Beers and Beards: A Cozy Dwarf Tale

The Good, the *Baaaad*, and the Ugly - A Roughtuffian Sonnet

Cue whistling and twangy guitar plus cheesy cowboy accent.

Our scene is set inside a town of mud.

The sun hangs low and paints the world in red.

Today's the day good men will count the dead.

The dusty dirt will soon be bathed in blood.

Two shadows cut across the crimson light.

The outlaws enter from each end of town.

Sweet silence carries on without a sound.

As one the two draw guns and fire a shot.

A sharp retort rings out with puffs of dust.

No life was cut to stain the ground with rust.

A noble goat comes at an angry trot.

Her angry bahs so fearsome that they fled.

The outlaws chose to go get drinks instead.

I tipped my imaginary ten-gallon hat. “So tell me… do you feel lucky, punk?”

“What?” Whistlemop said distractedly. He looked around the room, which was still the secluded building that I’d sequestered him in.

“Nothing…” I grumped. “Are you done reading the contract yet? I’m gettin’ bored.”

“Oh, poor you. I’m just about done. It seems… suspiciously fair.” Whistlemop tapped the sheet of paper he was holding. “For a meeting that started with kidnapping, I was expecting a few more broken fingers and shouting.”

“It wouldn’t have even started with kidnapping if you hadn’t forced my hand.” I glowered at the little rat. He rolled his eyes and continued reading.

I'd excused myself to ask Drum for a contract. I didn’t know enough dwarven law yet to do it myself, and Drum struck me as the kind of dwarf that did. He actually had several standard contracts already written up! Upon my return, I found Whistlemop dismantling the lock, the sneaky little bugger! I’d escorted him back to the table to read over the contract, which was missing one finishing touch.

“This contract doesn’t actually discuss what I’ll be giving up…” Whistlemop pointed at a large blank space for conditions.

“Yes indeed, yes indeed. Whistlemop, let’s talk business.” I crossed my fingers.

“I thought this was a shakedown?”

“It is, but I’ve had some time to think.”

I was suspicious of Whistlemop’s sudden change of heart. It felt a lot like the first time we’d met, when he’d suddenly gotten all agitated and handed me the pilsner glass. That had ended with Whistlemop becoming a household name in Minnova. So, I asked Drum about the kind of Milestones and Blessings Whistlemop might have. I knew that Whistlemop was a [Peddler] with his first Specialization, so he probably had some doozies.

According to Drum, [Peddlers] were blessed by Aaron and Tiara, which gave them [Sense Deals] and [Move in Aether] as well as [Strength of All: Held and Self]. A Titled individual got improved Blessings, like my [Stoneform] and [Flash of Insight]. [Peddlers] got [Sense Good Deals] and [Sturdy Merchandise]. Drum said that [Sense Deals] simply said there was a deal, but the improved version gave an idea of how much. [Sturdy Merchandise] did what it said and was an evolution of [Strength of All: Held]. [Peddlers] usually aimed for Milestones that helped with making money, and their Specializations were focused in that direction.

In other words, a supernatural merchant spent a short time with me then suddenly decided he needed to get on my good side.

Why?

The obvious answer was that I had a lot of otherworldly knowledge. There was a good chance he had a Blessing that told him if someone could bring him a lot of money. Even if I didn’t know how to leverage my knowledge, a born merchant like Whistlemop might. Between the two of us, we could probably do all kinds of crazy things. However, I didn’t trust Whistlemop enough to reveal any of my secrets. Plus, that would just be Whistlemop using me, and I wanted to be the one using Whistlemop.

Then, I’d been struck by an idea. A terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea. I had some needs, and Whistlemop was just the gnome to fulfill them.

So, here I was. Ready to discuss business.

“Here’s the deal, Whistlemop. The bet is: can I guess how much silver you’ve made in revenue by selling Whistlemugs. If I win, I get thirty percent of your Whistlemug profits.” I’d decided that fifty percent was a bit much. Whistlemop was correct that he'd done all the hard work, and I wanted to start patching things up between us. A fifty percent cut, even on a bet, was going to cause acrimony.

“That’s a sucker’s bet.” Whistlemop smirked. “Only I have ever seen those records in full.”

