. I blinked hard, willing it away. More information scrolled past though:

Current Level: Apprentice Brewer (Level 1)

Next Level: 250/1000 XP

What in the Mountain Fathers' name was happening to me?







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A/N There was a dire lack of dwarf fics so I made my own

Editited 11.03.2026 - minor details added for continuity

 

[Kingofdreams]

Chapter 2


I stared at the glowing text until my eyes burned. Thirty years. Thirty damned years I'd waited for this. The bottles rested on my workbench, innocent amber glass illuminating in the lamplight. Three bottles of dreamcap ale that had finally, finally triggered the thing I'd anticipated since recovering consciousness in a dwarf nursery. A system interface.

The words faded after perhaps thirty seconds, dissipating like morning frost. I remained perfectly still, my heart pounding against my ribs.

Brewing Experience Gained: 250 XP

Current Level: Apprentice Brewer (Level 1)

I'd read enough web novels in my previous life to recognise the pattern. Isekai protagonist dies, wakes up in a fantasy world, receives a convenient system to assist in navigating their new existence. Except mine had taken three decades to emerge, and I'd tried everything to activate it.

"Status," I whispered.

Nothing.

"Character sheet. Menu. Inventory. Skills."

Still nothing. Just my cramped alcove, the bottles, and the lingering spectre of that glowing text etched into my vision. I'd spent my first five years in this world attempting every combination I could think of. I shouted "Status!" at the ceiling until the nursery minders believed I was touched in the head. I tried mental commands. I spoke in English instead of Dwarvish. I attempted meditation and concentration, even bopped myself on the head once to see if that would "activate" something.

Nothing worked. Eventually, I surrendered, assuming I was just an ordinary reincarnation. No cheat abilities, no system guidance, just remnants of a previous life alongside the knowledge that magic was real here. And now this. I took one of the bottles, turning it slowly in the lamplight. The preservation rune I'd carved shimmered faintly. The amber liquid sloshed gently.

The system had manifested when I completed the brew. When I'd finished all three bottles and sealed the last one. Not during brewing, not during infusion, but at the moment of completion. A crafting-based system. It had to be. It explained why nothing had worked before.

I'd brewed before, dozens of practice batches in borrowed pots over the past three years. Simple ales following traditional recipes, no magical infusion, just standard fermentation. The system hadn't cared about those. Mining didn't count either, I was merely following Thorek's instructions, chipping away at whatever he guided me toward. But this? This was different. An original recipe. My own design. Magical infusion I'd calculated myself. Not copying tradition, creating something new. That was the key. The system didn't reward completion. It rewarded creation.

"Analyse," I tried, focusing intently on the bottle.

Nothing.

"Inspect. Identify. Appraise."

Still nothing.

I set the bottle down harder than intended, the glass clinking against the wood. Fine. If the system only appeared when I produced original creations, I'd simply have to keep creating. At least now I knew it existed, even if I couldn't control it. That was far more than I'd had an hour ago.

"Yer burnin' lamp oil fer nothin', boy."

I yanked the curtain aside. Thorek stood in the corridor, his expression hovering between concern and irritation. The old bastard had perfected that look over six centuries.

"Just thinkin'."

"Thought we established yer thinkin' too loud." He peered past me at the workbench. "Them bottles ready to sell?"

"Should be."

"Should be? Either they are or they aren't." Thorek shuffled closer, squinting at my work. "Yer preservation runes look solid enough. What's the problem?"

How could I explain that I'd at last obtained a system interface after thirty years of waiting, but it only appeared for a few seconds and I couldn't access it again? That I'd half-expected magical assistance since infancy, based on memories of tales I'd read in a completely different world? I couldn't. Not without sounding completely mad.

"Just nervous, I suppose. First real batch I'm sellin'."

Thorek snorted. "Aye, well. Merchant Dulric's in the Hall tonight. Comes through monthly from the southern clans. He'll buy damn near anything if the quality's there." He tapped one bottle with a thick finger. "Dreamcap ale though? That's ambitious fer a first sale."

"Elder Grimda approved the infusion work."

"Did she now?" Something shifted in Thorek's expression. Not quite approval, more a decrease in disapproval. "Right then. Clean yerself up and get to the Hall. Dulric won't wait all night."

He stumped off down the corridor, leaving me alone with my bottles and my racing thoughts. I carefully gathered the three bottles, wrapping each in cloth scraps before placing them into a small wooden box. My hands trembled slightly, and not just from anxiety about the sale.

This changed everything. If the system appeared for completed original brews with magical infusion, it meant I could receive feedback. Information. Perhaps even guidance on how to improve. All the things I'd yearned for as a bewildered five-year-old dwarf, remembering being a thirty-four-year-old human. Better late than never. The Clan Hall buzzed with its usual evening chaos as I emerged. Cooking fires blazed, arguments erupted over dice games, and someone sang badly in the corner. I spotted Brakka near the central hearth, animatedly gesticulating while telling a story to a group of younger dwarves who looked suitably sceptical.

Merchant Dulric wasn't hard to find. He had claimed the best table near the Elders' platform, his considerable bulk settled onto a reinforced stool. His beard was black, streaked with silver, braided with trade beads from a dozen different clans. The mark of a dwarf who'd spent more time on the road than in any one hall.

I approached slowly, clutching my box.

Dulric glanced up from his ledger, eyes sharp beneath bushy brows. "Help you, lad?"

"Got some brew to sell. If yer interested."

"Always interested in quality goods." He set his quill aside. "What're you offerin'?"

I placed the box on the table and unwrapped the first bottle. The dreamcap ale shimmered in the firelight beautifully, that rich amber-gold I'd worked so hard to perfect.

Dulric picked it up, held it to the light, swirling it gently. Professional assessment. He uncorked it and inhaled, his expression neutral.

"Dreamcap infusion?"

"Aye. With bitterleaf and sweetroot for balance."

"Hm." He produced a small wooden cup from his pack and poured a measure. Sipped.

I held my breath.

"Infusion's too strong," he said finally. "Gives anyone who drinks a full bottle a right bastard of a headache come mornin'. But the flavour work is excellent. Better than most journeyman brewers I've met." He set the cup down. "Who taught you?"

"Self-taught, mostly. Elder Grimda helped with the infusion runes."

"Grimda, eh?" Dulric's eyebrows rose slightly. "She doesn't waste time on fools." He considered the bottle. "I'll give you eight silver per bottle. That's generous for apprenticeship work with a flaw." Eight silver. The system had indicated one gold, ten silver, market value. But I was untested. Unknown. And Dulric was offering real coin for my first batch.

"Deal."

We shook on it, his grip crushing mine briefly. He counted out twenty-four silver pieces with practiced efficiency, then tucked my bottles into his pack.

"You plan on brewin' more?"

"Aye. Got a full kit now."

"Good. I come through monthly. You make somethin' worth sellin', I'll buy it." He returned to his ledger. "Fix that dreamcap ratio though. Halve it, add more sweetroot to compensate. Next time I'm through, I'll be lookin' for better quality."

I nodded and retreated, my purse heavier than it had been in months. Twenty-four silver pieces. Not a fortune, but a solid start. And Dulric would be back in thirty days. Time to prove I could do better. My hand went to the copper ring beneath my shirt, a nervous habit. I'd gone from two silver pieces to twenty-six in a single transaction. Enough to buy ingredients for something more ambitious. Enough to prove I wasn't entirely mad for choosing brewing over proper dwarven work.

And more importantly, enough to see if the system would appear again.

I found an empty corner and sat, watching the Hall's chaos swirl around me. Brakka's story had devolved into an argument. Someone dropped a plate near the kitchens. Elder Grimda emerged from somewhere, her amber beads clicking as she navigated through the crowd. But I wasn't thinking about the Hall. I was thinking about Dulric's advice. Halve the dreamcap. Double the sweetroot. Simple adjustments that could transform a flawed brew into something better.

If I spent the next few weeks perfecting the dreamcap ale, building up inventory, I'd have something reliable to sell. Proven income. A foundation. Then I could experiment with something truly ambitious. I stood, making my way back towards my quarters. Tomorrow I'd start another batch. Tomorrow I'd test whether the system rewarded improvement as well as creation.

The corridor to my alcove was blissfully empty. I pulled the curtain shut and lit my lamp, settling onto my stool with my coin purse in hand. Twenty-six silver pieces clinked pleasantly.

I tried one last time. "Status. Character sheet. Skills menu."

Silence. Just the distant sounds of the Clan Hall filtering through stone.

Fine. The system worked on completion, not command. That meant I needed to craft more, brew more, create more. Push the boundaries and see what happened.

I pulled out my notebook and started writing.

Dreamcap Ale - Improved Recipe

Adjustments based on Dulric's feedback:

- Reduce dreamcap by 50%

- Double sweetroot

- Maintain bitterleaf ratio

- Test for headache reduction

Goal: Prove the system rewards iteration and improvement

I closed the notebook and extinguished my lamp, reclining onto my bedroll in the darkness. Thirty years late, but I'd take it. A crafting system. Finally.

Now I just had to figure out how to use it.

---

The ten days after selling to Dulric passed in a blur of brewing and refinement. I couldn't risk running out of stock when he returned. If the Fire-Belch Ale I was planning worked, I'd need inventory. If it didn't, at least I'd have dreamcap ale to sell. Either way, staying busy kept my mind from obsessing over the system.

The second batch went faster than the first. My hands knew the measurements now, the timing felt natural. I'd taken Dulric's advice and halved the dreamcap, doubled the sweetroot. The result smelled different during brewing, sweeter, more balanced. Less of that sharp medicinal edge that had probably caused the headaches.

When I sealed the final bottle of eight, the system flared to life.

BREW ANALYSIS COMPLETE

Dreamcap Ale - Improved Recipe

Alcohol Content: 7.4%

Magical Infusion: Moderate (Balanced)

Effects: Mild euphoria, enhanced dreams, no adverse effects

Market Value: 1 gold, 2 silver per bottle

Quality Improvement Bonus: +50 XP

Brewing Experience Gained: 300 XP

Current Level: Apprentice Brewer (Level 1)

Progress: 550/1000 XP

I stared at the notification, my heart racing. The system had given me bonus experience for improving an existing recipe. That was new. Useful, too. And the market value had jumped from one gold to one gold and two silver. Dulric's eight silver per bottle suddenly seemed like robbery, but I'd expected that. First-time seller's price. Next time would be different.

I pulled out my notebook.

Batch 2: Improved dreamcap ale. 8 bottles. System confirms improvement. +50 XP bonus for iteration. Market value increased by 20%.

Hypothesis confirmed: System rewards both creation AND improvement.

The notification faded, leaving me alone with my thoughts and eight bottles that represented real progress. Not just in brewing, in understanding how this system worked. Over the next week, I brewed two more batches. The third batch was identical to the second, a control test to see if the system would still reward me. It did, but with only 300 XP total, no bonus. Repetition without innovation earned standard experience.

The fourth batch was different. I added honeyflower at Nadra's suggestion, a touch of sweetness that complemented the dreamcap's earthy tones without overwhelming it. The result was smoother than anything I'd made before.

BREW ANALYSIS COMPLETE

Dreamcap Ale - Honeyflower Variant

Alcohol Content: 7.2%

Magical Infusion: Moderate (Balanced)

Effects: Mild euphoria, enhanced dreams, subtle sweetness, no adverse effects

Market Value: 1 gold, 3 silver per bottle

Recipe Variant Bonus: +50 XP

Brewing Experience Gained: 350 XP

LEVEL UP!

Current Level: Apprentice Brewer (Level 2)

Progress: 200/2500 XP

I sat back against the wall, breathing hard. Level two. The first level had taken one original creation. The second had taken multiple batches of iterative improvement. The system wanted me to experiment, to refine, to push boundaries.I could work with that. By the time I'd finished all four batches, my alcove smelled permanently of fermentation and magical herbs. I'd arranged twenty-four bottles in neat rows on shelves I'd borrowed from the Hall stores. Eight original recipe, eight improved, eight honeyflower variant.

Nadra had commented on the smell twice when passing in the corridor. "Whole level smells like a distillery now, Gosdrunli. You trying to get the Elders drunk through fumes alone?"

"Just practising."

"Practising." She'd grinned, showing the gap between her teeth. "That what we're callin' it now?"

I'd also noticed other reactions. Passing dwarves in the corridors, their voices carrying in the stone.

"...foundling's brewin' again. Can smell it three levels down."

"Better than smellin' like the mines, aye?"

"Suppose. Still strange though. Thirty years and he still doesn't quite fit, does he?"

I'd kept walking, my face neutral. Didn't quite fit. That was kinder than most put it. The copper ring pressed against my chest under my shirt, a reminder that I'd never fit. Not fully. Not here. But maybe I didn't need to fit. Maybe I just needed to be good enough at something that it stopped mattering.

I pulled out my notebook and tallied the numbers.

Dreamcap Ale Production - 18 Days

Batch 1 (original): 3 bottles, sold to Dulric, 8 silver each

Batch 2 (improved): 8 bottles, 1g2s value each

Batch 3 (improved): 8 bottles, 1g2s value each

Batch 4 (honeyflower variant): 8 bottles, 1g3s value each

Total inventory: 24 bottles

Estimated wholesale value: 29 gold, 4 silver

Current funds: 18 silver (26 silver - 8 spent on Fire-Belch ingredients)

Days until Dulric returns: 12

Current level: Apprentice Brewer (Level 2)

Experience: 200/2500 XP

I sat back, staring at the numbers. If I sold even half of this to Dulric at a fair price, I'd have enough gold to commission better equipment. Maybe even secure dedicated workshop space instead of brewing in my cramped alcove.

The Fire-Belch Ale ingredients sat on my shelf, waiting. Embercaps dried and ready, pepperroot tincture sealed, ashwillow bark prepared. Twelve days until Dulric returned. Just enough time to brew, ferment, and test something truly ambitious.



I pulled the ingredients down and began planning.



-----------

A/N there was a dire need of cookies.

 

[Kingofdreams]

Sorry was using mobile and duplicated chapter, sorted now.
Will some minor edits tomorrow as crossposting currently.

 

[LostMarbles]

Booze Alchemist as a premise compelled me to read this, and after reading i can confidently say that i am better off for it. thank you for the chapter.

Quick question.Is it just me, or does the system's only ability seem to be telling him average prices?

 

[Kingofdreams]

Thank you for reading this,
I wouldn't say he's a booze alchemist exactly but its close to what I wanted.
The system gives an estimate of prices he can get realistically, although he can be talked down or he can talk it up

 

[Kingofdreams]

Chapter 3​

Morning came too early, announced by the distant clanging of the Hall's work bell. I rolled off my bedroll, joints protesting. Thirty years in a dwarf body and I still wasn't used to sleeping on stone, even with padding. I grabbed my notebook and coin purse, tucking both into my belt pouch. Eighteen silver pieces, what remained after building my dreamcap inventory. Enough for the Fire-Belch ingredients if I was careful.

The fungus gardens were three levels down, carved into chambers where natural heat from deeper geothermal vents created perfect growing conditions. I'd been there often enough over the years, watching the gardeners work whilst pretending to understand proper dwarven agriculture. The corridors were already busy with morning traffic. Miners heading to their shifts, kitchen workers hauling supplies, children being herded toward the learning halls. I kept my head down and navigated by memory.

The gardens occupied a series of interconnected caverns, each one carefully climate-controlled through a combination of ventilation shafts and runic temperature regulation. The air grew warmer as I descended, thick with the earthy smell of growing things and rich soil. The entrance chamber held the common crops. Cavern wheat in neat rows, their pale stalks reaching toward enchanted light crystals embedded in the ceiling. Root vegetables sprawling in raised beds. Mushroom logs stacked against the walls, sprouting various edible fungi that supplemented the clan's diet.

I found Nadra in the third chamber, elbow-deep in a bed of what looked like pure compost.

"Oi, Gosdrunli!" She straightened, wiping her hands on her already filthy apron. "Bit early for you, innit? Thought you mine rats didn't crawl out till midday."

"Very funny." I'd known Nadra for years, ever since I'd started sneaking into the gardens as a teenager to escape mining practice. She was seventy-three now, settled into her craft with the confidence that came from decades of experience. Gardening suited her. She had the patience for it. "I need ingredients. Got coin this time."

"Coin?" Her eyebrows rose. "More brewin' then? Heard you've been at it non-stop for weeks. Whole level smells like you're bathing in ale."

"Not bathing. Just brewing. A lot."

"Aye, well. What're you after this time? Let me guess, something ambitious and probably dangerous?"

"Embercaps. Pepperroot. And ashwillow bark if you stock it."

"Embercaps and pepperroot?" She stared at me. "Mountain Fathers' balls, Gosdrunli, what're you brewing? Liquid arson?"

"Something like that."

She laughed, a sound that echoed off the cavern walls. "Right then. This I've got to see. Come on, the hot chamber's this way."

We passed through two more growing caverns, each one warmer than the last. The fourth chamber made me sweat immediately. Heat radiated from vents in the floor, and the air shimmered slightly. The smell here was different, sharper, with an almost sulphurous edge.

"This is where we grow anything that needs proper heat," Nadra explained, leading me past beds of strange, spiky vegetables I didn't recognise. "Embercaps are over here."

She stopped beside a cluster of mushrooms growing directly from the stone floor. They were larger than I'd expected, caps the size of my fist, coloured a deep orange that faded to yellow at the edges. Even from a few feet away, I could feel warmth radiating from them.

"Three varieties," Nadra pointed. "These orange ones are common embercaps. Mild heat, good for cooking. Them red ones over there are hotcaps, much stronger. And those tiny golden ones in the corner are blazecaps, dangerous little bastards. Touch one wrong and you'll burn your fingers clean off."

I knelt beside the common embercaps, studying them. The caps seemed to pulse slightly with their own heat. "How do you harvest them without getting burned?"

"Carefully." Nadra produced a pair of thick leather gloves from her apron. "And with these. The heat's in the caps mostly, stems are safe enough to handle. You want them for brewing, you'll need to dry them first. Fresh embercaps are too volatile. The moisture makes the heat unpredictable."

"How long to dry?"

"Three days minimum, laid out in a warm place. Week if you want them properly stable." She plucked one of the mushrooms with practised efficiency, holding it up. "How many you need?"

"Start with a dozen? I'm testing ratios."

"Smart." Nadra selected twelve of the common embercaps, laying them carefully in a wooden box she retrieved from a nearby shelf. "These'll cost you two silver for the lot. I'll throw in drying racks for free since we're friends."

"Appreciated." I counted out two silver pieces, watching my funds shrink.

"Now, pepperroot." She led me back through the chambers to a section I'd somehow missed before. Raised beds held plants with thick, dark green leaves. "We grow two types. Sweet pepperroot and fire pepperroot. Sweet's got a mild kick, good for adding flavour. Fire's what you want if you're looking for actual heat."

She pulled one of the fire pepperroots from the soil. The root was gnarled and twisted, deep red in colour, about the length of my forearm. "These are potent. One root this size could spice a whole stew pot. How much you need?"

"Just one to start. I can make tincture from it."

"Tincture's the right approach. Raw pepperroot in a brew would burn your throat out." Nadra brushed soil from the root. "This'll be three silver. They take eight months to mature properly."

I counted out three more silver pieces. Five silver spent already.

"What exactly are you making?" Nadra asked as she wrapped the pepperroot in cloth. "I know you said fire-related, specifics though?"

I hesitated. The idea still sounded ridiculous when I said it out loud.

"Ale that makes you belch fire."

