Lord Silverblood rested his chin in a large, scaled talon, and sighed with a plume of smoke. With his other talon, he idely played with a stack of gold in front of him. He was bored; no other way of putting it, running the city no longer held the same fascination as once had. He stared out his massive window to gaze across the city's skyline.

This was all his. The city would be nothing without his patronage. And yet, Lord Silverblood wanted none of it. That wasn't true; he enjoyed being sovereign of the city. At least he had once enjoyed being important, and while maybe he didn't enjoy that so much, his eyes fixated.

On the spot. right there. What was it? 400 years ago? He had been but a hatchling. That spot right there where that goofy statue sat in the middle of a square. It had been the most magnificent mud pit. He would wallow and roll with no such joy as only a young hatchling can.

"Have you been listening, Your Lordship?" asked his secretary.

"What's that Clydesdale?"

"Have you been listening, sir?"

"Have Of course I have. I was simply thinking."

"Then what is your response? To Lord Tie Phineas"

Lord Silverblood sighed again, filling the room with a light haze. This was the problem. It was all responses and proclamations. all responsibility and no simple joy of living.

####

Ignatius Beanhammer swirled the dark liquid in his cup. He inhaled deeply, critically exploring the aroma. Not bad,’ he said to himself, ‘not bad at all." He took a sip, swirling the espresso around his mouth. "Mouth-feel good, thick, full-bodied." He nodded to himself. He poured in a dash of steamed milk and took another sip. "Would make a good latte."

He jotted down a note in his journal, precisely following the methodology he had set forth for himself. "A proper dwarf always takes notes." He said to himself.

Was he a proper dwarf? Even after all these years, a successful business The question still nagged. He looked around his supply room and roastery and thought of the teachings of his ancestors. A proper dwarf follows the Teachings of the earth. Make a foundation, a sturdy edifice on which to base your life. A proper dwarf follows the method: explore, test, refine, create. A proper dwarf lives off the riches of the land.

He took another sip of his coffee. He knew. He knew he had followed the way, but would his kinsmen agree? He sat back and pondered. Were these doubts that other dwarves had? Did others wonder if they were doing things right? He hadn't had these doubts as a miner, or as an adventurer. Yet once he did the thing he thought most dwarfish, creating a foundation for his life, he also seemed to invite the most doubt. Is making and selling coffee really a dwarfish thing to do? It was not mining. It was not smithing. It's true that there was a great deal of artifice and creation, but is it the toil of a true dwarf?

His quiet pondering was interrupted as his old friend and Night Manager. Val-ira opened the door to the storeroom. "Ignatius, there's a letter for you."

"Delivered by courier?" Asked Mr. Bean hammer, looking at the embossed crest on the badge, as Val headed out for his inspection. "I’m not expecting any couriers."

"This one seems a little insistent; perhaps you should see him."

He looked at his notebook. He had four more blends to test today. "Ay lad Show him in."

Val returned moments later, leading a human in bright, garish regalia in the style of the city's civil servants. "Letter for Ignatius Beanhammer from our great Sovereign Lord Silverblood."

"Ay, lad, get on with it."

The messenger paused. "To whom are you referring?" He asked.

"To you, you great nuisance, get on with it, lad. What does the old gold thief want today."

The messenger straightened up and said, "I, Sir, am a lady. Do you not have eyes to see?"

Mr. Beanhammer raised one eyebrow and looked closer. Is that the message from the sovereign? That human nonsense about people being different than other people? He sent you down here to tell me you’re a lady. Look, I respect all kinds, but I just don't know how to tell you apart. This is all so much simpler in a dwarven city."

"No," said the messenger. "That's not why I'm here. I'm here because Lord Silverblood wishes to make you an offer."

"An offer, you say, exactly what sort of an offer is this?"

"An offer to buy."

"Oh, well. How? How much does he want? Does he want it by the cup? A bag or the crate? I'm working on a new machine that will brew coffee by the barrel."

The messenger paused and took a deep, steadying breath. This was not going at all the way it was supposed to. "No, not your weres, your shop."

"my shop?"

"Well, yes, your shop."

"not for sale. Good day; come back when you want to buy coffee."

"I do believe you will want to hear the offer."

"I said it's not for sale. You go back to your winged cow muncher with his fancy tower in the sky and tell him that I'm not selling. Not today, not tomorrow. Not next weekend. I'm just not selling."

"I’m prepared to offer you 500 Platinum."

