Beers and Beards: A Cozy Dwarf Tale

“What’s wrong Bran?”

Bran pulled up the covers as Opal nestled into his chest. He sighed mightily and held her tight. She curled his beard while he thought for a moment and answered.

“I’m bored, Opal.”

“Not with me, I hope?” Opal joked. “But you have lost a bit of your spark lately. What happened? Do any of the new inmates have you down? Do I need to spike someone’s drink with laxative until they get the picture?”

Opal pulled violently at his moustache and he tickled her viciously until she stopped.

They paused for a moment and caught their breath, gasping the astringent medicinal air in Opal’s cabin.

“No need ta take it that far, and besides tha new crop are just fine. No, the problem is the old crew.”

“I think I see.” Opal flopped onto her back and held a hand up to the ceiling. “You’ve seen the sky, and you want to reach for it.”

“Aye. I didn’t realise it before, Opal, but I’ve outgrown this camp. I’m tired of makin’ sandwiches fer recalcitrant dwarves. I’m sick o’ stew, and I’ve had enough o’ erdroot. When I was cookin’ with Pete, I felt more alive than I had in years.” Bran’s eyes looked far into a distance only he could see. “I want to cook more fascinatin’ things, and make dishes no dwarf has ever seen before.”

Bran grew animated as he spoke, and as he shone brighter and brighter, Opal grew more and more dour. She could see where this was going.

“You want to leave.”

Her voice was flat. It wasn’t a question.

"I love ya Opal, and I’ll always love ya, but you know yer family will never accept a middlin’ Blessed o’ Aaron fer their daughter. I need to make a name fer myself.”

“What if I told you I don’t care what my family thinks. That Bran the prison cook is dwarf enough for me.” Opal ran a finger down his chest, and he laughed.

“Yer father will roll right over, though yer mum might have some words. But it’s not them I’m worried about. It’s me, love, I want to be worthy of tha’ future Noble, Doctor Opal.”

“If you think you aren’t good enough Bran, that’s not true at all!” Opal flushed with anger, and Bran smiled. Her passion was one of the reasons he loved her so. Her love of his baking was simply another.

“Doesn’t matter what either of us think. I can see it, Opal. I’ve gone as far as I can in this mine.”

Opal held him tight, and the two of them shared a passionate kiss.

She broke apart first. “You can run away, Bran Hurler, but you’ll never be able to hide from me.”

“I wouldn’t think of it.”

—

Bran strode down the aisles of the Grand Market, looking to and fro for any interesting ingredients, spices, or confections. There were myriad odds and ends, but nothing that came close to the wonders he’d seen in the past few months with Pete. Between the tarts, the eclairs, and the meringue, Pete's basic recipes were a veritable fount of inspiration for scrumptious new delicacies. Bran sighed. He’d grown far too complacent in the mine and hadn’t realised it until Pete widened his horizons.

Opal said Pete was headed to Annie Goldstone’s brewery, but he had no idea where that was. There weren’t too many breweries in the city, so he could just search them out one by one, but he wasn’t even sure that was the correct path in the first place.

All his life, he went with the flow, letting life take him where it willed. First, he fell into cooking for his family after their mother died. As the eldest of four brothers, it made sense for him to take over his mother’s chores while his father continued the family business of running the axe-throwing hall.

Necessity became the drive for his ingenuity. He learned new methods for braising cheap meat and sautéing mushrooms to bring out their flavour. He made soup stock out of leftover bones and vegetables, and discovered the myriad ways of salt. It was never quite as good as his mother’s, but every dish brought him a bit closer to her memory. The daily trips to the market and quiet moments stirring a cookpot brought some simple joy to his melancholy.

Then, they fell on more hard times. His father was injured in an accident, and while City Hall provided enough to feed and shelter them, it wasn’t enough to keep the hall. So the boys took to begging and then stealing; anything to avoid losing their ancestral home. First, they stole some bread. Then they stole some gold. Then they were caught, and as eldest, he took all the blame.

Thieving was not tolerated in Minnova. He spent several years in the reform mine for that, where he naturally took over most of the kitchen duties. Cooking for a half-dozen hungry mouths wasn’t that different from cooking for several dozen. The kitchen was well appointed, and he had all the budget he needed to cook hearty and fulfilling meals. It was enough.

And then she arrived.

She was older, wiser, an educated miss from a well-to-do family. She shone bright and glittered with hidden depths, much like her namesake. He was smitten from the moment she entered his kitchen and demanded to speak to the chef; she found the food lacking in variety and wanted him to expand the menu.

So he’d gotten cook books, fruit, vegetables, and meats he’d never heard of, all supplemented by the doctor’s income so she could enjoy the food she was accustomed to. He added basil, pepper, and oregano to supplement the ever-present salt. In one of their few conversations, he discovered she had a sweet tooth, which inspired him to bake his first pie.

It was a horror show. He threw it to the goats and swore them to secrecy.

The fourth pie was acceptable. The look on her face when she took a bite from the crisp crust and licked apples from her moustache was the moment he knew: he was beard over heels. With Opal, and with cooking. So he learned the ways of butter and sugar, how to make his crusts flaky, and his tarts tart. He became more than a simple cook; he was a chef.