Nadra stared at me for a solid five seconds. Then she burst out laughing, doubling over and clutching her sides. "Belch fire? Mountain Fathers, that's the dumbest thing I've heard all week!"

"It's marketable!"

"It's brilliant is what it is!" She wiped tears from her eyes. "Every young idiot in the clan'll want to try it. Could make a fortune off drunk miners showing off for each other."

"That's the idea."

"Right, right." She composed herself, though she still grinned. "Okay, so embercaps for the fire effect, pepperroot for the trigger. You'll need something to bind it all together though, keep the magic stable. Just mixing fire ingredients doesn't automatically make fire happen, you need a proper anchor."

"That's where the ashwillow comes in."

"Smart boy. We keep a stock for the enchanters, actually." She disappeared into a storage chamber and returned with a bundle of grey bark strips, each one about the length of my hand. "This'll be three silver. You know how to prepare it?"

"Steep it, don't boil it?"

"Exactly. Boiling destroys the magical properties. Steep in hot water for thirty minutes, strain, add the liquid to your brew during fermentation." She handed me the bundle. "What you're attempting is ambitious. And dangerous. You got proper containment runes for that?"

"I will."

"Better make sure. Last fool who tried fire brewing without proper containment burned his eyebrows clean off. Took six months to grow back." She added the ashwillow to my growing pile. "That's eight silver total. And Gosdrunli?"

"Aye?"

"You be careful with this. Fire magic ain't something to mess about with. One wrong ratio and you could burn your insides out."

"I'll start with small batches. Test everything carefully."

"Good. I like you alive, Gosdrunli. You'd be missed."

The sentiment caught me off guard. Nadra had always been kind to me, even when other dwarves kept their distance from the odd foundling. I managed a nod.

"Now get out of my gardens," she added, grinning. "Some of us have actual work to do."

I left her laughing, my box of embercaps tucked carefully under one arm, the pepperroot and ashwillow bark bundled in my pouch. The way back up felt longer than the descent, maybe because I was mentally calculating ratios and measurements.

Twelve embercaps, dried. One fire pepperroot, made into tincture. Ashwillow bark for binding. The natural magical properties of the other ingredients should be enough without expensive fire essence. Base ale from cavern barley. Standard fermentation. Then the additions during secondary fermentation, timed carefully so the heat and magic had time to integrate without overwhelming the brew. It could work. It should work. If it didn't, I'd have wasted eight silver and a week of preparation. If it did work though, if the system appeared again and confirmed what I'd created...

The walk back to my quarters felt long. My arms ached from carrying everything, and my mind raced with calculations. Three days minimum for the embercaps to dry. Another day to prepare the pepperroot tincture and ashwillow infusion. Day after that to start the base brew, then a week for primary fermentation. Ten days minimum before I'd know if this worked. I pushed through my curtain and set everything on my workbench. The embercaps went onto the drying racks Nadra had provided, arranged carefully so air could circulate. The pepperroot I'd deal with tomorrow, it needed to be sliced thin and steeped in strong alcohol to extract the essence. The ashwillow bark could wait.

I sat on my stool and opened my notebook to a fresh page.

Fire-Belch Ale - Ingredient Acquisition Complete

Embercaps (common): 12, drying time 3 days minimum

Fire pepperroot: 1 large root, needs tincture preparation

Ashwillow bark: sufficient for 10 bottles

Cost: 8 silver

Remaining funds: 10 silver

Days until Dulric returns: 26

Timeline:

- Days 1-3: Dry embercaps, prepare tinctures

- Day 4: Start base wort

- Days 4-11: Primary fermentation (7 days)

- Day 11: Secondary additions

- Days 11-14: Secondary fermentation (3 days)

- Day 15: Bottling

- Day 16: Testing

Wait. That was sixteen days. Dulric returned in eleven. I scratched out the timeline and recalculated. If I overlapped the drying with tincture preparation, started the base wort on day three instead of day four, I could compress it. Barely.The math was tight. Very tight. One mistake, one contaminated batch, one failed fermentation, and I'd miss Dulric entirely. Have to wait another month to sell anything. No room for error.

I stared at the revised timeline, my previous life's project management skills bleeding through. Critical path. Dependencies. Risk mitigation. All the corporate nonsense I'd hated at the brewery, suddenly useful for magical ale that made people breathe fire.

"Status," I whispered, knowing it wouldn't work.

Silence, as expected.

Fine. The system wanted completed work, not planning. I'd give it completed work. In eleven days, I'd have Fire-Belch Ale. And then I'd see what happened.

---

A/N
Editted 17.03.2026sm
Be gentle plz with comments

 

[Kingofdreams]

Chapter 4 ​

Three days felt like three weeks. After returning from the gardens, I'd set the embercaps on their drying racks and thrown myself into preparation. The pepperroot needed to be sliced paper-thin and steeped in strong alcohol to extract its essence. The ashwillow bark required careful measurement and timing. Every detail mattered.

The embercaps dried properly, their orange caps fading to a dusty rust colour whilst their heat concentrated into something more stable. The pepperroot tincture sat in a sealed jar, dark red and potent enough that opening it made my eyes water. The ashwillow bark steeped exactly thirty minutes before I strained it into a clean bottle.

Now, on the morning of the fourth day, I stood before my workbench with everything laid out like a surgeon's tools. Twelve dried embercaps in a ceramic bowl. Pepperroot tincture in its jar. Ashwillow infusion in a bottle. My copper brewing pot, freshly cleaned and inscribed with containment runes I'd spent two evenings perfecting. And five pounds of cavern barley, soaking in purified water.

I pulled out my notebook and reviewed my final recipe one more time.

Fire-Belch Ale - Final Recipe

Base: 5 lbs cavern barley, standard ale fermentation

Primary fermentation: 7 days

Additions during secondary fermentation:

- 6 embercaps, crushed (start conservative)

- 2 oz pepperroot tincture

- 4 oz ashwillow infusion

Containment runes: Triple-layer, slow release

Expected yield: 10 bottles

Expected effect: Controlled fire exhalation upon belching, 30 seconds duration

The scientific method meets magical brewing. Marcus Chen would have approved, even if he'd never imagined applying it to literal fire-breathing ale. I started with the base. The barley had soaked overnight, softening enough that I could mash it properly. I drained the water, added fresh, and began heating it slowly over my small brazier. Temperature control was crucial. Too hot and I'd kill the enzymes, too cool and they wouldn't activate.

My hand hovered over the pot, feeling the heat rise. No thermometer. I'd learned to judge temperature by touch and instinct. When the water reached what felt right, just hot enough to be uncomfortable, I added the barley. The mash smelled earthy and slightly sweet as I stirred. Steam rose in lazy curls. This part was familiar, comforting even. I'd done it dozens of times whilst learning, perfecting the base before attempting anything fancy.

Sixty minutes of stirring, maintaining temperature, letting the enzymes convert starches to sugars. My arm ached by the end. The liquid had taken on the right golden colour and the taste test confirmed sweetness. I strained the wort through muslin cloth into my fermentation vessel, a ceramic jug with a narrow neck. The spent grain went into a bucket for the Hall's pigs.

The wort needed to cool before I could add yeast. I set the jug aside and began the second phase. No point wasting time. I crushed six of the embercaps in my mortar, the dried caps crumbling to rust-coloured powder that still radiated warmth. The smell was sharp, almost peppery, with an underlying heat that made my nose itch. Six would be conservative, enough to create an effect without overwhelming the brew.

The pepperroot tincture came next. I measured exactly two ounces into a small cup, the liquid so dark it looked almost black. Opening the jar made my eyes water instantly.

"That smells like dragon piss."

I turned to find Brakka poking his head through my curtain, grinning.

"How would you know what dragon piss smells like?"

"I wouldn't. If I did though, I reckon it'd smell like that." He pushed through fully, eyeing my setup. "So you're really doing it? The fire brew?"

"Started this morning. Base wort's cooling, then I add the yeast."

"And the fire bits?"

"Secondary fermentation. Week from now." I gestured at the crushed embercaps. "These provide the heat, pepperroot triggers the release, ashwillow binds it all together."

Brakka picked up one of the whole embercaps, turning it in his fingers. "Still warm even dried. How much heat are we talking? Like spicy food hot or actual fire hot?"

"Actual fire. Small flames, controlled by the runes."

"Brilliant." He set the mushroom down carefully. "I want to test it."

"What?"

"When it's ready, I test it first. You're the brewer, you need to watch what happens. Besides, what's the worst that could happen? Bit of heartburn? Singed tongue?"

I stared at him. "You could burn your throat out."

"Nah. You're too careful for that. You've measured everything three times, haven't you? Written it all down in that notebook?" He grinned. "I trust you. And think of it this way, if it works, I get to be the first dwarf in Clan Durn-Kahl history to belch flames. That's worth a little risk."

The earnestness in his voice made me relent. "Fine. You sip it slow though. And you stop if anything feels wrong."

"Deal!" He clapped me on the shoulder. "Knew there was a reason I liked you. When's it ready?"

"Ten days minimum. Maybe twelve if the secondary fermentation needs extra time."

"I can wait ten days to become a legend." He paused at the curtain. "Oh, and Nadra says the whole Hall's talking about this. Half think you're brilliant, half think you're going to burn the place down."

"What do you think?"

"I think you're brilliant and you might burn the place down. Makes it more exciting." He left laughing.

I shook my head and returned to work. The wort had cooled enough. I added my yeast slurry, watching it settle into the golden liquid. Within a day, fermentation would begin in earnest. The waiting started now. I cleaned my workspace, putting everything away except the fermentation vessel. That stayed on my workbench where I could monitor it. The embercap powder went into a sealed jar. The tinctures got stored on my shelf.

My notebook came out.

Fire-Belch Ale - Brewing Log

Day 1: Base wort prepared. Good sugar conversion, proper temperature throughout. Yeast pitched. Should see activity within 24 hours.

Embercap powder prepared (6 caps). Tinctures ready.

Secondary additions: Day 7 or 8, depending on fermentation progress.

Brakka (the mad bastard volunteered)

I stared at the last line, then added another.

System trigger hypothesis: Will it appear again? Dreamcap batches showed it rewards original recipes AND improvements. This is entirely new. Should be significant.

Days until Dulric returns: 34

---

Seven days passed in a blur of normal clan life and obsessive monitoring. The fermentation started within twelve hours, bubbles rising steadily through the wort. I checked it three times a day, watching the activity slow gradually as the yeast consumed available sugars. The smell changed from sweet to slightly alcoholic, the colour deepening to a richer gold.

I spent my mornings in the mines with Thorek, who complained less than usual about my distracted swinging. My afternoons were dedicated to the brew, taking samples, checking progress, preparing for the secondary additions.

On day seven, I judged it ready. The base ale tasted clean, slightly bitter from the hops I'd added on day two, with good alcohol content. Solid enough to support what came next. I heated water in my copper pot, bringing it to a gentle simmer. The embercap powder went in first, stirring until it dissolved completely. The liquid turned faintly orange, and heat radiated from the pot even beyond what the fire should have produced.

"Careful now," I muttered to myself, adding the pepperroot tincture. The liquid darkened immediately, and the smell intensified to something that made my eyes water again. Two ounces exactly, measured three times to be sure.

The ashwillow infusion came last. Four ounces of pale grey liquid that smelled faintly of wood smoke. The moment it hit the mixture, everything seemed to settle, the roiling surface calming to a gentle simmer. I let it steep for thirty minutes, maintaining the temperature carefully. The magical components needed time to integrate, to bind together into something cohesive.

When I finally strained it into my fermentation vessel with the base ale, the colour had shifted to deep amber with orange highlights. Even through the ceramic, I could feel warmth radiating from it. My containment runes flared to life, glowing softly on the vessel's surface. Triple-layer, designed to hold the fire magic in suspension until triggered by the specific chemical reaction of carbonation and stomach acid.

The system hadn't appeared yet. I'd learned from my dreamcap batches that it only triggered upon completion, when something was truly finished and ready. Bottling would be the test. Consumption the proof. But I could feel this one was different. The dreamcap ale had been an improvement on tradition. This was entirely new.

If the system rewarded innovation, this should trigger something significant. I sealed the vessel and set it aside for three more days of secondary fermentation. The magical components needed time to fully integrate before bottling.

I pulled out my notebook.

Day 7: Secondary fermentation initiated. All additions made according to recipe. Containment runes activated successfully. Warmth radiating from vessel as expected.

Day 10: Bottling (projected)

Day 11: Testing (projected)

Days until Dulric returns: 25

Current inventory:

- Dreamcap Ale (improved): 8 bottles

- Dreamcap Ale (standard improved): 8 bottles

- Dreamcap Ale (honeyflower): 8 bottles

- Fire-Belch Ale: 0 bottles (pending)

Total value if all sells: 59+ gold

The curtain rustled. Elder Grimda stood there, her amber beads clicking as she moved closer.

"Heard you bought embercaps from the gardens."

Word travelled fast in the clan. "Aye."

"Fire brewin'?"

"Aye."

She shuffled closer, peering at my setup with the sharp eyes of someone who'd seen seven centuries of foolish apprentices. "Yer containment runes look adequate. Triple-layer was smart. What're you usin' fer the catalyst?"

"Pepperroot tincture."

"Hm. Could work. Could also burn straight through the vessel if you miscalculate." She picked up my notebook without asking, flipping through pages. "You've documented everythin'. That's more than most do."

"Seemed sensible."

"It is sensible. Too many brewers work from memory and tradition, then wonder why their batches vary so much." She set the notebook down, then glanced at the shelves where my dreamcap ale bottles sat in neat rows. "And from what I've heard, you've already got quite the stockpile. Twenty-four bottles of improved dreamcap, aye?"

"You heard about that?"

"Word travels, boy. Always does." She tapped the Fire-Belch fermentation vessel. "You've got the makings of a proper business here. Now you just need to not blow it up."

"I'm being careful."

"Course you are. You've got a methodical mind, lad. Unusual fer someone so young."

I said nothing. How could I explain that my mind wasn't young, rather carrying memories of a completely different life lived to adulthood?

"The Elders are talkin' about you," Grimda continued. "Not badly, mind. Just curious. You sold brew to Dulric, now yer workin' on somethin' ambitious. They're wonderin' if maybe you've found yer callin' after all."

"Instead of minin'?"

"Instead of pretendin' to mine." She gave me a look that was almost fond. "We all know you hate it, boy. Every swing of that pickaxe looks like it pains you. But this?" She gestured at my workspace. "This you do with passion."

"Does it matter? I'm leavin' in ninety years anyway."

"Ninety years is a long time to be miserable. And who says you can't come back? Plenty of dwarves venture out, make their fortune, return when they're ready." She paused. "If you become known as a brewer, a good one, you'll have value anywhere you go. That's worth more than clan blood."

She left before I could respond, her beads clicking down the corridor.

I sat in the silence, thinking about her words.

Value anywhere I went. That's what I needed, wasn't it? The system was one kind of advantage. Skill and reputation were things people could see and respect though. Things that would let me make my way in a world where I'd always be slightly foreign, slightly wrong.

Ten days since I'd started this batch. Ten days of careful measurement, precise timing, methodical documentation. Everything my Earth life had taught me about process and quality control, applied to something that would have been pure fantasy there. And in three days, I'd know if it was worth it.

******

A/N

More cookies for the cookie god.
one of the biggest problems I have is adding suspense into writing.
so will try and get better with it

 

[Kingofdreams]

Chapter 5​

Day ten arrived with the weight of expectation. I woke before the work bell, my mind already racing through the final steps. The secondary fermentation should be complete. The magical components fully integrated. The containment runes stable. Theory met practice today. I pushed through my curtain and made my way to the communal washing station, scrubbing sleep from my eyes. The corridors were still quiet, most of the clan not yet stirring. I preferred it this way. Less noise, less distraction, just me and the work ahead.

Back in my alcove, I lit my lamp and examined the fermentation vessel. The warmth radiating from it had stabilised over the past three days, no longer the intense heat of freshly added embercaps, rather a steady, controlled temperature that suggested the magic had settled properly.

I pulled out my notebook.

Day 10: Bottling day. Vessel temperature stable. No visible issues with containment runes. Proceeding with bottling process.

The ceramic jug felt almost alive in my hands as I carefully unsealed it. The smell hit me immediately. Sharp, peppery, with an underlying sweetness from the barley base and something else. Something that made my nose tingle and my eyes water slightly. Fire magic, properly bound. I had ten bottles prepared, each one cleaned and inscribed with preservation runes over the past week. Getting the brew from vessel to bottle without losing the magical properties would be the tricky part. Too much agitation and the containment could break. Too slow and the magic might begin to dissipate.

I started with a small prayer to the Mountain Fathers, though I wasn't sure they listened to foundlings who brewed fire into ale. The first bottle filled smoothly. The liquid was darker than my dreamcap ale, deep amber with those orange highlights that seemed to shift in the lamplight. I could feel the warmth through the glass as I corked it, then traced a fresh preservation rune across the wax seal. The rune flared briefly, accepting the magic within.

One down. I worked steadily through the rest. Each bottle received the same careful attention, the same precise sealing, the same runic preservation. By the time I sealed the tenth bottle, my hands were shaking slightly. Not from fear, from anticipation.

Ten bottles of Fire-Belch Ale, arranged in a neat row on my workbench. Each one radiating gentle warmth, each one containing magic I'd bound with my own hands and knowledge from a life that shouldn't exist in this world. I sat back on my stool, staring at them. Nothing happened. No glowing text. No system interface. No confirmation of completion.

I frowned. The dreamcap ale had triggered the system immediately upon sealing the final bottle. Why wasn't this working?

"Maybe it needs testing first," I muttered, picking up one of the bottles. "Maybe completion means someone actually drinking it and proving the effect works."

That made a twisted sort of sense. A brew wasn't truly complete until it fulfilled its purpose. The dreamcap ale had been simple enough. Standard intoxication plus mild magical effects. But this? This was supposed to make someone belch fire. Until that happened, until the mechanism proved functional, the system might not consider it finished.

Which meant I needed Brakka.

I found him in the Hall, already working through a bowl of morning porridge whilst arguing with another young miner about the proper depth for copper veins.

"Brakka."

He turned, saw my expression, and grinned wide enough to show all his teeth. "It's ready?"

"Aye. If you're still willing."

"Willing? I've been counting the days!" He shoved his bowl at his companion and bounded over. "Where? Your quarters? Should we get Elder Grimda to watch? What if something goes wrong?"

"Slow down." I grabbed his shoulder before he could race off. "We do this careful. Small sips first. You stop immediately if anything feels wrong. And yes, we should probably have someone with healing knowledge nearby."

His enthusiasm dimmed slightly. "You really think it could go that wrong?"

"I think I've bound fire magic into a drinkable liquid using methods I invented based on theory and guesswork. I think caution is warranted."

"Right. Caution. I can do caution." He paused. "After I try it though."

I shook my head. Some things never changed. Brakka's enthusiasm was going to get him killed one day, hopefully not today.

We found Elder Grimda in her workshop, a chamber filled with enchanting tools and half-finished projects. She looked up from a piece of stone she was carving runes into, her expression shifting from annoyance at the interruption to interest when she saw us.

"The fire brew's ready then?"

Word really did travel too fast in this clan.

"Aye. Brakka volunteered to test it. I wanted someone with healing knowledge present in case things go wrong."

"In case you burn his throat out, you mean." Grimda set down her carving tool and stood, joints popping. "Right then. Let's see if you've made something brilliant or something catastrophically stupid."

We returned to my quarters, the three of us barely fitting in the cramped space. I retrieved one of the bottles from my workbench, holding it up to the lamplight.

