Beers and Beards

Interlude 4: The Grudge

He sat under a table, nursing his eye and his grudge. This could not be, this would not stand!

He drank from his tankard, and revelled in the taste of nostalgia, herbs, and millennia of dwarven traditions. A stick crunched between his teeth and added extra texture. The True Brew was perfect, and nothing could tell him otherwise. Every dwarf knew in their bones that beer was the greatest drink ever created, and nothing could improve upon it. Even Light Brew was a bastardization of the First Brewer’s creation, let alone some swill made with lemon water! A tankard splashed down to the ground beside him, and the awful smell of lemon mixed with beer came with it. He shuddered, and his grudge grew deeper. Tim shut his eyes and tried to shut out the world; perhaps this was all a nightmare and he’d wake up beside his beloved Sofia.

For the umpteenth time tonight, Tim wished he’d kicked the pot of syrup off the oven and drowned Pete in the beer. He pulled a hand-mirror out of his jacket pocket and glanced at his face. His beard, his glorious beard that Sofia adored, shaved half-off. Tim could even see his chin beneath the stubble. To shave off another dwarf’s beard was the most incredible of insults, and it hadn’t slowed the brawl even a little. Not a single person had raised a hand to stop the carnage. He’d been utterly alone in his misery. Even Pete, the Godsbedamned bastard that Tim had considered a friend, hadn’t raised a finger to help. He glowered at the disfigured image before him, hating it just as much as he hated Pete right now.

Oh, Sofia! How he missed her. How he needed her. Her breathtaking, supple curves. Her mahogany complexion and amber highlights unmatched by any in all of Crack! Oh Sofia! There was nothing he loved more than to drip oil down her sides and rub it in; his fingers caressing leather as he inhaled her intoxicating and exotic scents. Truly, there was nothing better than his Sofia.

Indeed, his desk had been more precious than his own life. He’d poured every ounce of his spare gold, and even some of the city’s own funds into her. Was it not important that the front desk clerk of City Hall show the power and majesty of Minnova? How better to do that than with fine woods and oils from the dungeon? He’d showered Sofia with so much love that he’d received the Blessing of Tiara! He’d thought everyone in the City Hall would share in his joy!

Instead, the Head Administrator had confiscated his desk and thrown him into this blasted camp. Told him to ‘learn some temperance.’ This awful, wretched, prison that had spawned a threat to all that was dwarven. Tim’s jaw grew tense as he stared deep into his hand mirror. He pulled out a belt-knife and began to shave. First the jaw, then the muttonchops – first he shaved it short, then he shaved it off. When there was nothing left but a moustache, he shaved that off too.

The image that stared back in the mirror was a stranger, a mockery of the dwarf he was. His Sofia wouldn’t even be able to recognize him when he came home to her. Something inside of Tim snapped. Pete was the architect of all this. Pete, who seemed so nice. Pete, who pretended to care. Pete, who knew nothing about what it meant to be a dwarf and blamed in all on some convenient amnesia. But Pete was a liar, a DECEIVER.

Even now the fighting continued. Good dwarves fighting over the very root of what it meant to be a dwarf. There were always fights, but they were small things, like:

Who brought in the most ore that day?

Who had the prettiest beard?

Who was more poncy, elves or dragons?

These were the everyday fightin’ words of dwarves all around Crack; the days of Blood-Feuds were over! Yet today, he was witnessing a terrible thing – a real fight over the taste of beer.

Oh, Peter Samson may have them all fooled with his fop routine, but Tim knew the sharp mind that hid behind those glazed eyes. Pete wanted to ruin what it meant to be a dwarf? Well, Tim would throw it all away, and then stop him. He would sacrifice himself so that no dwarf would ever need to fight like this again. He should’ve realised it earlier – with all Pete’s strange words and mannerisms – that a monster lurked in their midst. He giggled giddily as fear and righteous wrath warred in his heart. Oh Sofia, if only she was here! He would do this all for her! Even if it meant he might never see her again.

There was a *Bing!* and a notification appeared.

Blessing Granted: [Yearn]!

Your mortal curse has gained the notice of Yearn, who sees your empty heart.

Fill it with vengeance and become a terrible enemy!

If you receive Yearn’s Blessing you will gain [Stealth] and [Sense Emotions].

If you accept Yearn’s Blessing you will be eligible for a Title!

Do you accept?

Yes/No

With a hooked smile, Tim mentally clicked on ‘Yes.’ His teeth flashed as he went through the four Title options; his decision was simple and immediate.

Title Gained: [Swindler]!

A [Swindler] can steal not only gold, but the spirit and spark of their mark.

Just don’t get caught!

Blessing Evolved: [Strength of All: Held] becomes [Steady Hands]!

Your hands are firm and unshaking no matter the situation. Your charisma increases by 4 when bluffing, and you are immune to telltale signs of lying.

This Ability is always available.

Blessing Evolved: [Stealth] becomes [Distraction]!

A spirit divided is ripe for the taking. Your ill-gotten gains will cause problems unless you can keep attention elsewhere. Increases the chance that a mark will become distracted when they’re talking to you. Keep in mind that you may need to set up the distraction yourself.

This Ability is always available.

Milestone Gained: [Lost Reason]!

If you can’t find a fool to rob, make your own! While you’re working a mark, you can reduce their wisdom by four for an hour. Successive uses on the same mark will increase the duration of the effect up to a maximum of eight hours.

This Ability can be used once a day.

Beneath a table in the middle of a brawl, a newly Titled [Swindler] laughed and laughed and laughed.

Nobody heard.

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