After his indenture he stayed, and with Grim’s blessing became the head chef. He took over the logistics for the kitchen, and with it came the Blessing of Aaron, God of Exchange. With that Blessing came more prestige, and Opal’s congratulations. The prisoners came and went, but there were always the two, the cook and the doctor.

He took to telling people he was originally arrested for throwing rocks. He was a Hurler after all.

Then came Balin, and Pete, and Annie, and Wreck, and Sam. The stoneant incident. The radler. The stream of delicious pastries. Suddenly, Bran was no longer going with the flow; every day was a refreshing whirlwind of new and exciting dishes! Some of the recipes he sold to other bakeries in the city, others he kept in reserve to experiment on. For the first time in his life, he took steps on his own, and it was exhilarating.

He couldn’t go back to that monotone life, taking each day as it came and hoping that things would work out. His endeavours won him the heart of an incredible dwarf, and he would do whatever it took to ensure it stayed that way.

The problem was… where to start?

Open up his own shop? He had the gold for it. He could go to his family, but they were long gone from Minnova. Join one of the local bakeries or restaurants? There was little doubt his skills would quickly propel him to the top. Perhaps the Grand Market itself would be a good start, with a small street food cart.

His meandering brought him to the steps of the Cathedral of the Gods. The pealing of the bells gave him some [Calm] and with it an idea. The Gods would provide him guidance!

—

They had not provided guidance.

Bran sighed as he pushed back against the throng of people. There was a commotion just as he entered; the statue of Barck had done something odd, though no one could tell him what exactly. Several [Priests] and some acolytes were in prayer in front of it, and most of the congregation was pushing close in case some kind of blessing came down.

It was interesting, but it was more going with the flow. Bran was done going with the flow. He separated himself from the crowd and peeled off into a secluded corner. The space was filled with incense and a multitude of flickering candles. A fresco in the alcove pictured the Gods in judgement over the dragons, and the creation of Crack as the vain lizards were smote down to Erd. He dropped a few silvers into a nearby donation bin and lit a candle of his own.

“Erm. ‘Allo Gods, it’s me, Bran. Though I guess you already knew that.” He chuckled, feeling somewhat foolish. “I’m a bit new to this whole ‘makin my own way’ business, so I was hopin’ to get a push out tha’ door. Aaron, as yer Blessed, would ya consider giving me a sign? Or mebbe Barck, since I’m looking to change meself.”

There was no answer. Bran sighed, of course there wasn’t an answer. The Gods worked in their own way, there was no way that -

The world went white.

Bran stumbled, his eyes aching from the sudden radiance. The entire cathedral was rocked by a pulse of multi-coloured light emanating from the statue of Barck. The [Priests] got the worst of it, and were all screaming in agony. The crowd was beginning to panic. Had Barck decided to smite someone? Had someone in the Cathedral displeased the God?

Bran blinked, the rainbow kaleidoscope behind his eyelids setting off new star-bursts of pain. Of course this would happen right as he was starting a new path in life. If this was how the Gods answered every prayer, it made sense that most considered it a last resort. He was just as stuck now as before, except with an excruciating headache.

Perhaps this wasn’t the right moment. Maybe it was a sign that he wasn’t meant to… Bran paused as a figure appeared before him.

“Pete?” As his sight cleared, the familiar figure resolved itself in his vision. “Is that you?”

“Bran?”

—

“Hey everyone! This is Bran!” Pete announced to everyone in the mess hall.

“Hello, Bran.”

“Hey.”

“Nice to meetcha!”

“Good to see you again Bran!”

“More mouths to feed…”

“NO! Not you, Penelope! Someone grab her before she says hello!"

The Thirsty Goat was incredibly welcoming, at least after Annie finished grilling Pete about something.

The mess hall was spacious, and reminded him a bit of the cafeteria back in the prison. Except for the mural of a drunk goat taking up an entire wall. That was different.

Annie stepped forward. “Pete and I have been running the numbers, and I've come to a decision. With dad's blessing, Bran here is going to take over the kitchen. I think the success of our recent party showed that the first step to bring back this brewery is getting more people drinking our beer. The easiest way to do that will be to turn this underutilised eating space into a full-time pub. Pete has gotten the pro drinkers to agree to come and use the Thirsty Goat for their meetups, and with the current climate in the city, that is going to bring us a lot of attention.”

She nodded at Pete, who gave an odd gesture with two thumbs up.

“Bran is an amazing cook, and we’re hoping that some of his dishes will turn the Thirsty Goat into a hot new place to eat. Pete said he has some other ideas to drum up business, so we will hopefully be very busy soon. Balin, we are going to need a lot more chairs; get to work on that. John, Johnsson, Richter, we still have over a dozen empty fermentation tanks; you’ll need to work double time. We’ve got about two weeks to get ready while the first batch of wort ferments, so get to it!”

Bran watched as everyone dashed off to work, then headed into the kitchen. A few minutes later he called over the blue-haired Aqua to begin making orders.

He was finally ready, and he knew just where to start. He grabbed a few carrots that were set aside for Penelope and began shaving them. Pete once described something called ‘muffins’ and he was eager to try. With his own twist of course. Maybe some roasted honeyed nuts, or candied carrots.

*Bing*

Your heart of hard work and innovation have caught the attention of Barck. He wishes to grant you his Blessing. If you accept, you will gain a Title.

Do you accept?

Yes/ No

Bran smiled as he mentally hit ‘yes’. It looked like he finally had his sign.