"This is Fire-Belch Ale. The theory is simple. Embercap powder provides the fire essence, pepperroot tincture acts as a catalyst triggered by stomach acid and carbonation, ashwillow bark binds everything together. The containment runes should hold the magic dormant until the triggering reaction occurs, then release it in a controlled fashion through the drinker's exhalation."

"Controlled fashion," Grimda repeated. "Define controlled."

"Small flames. Thirty seconds maximum. Harmless if done properly."

"And if not done properly?"

"Then Brakka's eyebrows join the last fool who tried fire brewing without proper containment."

Brakka laughed. "My eyebrows are magnificent. Be a shame to lose them."

I uncorked the bottle, and the smell filled my small alcove. Sharp, peppery, with that underlying tingle of bound magic. Grimda leaned closer, inhaling carefully.

"The binding work feels solid," she said after a moment. "Can't speak to the ratios though. That's yer own madness."

"Comforting." I poured a small measure into a wooden cup, perhaps two mouthfuls worth. "Start with this. Sip it slow. Pay attention to how it feels going down."

Brakka took the cup with hands that barely trembled. His earlier enthusiasm had evolved into something more focused. He understood the stakes now, even if he wouldn't admit to being nervous.

He raised the cup in a mock salute. "To mad brewers and magnificent eyebrows." Then he drank.

The first sip went down smoothly. Brakka's eyes widened slightly.

"It's good. Really good. Bit of heat, sweet though, and the flavour..." He took another sip. "It's like drinking a campfire, the good parts though."

I watched him carefully. No immediate adverse reactions. No choking, no pain, no signs of internal burning. He drained the cup and set it down, smacking his lips.

"Well?" Grimda asked. "Feel anything unusual?"

"Warm. Like I swallowed sunshine. And there's this tingly feeling in my chest, like something's building up." His eyes went wide. "Oh. Oh, I think I need to..."

The belch started deep in his chest, audible even before it reached his throat. When it emerged, so did the flames.

A small gout of orange fire erupted from Brakka's mouth, perhaps thirty centimetres long, bright and clean and unmistakably real. The flames lasted exactly the five seconds I'd calculated for a two-mouthful dose, hot enough that I felt the warmth on my face from across my tiny alcove.

Then they stopped. Brakka stood there, eyes wide as plates, mouth hanging open.

"I just breathed fire."

"Aye," I managed, my own heart pounding.

"I. Just. Breathed. FIRE!" He whooped, the sound echoing off stone walls. "That was incredible! Did you see it? Did you see the flames? I'm a dragon! I'm a bloody dragon!"

Grimda was staring at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "You actually did it. You mad little bastard, you actually did it."

The world exploded into light.

Words blazed across my vision, that same incomprehensible script that definitely wasn't dwarven.

BREW ANALYSIS COMPLETE

Fire-Belch Ale - Journeyman Quality

Alcohol Content: 6.8%

Magical Infusion: High

Effects: Controlled pyrotechnic exhalation, duration scales with consumption, mild euphoria, warming sensation

Market Value: 3 gold per bottle

WARNING: Not suitable for children or those with respiratory conditions

ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: First of Its Kind

Created a completely original brew with no existing precedent

Bonus Experience Awarded

Brewing Experience Gained: 1500 XP

LEVEL UP!

Current Level: Apprentice Brewer (Level 3)

Progress: 1700/5000 XP

LEVEL UP!

Current Level: Apprentice Brewer (Level 4)

Progress: 2700/10000 XP

LEVEL UP!

Current Level: Journeyman Brewer (Level 5)

Progress: 4200/25000 XP

RANK ADVANCEMENT: Apprentice → Journeyman

New Ability Unlocked: Ingredient Analysis

You may now focus on any brewing ingredient to receive detailed information about its properties, potential applications, and optimal combinations.

The text hung there, burning against my vision whilst Brakka continued celebrating and Grimda continued staring. Fifteen hundred experience points. Three level ups. A rank advancement. A new ability.

And a market value of three gold per bottle.

I had ten bottles.

Thirty gold.

That was enough to... Mountain Fathers, that was enough to do almost anything. Buy better equipment. Secure proper workshop space. Maybe even start building a reputation beyond Clan Durn-Kahl.

The text faded, leaving me blinking spots from my vision.

"Gosdrunli?" Grimda's voice cut through my daze. "You alright, boy? Look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine. Just... processing."

"Processing what? That you've created something completely new? That every young fool in the kingdom is going to want to try this?" She picked up one of the remaining bottles, examining it closely. "This is marketable. Really marketable. And dangerous enough that people'll pay premium for the experience."

"Three gold per bottle," I said without thinking.

Both of them stared at me.

"Three gold?" Brakka's voice cracked slightly. "You think someone'll pay three gold for a bottle of this?"

"I think they'll pay more." Grimda set the bottle down carefully. "I think you've got no idea what you're sitting on, boy. This goes beyond skilled brewing. Every tavern from here to the capital would stock this if they could get it."

She was right, I realised. The system had valued it at three gold, that was probably the baseline. Wholesale. What would a tavern charge for a single mug? What would nobles pay for the novelty?

"I need to talk to Dulric," I said. "He's due back in... how long?"

"Thirty-five days, give or take," Grimda said. "Depends on the weather and what deals he strikes in the southern clans. You've got time though."

I pulled out my notebook, mind already racing through calculations.

Fire-Belch Ale - First Successful Batch

10 bottles completed

Effect confirmed: 2 mouthfuls = 5 seconds of flame (approx. 30cm)

Test subject: Brakka (survived with eyebrows intact)

Market value: 3 gold minimum per bottle

Days until Dulric returns: ~35

Current inventory:

- Fire-Belch Ale: 10 bottles (30 gold value)

- Dreamcap Ale (various): 24 bottles (29 gold value)

Total potential: 59 gold

Time available: Could brew 2-3 more Fire-Belch batches before Dulric returns

I looked up at Grimda. "How much trouble am I going to get from the Elders for this?"

"Trouble?" She laughed, the sound harsh but not unkind. "Boy, you just created something that could bring serious coin into the clan. The Elders are going to throw you a feast, not trouble."

"Even though I'm leaving in ninety years?"

"Ninety years is a long time to profit from your work. And who knows? Maybe you'll decide to stay." She moved towards the curtain, pausing to look back. "Get ready for Dulric, lad. This is going to change things."

She left, her amber beads clicking down the corridor.

Brakka was still grinning like a fool, occasionally burping small puffs of flame that made him giggle. The effect was wearing off though, each subsequent belch producing less fire until finally they stopped altogether.

"That was the best thing I've ever drunk," he said seriously. "I'd pay three gold for that experience. Maybe more."

"You're not paying anything. You risked your throat for me."

"Aye, and it was worth it." He clapped me on the shoulder. "You're going to be famous, Gosdrunli. The foundling brewer who taught dwarves to breathe fire. That's a legacy worth having."

He left still grinning, probably to tell everyone in the Hall about his newfound dragon powers. I sat alone in my alcove, surrounded by nine remaining bottles of Fire-Belch Ale and one empty that had changed everything.

Footsteps approached. Heavy, deliberate, the kind that came from six centuries of walking stone corridors.

"Heard my apprentice made somethin' that turns dwarves into dragons."

Thorek filled my doorway, his grey beard freshly braided, his expression unreadable.

"Not dragons. Just... fire-breathing."

"Close enough." He stepped inside, eyeing the bottles. "Brakka's tellin' everyone in the Hall. Won't shut up about it. Half the clan thinks he's mad, other half wants to try it themselves."

I said nothing. Thorek picked up one of the bottles, holding it to the light with surprising gentleness for his thick fingers.

"You never belonged in the mines, boy. We both knew it." He set the bottle down. "Didn't stop me from tryin' to teach you proper though. Thought maybe you'd find your way to stone eventually, given enough time."

"I'm sorry I disappointed you."

"Disappointed?" Thorek snorted. "Boy, I'm six hundred and twelve years old. I've trained forty-seven apprentices in my time. You know how many became master miners?"

I shook my head.

"Thirty-two. Good dwarves, all of them. Competent. Reliable. Not a spark of brilliance among 'em." He tapped the Fire-Belch bottle. "You know how many created somethin' entirely new?"

"None?"

"None." His expression softened, just slightly. "You're not a miner, Gosdrunli. Never will be. But you're a brewer. A damn good one, from what I'm hearin'. That's worth more than swingin' a pickaxe with proper form."

The words hit harder than I'd expected. I'd spent three years thinking Thorek merely tolerated me, counting down until I left.

"I'll still finish my mining obligations until I'm a hundred-twenty."

"Aye, you will. Contract's a contract." He moved toward the door, pausing at the curtain. "But maybe I'll stop complainin' about your shite form. Seems pointless now."

"Thorek?"

He glanced back.

"Thank you. For teaching me anyway."

"Hmph. Don't get sentimental on me, boy. Makes my beard itch." But there was something almost like a smile tugging at his mouth as he left.

I sat in the silence after he'd gone, feeling something settle in my chest. Not quite acceptance. Not quite belonging. But maybe the beginning of both. The system was real. It levelled. It provided new abilities. And it had just confirmed that I'd created something worth thirty gold at minimum. I pulled the copper ring out from beneath my shirt, holding it in the lamplight. Whoever had left me at those gates thirty years ago, whatever they'd expected me to become, I doubted it was this. A brewer with a crafting system and fire magic in bottles. I tucked the ring back and opened my notebook to a fresh page. Time to see what this new ability could do.

I picked up one of the remaining embercaps I'd saved, focusing on it the way the system description suggested.

Text flickered across my vision.

INGREDIENT ANALYSIS

Common Embercap (Dried)

Primary Property: Fire essence (moderate)

Secondary Properties: Warming, digestive aid

Magical Affinity: High

Best Used In: Heating potions, fire-aligned brews, winter tonics

Pairs Well With: Pepperroot, ashwillow, cinnamon bark, honey

Warning: Excessive consumption may cause fever

The information settled into my mind like I'd always known it. I could feel the potential in the mushroom, sense how it would interact with other ingredients. This was going to change everything. I spent the next hour testing the ability on the ingredients I had left. The bitterleaf revealed unexpected synergies with cooling herbs. The sweetroot suggested combinations I'd never considered. Even the barley showed subtle variations in starch content that affected fermentation.

By the time I finished, my head ached from processing so much information, but I had ideas. New recipes. Improvements to existing formulas. The work bell rang for midday meal, but I barely heard it.

Thirty-five days until Dulric returned. Thirty-five days to prepare. I had inventory worth nearly sixty gold if I could sell it all. I had a system that rewarded innovation and improvement. I had abilities that let me understand ingredients at a level no other brewer could match. And I had fire in bottles.

Time to see how far I could go.

---

A/N
Enjoy - it will go up to Chapter 7, then twice a week will update.

 

[Kingofdreams]

Chapter 6​

The morning after Brakka had breathed fire, I found myself staring at my inventory, grappling with a problem I had never expected: too much success, and far too quickly. I pulled out my notebook to jot down my current status:

Current Inventory - Day 31

Fire-Belch Ale: 10 bottles (3 gold each = 30 gold)

Dreamcap Ale (improved): 8 bottles (1g2s each = 9g6s)

Dreamcap Ale (standard improved): 8 bottles (1g2s each = 9g6s)

Dreamcap Ale (honeyflower): 8 bottles (1g3s each = 10g4s)

Total value: 59 gold, 6 silver

Days until Dulric: 14

Sixty gold. More riches than most apprentice dwarves might see in a decade. It was enough to commission a proper workshop, purchase advanced equipment, perhaps even secure a small warehouse in the merchants' quarter. The issue, however, was not the money itself, but rather what came next.

I had created something unique. And word was already spreading. Brakka had told half the Hall yesterday, and by this morning, three separate dwarves knocked at my curtain inquiring whether the rumours were true. If I had genuinely concocted ale that allowed one to breathe fire. I needed to take control of the narrative before it overwhelmed me.

A knock interrupted my thoughts, not at my curtain, but rather a deliberate knock upon the stone wall beside it, formal and authoritative.

"Enter," I called, already anticipating who it would be.

Elder Grimda stepped through, alone this time. She settled onto my stool without waiting for an invitation, her amber beads clicking as she made herself comfortable.

"Word spreads quickly, boy."

"I've noticed."

"The Elders have been discussing you. What you've created." She picked up one of the Fire-Belch bottles, observing it in the lamplight. "You're still young; thirty years, barely out of the nursery by dwarf standards. Yet you've crafted something of value."

I remained silent, knowing there was more to come.

"Now, if you were of blood, we wouldn't even be having this conversation. A clan takes care of its own, and you'd have all the support you require. But you aren't of blood, and you'll be leaving in ninety years." She gently set the bottle down. "So the Elders wish to ensure that everyone understands the arrangement."

"What arrangement?"

"You carry on brewing, selling your wares through merchants who visit here. The clan won't interfere with your work or claim ownership. In exchange, whenever you make use of clan facilities beyond your alcove, you'll pay a small tithe. For storage in the merchants' quarter, security for your goods, that sort of thing."

That sounded much more reasonable than I'd feared. "How much?"

"Ten percent of profits, but only on sales made through clan facilities. What you brew in your alcove and sell directly? That's yours, free and clear. This is simply about whether you want to operate as a legitimate business in the merchants' quarter."

"And if I decide to remain in my alcove?"

Grimda shrugged. "Then you will brew there and handle the security yourself. But that will limit your growth, aye? You can't receive merchants in your alcove." She gestured at my cramped space. "Ten percent buys you peace of mind. The Elders would not look kindly on anyone attempting to cheat or rob a clan-endorsed brewer, foundling or not."

I contemplated this. Ten percent for legitimacy, security, and access seemed entirely fair.

"I accept. When do we make it official?"

"After your sale to Dulric. No point in drafting papers until we ascertain this will function as a business." She rose, her joints cracking as she stood. "Elder Thulsa will handle the contracts when the time comes. For now, I just wanted to ensure you understood where you stood."

"I appreciate the honesty."

"Honesty is cheap, boy. Results are what count." She paused at my curtain. "And Gosdrunli? Don't let anyone tell you that being a foundling means you're worth less. You've created something that none of us old fools thought possible. That's worth more than blood."

Once she departed, I sat in silence, feeling a warmth settle in my chest. Not quite acceptance. Not entirely belonging. But acknowledgment, at the very least.

I retrieved my notebook and adjusted my calculations.

Adjusted profit after 10% tithe: 53 gold, 5 silver

That was still more than enough.

A different kind of knock came at my curtain. This one was lighter, more energetic.

"Gosdrunli? You in there?"

Brakka pushed through before I could respond, his grin wide as if he'd found treasure. "You need to hear this. Nadra just told me. Apparently, there's a tavern keeper in the eastern halls offering two silver pieces to anyone who can prove they've drunk Fire-Belch Ale."

"What?"

"Aye! The rumours have spread that far already. He wants to stock it, but he doesn't believe it's real. Thinks it's just exaggerated nonsense. So he's offering coin to anyone who can demonstrate the effect."

I stared at him. The eastern halls were three levels down and half a mile through the mountain. If word had reached that far in less than a day, it would be widespread throughout Durn-Kahl in a week.

"That's... actually good for business."

"Better than good. It's free advertising!" Brakka's grin widened. "Which is why I've got a proposal. You give me, say, five bottles of Fire-Belch. I'll visit every tavern and hall in Durn-Kahl and demonstrate. Prove it's real. Get everyone talking."

"And what do you get from this?"

"The best three days of my life? Getting paid to breathe fire in taverns? Gosdrunli, I'd do this for free. But if you want to toss a few silver my way, I won't complain."

I considered it. Brakka as a living advertisement would spread awareness faster than any merchant could. He could create demand before Dulric even arrived, driving up the price in the process.

"Five bottles," I replied slowly. "But you must follow rules. No one from the nursery. No children too young to handle the heat. And you stop immediately if anyone shows adverse effects."

"Done!"

"And you must emphasise that this is Clan Durn-Kahl brewing. My name, specifically. I don't want any rumours suggesting this comes from some other source."

"Gosdrunli of Clan Durn-Kahl, creator of Fire-Belch Ale." Brakka nodded seriously. "I'll ensure everyone knows."

"Take ten silver for your trouble. Buy drinks between demonstrations. Make friends with the tavern keepers."

His eyes widened. "Ten silver? That's generous."

"It's an investment. If this works, the price will go up."

Brakka left, five bottles wrapped carefully in cloth and a jingling purse of coins. I watched him go, a mix of amusement and concern at the chaos I might have just unleashed. The subsequent three days passed in a whirlwind.

I spent my mornings in the mines with Thorek, who oddly continued to complain less about my form. My afternoons were devoted to brewing another batch of Fire-Belch Ale. Ten more bottles, each one carefully measured and meticulously documented. The system appeared once more when I sealed the final bottle, awarding another 750 XP for the identical recipe. No bonus for innovation this time, just standard experience.

Current Level: Journeyman Brewer (Level 5)

Progress: 4950/25000 XP

Evenings were spent testing my new Ingredient Analysis ability on everything I could gather. I analysed the cavern barley. The system revealed three distinct varieties growing in Durn-Kahl's fields, each with slightly different starch contents and flavour profiles. I had been using them interchangeably; no wonder my batches varied slightly.

I analysed the bitterleaf. It paired unexpectedly well with frost mint and silverroot, hinting at a cooling ale perfect for summer. I even analysed the water from the communal wells. Each well had different mineral contents, one perfect for delicate flavours, another enhanced bitterness, and a third had magical properties that could boost infusion work. By the third evening, I had six new recipe ideas sketched in my notebook. None were as dramatic as Fire-Belch Ale, but all were marketable.

On the fourth day, Brakka returned.

He stumbled through my curtain late in the afternoon, grinning and slightly intoxicated, with the scent of smoke and ale clinging to him.

"It worked," he declared. "By the Mountain Fathers, it worked."

I set down my mortar and pestle. "Tell me."

"I started in the eastern halls like I planned. First tavern, the keeper was sceptical. So I drank a measure, belched flames, and the entire place went nuts. He bought two mugs for other guests immediately and paid me five silver just to demonstrate again."

"Five silver?"

"Aye! Then I moved on to the next tavern. Same outcome. By the time I reached the third place, word had spread ahead of me. They were waiting. Chanting my name. I felt like a bloody hero." He collapsed onto my spare stool, still grinning. "I went through all five bottles in three days. Must've demonstrated for... I don't know, fifty dwarves? Maybe more. Every one of them wanted to know where to buy it. I told them Merchant Dulric would have it next month, and to stay alert for it in the merchants' quarter."

"Did anyone have any issues? Adverse reactions?"

"One fellow coughed a bit, but I think it was just from drinking too fast. Everybody else seemed fine. Thorek even tried it."

I straightened. "Thorek?"

"Aye! He was in the Hall of Hammers while I was demonstrating. He didn't say much afterwards, just nodded and walked off. But he drank it, and he breathed fire just like the rest of us." The image of six-hundred-year-old Thorek belching flames made me smile despite myself.

"Did the rumours spread beyond Durn-Kahl?"

"That's the best part." Brakka leaned in closer. "On my third day, I was in the Western Hall, right? And there were merchants there. Not Dulric, different ones altogether. They asked where they could buy wholesale. I told them to talk to you directly, but they'd need to wait until after Dulric had his contract fulfilled."

"Dulric doesn't have a contract."

"He does now," Brakka cheerfully stated. "I made one up. Figured you'd want to reward the merchant who took a chance on you first."