“Sure, sure.” I waved the comment aside. “But what I want isn’t actually your money.”

Whistlemop’s face twisted in confusion. “Excuse me? I thought that was what this whole thing was about.”

“Don’t hurt yerself. It was. But then I think we both realized that there was a lot more at stake here than just Whistlemug gold.”

Whistlemop flinched. It was the barest little twitch of an eyebrow, but my improved perception caught it. Ha! I got him dead to rights!

“So here’s what I really want, Whistlemop. I want your expertise. I want your glassworking facility. I want your business acumen. I want your brand, and I want exposure.”

Whistlemop covered his chest and crotch. “You want what!? You pervert!”

“What!?”

“By Aaron’s Arse, I refuse to allow you to brand and expose me! What in the nether is wrong with your head!?”

“Agh! Not that kind of brand! No!! Gods!! No!!”

“What other kind is there!?”

I sunk down in my chair. “Ugh… I can’t tell you until our deal is complete. Do you have anything that lets you detect the value of an idea?”

Whistlemop began to shake his head and then paused. “I’m not going to tell you that.”

I smirked. “Uh, huh. Well, a brand is something worth a lot of money, but only to the right person. Here’s the deal. I don’t want the entire thirty percent in cash; I mostly want you to bankroll me. You’ll get five percent of any profit that I personally pull in, as well as free consulting, and after ten years we can renegotiate this contract. Think of it as an investment.”

Whistlemop drummed his fingers on the countertop and frowned. “What if you lose?”

“If I lose, then we can look at other options.”

“This seems incredibly lopsided towards me. You're even offering me a portion of your profit. What's the catch?”

I smiled, and my estimation of Whistlemop rose a tick. Drum had been correct that he was mostly an honest gnome.

“No catch. If it worries you, let me guess within ten percent.” I wasn’t sure that my method would give me the exact value to the copper and a ten percent wiggle room was something I was aiming for from the start.

“Five percent.” Whistlemop shot back immediately.

“Eight.”

“Seven.”

“Seven and a half. Nah, screwit, I don’t want to do that much ugly math. Eight. Take it or leave it. It's an auspicious number.”

Whistlemop *hummed* and *hawwed* and I gave him some time to think. There was a chance Annie would kill me if I bungled this, but I would take that chance. My plan for the brewery would work without Whistlemop, but he massively increased the odds of success.

“Alright. Fine.” Whistlemop nodded and penned it in. “I agree to your terms.” I'd done more than enough legal paperwork in my past life, so the contract was easy to read over. After a bit of bickering on the conditions, Whistlemop and I both signed.

The final contract gave me thirty percent of all the profit on Whistlemugs, backdated one year. It contained a provision that fifteen percent of it would be paid out in cash while the other fifteen percent would be provided in at-cost glassmaking and equipment. I’d learned that he was building a massive factory for his glassworks, and the long term value of free access to that might possibly exceed my profit share for Whistlemugs. In return I agreed to give him five percent of any personal ventures of mine, and free consulting.

“Alright.” Whistlemop jumped up and stood next to the door. “Tell me the number so I can leave and be done with this farce. When we renegotiate I want to focus on your consulting time and fees.”

I handed him a slip of paper.

He read it and his jaw dropped. Then he fainted.

Hah! Bullseye!

—

“You need to tell me how you guessed. Especially if we’re going to be business partners. Was it my accountant? That’s impossible, I’m my accountant. Did you bribe the bank? Did you go through my list of buyers and count them individually? That would have taken days and already be out of date. Was it Trickledown? Did he give you the numbers? I’ll have him hung on a goat and dragged through Greentree!”

I winced. “Oof, is that a punishment here?”

“For treason! Which this is!”

“It wasn’t Trickledown, calm yer moustache.”

“Then what was it!” Whistlemop was red in the face and ready to pop. It looked great on him.

“You already figured it out.” I shrugged nonchalantly.

“What?” Whistlemop paused, clearly distraught. “Which? Was it the bank? Those bastards!”

“Nah, it was Barck. You said it yourself, Barck would need to tell me.”

Whistlemop sputtered. “Do you expect me to believe that?”

“Believe what you want.”

The truth was, Barck practically had told me the number.

Quest: New Brew Part 6/10

The dwarves need your help. Influence 100,000 dwarves with your otherworldly alcohol knowledge.