I regarded him, astonished. "You told other merchants that Dulric has exclusive rights?"

"For the first month, aye. After that, you can sell to whomever you wish. But Dulric gets first dibs." He pulled a crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket. "Three different merchants gave me their names. Said to contact them after Dulric's exclusive period ends."

I took the paper from him, examining the three names, complete with clan affiliations, all from settlements within a week's travel.

"Brakka, you might have just made me very wealthy."

"We're friends," he said simply. "What's the point of you getting rich if I can't help?"

After he departed, I sat alone with the merchant names, my mind alive with possibilities. This was happening faster than I had anticipated. What began as a simple attempt to prove myself had transformed into something grander. A business. A reputation. Perhaps even a future that didn't lead to leaving Clan Durn-Kahl broke and alone.

---

By the seventh day, the rumours had reached my alcove. I was grinding dreamcap mushrooms for another batch when I heard voices in the corridor. Not uncommon in the bustling apprentice quarters. But these voices were charged with excitement. Urgency.

"...heard it from a merchant who just arrived..."

"...humans and elves, can you even imagine..."

"...the King himself is receiving them..."

I set down my mortar and peered into the corridor. A small collection of younger dwarves congregated near the washing station, chattering over one another.

"What's happening?" I inquired.

They looked my way, and one, a miner named Durak, explained, "There's a delegation at the Deep Court this morning. Humans and elves together, come to speak with King Duken Xarr himself." My intrigue peaked. The Deep Court was the heart of the mountain, where the Dwarf King held court. Durn-Kahl was merely one clan of many that swore fealty to the King. For a delegation to come directly to the Deep Court suggested something important was brewing.

"What do they want?"

"I can't say for certain," another dwarf chimed in. "But there's chatter about the Valentrazi."

A chill shot through me. I had heard of the Valentrazi. Everyone had. Outcasts particularly loathed, corrupted by their association with demons. Elves, humans, and dwarves who had betrayed their kind, twisted by dark magic into something unrecognisable.

"An alliance?" I ventured, wary of the concept.

"That's the rumour. Humans and elves wish for the dwarves to join them against the Valentrazi threat." Durak shrugged. "Could be nothing. Could be everything. The King hasn't made any proclamations yet." As the group dispersed, still engaged in spirited conversation, I returned to my alcove, though the excitement of grinding mushrooms had waned.

An alliance of the three races. Against a common threat. It was an epic saga worthy of bards. The kind of tale that could alter destinies. And here I was, toiling away to brew ale. The contrast seemed absurd. Momentous events unfolding in the Deep Court while I fretted over fermentation times and market valuations.

But my world was evolving too, just on a different path. The delegation would come and go. Kings and ambassadors would make their determinations. Life would continue.And when it did, people would still crave drink. They would still seek entertainment. They would still desire Fire-Belch Ale. With that in mind, I returned to my grinding with renewed determination.

---

By the tenth day, I had everything meticulously arranged. Twenty bottles of Fire-Belch Ale, carefully placed in two wooden crates I had procured from the merchants' quarter. Twenty-four bottles of dreamcap ale, neatly tucked away in three additional crates. Every bottle bore my mark: a simple rune translating to "Gosdrunli" in the ancient tongue.

I had also prepared samples, small vials of each brew, sealed with preservation runes, ready for Dulric's evaluation before he committed to a purchase. My alcove resembled a warehouse rather than living quarters. Crates piled against walls, bottles shimmering in the lantern light, my notebook filled with pricing strategies and inventory logs.

Final Inventory - Day 40

Fire-Belch Ale: 20 bottles @ ? gold each = ?

Dreamcap Ale (improved): 8 bottles @ 1g2s each = 9g6s

Dreamcap Ale (standard improved): 8 bottles @ 1g2s each = 9g6s

Dreamcap Ale (honeyflower): 8 bottles @ 1g3s each = 10g4s

The question mark beside Fire-Belch Ale felt mocking. I knew its value per the system, three gold each. But was that merely a number? Would Dulric agree? Or would he deem it excessive?

I sought advice, not about the system itself, that remained my secret, but regarding pricing overall, and what the market might bear.

Two days before Dulric's expected arrival, I found Elder Grimda in her workshop.

"I have a question about pricing," I stated, settling onto the vacant stool.

She glanced up from the enchanted stone she was engraving. "Let me guess. You're wondering what to charge Dulric for the Fire-Belch?"

"I know what the dreamcap variety should fetch. One gold per bottle feels fair, considering the improved quality. Yet the Fire-Belch is different. Completely new. I'm uncertain what's reasonable."

"What price did you have in mind?"

"Three gold per bottle?"

Grimda set down her tools, her brow furrowing in thought. "That's steep, yet not unreasonable, considering its effects. Let me think...Novelty alone could fetch two gold, easily. Every fool dwarf in the kingdom will want to try it at least once. The magical infusion adds to its value, elevating it above just a mere parlour trick. And the craftsmanship seems solid, adequate containment runes, well-balanced flavours."

"So three gold is fair then?"

"Aye. Perhaps even conservative. You may be able to ask four and receive it, given the demand created by Brakka." She picked up her tools again. "But three gold is a good starting point. It allows Dulric a profit without feeling swindled, establishing you as a serious brewer rather than simply one who gouges prices."

"And retail? What would a tavern charge?"

"Five to six gold, at minimum. Possibly more if they market it as an experience rather than just another drink." She looked at me, a level gaze. "You possess something valuable, boy. Do not underprice yourself simply due to your age."

After leaving her workshop, I felt more assured. Three gold was not merely a figure that the system provided; it was the validation from an elder with centuries of market experience.

The following four days were marked by a controlled anxiety. Mornings spent in the mines, the afternoons spent checking and re-checking inventory, and evenings dedicated to using Ingredient Analysis for future recipe planning.

Rumours about the delegation continued to swirl. The humans and elves remained at the Deep Court. No public announcements had surfaced. Some claimed the negotiations were flourishing. Others thought stalled. No one knew for sure. I tried to dismiss these worries. My concerns were smaller, much more immediate. Would Dulric arrive on time? Did he plan to buy in bulk? Would other merchants vie for my stock?

On the fourteenth day, a runner arrived at the apprentice quarters, searching for me.

"Gosdrunli? Merchant Dulric sent word. He has arrived and wishes to meet you. You are to bring samples to his stall in the merchants' quarter."

I grabbed my sample vials and made my way down. The merchants' quarter buzzed with the afternoon trade. Dozens of stalls filled the cavern, dwarves haggling over everything from tools to food to enchanted goods. I pushed through the throng, my heart pounding.

Dulric's stall was precisely where it had always been, near the eastern entrance. The merchant himself stood behind his counter, conversing with another dwarf who was unfamiliar to me. Upon noticing my approach, Dulric's expression shifted to one blending interest with amusement.

"Gosdrunli. Heard you've been busy."

I stopped in front of his stall, suddenly acutely aware of how much hinged upon this conversation.

"I have product to sell, should you wish."

"Interested?" Dulric chuckled. "Boy, I've been approached by three different tavern keepers eager to know if the rumours hold truth. If you've truly crafted ale that permits the drinker to breathe fire. One of them even offered double whatever I charge, just to stock it first."

He leaned forward, his focus sharpening. "So yes, I'm very interested. The question is, how much do you currently have, and what will it cost?"

I took out my sample vials, laying them on his counter.

"Twenty bottles of Fire-Belch Ale. Twenty-four bottles of improved dreamcap ale across three varieties. I can supply more later, but this inventory is prepared for immediate sale."

Dulric picked up the Fire-Belch sample, regarding it in the light. "And your asking price?"

"Three gold per bottle for Fire-Belch. One gold apiece for the dreamcap varieties."

"Three gold?" Dulric whistled low. "That's ambitious."

"It's fair. The magical infusion alone commands two gold's worth. The novelty contributes another. Plus, you've already mentioned that tavern keepers are keen to pay top coin for good quality."

"Aye, they are," Dulric acknowledged, setting down the vial with consideration. "Three gold wholesale means retailing for five to six. That's excellent profit, no lie. And the one gold for dreamcap each is indeed reasonable, especially after you addressed the infusion strength issues."

He extended his hand. "Then we have a deal. Twenty bottles of Fire-Belch at three gold each, making sixty gold total. Also, twenty-four bottles of dreamcap at one gold each brings us to a total of eighty-four gold. I'll send someone to fetch the goods tomorrow. Will you have them ready?"

"They're already crated and labelled. Prepared for transport."

"Excellent." We shook hands. His grip was firm, marking the agreement of a merchant who had secured a notably profitable contract.

"One more thing," Dulric added. "There's a merchant consortium taking shape. Five clans are pooling resources to forge trade routes throughout the kingdom. They're perpetually in search of quality goods to stock. Should your Fire-Belch Ale perform as well as I anticipate, I'll recommend you."

A merchant consortium. Access to trade routes extending across multiple kingdoms. This sort of connection could elevate a small brewing company into a thriving business.

"I would be grateful for that," I said, comprising my composure.

"You've earned it, lad. Not many brewers your age craft something genuinely original. Most simply mimic the teachings of their masters." He turned his attention back to his ledger. "My associates will arrive tomorrow morning to collect. Be sure to have everything ready."

Once Dulric dismissed me, I navigated through the merchants' quarter in a state of shock. Eighty-four gold. Exclusive contracts. Recommendations from a merchant consortium. Three months ago, I had been a failed miner possessing forty-two silver pieces and a singular dream. Now, I was a brewer with a potentially bright future. I held the copper ring, extracting it from beneath my shirt as I walked, cradling it in my palm. The metal warmed against my skin, smoothed by decades of handling.

Whoever left me at those gates, whoever abandoned me to clan care, had given me little but this ring and the lingering question of my origins. But perhaps that was sufficient. Perhaps not knowing my past now gave me the freedom to craft my own future. And at this moment, I was climbing higher.

---

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[Kingofdreams]

Chapter 7​

The morning after Dulric's people collected my inventory, I woke to find my alcove feeling strangely empty. No crates stacked against the walls. No bottles gleaming in lamplight. Just my workbench, my bedroll, and a coin purse that was considerably heavier than it had been yesterday.

Eighty-four gold pieces. Minus the clan's ten percent tithe, leaving me with seventy-five gold and six silver. I sat on my stool and stared at the coins, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Three months ago, I'd been scraping together copper pieces from mining work. Now I held enough wealth to change everything.

The question was: what came next? I couldn't keep brewing in my alcove, not at this scale. If I wanted to meet the demand Brakka had created, if I wanted to prove this wasn't just beginner's luck, I needed proper facilities. A workshop. Real equipment. Space to work.

I pulled out my notebook and started writing.

Business Expansion - Requirements

Workshop space with proper ventilation

Better equipment (current kit too small)

Ingredient storage

Estimated budget: 50 gold (keep 25 gold reserve)

The reserve was important. I'd learned that much from my previous life. Never spend everything. Always keep a cushion for emergencies. But where did I even start looking for workshop space? Who sold professional brewing equipment? I needed expert advice.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I found Nadra in the fungus gardens that afternoon, tending to a bed of cave mushrooms.

"Quick question," I said. "Where would someone go to buy proper brewing equipment? Not apprentice stuff, professional grade."

She straightened, wiping her hands on her apron. "You're expandin' already? Mountain Fathers, that was fast."

"Dulric bought everything. I've got capital now. Might as well use it."

"Smart." She considered. "The Brewing Guild's your best bet. They've got suppliers, connections. Plus they rent workshop spaces to members at decent rates."

"I'm not a member though."

"So become one. Or at least talk to them. They're not going to bite a whelp's head off just for asking questions." She grinned. "Though they might charge you consultation fees."

The Brewing Guild. I'd heard of it, obviously. Every craft had its guild. But I'd never had reason to visit before.

"Where do I find them?"

"Craftsmen's quarter, two levels up. Big archway with a mug carved above it. Can't miss it."

The Brewing Guild occupied a vaulted chamber that smelled like a dozen different brews fermenting simultaneously. Workbenches lined the walls, dwarves of various ages testing samples and debating techniques. The atmosphere was less formal than I'd expected, more like a communal workshop than some exclusive club.

A dwarf near the entrance looked up from his ledger. His beard was iron-grey, his apron stained with what looked like decades of brewing accidents.

"Help you, lad?"

"I'm looking for information about equipment and workshop space. Nadra from the gardens said the Guild might be able to point me in the right direction."

"Ah, Nadra. Good lass, she is." He set down his quill. "I'm Borik. And you are?"

"Gosdrunli. From Clan Durn-Kahl."

Recognition flickered across his face. "Fire-Belch brewer?"

Word really did travel impossibly fast in this mountain.

"Aye."

"Hah! Thought you'd be... well, older." He laughed, not unkindly. "Thirty years, from what I heard?"

"That's right."

"Blimey. I've got sourdough starters older than you." But he was grinning. "Come on then. Let me introduce you to Master Thorgar. He handles new affiliates."

"Affiliates?"

"Aye. Can't just join the Guild proper, not without years of apprenticeship. But we've got an affiliate programme. Lets aspiring brewers access our suppliers, rent workspace, attend some workshops. Think of it as... trial membership."

He led me deeper into the hall. Several dwarves glanced up as we passed, their expressions curious rather than hostile. One elderly dwarf with a beard that nearly reached the floor called out.

"That the whelp who made the fire ale?"

"Aye!" Borik called back.

"Good work, lad! My grandson tried it at the Western Hall. Nearly singed his eyebrows clean off!" I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or a complaint, but I nodded politely.

Thorgar's office was a smaller chamber off the main hall, lined with shelves holding bottles and reference materials. The Guild Master himself was younger than I'd expected, maybe four hundred years old, his black beard streaked with silver.

"Gosdrunli of Durn-Kahl," Borik announced. "The Fire-Belch brewer. Wants to talk about equipment and space."

Thorgar looked up from the scroll he'd been reading. His eyes were sharp, assessing.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to a stool. "Borik, thanks. I've got this."

After Borik left, Thorgar leaned back in his chair. "So. Thirty years old and you've created something that's got half the kingdom talking. That's either brilliance or remarkable luck. Which is it?"

"Probably some of both," I admitted. "I had good instruction in magical infusion from Elder Grimda. The rest was systematic testing."

"Grimda, eh? She mentioned you when she was here last tenday." He pulled out a piece of parchment covered in notes. "Said you had a natural talent for containment runes. That the Fire-Belch work was some of the most elegant binding magic she'd seen in years."

My heart skipped. Grimda had been talking me up?

"She's generous with her praise."

"She's not, actually. Grimda's many things, generous with praise isn't one of them." Thorgar set the parchment aside. "Which is why when she suggested we consider you for the affiliate programme, I took it seriously."

"She suggested that?"

"Yesterday. Came to our council meeting, gave a whole presentation on the technical merits of your work. Didn't focus on the novelty aspect, rather the craftsmanship. The precision." He smiled slightly. "She was very persuasive."

I made a mental note to thank Grimda properly. Maybe buy her something nice. Though knowing her, she'd probably just grumble about wasted coin.

"The affiliate programme," I said carefully. "What does it involve?"

"Access to Guild suppliers at member rates. Option to rent workshop space at subsidized prices. Attendance at open workshops and technique sharing sessions. In exchange, you pay quarterly dues and agree to maintain Guild standards in your brewing."

"How much?"

"Two gold per quarter for dues. Workshop rental varies by size, anywhere from ten to thirty gold per year."

I calculated quickly. Eight gold per year in dues, plus rental. That was manageable within my budget.

"What about equipment?"

"We've got suppliers who work exclusively with the Guild. Better prices than you'd find in the general markets, and they know their craft." Thorgar pulled out another scroll. "What's your budget?"

"I can spend up to fifty gold on equipment and space. Need to keep a reserve."

"Smart. Never spend everything." He nodded approvingly. "Fifty gold will get you set up nicely. Not massive commercial operation, but solid professional workspace. Let me make some introductions."

Over the next hour, Thorgar walked me through the Guild's network of suppliers. Master Durnok for copper pots. Haldri for ceramic vessels. The barrel-wright Grimsson for aging casks.

"Start with the essentials," Thorgar advised. "Three good pots in different sizes gives you flexibility. Six fermentation vessels lets you run multiple batches. Four barrels for aging. That's your foundation."

"How much are we talking?"

"Thirty-five gold for quality equipment, if you're careful. Durnok's got some excellent used pots from estates. Nothing wrong with them, just previous owners passed on. Good copper lasts centuries if properly maintained."

"What about workspace?"

"I've got a small unit opening up next tenday. Previous renter achieved master status and moved to a larger space. Twelve gold per year, includes water access and ventilation. It's compact, about four times the size of a standard alcove." Twelve gold per year. That left me with plenty of cushion.

"When can I see it?"

"Right now, if you want. It's two corridors over."

The workshop was perfect. Not large, no. Not fancy. But clean, functional, with good air circulation and a stone trough for water. The walls were scarred from centuries of use, the workbenches worn smooth. It smelled faintly of old fermentation and stone dust.

"Previous tenant was a traditional ale brewer," Thorgar said. "Worked here for eighty years before moving up. She kept it immaculate, so you're inheriting a good space." I walked the perimeter, already mentally arranging equipment. Pots here, fermentation vessels there, barrels in that corner for aging.

"I'll take it."

"Thought you might." Thorgar pulled out a contract. "First quarter's dues and first year's rent upfront. That's fourteen gold total. Then quarterly payments of two gold going forward." I counted out the coins while Thorgar filled in the contract details.

"One more thing," he said as he signed the parchment. "As an affiliate, you're not bound by the same rules as full members. You can brew what you want, sell to who you want. But if you want to eventually achieve full membership, you'll need to complete the journeyman trials."

"What do those involve?"

"Three original recipes, demonstrated quality, technical interview with the council." He handed me the contract. "No rush though. Some brewers spend decades as affiliates before going for full membership. Others never bother. It's up to you." I tucked the contract into my pouch. "Thank you. For the help, and for taking a chance on someone so young."

Thorgar waved a hand dismissively. "You've got Elder Grimda backing you, and she doesn't waste her time on fools. Plus, from what I've heard, your Fire-Belch work is genuinely innovative. The Guild needs fresh thinking. Too many of us get stuck brewing the same five recipes for centuries." He walked me back to the main hall, where Borik was organizing bottles.

"He's official!" Thorgar announced. "Gosdrunli of Durn-Kahl, Guild affiliate."

A smattering of applause from the nearby dwarves. The elderly one with the floor-length beard raised a mug. "Welcome, lad! Try not to burn the place down with your fire brews!"

"I'll do my best," I called back.

As I left the Guild hall, I felt lighter than I had in weeks. Not because I'd secured workspace and equipment access, but because I'd been accepted. Not fully, not yet. But enough that it mattered.

---

Upto chapter 13 + interlude available on patreon :.)
link to patreon is name + story title.
or linked to profile.

comment and like!! :'')

now that we have semi caught up, will try for twice a week but 1 chapter guaranteed a week.

will do 1 more chapter tomorrow.

 

[bbb]

good stuff! forgot to treadmark thou

 

[Kingofdreams]

good stuff! forgot to treadmark thou

Click to shrink...

Good catch didn't see I forgot!
To dwarf supremacy!!

 

[Kingofdreams]

Chapter 8 ​

Elder Grimda's workshop was quiet when I arrived that evening, lit only by the soft glow of enchantment runes she was carving into a piece of obsidian.

"Heard you went to the Guild," she said without looking up.

"How do you always know these things?"

"I'm old. I know everything." She set down her tools. "Did Thorgar sort you out?"

"He did." I sat on her spare stool. "He mentioned you spoke to the council about me."

"Aye."

"Why?"

Grimda finally looked at me, her expression unreadable. "Because you're good at this, and you deserve a fair chance. Simple as that."

"It's not simple though. You spent your time and reputation vouching for a thirty-year-old foundling."

"My reputation's solid enough to handle it." She picked up the obsidian again, examining her work. "Besides, I didn't lie. Your containment work on the Fire-Belch was exceptional. The binding structure, the delayed release mechanism and the way you integrated magical properties without interference. That's advanced stuff."

"You taught me most of it."

"I taught you the basics of rune work. The rest was you figuring out how to apply it." She made another careful cut into the stone. "The council needed to understand that you weren't just some lucky whelp who stumbled onto a novelty brew. You're methodical. Those are qualities the Guild values." I sat in silence for a moment, processing.

"Thank you," I said finally. "I mean it."

"Don't thank me by wasting the opportunity. You've got a workspace now and equipment access. Use it. Create something worth the investment."

"I will."

"Good." She set down her tools again. "Now get out of my workshop. Some of us have actual work to do."

But she was smiling as she said it.



********

(Three Days Earlier)

The Guild Council chamber was smaller than the main hall, lined with shelves holding centuries records. Seven dwarves sat around an oval table, their expressions ranging from interested to sceptical.

Elder Grimda stood at the head of the table, a piece of enchanted glass in her hand. Inside the glass, a small flame flickered, suspended in amber liquid.

"This," she said, her voice carrying the authority of seven hundred years, "is a sample of the Fire-Belch Ale created by Gosdrunli of Clan Durn-Kahl."

Master Thorgar leaned forward. "We've all heard the rumours. Ale that lets the drinker breathe fire. Impressive showmanship, but is there substance behind it?"

"There is." Grimda set the glass on the table. "The containment work alone is worth examining. Look at the runic structure."

She traced a finger along the glass, and glowing lines appeared, showing the layered magical binding. The council members leaned in, studying the intricate pattern.

"Triple-layer containment," one of them murmured. "With conditional release triggers."

"Exactly." Grimda's finger moved to another section. "The fire essence from embercap mushrooms is bound here, stabilized by ashwillow. The pepperroot tincture acts as a catalyst, but only when specific chemical conditions are met. Stomach acid, carbonation, body temperature. All three must align before the magic releases."

"That's sophisticated work," another council member said. "How old is this brewer?"

"Thirty years."

Silence. Then someone laughed.

"Thirty? Mountain Fathers, Grimda. I know you like taking on projects, but thirty?"

"I've been teaching him rune work since he was fifteen," Grimda said calmly. "Fifteen years of instruction, twice weekly. He absorbed everything I taught and extrapolated further. This containment structure? I showed him the basics. The application, the innovation, the way he integrated multiple magical properties without interference? That was entirely his own work."

She picked up the glass again. "I've seen seven hundred years of magical crafting. This is exceptional work by any standard. The fact that it came from someone so young makes it more impressive, not less."

Thorgar studied the flame. "What's your recommendation?"

"Affiliate status, immediate. Give him access to proper equipment and workspace. Let him develop under Guild guidance rather than struggling alone." Grimda's expression sharpened. "And I'm recommending this not as a favour, but as an investment. The Guild needs new talent. Fresh approaches. This boy has both."

The council members exchanged glances.

"The Elder Council of Durn-Kahl supports this?" one asked.

"The tithe arrangement was approved. The clan recognizes the value of his work."

"Then I see no reason to refuse," Thorgar said. "All in favour of affiliate status for Gosdrunli of Durn-Kahl?"

Six hands rose. Only one dwarf abstained, an ancient brewer with a beard braided to his knees.

"Motion carries." Thorgar made a note in his ledger. "Send word when he comes to us. We'll get him sorted."

Grimda nodded once, satisfied. "Thank you for your time."

As she left the chamber, Thorgar called after her. "Grimda? You're putting your reputation behind this boy. Don't think we've forgotten."

She paused at the doorway. "My reputation can handle it. Question is whether the Guild can handle what he's going to create next."

And with that, she was gone.



********

I spent the next two days shopping. Master Durnok's forge was exactly as Thorgar described, a sweltering chamber hung with copper pots like metallic fruit. The ancient dwarf examined me with eyes that had seen centuries.

"You're the whelp Thorgar sent over. Fire-Belch brewer."

"That's me."

"Hm. Young to be setting up professional." He pulled down a medium-sized pot, the copper gleaming despite obvious age. "This one's good bones. Two hundred years of use, but properly maintained. Previous owner was Master Brenna, died last year. Family's selling her equipment."

He demonstrated the pot's balance, running thick fingers along the interior. "See this? Even thickness throughout. No weak spots. Runes are still active, just need minor refreshment. Seven gold."

I examined it carefully. The weight felt right, the interior showed minimal wear.

"What about new?"

"New costs twelve for this quality." Durnok grunted. "Old isn't worse in this trade. It's proven. This pot's brewed thousands of batches. It'll brew thousands more if you treat it right."

By the time I left, I'd purchased three pots for eighteen gold. A medium from Master Brenna's estate, a smaller one with enhanced temperature runes, and a larger pot that Durnok claimed had brewed victory ale for some ancient celebration.

"Maintain the runes," Durnok called as I left. "Polish the copper monthly. They'll outlast you."

Haldri the ceramicist was friendlier, her workshop bright with hanging charms.

"Fermentation vessels, right? Thorgar sent word you'd be coming." She showed me rows of sturdy ceramic jugs. "I'd recommend six to start. Four traditional for long ferments, two modern for quick batches. Ten gold for the lot, and I'll throw in some storage jars."

"Done."

"My nephew tried the Fire-Belch," she added as she wrapped my purchase. "Wouldn't shut up about it for days. Kept trying to breathe fire at the dinner table."

I winced. "Sorry about that."

"Sorry? It was hilarious! His mother was furious." She laughed. "Good marketing though. Everyone wants to try it now."

The barrel-wright Grimsson sold me four quarter-casks for seven gold. "Oak, properly seasoned. They'll age your brews beautifully." By the end of the second day, I'd spent thirty-five gold on equipment and arranged delivery to my new workshop. Adding the fourteen gold for rent and dues, I'd committed forty-nine gold total. Twenty-six gold and six silver remaining. A healthy cushion for ingredients and emergencies.

The morning my equipment arrived, I stood in the empty workshop and felt the weight of possibility. This was real. Not dreams, not plans scratched in a notebook. An actual brewery. My brewery.

The delivery dwarves helped me position everything. Pots mounted on the stone hearth. Fermentation vessels on shelves along the wall. Barrels stacked in the corner for aging. By midday, I had a functional operation.

Basic, yes. Small compared to the massive breweries I'd glimpsed in the Guild hall. But mine. I pulled out the copper ring from beneath my shirt, holding it in the lamplight. Whoever had left me at those gates, they'd given me nothing but questions. I was building my own answers.

The workshop door opened. Thorgar stepped inside, hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed my setup. "Not bad. You've arranged things efficiently." He nodded at the hearth. "Water access is good there. Ventilation's optimal. You've thought about workflow." He's pleased. That's... unexpected. I wasn't sure he'd approve.

"Tried to, anyway."

"It shows." He moved to examine one of the pots. "Durnok sold you Brenna's medium pot. This was a favourite of hers. Good choice."

"He recommended it."

"He would. Durnok knows his craft." Thorgar turned to face me. "So. You've got the space, you've got the equipment. What are you going to brew?" I hadn't expected the question, but the answer came immediately.

"Something new."

"Good answer." Thorgar smiled. "That's what we need. Keep creating, keep pushing boundaries. The Guild will be watching, but not to judge. To learn."

After he left, I stood alone in my workshop, surrounded by copper and ceramic and oak. The Ingredient Analysis ability hummed at the edge of my awareness, showing me possibilities other brewers couldn't see.

Time to prove I belonged.

-------------------------------
A/N
A bit of a shorter chapter but hopefully youll enjoy it -
upto chapter 13 from friday drop on patreon, will post the last chapter tomorrow before it becomes twice a week Update.

 

[Kingofdreams]

On QQ I always read on mobile , But why does reading on desktop mode suck? Not just QQ but everywhere.

 

[Kingofdreams]

Chapter 9​

The workshop felt different in the early morning light filtering through the ventilation shafts. Quieter than my alcove had been, more spacious, and filled with the potential of empty workbenches waiting to be used.

I'd been staring at my notebook for an hour, trying to decide what to brew next.

The Fire-Belch Ale had been a success, but it was a novelty. Entertainment in a bottle. What I needed now was something that could become a staple, something people would buy regularly rather than once for the experience.

My mind kept drifting back to my previous life. To drinks I'd taken for granted. Coffee from a drive-through window. Orange juice from a carton. And most of all, the fizzy sweetness of a cold Coke on a hot Portland afternoon. Carbonation.

Dwarven ale was naturally carbonated from fermentation, but it was gentle, subtle. Nothing like the aggressive fizz of modern soft drinks. What if I could recreate that? Create something sweet, bubbly, refreshing?

I pulled out my notebook and started writing.

Project: Fizzy Drinks

Goal: Create a carbonated beverage similar to cola/soft drinks from Earth

Challenges:

- Achieving high carbonation levels

- Creating sweetness without fermentation (sugar + yeast = alcohol)

- Flavour profile (cola, citrus, other?)

- Preservation without modern bottling

The carbonation problem was solvable. I'd read enough about brewing in my previous life to know the basics. Fermentation produced CO2, but most of it escaped during the process. To trap it, I needed to bottle at exactly the right moment, with exactly the right amount of residual sugar for the yeast to consume.

Too little sugar, flat drink. Too much sugar, exploding bottles.

The sweetness was trickier. If I let yeast ferment all the sugar, I'd end up with alcohol instead of soda. I needed to stop fermentation at the right point, or find a way to sweeten without fermentable sugars.

I picked up a piece of dried sweetroot, focusing my Ingredient Analysis ability on it.

INGREDIENT ANALYSIS

Sweetroot (Dried)

Primary Property: Natural sweetness (non-fermentable)

Secondary Properties: Smooth texture, subtle vanilla notes

Magical Affinity: Low

Best Used In: Desserts, sweet brews, medicinal tonics

Pairs Well With: Citrus, mint, cream, honey

Warning: Excessive consumption may cause mild digestive upset

Non-fermentable sweetness. Perfect.

I could create a base liquid using sweetroot for sweetness, add flavouring, then introduce just enough yeast and sugar to carbonate without producing significant alcohol. The timing would be critical, but it was possible.

The flavour was where things got interesting.

Cola had been a complex blend. Vanilla, cinnamon, citrus oils, maybe some nutmeg. I didn't have access to cola nuts or the exact spice blend, but I had Ingredient Analysis. I could experiment, find combinations that evoked the same feeling even if the exact flavours were different.

I spent the next hour pulling ingredients from my storage area, analysing each one.

Cinnamon bark: warm, spicy, slightly sweet.

Citrus peel from the markets: bright, acidic, aromatic.

Vanilla pods (expensive, but I had the budget): rich, creamy, complex.

Ginger root: sharp, warming, with a bite that could replace some of the cola's edge.

Black winterberry: dark, slightly bitter, with notes that reminded me of caramel.

I started sketching combinations.

Recipe Attempt 1: Dark Fizz

Base: Sweetroot infusion (strong)

Flavouring: Cinnamon, vanilla, citrus peel, winterberry

Carbonation: Light sugar + champagne yeast (stops fermenting early)

Expected result: Cola-adjacent, dark, sweet, fizzy

The champagne yeast was key. I'd learned about it from reading in my previous life. Champagne yeast could tolerate higher carbonation levels than ale yeast, and it fermented at cooler temperatures, giving me more control.

I'd need to source some from the Guild suppliers.

By midmorning, I'd sketched six different fizzy drink concepts.

Dark Fizz (cola-style)

Citrus Sparkle (lemon-lime adjacent)

Ginger Snap (ginger ale)

Berry Burst (mixed berry soda)

Mint Chill (something like Sprite but mintier)

Root Blend (root beer style using various roots and barks)

Each one would require different ratios, different carbonation levels, different sweetness balances. The experimentation would take weeks.

But if even one of them worked, if I could create a refreshing fizzy drink that dwarves actually wanted to buy regularly...

That was recurring revenue. That was a real business.

A knock at my workshop door interrupted my planning.

"It's open!"

Brakka pushed through, grinning as he looked around. "So this is the famous new brewery. Not bad, Gosdrunli. Definitely beats brewin' in your bedchamber."

"What brings you here?"

"Can't I just visit my friend in his fancy new workshop?" He moved closer, eyeing my notebook. "What're you working on? More fire brews?"

"Something different. Trying to create... fizzy drinks. Sweet, carbonated, refreshing."

"Fizzy?" Brakka's nose wrinkled. "Like ale, but sweet?"

"Sort of. Less alcohol, more bubbles. Something you'd drink on a hot day just to cool down."

"Huh. That's... actually not a bad idea. Mining work gets hot. Most of us just drink water, but something with flavour that's not full-strength ale?" He considered. "Could work."

"That's what I'm hoping."

"Need a test subject again?"

I laughed. "Not yet. I haven't even brewed anything. Just planning."

"Well, when you do, I'm your dwarf." Brakka headed for the door, then paused. "Oh, almost forgot. Thorek's been asking about you. Wanted to know if you were still showing up for mining duty."

My stomach sank. I'd been so focused on the brewery that I'd completely forgotten about my mining obligations.

"What day is today?"

"Fourthday."

I'd missed two mining shifts. Thorek was probably furious.

"I need to go apologize."

"Probably a good idea. He didn't seem angry though, just curious." Brakka grinned. "Think the old bastard's actually proud of you. Won't admit it, but still."

After Brakka left, I cleaned up my workspace and headed down to the mines.

I found Thorek in the shallow tunnels where I'd always worked, examining a copper seam with practiced eyes.

"Sorry I'm late. Lost track of time."

He glanced up. "Late? Boy, you haven't shown up for two shifts. That's not late, that's absent."

"I know. I've been setting up the brewery, and I-"

"Relax." Thorek straightened, brushing rock dust from his beard. "I'm not angry. Disappointed you didn't send word, but not angry."

That surprised me. "You're not?"

"You've got a business to run now. Real work that actually suits you." He gestured at the tunnel. "This? This was always just obligation. You never belonged down here."

"Contract's still valid until I'm a hundred-twenty."

"Aye, it is. But the Elders and I had a talk yesterday. Given your brewin' success, they're willing to adjust the terms."

My heart skipped. "Adjust how?"

"Three mornings a week instead of five. That gives you more time for your brewery whilst still fulfilling basic obligations." Thorek's expression softened slightly. "You're bringing gold into the clan, boy. That's worth more than copper ore from someone who hates mining."

Relief flooded through me. Three mornings instead of five meant I could dedicate real time to brewing, to experimenting, to building the business.

"Thank you. I mean it."

"Don't thank me. Thank Elder Grimda. She's the one who convinced the council." He picked up his pickaxe. "Now get out of here. You've got fizzy drinks to invent or whatever madness you're planning next."

I left the mines feeling lighter than I had in weeks.



---------

As always more chapters on patreon - Upto chapter 13
on my profile
Will update chapter 10 tonight if i get the time.

 

[Ghostcraft19]

This is great

 

[Kingofdreams]

Chapter 10




The champagne yeast arrived three days later, delivered by a Guild supplier who looked amused by my request. "Champagne yeast for a dwarf brewer Gosdrunli. That's a first. Most of us stick to ale strains."

"I'm trying something different." I said.

"So I've heard." He handed me the package. "This strain's finicky. Needs cooler temperatures than standard ale yeast, and it produces a lot of CO2. You'll want strong bottles or you'll be cleaning glass off your ceiling."

"Noted." I spent the afternoon preparing my first test batch: Dark Fizz, the cola-style drink.

The sweetroot infusion was straightforward. I steeped the dried root in hot water for an hour, creating a base liquid that was intensely sweet but smooth. The analysis had been right, it tasted nothing like sugar, but the sweetness was real and completely non-fermentable. Next came the flavourings.

I crushed cinnamon bark, vanilla pods, dried citrus peel, and winterberries into a fine powder. The smell was incredible, warm and complex, with layers that reminded me of winter holidays from my previous life. The powder went into the sweetroot infusion along with a tiny amount of honey for depth. I let it steep for another hour, then strained everything through fine muslin cloth. The result was a dark, aromatic liquid that smelled promising but tasted too sweet and too concentrated.

I added water, diluting it gradually until the sweetness felt balanced. Then came the tricky part. I measured out a precise amount of regular sugar, just enough for the champagne yeast to produce carbonation without creating significant alcohol. Too much and I'd have sparkling wine instead of soda. Too little and the drink would be flat. The yeast went in last. I pitched it carefully, watching it settle into the dark liquid. Now came the waiting.

I bottled the mixture in thick glass bottles I'd purchased specifically for this experiment, each one sealed with a cork and wax. The champagne yeast would consume the sugar over the next few days, producing CO2 that couldn't escape. The pressure would build, forcing carbonation into the liquid. If my calculations were right, I'd have fizzy Dark Fizz in about five days. If my calculations were wrong, I'd have exploding bottles and a mess to clean up.

I set the bottles aside and started on the next experiment: Citrus Sparkle.

---

Over the next week, I brewed all six fizzy drink prototypes. Each one followed the same basic process: create a flavoured base with non-fermentable sweetness, add minimal sugar, pitch champagne yeast, bottle carefully. The differences were in the flavourings.

Citrus Sparkle used lemon and lime peels with a touch of mint.

Ginger Snap was built around fresh ginger root with honey and a hint of vanilla.

Berry Burst combined five different berries into a tart, fruity base.

Mint Chill was aggressively minty with cooling properties from frost mint.

Root Blend used a combination of liquorice root, sassafras, wintergreen, and other aromatics to create something earthy and complex.

By the end of the week, I had thirty bottles lined up on my storage shelves, each one labeled with the recipe name and bottling date. They sat there like small bombs, pressure building inside them daily. I checked them obsessively, looking for signs of over-carbonation. A few showed worrying bulges in the cork, and I carefully released some pressure before re-sealing them.

On the fifth day, I judged the Dark Fizz ready for testing.

I grabbed Brakka.

---

"You want me to drink what now?"

Brakka stared at the bottle I'd uncorked, watching bubbles rise through the dark liquid. "Fizzy drink. Non-alcoholic, mostly. Sweet, flavoured with spices."

"That looks like... I don't even know what that looks like." He took the cup I poured for him, sniffing cautiously. "Smells good though. Like winter festivals."

"Just try it. Small sips."

He drank.

His eyes widened immediately. "It's fizzy! Really fizzy! And sweet! And..." He took another sip. "This is actually good. It's like drinking spiced bubbles."

Relief flooded through me. "No off flavours? Nothing wrong?"

"Bit too sweet maybe, but otherwise?" Brakka drained the cup. "I'd buy this. Especially on hot days. It's refreshing in a way ale isn't."

I poured myself a cup and tasted.

He was right about the sweetness, it was a touch too much. The carbonation level was perfect though, aggressive without being overwhelming. The flavours were well-balanced, warm spices mixing with the sweetness and carbonation to create something that wasn't quite cola but evoked the same feeling.

The system notification flared across my vision.