Influence: 94,225/100,000

Reward: [Carbonate]

Accept Quest?

[Yes] /No

Since Whistlemop was limiting mugs to one per customer until his glass empire scaled up, the number of dwarves I’d influenced was going to be a pretty close match to his total number of customers. That didn’t take into account the fifty-odd dwarves in the mine, sneaky people that managed to buy multiples, or those that simply weren't influenced - but it was close enough. The rest was just math, and I was pretty okay at math.

The New Brew quests started at 2500, then 5000, 10000, 25,000, 50,000, and finally 100,000. It started from zero each time, which meant including the current 94,225 number, Whislemop had sold around 186,725 mugs. Times five silver gave - after some long multiplication napkin math - a total of 933,625 silver. That worked out to over twelve million Earth dollars, the little rat bastard. Fifty gold in-deed!

So, I wrote a conservative 900,000 silver plus or minus four percent, and knocked the bugger out.

Hah! Who ever said math was useless!

Other than half my friends in high school.

I was interrupted from my thoughts by Whistlemop. “Bah! Fine, you win! I’ll see that you are sent some financial statements later tonight at The Drunken Goat.”

“The Thirsty Goat.”

“Whatever! Now tell me about this ‘branding’ and ‘exposure’ so I can get something out of this ordeal.”

“Hold yer horses. What was the actual number?” I was curious about how close it was.

“Are you telling me you don’t actually know!? That was a guess!?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Hmph. Well you’ll find out later anyways. It was 935,345 silver.”

My high vitality was all that kept me from passing out. My conservative drop down to 900,000 had nearly cost me. Heck, If I’d agreed to Whistlemop’s seven percent range, I would have gotten it wrong! No wonder he fainted. How was it so much higher than my initial guess? Maybe some dwarves were buying it but not being influenced? I hid my consternation by arranging a piece of paper and pencil. Gnomes and dwarves loved drawing up plans, so pencils and paper were actually pretty cheap. I drew a very recognizable swoosh and pointed at it.

“Here’s yer lesson. Let’s start with a logo.”

Whistlemop leaned over to look. “It just looks like a curvy checkmark.”

“Ahh, but the magic is in **branding**.” I did some jazz hands.

“I don’t understand.”

“A logo is a bit like a maker’s mark. You do know how a maker’s mark works, right?”

“Yes, absolutely. A maker’s mark indicates that a product is made by a specific craftsman within a city. Most city guilds will not allow someone in the same guild to copy that product exactly. Additionally, a maker’s mark is a symbol of authenticity. Some Milestones can check them.”

“Really? Neat. Now imagine a certain blacksmith who makes the best swords. Over time, his swords will become more valuable as the general population begins to accept the superiority of his work.”

“Yes, yes.” Whistlemop waved me on.

“Don't rush me! Over time, our hypothetical blacksmith's mark comes to mean more than the sword does. The sword is no longer what holds value, it is the mark that holds value. **Branding**,” jazz hands, “means that you don’t just sell a product, you’re selling the idea of a product. A mythos, a brand.”

“What would that…” Whistlemop trailed off, then his eyes grew wide.

“You see it? In the current model, if our stabby blacksmith makes armor, he has no reputation. However, with **branding** the blacksmith’s armour is just as famous as his swords, because it isn’t the sword that’s famous!”

Whistlemop whispered nearly reverentially. “It’s the mark.”

“Right, and you’re already part-way there with your Whistlemug trick. You already are branding, and even have a ‘logo’ that serves the same kind of purpose as a mark. The logo is your face by the way. It’s an ugly logo, but it’ll do for now."

“Hey!”

“What I want to do, Whistlemop, is turn your work into a powerful brand in Minnova, and then move on to all of Crack. Then I want to get some exposure, which just means you showcase my products, and I’ll ride your coattails with the Thirsty Goat’s newest product.”

“What is it?” He leaned forward eagerly.

“First, let’s talk about gearing your glasswork industry up. Then we’re going to have a little chat about ‘special editions’. You’re wasting some serious potential, especially with Minnova’s first official drinking contest…”

We continued late into the evening. By the time we were done, Whistlemop left the run-down shack smiling, even under the blindfold.