BREW ANALYSIS COMPLETE

Dark Fizz - Apprentice Quality

Alcohol Content: 0.8%

Magical Infusion: None

Effects: Refreshing, mild energy boost, pleasant taste

Market Value: 5 silver per bottle

Brewing Experience Gained: 200 XP

Current Level: Journeyman Brewer (Level 5)

Progress: 5150/25000 XP

Five silver per bottle. Not as valuable as the Fire-Belch Ale, but these were far cheaper to produce and had broader appeal. This wasn't entertainment, it was a product people might buy weekly.

"Make more of this," Brakka said, reaching for the bottle to refill his cup. "I'm serious. This'll sell."

Over the next few days, I tested all six prototypes. The Citrus Sparkle was too tart. The Ginger Snap burned too much. The Berry Burst was perfect but expensive to produce. The Mint Chill was divisive, some loved it, some hated the intensity. The Root Blend was interesting but too complex for casual drinking.

The Dark Fizz remained the most successful, though I adjusted the recipe to reduce sweetness. I was documenting my results when a different idea struck me.

What if I could create something stronger? Not just fizzy drinks, but spirits?

I'd never tried distilling before. Not in this life, anyway. In my previous life, I'd toured distilleries, understood the basic concept. Ferment something alcoholic, then heat it to separate the alcohol from water based on different boiling points. Simple in theory. Dangerous in practice without proper equipment.

But the idea wouldn't leave me alone. What if I could recreate whiskey? Or something like Jack Daniels? The smooth, oaky burn of Tennessee whiskey had been a favourite in my previous life. Could I make something similar here? I started researching.

The Guild library had extensive records on distillation, mostly for making medicinal tinctures and cleaning agents. The process was well-understood, just rarely applied to drinking alcohol. Dwarves preferred their ale and mead, didn't see much point in concentrating it. But the equipment was available.

A simple pot still consisted of a heated vessel, a cooling coil, and a collection container. The liquid heated until alcohol vapour rose, traveled through the coil where it condensed back to liquid, then dripped into the collection container at much higher alcohol concentration. I could build something basic for maybe ten gold.

The question was whether I should. Distillation was legal but regulated. The Guild required licensing for spirits production, mainly to ensure proper safety measures. Improperly made spirits could contain dangerous levels of methanol or other compounds.

But I had Ingredient Analysis. I could check the composition of what I produced, make sure it was safe.

I pulled out my notebook and started planning.

Project: Whiskey-Style Spirit

Base: Barley ale, unhopped, high sugar content

Fermentation: Standard ale yeast, let it run to completion

Distillation: Single pot still, discard first runnings (methanol)

Aging: Oak barrels (quarter-cask, 3-6 months minimum)

Flavour additions: Charred oak, maybe some spice?

Target: Something resembling bourbon/whiskey

The base would be simple. Strong ale, minimal hops, fermented completely dry. Then distilled carefully, discarding the first bit that came off the still because that's where methanol concentrated.

The aging would transform it from harsh alcohol into something smooth and complex. Oak barrels imparted vanilla notes, caramel flavours, mellowed the burn. I had oak barrels. They were meant for aging beer, but they'd work for spirits too.

The more I thought about it, the more excited I became.

If the fizzy drinks were everyday products, spirits could be premium offerings. Special occasions. Expensive bottles that collectors would pay significant gold for.

But I needed to do it right. Get licensed, build proper equipment, test everything thoroughly.

I headed back to the Guild to talk to Thorgar.

---

"You want to do what now?"

Thorgar stared at me like I'd suggested setting the workshop on fire.

"Distillation. Make whiskey-style spirits. I know it's regulated, but-"

"Regulated is putting it mildly, lad. Spirits production requires licensing from both the Guild and the clan council. Safety inspections. Regular testing." He leaned back in his chair. "Why in the Mountain Fathers' names would you want to complicate your life like that?"

"Because there's a market for it. Premium spirits, properly aged, high quality. Something beyond standard ale."

"There's already dwarven spirits. Firewater from the northern clans. That vile stuff the deep miners drink."

"But nothing refined. Nothing aged properly in oak with attention to flavour profile." I pulled out my notebook, showing him my plans. "I'm not talking about rotgut. I'm talking about premium spirits that could compete with elven wines for prestige."

Thorgar studied my notes, his expression shifting from sceptical to considering.

"You've thought this through."

"I have."

"Equipment costs?"

"Ten gold for a basic pot still. I already have aging barrels."

"Licensing fees are another five gold. Plus safety inspections every quarter." He tapped my notebook. "You're looking at fifteen gold minimum investment before you produce a single bottle."

That would leave me with about eleven gold in reserve. Tighter than I liked, but manageable.

"I can afford it."

"Afford it, aye. But can you handle the complexity? You're already brewin' Fire-Belch Ale and now fizzy drinks. Adding spirits production means managing three different product lines. That's a lot for someone so young."

He had a point. I was already stretching myself thin.

"What if I focus on getting the fizzy drinks stable first? Prove I can manage consistent production. Then add spirits later?"

Thorgar nodded slowly. "That's smarter. Build your foundation before adding complications. Get your fizzy drinks to market, establish regular income. Then expand into spirits when you've got the bandwidth."

It made sense. Much as I wanted to try everything at once, sustainable growth meant prioritizing.

"Alright. Fizzy drinks first, then spirits."

"Good lad. That's the kind of thinking that separates successful brewers from failed experiments." Thorgar stood. "Now, you mentioned you need to get the fizzy drinks stable. What's your plan for that?"

"Test the recipes more, adjust sweetness levels, figure out optimal carbonation. Then start producing for sale."

"How many varieties?"

"I was thinking all six, but that might be too much. Maybe start with three? The Dark Fizz, the Berry Burst, and one other."

"Three's manageable. Gives customers choice without overwhelming them." He walked me to the door. "Keep me updated on your progress. I'm curious to see how the market responds to fizzy drinks. Could be the next big thing. Could be a passing novelty. Won't know until you try."

---

I spent the next week refining my three flagship fizzy drinks.

Dark Fizz (reduced sweetness, adjusted spice ratios)

Berry Burst (optimized berry blend for cost vs. flavour)

Ginger Snap (tamed the burn, added more honey smoothness)

Each one went through multiple test batches, adjustments, more testing. By the end of the week, I had recipes I was confident in.

The system confirmed my progress with each successful batch.

BREW ANALYSIS COMPLETE

Dark Fizz - Journeyman Quality

Market Value: 7 silver per bottle

BREW ANALYSIS COMPLETE

Berry Burst - Journeyman Quality

Market Value: 8 silver per bottle

BREW ANALYSIS COMPLETE

Ginger Snap - Journeyman Quality

Market Value: 6 silver per bottle

The quality had improved. The market values had risen. And my experience was accumulating steadily.

Current Level: Journeyman Brewer (Level 5)

Progress: 7350/25000 XP

I was a third of the way to level six already. Now I just needed to see if dwarves would actually buy fizzy drinks in quantity. Time to talk to Dulric again.

---

Apolgies for the wait
As always friends more chapter on patreon, up to chapter 14 plus interlude

 

[Ghostcraft19]

Good chapter

 

[Kingofdreams]

Chapter 11​

I stood in my workshop, staring at thirty bottles of fizzy drinks lined up on the shelves, and wondered if Marcus Chen from Portland would have recognized what I was doing. This wasn't about recreating Coca-Cola, though the Dark Fizz came close enough to make me nostalgic. It wasn't even really about the fizzy drinks themselves. It was about capital.

The Fire-Belch Ale had been a spectacle. People bought it for the novelty, the experience of breathing flames in a tavern while their friends watched. The dreamcap ale was similar, a pleasant enhancement to an evening but not something anyone needed. Both were entertainment, purchased once or maybe twice, then the novelty faded.

What I needed was something people would buy every week. Something I could produce efficiently while building toward what actually mattered.

I picked up one of the Dark Fizz bottles, examining the gentle carbonation rising through the dark amber liquid. The flavour was balanced now after three rounds of adjustments. Warm spices, sweetness from the non-fermentable sweetroot, aggressive fizz that reminded me of opening a fresh Coke on a summer afternoon.

Production cost was about three silver per bottle. If I could sell it for seven silver wholesale, that was a hundred percent margin. Better than most brewing, and I could batch-produce dozens at a time. But the fizzy drinks were just the foundation. What I really wanted to create required resources I didn't have yet.

True healing potions that could close wounds in moments instead of days. Phoenix ash cost twenty gold per ounce. Dragon's blood was thirty gold per vial. A single experimental batch of regeneration potion would cost fifty gold just in materials, and if it failed, that gold was simply gone.

Enhancement brews were even worse. Temporal moss for haste potions cost thirty gold per pound, and you needed at least two pounds. Sixty gold for ingredients before adding the binding agents and stabilizers. And then there was the one everyone said was impossible.

Intelligence enhancement.

Every mage, every scholar, every Elder who'd written on the subject agreed: you couldn't brew intelligence. Physical properties could be enhanced through alchemy, but the mind was different. Fundamental. You could improve focus or memory temporarily, but actual intelligence? That was like trying to bottle talent or creativity.

But I had advantages those scholars didn't. The Ingredient Analysis ability showed me connections between ingredients that traditional knowledge missed. The system rewarded genuine innovation in ways that could accelerate development. And I'd come from a world where the impossible became routine if you applied the right methodology.

The problem was simple enough: I needed gold. Lots of it. The fizzy drinks would generate that gold if I could establish reliable sales. A knock interrupted my thoughts.

"It's open!"

Thorgar stepped inside, glancing around the workshop with the practiced eye of someone evaluating a business operation. His gaze lingered on the rows of bottles.

"Borik mentioned you've been experimenting with something new. Fizzy drinks, he said?"

"Testing recipes, trying to find something marketable." I gestured toward the bottles. "Non-alcoholic carbonated sweetwater. Flavoured and refreshing."

"Non-alcoholic?" Thorgar picked up one of the Dark Fizz bottles, holding it to the light. "That's unusual. May I?"

I handed him a cup and uncorked the bottle. The carbonation hissed softly as I poured.

Thorgar took a careful sip, then another. His expression shifted from skeptical curiosity to genuine interest.

"This is actually quite good. The carbonation is aggressive, almost like champagne, and the spice blend is complex." He examined the bottle more closely. "What's your base?"

"Sweetroot infusion. Non-fermentable, so the yeast only produces carbonation without significant alcohol. Champagne yeast with minimal sugar for the bubbles. Cinnamon, vanilla, citrus peel and winterberry for flavouring."

"Clever approach. Using sweetroot means you avoid the alcohol problem entirely." Thorgar took another sip, clearly thinking. "What's your production cost?"

"About three silver per bottle, including ingredients and time."

"And you're planning to sell it for?"

"Seven silver wholesale seemed reasonable. Maybe eight for bulk orders."

Thorgar nodded slowly, setting down the cup. "That's excellent margin. Better than most beer, and the market is completely untapped. Nobody's making carbonated sweetwater commercially." He paused. "You've got two other varieties ready?"

I poured samples of Berry Burst and Ginger Snap. Thorgar tasted each one with the same methodical attention.

"The berry is too expensive," he said after trying the Berry Burst. "Five different berries? Your ingredient cost must be at least four silver per bottle."

"Close to that, yes."

"Too high for everyday drinking. You'd need to charge ten silver wholesale to make reasonable profit, and that prices most customers out of the market." He moved to the Ginger Snap. "This one has potential, but the ginger burn is too strong. Balance it with more honey, perhaps some vanilla."

"I've been thinking the same thing."

"The Dark Fizz is your winner." Thorgar picked up that bottle again. "Good flavour, reasonable cost, broad appeal. I could see miners buying this regularly, especially during the hot months. It's refreshing in a way ale isn't."

Exactly what I'd hoped to hear.

"You think merchants would stock it?"

"Dulric would be a fool not to, and he's many things but not a fool." Thorgar moved toward the door, then paused. "Just be careful about overextending yourself. You've already got Fire-Belch Ale and dreamcap varieties. Adding another product line means managing more complexity."

"The fizzy drinks are straightforward to produce. I can batch them efficiently while working on other projects."

"What other projects?"

I hesitated. What I was planning sounded ambitious even in my own head, possibly insane when said aloud.

"Eventually? Healing potions. Enhancement brews. Things with genuine magical properties beyond flavour."

Thorgar's expression shifted to something between interest and concern.

"That's advanced work, Gosdrunli. Guild journeyman territory at minimum. It requires years of training and access to ingredients most brewers never touch."

"I know what it requires. That's why I'm starting with the fizzy drinks first, building capital and refining techniques before attempting anything experimental."

"How much capital are we talking about?"

"Fifty gold for a single experimental batch of regeneration potion. Sixty or more for haste brews."

Thorgar let out a low whistle. "That's serious investment. You fail one batch, that's months of profit gone."

"Which is why I need the foundation stable first. Steady income, proven production, enough reserve that one failure doesn't destroy everything."

"Smart thinking." Thorgar studied me with those sharp eyes. "you're systematic about it. That's rare, especially at your age." He opened the door. "Keep me informed about your progress. The Guild is always interested in brewers attempting advanced work, even if they're still affiliates."

After he left, I returned to examining the bottles. The conversation had confirmed what I already suspected: the Dark Fizz was viable as a commercial product. Now I just needed to prove I could deliver consistent quality at scale.

The next morning, I found Nadra in the fungus gardens, harvesting embercaps from the hot chamber.

"Need more fire mushrooms already?" she asked, glancing up from her work.

"Not this time. I wanted to ask about ingredients for healing potions."

That got her full attention. She set down her harvesting knife and straightened, wiping sweat from her forehead.

"Healing potions? That's a big leap from fizzy drinks and fire ale."

"I'm just researching for now, not brewing. Trying to understand what's available and what it costs."

Nadra studied me for a moment, then gestured deeper into the gardens. "Come on then. I'll show you the medicinal section."

We walked past the common growing chambers into an area I'd never seen before. The temperature dropped noticeably, and the air smelled sharper, cleaner, with a faint metallic tang.

"Elder Grimda sources most of her potion ingredients from here," Nadra explained, gesturing at the shelves and growing beds. "Everything in this section has healing or enhancement properties."

The variety was staggering. Dozens of different plants and fungi, some growing in soil, others in water, a few suspended in what looked like pure crystal.

Nadra picked up a plant with pale, almost translucent leaves. "This is silverleaf. Basic pain relief and anti-inflammatory. Grows fast, easy to harvest. Five copper per bunch."

She moved to another plant with deep purple flowers. "Nightbloom. Stronger pain relief, helps with sleep. Ten copper per flower, but you need to harvest it after dark or it loses potency."

I focused my Ingredient Analysis ability on the nightbloom, and information flooded my mind.

INGREDIENT ANALYSIS

Nightbloom (Fresh)

Primary Property: Pain relief (strong)

Secondary Properties: Sedative, muscle relaxation

Magical Affinity: Moderate

Best Used In: Healing potions, sleep aids, muscle recovery brews

Pairs Well With: Silverleaf, moonroot, willow bark

Warning: Excessive use may cause dependency

The pairing information was crucial. Nightbloom worked synergistically with silverleaf. Add moonroot for magical amplification and willow bark for anti-inflammatory properties, and you'd have the framework for a basic healing potion.

"What about serious healing?" I asked. "Not just pain relief. Actual tissue regeneration?"

Nadra's expression grew more serious. "That's expensive territory. Phoenix ash, dragon's blood, things most brewers never touch because of the cost."

"How expensive?"

"Phoenix ash runs about twenty gold per ounce. Dragon's blood is thirty gold per vial." She shook her head slightly. "And those are just the primary ingredients. You'd need binding agents, stabilizers, preservation compounds. A single experimental batch of proper regeneration potion costs around fifty gold in materials. If you mess it up, that investment is just gone."

Fifty gold. I had twenty-six to my name.

"What about enhancement brews? Haste potions?"

"Temporal moss." Nadra walked to a locked cabinet and opened it, revealing several sealed containers. "This stuff is incredibly finicky. It only grows in the deepest caves under specific conditions, has to be harvested during the dark moon, and processed within twelve hours. Storage requires enchanted containers." She pointed at the price tag. "Thirty gold per pound. You need at least two pounds for a proper haste brew."

"So sixty gold minimum."

"Plus supporting ingredients. You're looking at seventy or eighty gold total." She closed the cabinet. "That's why most brewers stick to simpler work. The advanced stuff isn't just difficult, it's ruinously expensive if you fail."

"And intelligence enhancement?"

Nadra actually laughed. "That's a myth, Gosdrunli. Scholars have been trying for centuries. You can enhance physical properties through alchemy, everyone knows that. But the mind doesn't work the same way. Intelligence isn't something you can bottle."

"What if the approach has been wrong? What if there's a combination nobody's tried?"

"Then you'd revolutionize magical theory and probably become wealthy enough to buy a mountain." Her grin faded into something more thoughtful. "You're actually serious about this, aren't you?"

"I am."

"Alright. Let me show you what exists for mental enhancement, even though none of it does what you're hoping for."

We spent the next hour going through the ingredients. Mindmoss for improved focus. Clarity root for enhanced memory retention. Sage's bloom for temporary mental acuity. Dreamcap mushrooms for enhanced dreams and mild cognitive boost. Focus berries for concentration.

I analyzed each one carefully, building a mental catalogue of properties and potential interactions. None of them enhanced intelligence directly, but they each affected different aspects of cognition. Memory, focus, clarity, processing speed.

The question was whether combining them could create something greater than the sum of parts. Whether the right synergies could push past what everyone believed was possible.

"Just promise me you'll be careful," Nadra said as we finished the tour. "I've seen what happens when brewers get ambitious beyond their skill level. Poison, explosions, magical contamination. It's not pretty."

"I'll be careful. That's why I'm starting with the fizzy drinks, building capital before attempting anything dangerous."

"Good." She handed me a small packet. "Here. Sample of mindmoss, no charge. Try analyzing it at home, see what you can learn. Consider it an investment in not having you blow yourself up."

I left the gardens with new knowledge and a growing sense of what was possible. The ingredients existed. The theoretical framework existed. What I lacked was the capital to experiment and the connections to see how everything fit together.

The fizzy drinks would solve the first problem. The Ingredient Analysis ability was already solving the second.

I just needed time.

Two weeks became a month became two months.

I fell into a routine that would have felt familiar from my previous life: production, quality control, delivery, repeat. The kind of grinding consistency that built businesses one batch at a time.

Every three days, I brewed a new batch of Dark Fizz. Forty-eight bottles per batch, carefully measured and carbonated. The process became smoother with practice. I learned which wells produced the best water for different flavour profiles. I figured out the optimal steeping time for the spice blend. I developed a feel for when the carbonation was perfect without needing to open bottles and check.

Dulric bought two dozen bottles the first week, testing the market. They sold out in three days. The next week he ordered forty-eight. Then seventy-two. By the end of the first month, he was taking a hundred bottles per week and asking if I could increase production.

Merchant Harkin from Clan Ironfoot made good on his contract. Fifty bottles per month, delivered on schedule, payment always arriving exactly when promised. He started asking about exclusive rights to distribute in the northern settlements.

Other merchants appeared. A dwarf from Clan Stonehammer who'd heard about the Fire-Belch Ale wanted to stock both that and the fizzy drinks. Another from the western halls offered premium prices for guaranteed supply.

The gold started accumulating.

Ten gold the first week. Twenty the second. By the end of the first month, I'd cleared forty gold in profit after ingredients and expenses. The second month brought sixty gold. The workshop hummed with constant activity, bottles filling shelves, crates being packed for delivery, coins flowing in and out.

I kept meticulous records, not in my notebook but in a proper ledger I'd purchased from the merchants' quarter. Income, expenses, inventory, delivery schedules. All the boring business infrastructure that actually made things work.

Brakka helped with deliveries, earning a silver per crate and learning the merchant routes. He seemed to enjoy it, the social aspect of trading and negotiating, meeting new people in different halls and settlements.

Thorgar checked in periodically, offering advice on scaling production without sacrificing quality. He introduced me to a ceramicist who could produce bottles in bulk at better prices. He connected me with a cork supplier who gave Guild affiliates a substantial discount.

Elder Grimda visited once, examining my setup with that sharp eye that missed nothing.

"You're doing it properly," she'd said, watching me bottle a fresh batch. "Not rushing, not cutting corners. Building the foundation before reaching for the fancy work."

"Learned that lesson the hard way in my previous-," I cut off abruptly.

She'd given me an odd look at that, but didn't press. Just nodded and moved on to examining my preservation runes.

By the end of the second month, I had eighty-five gold in reserve. Not enough for the really expensive experiments yet, but getting closer. The business was stable. Production was consistent. The foundation was solid.

And I was starting to get bored.

The fizzy drinks were profitable, but they didn't challenge me. The process had become routine, almost meditative. Mix, steep, carbonate, bottle, seal. Repeat a hundred times. It generated the capital I needed, but it wasn't what I'd come here to do. I wanted to create something that mattered. Something that pushed boundaries. I was sitting in my workshop late one evening, finishing the day's bottling, when a knock came at the door. Unusual at this hour. Most merchants did business during the day.

"It's open!"

A dwarf I'd never seen before stepped inside. He was old, maybe six hundred years, his beard white as fresh snow and braided with silver beads that marked him as someone important. He wore the deep blue robes of the Elder Council.

"Gosdrunli of Clan Durn-Kahl?"

"That's me."

"I am Elder Borin, Master of the Forges." He glanced around the workshop, taking in the bottles, the equipment, the organized efficiency. "I've heard interesting things about your work. May we speak?"

I gestured to the spare stool, my mind racing. An Elder visiting personally, after hours, without announcement. This was either very good or very bad.

"Of course, Elder. How can I help you?"

Borin settled onto the stool, his movements careful despite his age. "The Elders have been discussing the delegation that arrived last month. Humans and elves seeking alliance against the Valentrazi."

"I'd heard rumours."

"More than rumours now. The King has agreed to limited cooperation. Scout forces, shared intelligence, that sort of thing." He paused. "Which means we'll be sending dwarves to the surface. Warriors, primarily, but also support personnel. Healers, provisioners, crafters."

I waited, not sure where this was going.

"The problem," Borin continued, "is that our healing potions are adequate for wounds received in the mines. Surface warfare is different. Faster, more chaotic. Warriors need healing that works quickly, that can be administered in combat conditions."

My heart started beating faster.

"The Guild can't produce enough of the advanced healing potions to supply a military expedition," Borin said. "Their master brewers are working on it, but production is slow and expensive. We need alternatives. Faster methods, more efficient formulations."

He looked directly at me.

"Elder Grimda suggested I speak with you. She says you have a talent for creating things that shouldn't exist. Fire-breathing ale, for instance. Non-alcoholic fizzy drinks that sell better than beer. She thinks you might be able to help with the healing potion problem."

The weight of what he was asking settled over me. This wasn't about making money or proving myself anymore. This was about creating something that could save lives in actual combat.

"I've been researching healing potions," I said carefully. "But I haven't attempted brewing any yet. The ingredient costs are prohibitive."

"What if cost wasn't an issue? What if you had access to whatever ingredients you needed?"

I stared at him. "You're offering to fund the research?"

"The Elder Council is offering to fund development of improved healing potions, yes. With conditions." Borin's expression was serious. "Any formulations you develop become property of the kingdom for military use. You'd be compensated fairly for your work, but you wouldn't own the recipes."

"What kind of compensation?"

"Fifty gold upfront for research expenses. Another fifty if you successfully develop a viable formula. Plus a percentage of production costs if it gets manufactured at scale."

Fifty gold immediately. Another fifty for success. And access to ingredients that would normally cost hundreds of gold.

This was exactly the opportunity I needed, but it came with strings. Royal ownership of anything I created. Military applications I hadn't planned for. Pressure to deliver results on a timeline I couldn't control.

"How long do I have?"

"Three months to develop something testable. Six months to refine it for production." Borin stood, his joints creaking. "Think about it. This is a significant commitment, and you're young yet. But Elder Grimda believes you're capable, and her judgment carries weight."

He moved toward the door, then paused.

"One more thing. This project would be under royal contract. That means Guild oversight, regular reporting, safety inspections. You'd be working under more scrutiny than you're used to."

"I understand."

"Good. I'll return in three days for your answer. Consider carefully, Gosdrunli. This opportunity doesn't come along often, but it also comes with real pressure. Success could establish your reputation for life. Failure could end your brewing career before it properly begins."

After he left, I sat alone in my workshop, surrounded by bottles of fizzy drinks that suddenly seemed trivial.



--------
A?N
Here the next chapter!
I might be making a few edits going forwards to previous chapters for continuity stuff,
Also next chapters as usually are up
do people use reader mode on desktop QQ?

 

[Kingofdreams]

Chapter 12
​

The letter arrived on a grey morning, delivered by a Guild runner who looked far too formal for a simple message.

I broke the wax seal and read:

Gosdrunli of Clan Durn-Kahl,

The Brewing Guild Council, in conjunction with representatives from the Royal Treasury, wishes to extend an offer of formal sponsorship for your continued work in innovative brewing techniques.

This sponsorship would provide:

- Full Guild membership (waiving standard apprenticeship requirements)

- Access to Royal ingredient stockpiles

- Funding for equipment and materials (50 gold annually)

- Workshop expansion to commercial scale

- Royal distribution rights for approved products

In exchange, the Guild and Crown would retain:

- Exclusive rights to all recipes created under sponsorship

- 40% of all profits from sponsored products

- Authority to approve or reject recipe releases

- First refusal on any innovations for military or medicinal use

You are one of three craftsmen being considered for this programme. A decision is required within two tendays.

Master Thorgar Ironbrew

Guild Master, Brewing Division

I read it twice, then set it down on my workbench. Fifty gold annually. Full membership. Royal distribution. It sounded generous. Life-changing for most brewers. It also meant giving up control of everything I created.

The Fire-Belch Ale would belong to the Guild and Crown. The fizzy drinks I was developing would be theirs to approve or reject. Any spirit I distilled, any innovation I conceived, would require their permission to produce. And forty percent of profits was steep, especially when I was already profitable without their help.

I picked up the letter again, studying the wording. "One of three craftsmen being considered." So I wasn't unique. They were evaluating options, probably playing us against each other to see who would accept the most restrictive terms. The question was whether I needed what they offered.

I pulled out my notebook and started writing.

Sponsorship Analysis

What they offer:

- 50 gold/year (I already have 26 gold, and just sold 84 gold worth of product)

- Full membership (I'm already an affiliate with workspace access)

- Royal ingredients (I can buy what I need from markets)

- Equipment funding (I've already equipped my workshop)

- Distribution (Dulric and other merchants already want my products)

What they want:

- Exclusive rights to all my recipes

- 40% of profits (on top of clan's 10% tithe = 50% total)

- Control over what I can release

- Military/medicinal veto power

Conclusion: I don't need this.

But I needed to be certain. This was the kind of decision that could define my entire future. I needed advice from someone who understood both politics and business.

I needed Elder Grimda.

I found her in the Council chambers, reviewing some kind of trade agreement with two other Elders. She glanced up when I entered, read something in my expression, and dismissed the others with a wave.

"You look troubled, boy. What's happened?"

I handed her the letter.

She read it slowly, her expression unchanging. When she finished, she set it down with more care than the parchment warranted.

"Well. That's quite the offer."

"Is it?"

"For most brewers? Aye. Fifty gold annually is more than many make in a decade. Royal distribution could make someone's career." She tapped the letter. "But you're not most brewers, are you?"

"I don't know what I am."

"You're someone who just sold eighty-four gold worth of product in his first real transaction. Someone who's created two entirely new categories of brew in three months. Someone who has merchants lining up to buy whatever you make next." She pushed the letter back toward me. "The question isn't whether this is a good offer. The question is whether you need it."

I sat down across from her. "That's what I can't figure out. On paper, it looks generous. Funding, access, distribution. Everything a young brewer could want."

"Except freedom."

"Except that."

Grimda leaned back in her chair, fingers steepled. "Let me tell you what this really is, boy. The Guild and Crown see someone young making waves. Creating things that could be profitable, possibly valuable for trade or military purposes. They want to lock you down before you realize your own worth."

"You think it's a trap?"

"I think it's politics. They're offering you security in exchange for control. That's not inherently bad, just a trade-off you need to consider carefully." She gestured at the letter. "You're one of three being considered. That means they're hedging their bets, testing who's desperate enough to accept restrictive terms."

"I'm not desperate."

"No, you're not. You've got capital, you've got products that sell, you've got distribution lined up through Dulric and others." Grimda's expression sharpened. "But you are young. Thirty years in a life that could span centuries. That's what makes this tricky."

"How so?"

"Because you're thinking like a human, not a dwarf." She said it gently, without accusation. "Humans rush. They've got maybe eighty years if they're lucky, so every decision feels urgent. Dwarves? We've got time. Centuries of it. We can afford to build slowly, make mistakes, learn at our own pace."

The observation hit harder than I'd expected. She was right. I'd been operating with the urgency of my previous life, trying to accomplish everything immediately because somewhere deep down I still thought in terms of human lifespans.

"You're saying I should slow down?"

"I'm saying you should think like what you are. A dwarf craftsman with three hundred years ahead of you, minimum. You don't need the Guild's money or the Crown's distribution. You need time to develop your craft without someone else dictating terms."

She picked up the letter again, scanning it. "Forty percent of profits plus recipe ownership? That's robbery dressed up as opportunity. You'd be working for them, not yourself. Everything you create would belong to someone else."

"But I'd have security. Resources and Support."

"You'd have a gilded cage." Grimda set down the letter with finality. "Listen to me, boy. You're sitting on something valuable. The ability to create things no other brewer can, using methods no one else understands. That's leverage. Real power in the right hands. Don't give it away for fifty gold and a fancy title."

I thought about the system, the Ingredient Analysis ability, the knowledge from my previous life. She was right. I had advantages other brewers didn't, advantages that would compound over decades or centuries of work.

"What if I'm wrong though? What if turning this down means missing opportunities I can't get back?"

"Then you'll make other opportunities. That's what craftsmen do." She stood, moving to the chamber window that overlooked the mountain's terraced farms. "The Guild will always be there. Royal sponsorship programmes come and go. But once you sign over your recipes, once you accept their terms, you can't undo that. You'll spend the next two hundred years watching other people profit from your innovations whilst you get scraps."

"You really think I should decline?"

"I think you should do what feels right. But if you're asking my opinion?" She turned back to face me. "You don't need them. You're already successful on your own terms. Keep it that way."

I stared at the letter, feeling the weight of the decision settling onto my shoulders.

"There's another consideration," Grimda added. "Once you accept royal funding, you become subject to royal oversight. That means audits, inspections, requirements to produce specific items on demand. You'd lose control over your own time and priorities."

"I hadn't thought about that."

"Most don't. They see the money and miss the strings attached." She returned to her seat. "You've got a good thing going, Gosdrunli. Independent operation, profitable products, growing reputation. Don't complicate it by adding bureaucracy and ownership disputes."

The more she talked, the clearer things became. I didn't need what they offered. The appeal was emotional, the validation of official recognition. The reality was restriction and loss of control.

"I'm going to decline," I said.

"Good. That's the smart choice, assuming you can handle the fallout."

"Fallout?"

"The Guild won't be happy. Neither will the Crown. They're used to craftsmen jumping at opportunities like this." Grimda's expression turned calculating. "You'll need to phrase your refusal carefully. Don't insult them, don't burn bridges. Just make it clear you prefer to develop independently for now, whilst leaving the door open for future collaboration."

"How do I do that?"

"Tell them you're honoured by the offer, but as a young dwarf you want to build your skills through traditional means before accepting such responsibility. Emphasize your respect for the Guild and Crown whilst politely declining." She smiled slightly. "They can't fault you for wanting to learn your craft properly. Makes you look humble instead of arrogant."

I pulled out my notebook and started drafting a response whilst Grimda watched.

Master Thorgar,

I am deeply honoured by the Guild Council and Royal Treasury's offer of sponsorship. The opportunity represents a level of trust and recognition that I appreciate more than I can express.

However, after careful consideration, I must respectfully decline at this time.

As a young dwarf of only thirty years, I feel I would benefit more from developing my skills through traditional means rather than accepting such significant responsibility prematurely. I want to ensure I can meet the high standards the Guild and Crown deserve before committing to formal arrangements.

I hope this decision does not preclude future collaboration as my skills develop. I remain grateful for the Guild's support as an affiliate member and look forward to continuing that relationship.

With deepest respect,

Gosdrunli of Clan Durn-Kahl

Grimda read it over my shoulder. "Perfect. Humble and respectful, leaves doors open. They might be disappointed, but they can't accuse you of being difficult."

"You think they'll accept it?"

"They'll have to. You're within your rights to decline." She handed back my notebook. "Just be prepared for some coolness from certain Guild members. Not everyone will understand why you'd turn down such an offer."

"I can handle that."

"I know you can." She settled back into her chair. "Now get out of my chambers. I've got actual Council business to handle."

I left feeling lighter than I had since receiving the letter. The decision was made. I'd maintain my independence, build on my own terms, and see where it led over the next few decades.

Three days later, I received Thorgar's response.

Gosdrunli,

Your decision is noted and respected. The Guild appreciates your thoughtful approach to your craft.

Your affiliate status remains unchanged. Workshop access and supplier relationships continue as established.

Should you reconsider in the future, similar opportunities may be available.

Master Thorgar Ironbrew

Short. Professional. Slightly cooler than his previous correspondence, but not hostile. I'd made the right choice.

The next challenge was more practical. My workshop was filling up with ingredients, some of them volatile or expensive enough that storing them in a shared Guild facility felt risky. I needed secure private storage.

I found Merchant Dulric in the merchants' quarter, reviewing inventory lists with one of his assistants.

"Gosdrunli. Good timing. I was just about to send word. Got merchants asking about those fizzy drinks you've been developing."

"Actually, I'm here about something else. Storage space."

Dulric's eyebrows rose. "Storage? You've got workshop space through the Guild."

"For brewing, aye. But I need something more secure for valuable ingredients. Embercaps, specialty yeasts, expensive spices. The kind of things that could disappear from a shared facility."

"Ah. Worried about theft?"

"More about accidents. Volatile ingredients mixed wrong could cause problems. I'd rather keep them separate."

"Smart thinking." Dulric gestured for me to sit. "I've got private storage units in the secure level of the merchants' quarter. Stone chambers with individual locks, temperature controlled through rune work. Popular with gem traders and alchemists."

"How much?"

"Depends on size. Small unit runs five gold per year. Medium is eight, large is twelve." He pulled out a ledger. "Most brewers don't bother, but given what you're working with, I can see the value."

I considered. Five gold for a small unit seemed reasonable. I had twenty-six gold left after workshop setup, and Dulric still owed me payment for the next product delivery.

"Let me see the small unit."

He led me through the merchants' quarter to a secured door marked with protective runes. Beyond was a corridor lined with stone chambers, each sealed with heavy locks.

"These are the small units." Dulric opened one to show me. "About the size of a large closet. Stone shelves, dry air circulation, temperature stays constant. Lockwork is dwarven quality, won't pick easy."

The space was perfect. Large enough for ingredient storage, small enough to stay organized. The temperature control runes glowed faintly on the walls.

"I'll take it. Five gold for the year?"

"Aye. First payment upfront, then annually." Dulric pulled out a contract. "You get two keys, only you and whoever you designate can access. Guild has no jurisdiction here, this is private merchant space."

That was exactly what I wanted. Complete control over my most valuable materials.

We finalized the arrangement, and I spent the rest of the afternoon moving sensitive ingredients from my workshop. The embercaps went into sealed containers on the highest shelf. Expensive vanilla pods, rare yeasts, specialty spices, all organized and labeled.

By evening, I had a proper secure storage system separate from Guild oversight.

I returned to Elder Grimda's workshop a few days later, finding her working on a complex runic array across a large piece of slate.

"The storage was a good idea," I said, settling onto my usual stool.

"Of course it was. I suggested it, didn't I?"

I smiled. "Actually, Dulric did."

"Then Dulric's smarter than he looks." She didn't look up from her work. "How'd the Guild take your refusal?"

"Professionally. Thorgar sent a polite acknowledgment. My affiliate status continues as normal."

"Good. Means you handled it correctly." She made a precise mark with her carving tool. "You'll hear rumours though. Guild members speculating about why you turned down such a generous offer. Let them speculate. Better to be mysterious than desperate."

"I'm not worried about rumours."

"Course not. You're too focused on your work." She paused, examining her carving. "That's good. Keep that focus. You've got centuries ahead of you to build something remarkable."

The reminder settled something in my chest that had been tight since receiving the sponsorship letter.

"I keep forgetting that," I admitted. "Keep thinking I need to accomplish everything immediately."

"Human mindset. Understandable given your circumstances, but impractical for a dwarf." She set down her tools and looked at me properly. "You're thirty years old. That's an infant by our standards. You've got three hundred years minimum to perfect your craft, build your business, create your legacy. Maybe five hundred if you're lucky and don't do anything stupid."

"Five hundred years," I repeated, trying to wrap my mind around it.

"Aye. My mother lived to seven hundred and forty-three. Brewed until the last month of her life, created her best work after she turned four hundred." Grimda's expression softened with memory. "She always said the first century was for learning, the second for mastering, and everything after that was just refinement."

"What about accomplishment?"

"Accomplishment happens throughout, if you're patient enough to let it develop naturally." She picked up her tools again. "You're trying to compress a lifetime's work into a few months because somewhere in that head of yours, you're still thinking like you've only got decades left. You don't. You've got time to make mistakes, learn from them, try again. That's the advantage of being a dwarf."

I thought about that. About the pressure I'd been putting on myself to succeed immediately, to prove my worth before anyone could question it. The sponsorship offer had played into that anxiety, offering security in exchange for control. But Grimda was right. I had time. Real time measured in centuries, not years.

"What if something happens though? What if the kingdom falls to enemies, or the mountain gets invaded, or everything changes?"

"Then we adapt. That's what dwarves do." She made another mark on her slate. "This mountain has stood for thousands of years. Survived wars, sieges, internal conflicts. It's not going anywhere, and neither are you unless you choose to leave."

"That's comforting, in a strange way."

"It should be. Stability is our greatest advantage." She looked at me again. "You're building something good here, boy. Unique products, growing reputation, financial independence. Don't rush it. Let it develop at its own pace, and in a hundred years you'll have created something that lasts another thousand."

The conversation stayed with me as I left her workshop and returned to my own.The bottles of fizzy drinks lined up on my shelves represented weeks of experimentation. The Fire-Belch Ale had taken months of planning and testing. Everything I'd created so far had come from careful, methodical work.

I didn't need to rush. I had centuries to refine these recipes, develop new ones, build a business that could outlast kingdoms. The sponsorship offer had been a test. Not of my brewing skills, rather of my understanding of what I really wanted. I'd passed by choosing independence over security. Now I just needed to prove that choice was right.

I sat down at my workbench and opened my notebook to a fresh page.

Five-Year Plan

Year 1 (Current):

- Establish fizzy drink line (3 varieties)

- Maintain Fire-Belch production

- Begin spirit experimentation

- Build distribution network

Years 2-3:

- Expand product offerings

- Secure larger workshop if needed

- Develop premium product line

- Establish brand reputation

Years 4-5:

- Consider Guild journeyman trials

- Evaluate commercial expansion

- Train apprentices?

- Long-term stability

Five years felt manageable. A fraction of my potential lifespan, but enough time to build something substantial. And if things went well, I could expand the plan to ten years, twenty, however long it took to create something worth the centuries I'd been given.

The copper ring hung warm against my chest, a reminder of questions I still couldn't answer.

​

---

A/N
Chapter added early!
In honor of my first patreon JS! wooo

same as always friends -

more chapters updated on patreon up to chapter 15

Spoiler: Patreon

I do have a Patreon with next chapter up
https://patreon.com/u54336592?utm_m...ign=creatorshare_creator&utm_content=copyLink or u54336592

 

[gohomepls]

Just started the 6th chapter and figured I should mention something that kept bothering me. Almost every chapter that mentioned it had Dulric coming back at wildly different times. 12 days, 34 after 2 weeks, 14 the next day. You also had the firebelch completed on day 10, then the next morning it's day 30.

When part of the story is based around brewing schedules and selling to a traveling merchant it would be better if that was consistent.

 

[Kingofdreams]

Just started the 6th chapter and figured I should mention something that kept bothering me. Almost every chapter that mentioned it had Dulric coming back at wildly different times. 12 days, 34 after 2 weeks, 14 the next day. You also had the firebelch completed on day 10, then the next morning it's day 30.

When part of the story is based around brewing schedules and selling to a traveling merchant it would be better if that was consistent.

Click to shrink...

Thanks for reading haha
I did notice that, i am editing chapters as i go along will catch up fully this weekend! Let me know if you noticed anything else! Appreciate the read

 

[Kingofdreams]

Chapter 13​

I'd known Gosdrunli since he was a whelp of five, back when I was already twenty-three and supposed to be taking mining seriously. I'd never been good at doing what I was supposed to.

My father had seven children, and I was the youngest. My siblings had all settled into respectable clan positions by the time they were my age. Miners, smiths, stonemasons. Good, solid, boring work that would keep them busy for the next few centuries. I'd tried mining. Hated it. The darkness, the repetition, the endless chipping away at rock that didn't care whether you existed or not.

So when I'd spotted this odd little foundling in the nursery commons, staring at a broken toy like he could rebuild it through sheer concentration, I'd been curious. Most children that age were running wild, playing, causing chaos. This one sat alone, methodical, taking the toy apart piece by piece.

"What're you doing?" I'd asked.

He'd looked up at me with those strange eyes. "Trying to understand how it works."

"It's broken. Just get a new one."

"But if I understand how it broke, I can fix it. And make it better."

I'd laughed. He'd been completely serious.

Twenty-five years later, he was still taking things apart to understand them. Except now it was brewing instead of toys, and he was creating things that had half the kingdom talking.

I stood in his workshop doorway now, watching him bottle another batch of Dark Fizz. The movement was automatic after two months of constant production. His mind was clearly elsewhere, probably planning whatever mad experiment he'd tackle next.

The delivery cart outside was loaded with crates for six different merchants. Dulric's standing order of a hundred bottles. Harkin's doubled contract. Three new merchants from the eastern settlements. Business was booming. My official job title was "delivery associate," but really I'd become his partner in everything but paperwork. A silver per crate delivered, plus commission on new contracts I brought in. I was making more gold than I'd ever seen mining. And having considerably more fun.

"Got everything loaded," I called from the doorway. "Dulric's hundred, Harkin's seventy-five, and the eastern contracts. That's two hundred and fifty bottles total."

Gosdrunli looked up from his work, blinking like he'd forgotten I was there. That happened sometimes. He'd get lost in his own head, working through problems I couldn't see.

"Two-fifty. Right." He sealed the bottle he'd been working on. "Same routes as last week?"

"Mostly. Harkin wants me to swing by the northern mining camps though. Says the deep miners are asking about the fizzy drinks. Apparently working in heat makes you crave something cold and sweet."

"Makes sense. They'd be a good market." He wiped his hands on his apron. "You heading out now?"

"Tomorrow morning. Wanted to check if you needed anything from the markets while I'm out."

"Actually, yes." Gosdrunli pulled out that notebook he carried everywhere. "Nadra's got a shipment of clarity root coming in. Two pounds. I've already paid, just need someone to collect it."

"Clarity root?" I raised an eyebrow. "That's expensive. What're you planning?"

"Personal research. Experimenting with cognitive enhancement formulations."

Right. The impossible project he wouldn't stop thinking about. Intelligence in a bottle, the thing every scholar said couldn't be done.

"Still chasing that dream?"

"Still researching, anyway. I'm nowhere near ready to attempt actual brewing." He closed the notebook. "Most mental enhancement ingredients work on specific functions. Memory, focus, clarity. I'm trying to understand if combining them creates something more."

"And the fizzy drinks pay for all this research?"

"That's the idea. Generate capital through reliable products, use the profits to fund experimental work." He returned to his bottling. "The royal contract Elder Borin offered would have accelerated everything, but the strings attached weren't worth it."

I remembered that conversation. Elder Borin visiting late at night, offering fifty gold upfront for healing potion development. Gosdrunli had spent three days considering it before declining.

"Still think you made the right call? Turning down that much gold?"

"I think I made the smart call. Royal ownership of anything I created, mandatory production quotas, constant oversight. I'd have been working for them instead of building my own business."

"Fair point." I leaned against the doorframe. "Though Elder Grimda seemed disappointed when you refused."

"She understood. Said it was the right decision for long-term independence." Gosdrunli sealed another bottle. "Besides, I'm generating enough capital on my own. Slower, but without the obligations."

That was true enough. The fizzy drinks were bringing in forty to fifty gold per month now. After expenses and the clan tithe, he was probably clearing thirty-five gold monthly. In six months, he'd have more than the royal contract would have paid, and he'd own everything he created.

"Speaking of which," I said. "You going to the Guild tomorrow?"

"Probably. Need to check in with Thorgar about the affiliate workshop lease. Why?"

"Curious about something I heard. About your membership status."

That got his attention. He paused mid-bottle.

"What about it?"

"Just that some of the brewers are wondering why you're still an affiliate. You've got the recipes. Fire-Belch, dreamcap variations, Dark Fizz. That's three completely original brews. Isn't that the requirement for journeyman status?"

"Technically, yes."

"So why haven't you applied?"

Gosdrunli set down the bottle carefully. "Because I've been busy. Production, deliveries, building the business. I haven't had time to prepare for the technical interview."

"Or because you're worried they'll reject you?"

He gave me a look. "I'm not worried about rejection."

"Could've fooled me." I grinned to take the sting out of it. "You've accomplished more in three months than most brewers do in three decades. But you're dragging your feet on making it official."

"The timing isn't right."

"The timing's never going to be perfect. You'll always have another project, another deadline, another excuse."

Gosdrunli returned to his bottling, but I could tell I'd hit something. He was quiet for a long moment.

"It's complicated," he said finally.

"Everything's complicated with you."

"Fair point." He sealed another bottle. "But the Guild journeyman process isn't just about having recipes. It's demonstrating mastery, understanding brewing at a level that goes beyond just following procedures."

"Which you clearly have."

"Maybe. But I've only been brewing for a few months. Most journeymen have decades of experience. The Guild council might see me as rushing, trying to skip steps."

"Or they might see you as a prodigy who's created entirely new categories of brew."

"Prodigy," Gosdrunli repeated, like the word tasted strange. "That's what worries me. If they think I'm just lucky, just stumbling into success through accident rather than skill, they won't take me seriously."

I understood then. It wasn't about rejection. It was about being dismissed. Being seen as a fluke instead of a craftsman.

"Well," I said, pushing off the doorframe. "Maybe you should ask them directly instead of assuming the worst."

"Maybe."

He wouldn't though. Not yet. Gosdrunli was brilliant at creating things but terrible at advocating for himself. He'd rather let his work speak for him, even when his work was being undersold and undervalued.

"I'm heading to the Guild supply warehouse anyway," I said. "Picking up bottles for next week's production. Want me to ask around? See what the actual hold-up is?"

Gosdrunli considered, then nodded. "Couldn't hurt. Just be subtle about it."

"Subtle. Right." I grinned. "I'll do my best."



------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Fire-Breathing Tour

Three months ago, I'd been the most popular dwarf in Clan Durn-Kahl. It had started simply enough. Gosdrunli had given me five bottles of Fire-Belch Ale and ten silver to "demonstrate the product in various establishments." His exact words. Very formal. Very Gosdrunli.

What he'd really meant was: go to taverns, drink fire ale, breathe flames, and get everyone excited. I'd never had a better assignment. The first tavern was the Eastern Hall, a decent establishment near the mining quarters. I'd walked in around evening meal time, when the place was packed with miners just off shift.

"Oi!" I'd called out, loud enough to cut through the noise. "Anyone here brave enough to try something new?"

The tavern keeper, old Murnick, had looked skeptical. "What're you selling, whelp?"

"Not selling. Demonstrating." I'd pulled out one of the bottles, the amber liquid catching the lamplight beautifully. "This is Fire-Belch Ale. Brewed by Gosdrunli of Clan Durn-Kahl. And it does exactly what the name suggests."

That had gotten some laughs. A few interested looks. Several very skeptical expressions.

"Fire-belching," someone had called out. "That's the stupidest thing I've heard all week."

"Is it though?" I'd poured myself a generous measure, making a show of it. The ale smelled incredible, spiced and warm. "Watch and learn, friends."

The first sip had gone down smooth. Delicious, actually. Warm without burning, sweet but not cloying, with layers of flavour I couldn't quite identify. For a moment, nothing happened. Then I'd felt it. A tingling deep in my chest, building pressure, warmth spreading through my throat like swallowing sunshine. I'd let out the belch deliberately, aiming upward.

Orange flames erupted from my mouth. Bright, clean, hot enough that I felt the warmth on my own face. They'd lasted maybe five seconds, then vanished like they'd never existed. The tavern had gone completely silent.

Then someone had shouted, "By the Mountain Fathers! He actually breathed fire!"

Chaos. Beautiful, profitable chaos. Everyone had wanted to try it. Murnick bought two bottles on the spot. Other customers were shoving coin at me, begging for a taste. I'd demonstrated twice more, each time to roaring approval. By the time I'd left the Eastern Hall, I'd collected five silver in tips and promises from three different dwarves to spread the word.

The second tavern had been even better. Word had spread ahead of me somehow. There was a crowd waiting when I arrived.

"That the fire-breather?" someone had called from the back.

"Depends," I'd said, grinning wide. "You lot ready to see something amazing?"

I'd made it theatrical that time. Poured the ale slowly, building anticipation. Raised the cup in a toast. "To Gosdrunli of Clan Durn-Kahl, who taught dwarves to be dragons!"

The crowd had cheered. I'd drained the cup in one smooth motion, feeling that now-familiar warmth building in my chest. When I'd belched this time, I'd aimed at the ceiling. The flames shot upward, bright and spectacular, lighting up half the tavern. The roar of approval had been deafening.

By the third tavern, people were chanting my name. "Brakka! Brakka! Show us the dragon!"

I'd never felt so important. The youngest of seven siblings, always overlooked, always just "young Brakka" who hadn't quite figured out what he wanted to do with his life. Now I was Brakka the Fire-Breather. The dwarf who'd been first to drink Gosdrunli's creation. The one bringing entertainment to every tavern in the mountain. The Western Hall had been the peak of it all. I'd walked in to find maybe sixty dwarves waiting. And standing at the bar, watching with those sharp merchant eyes, was Dulric himself.

"Heard you've got something special," Dulric had said. "Care to demonstrate?"

I'd given him the full show. Built the crowd up with stories about the brewing process, about Gosdrunli's systematic approach, about the careful magical containment that made it safe. Then I'd drunk, waited for the perfect moment of anticipation, and let loose the biggest belch I could manage. The flames had been glorious. Thirty centimeters of pure orange fire, bright enough to cast shadows across the entire hall.

Dulric had applauded slowly. "Impressive. Very impressive." He'd pulled out his coin purse. "I'll take the remaining two bottles. And tell your friend I want exclusive distribution rights for the first month."

"He doesn't have a contract with you though."

"He does now." Dulric had smiled. "Or he will, once I negotiate with him. But you tell him this: I'm willing to pay premium prices for consistent quality. Three gold per bottle wholesale, and I'll move whatever he can produce."

Three gold. I'd nearly choked.

"I'll tell him."

I'd returned to Gosdrunli's alcove that night with empty bottles, a pocket full of coin from grateful crowd members, and news that would change everything.

"It worked," I'd announced, stumbling through his curtain. "Every tavern. Every crowd. They loved it."

Gosdrunli had looked up from his notebook, where he was already planning his next batch.

"Any adverse reactions? Injuries? Problems?"

"Just one fellow who coughed a bit, but I think he drank too fast." I'd dumped my earnings on his workbench. "Dulric wants to buy everything you can make. Three gold per bottle." That had gotten his full attention.

"Three gold?"

"His words exactly. Says he'll retail for five or six." I'd collapsed onto his stool, my throat slightly sore from all the fire-breathing. "You've created something special, Gosdrunli. Really special." He'd studied the coins, his expression unreadable.

"Good," he'd said finally. "This proves the concept works. Now I need to scale production." No celebration. No excitement. Just immediate planning for what came next.

That was Gosdrunli.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Guild Warehouse

The Brewing Guild supply warehouse had been busier than I'd expected when I'd visited two weeks ago. Dwarves collecting ingredients, examining equipment, debating the merits of different barrel woods. I'd come to collect Gosdrunli's standing order: two hundred glass bottles, a hundred corks, and a pound of expensive vanilla pods. The warehouse keeper, a dwarf named Haldrek with a magnificent copper-red beard, had processed the order efficiently.

"Young Gosdrunli's keeping us busy," he'd commented while pulling bottles from the racks. "This is the fourth order this month."

"Business is good. The fizzy drinks are selling faster than he can produce them."

"So I've heard. Impressive volume for an affiliate." Haldrek had marked something in his ledger. "Most don't hit this kind of production for years."

I'd seized the opening.

"Speaking of which, any word on when he might move up to full membership? Seems like he's got everything the requirements ask for."

Haldrek's expression had shifted, becoming more guarded.

"That's Guild council business."

"Come on. Everyone talks. What's the actual situation?"

Haldrek had sighed, setting down his quill. He'd glanced around to make sure no one was listening too closely, then leaned across the counter.

"Look. Between you and me? The council's been debating it for weeks."

"Debating what? Whether his work is good enough?"

"Debating whether he's ready." Haldrek had pulled out a stack of papers, reports of some kind. "You've got to understand how this works. Journeyman status isn't just about recipes. It's demonstrating mature judgment, consistent quality over time, understanding the responsibilities that come with Guild membership."

"He's demonstrated all that. Consistent production, quality control, successful business relationships."

"For three months." Haldrek had emphasized the timeframe. "Three months, Brakka. Most dwarves spend fifty years as apprentices before they're even considered for journeyman trials."

"But he's not most dwarves."

"No, he's not. And that's exactly what makes half the council nervous." Haldrek had lowered his voice further. "They're split. Six think he's genuinely talented and should be fast-tracked. Six think he's too young, too inexperienced, and needs more seasoning before taking on journeyman responsibilities."

"A tie vote."

"Exactly. And ties mean status quo. No change until someone's mind shifts."

I'd processed that, feeling frustrated on Gosdrunli's behalf.

"What would it take to shift someone's vote?"

"Time, mostly. Another six months of consistent production. Maybe completion of a major project that demonstrates advanced skill." Haldrek had straightened the papers. "Or a strong recommendation from someone the council respects absolutely."

"Like Elder Grimda?"

"She's already recommended him. That's why six are in favour." Haldrek had given me a meaningful look. "The problem is the other six aren't convinced that three months of success proves long-term capability. They want to see sustainability. Proof that he's not just burning bright and fast before flaming out."

"That's ridiculous. He's more methodical than any brewer I've seen."

"Then he should be patient. Let the work speak for itself." Haldrek had returned to organizing my order. "The council moves slowly, but they move deliberately. If Gosdrunli's as good as you say, time will prove it. A year from now, maybe less, the evidence will be overwhelming and the vote will shift."

"A year?"

"Could be six months. Could be eighteen. Depends on how things develop." Haldrek had handed me the first crate of bottles. "Tell your friend to focus on his work instead of worrying about titles. The recognition will come when it comes."

I'd collected the order and left, understanding the situation better but liking it less.

The Guild council was split. Half saw Gosdrunli's talent. Half saw only his age and worried about precedent. Neither side would budge without more evidence.

And evidence, in dwarf timescales, required patience measured in months or years.

When I'd told Gosdrunli what I'd learned, he'd taken it calmly.

"So they're not rejecting me. Just waiting to see if I'm sustainable."

"Waiting to see if you burn out or keep going."

"That's fair, I suppose. I am young by their standards."

"You're also brilliant by any standard."

"Brilliance doesn't mean reliability." Gosdrunli had returned to whatever he'd been working on. "They want proof I can maintain quality over time. I'll give them proof. Simple as that."

Simple. Nothing was ever simple with him.

But he'd been right. Over the past two months, he'd produced hundreds of bottles with consistent quality. The Guild council would have to notice eventually.

The question was whether "eventually" meant months or years.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I finished securing the last crate and checked the cart one more time. Everything was balanced, ropes tight, bottles protected. Four days on the road, visiting six different merchants, collecting payment and negotiating new contracts.

I'd become good at this. The social aspect of trading suited me better than mining ever had. And helping Gosdrunli build his business felt like being part of something important.

"I'm off then," I called into the workshop. "Back in four days. Try not to invent anything too revolutionary while I'm gone."

Gosdrunli emerged, a bottle of Dark Fizz in his hand. "Here. For the road. You'll get thirsty."

I took it, grinning. "You're giving away inventory now?"

"Consider it marketing. You drink it around other merchants, they see the product in action."

"Always thinking." I tucked the bottle carefully into my pack. "Take care of yourself, aye? You've been working too hard lately."

"Says the dwarf who's about to spend four days hauling carts across the mountain."

"That's different. I'm young and strong." I flexed dramatically. "You're young and..." I paused, pretending to think. "What's the word? Obsessive?"

"Focused."

"Same thing." I climbed onto the cart's driving bench. "See you in four days. Try to sleep occasionally."

He waved me off, already turning back to his workshop.

I guided the cart down the corridor, toward the main thoroughfare that would take me to the eastern settlements. The wheels rattled pleasantly over stone, and ahead of me stretched four days of freedom, trading, and hopefully profitable negotiations.

Being Gosdrunli's delivery partner was the best decision I'd ever made.

Even if I still didn't fully understand what drove him forward with such relentless determination.

---

A/N
Apologies for the delay - still editing the previous chapters and haven't caught up yet.
will try to get everything in line either before or on this weekend a bit busy.
but the conintation of chapters should still be up on patreon

Spoiler: Patreon

I do have a Patreon with next chapter up 16
https://patreon.com/u54336592?utm_m...ign=creatorshare_creator&utm_content=copyLink or u54336592

 

[gohomepls]

Just noticed that you've misspelled the MC's name in either the title or the rest of the work. The title has an extra r

 

[Kingofdreams]

Just noticed that you've misspelled the MC's name in either the title or the rest of the work. The title has an extra r

Click to shrink...

Thanks for picking that up definitely the title don't even know how I missed that