Mr. Beanhammer was not immune to the greed his kind were famous for. If this were any storefront, the offer might be something close to reasonable, but this spot was special. This spot was exactly where his shop needed to be. It was the only spot where it could be. The spot in the city where the geothermal vents fed steam through tiny fissures in the rock just below his basement. He had discovered it with his old adventuring team. At first, he had doubted the team when they told him exactly what they could turn those vents into, as Radacast had insisted. That it could be used to make marvels of music. In fact, it seemed everyone had a business idea except for him. That was until he discovered coffee and knew exactly what the steam could be used for.

"Well?" said the garishly dressed civil servant, "do you have an answer? For Lord Silverblood?"

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"No… No, I will not be selling today, not for 500 platinum, not for 5000. This is my shop. It is what I've made it. And that's my final word on that.

"You are aware that it is unwise to refuse the offers of dragons."

"Unwise, said Mr. Beanhammer. "You do know it's unwise to threaten a dwarf in his own home. Even if you're in the employ of a giant lizard."

"I can see this will not be a productive discussion," said the squire, turning.

"No," Mr. Beanhammer. "Not at all. productive. Ignatius Beanhammer turned back to his notebook and paused. It was unwise to ignore an offer from a dragon. Doubly unwise if that dragon happened to be the sovereign of the city.

What would a proper dwarf do? A proper dwarf would Defend what's his. A proper dwarf would dig deeper into the mountain, fortify his position, and let the enemy break themselves on his defenses.

His defenses Ignatius wandered into the front of his shop and could reinforce the door or maybe put up barricades, so anyone coming in would have to file through a kill zone. What about my baristas? That new faun girl might not be good in a fight, but elves are DAB hands with bows. What am I thinking? How would my customers even get in if I barricaded the doors? You'd have to be truly thirsty to work your way through a killing field, but for coffee, some probably would. Perhaps my fathers had been right. What if a coffee shop wasn't a proper job for a dwarf?

####

Lord Silverblood daydreamed as he stared out the window. The magic mirror in front of him showed the face of the Elven monarch of Loth Anggelies. Trade negotiations had been ongoing for months. The Elven monarch seemed expert at drawing things out with formality and propriety. Lord Silverblood didn't even know why he had to be part of these negotiations. Shouldn't a dragon such as himself just have to menace his adversaries and let his advisors figure the rest out? But his finance minister had insisted, so here he was. His finance minister attempted to take the floor and offer another proposal. Silverblood marveled at just how much time could be wasted on nothing. It seemed like it took five minutes just to repeat the Elven monarch's name and titles. His eyes once again drifted out the window toward that spot. That one peaceful spot.

The thrice cursed dwarf had rejected his proposal. He knew the musician would be tough. But words were supposed to be sensible. A pub could be moved. There was no reason why he couldn't sell his drinks elsewhere. What was so special about that spot? That the dwarf needed to be there and not someplace else. This place should be his. Silverblood longed to fly from this hall and immerse himself in the warm, rich mud he remembered from so many years ago. He knew it wouldn't do to let his subjects defy him. Now that the process had been set in motion, he would have to see it through.

The dwarf's defiance demanded escalation just as soon as he could get out of this endless meeting.

####

Ignatius Beanhammer set to sorting and grading beans. All the beans would be used, but in what, and for what mattered. He had developed the method himself. It was proper. It was dwarfish, that was right. Optimized for size, roast, and flavor. So much care had to be taken.

The clatter in the front room took his attention away from his work. "What in Dalwin’s beard could that be?" he thought to himself.

He stepped out into the main room of the coffee shop. To find a melee underway. Six soldiers, wearing the uniform of the city guard, were squaring off against a troop of adventurers, who in turn were being egged on by Mossy the barista. Even Grog, the usually stoic orcish cook, seemed to be shouting.

Mr. Beanhammer couldn't tell what had started it, but whatever was happening, it couldn't be good. Several tables have been overturned. Numerous broken coffee mugs littered the floor, and a large carafe of drip coffee had been flung over the crowd for some reason that Ignatius could not understand.

An adventurer in a gray robe, holding a black staff, chanted In some dark tongue. Thin strands of spider silk sprayed from his fingertips, completely covering the crowd. Soldiers and adventurers alike were caught up in the sticky Strands of silk and were forced to stand still for a brief moment. Mossy stepped out from behind the counter, and to Ignatius’s horror, he walked straight up to the lead guard and tweaked his nose. "Now I don't care if you are from the sovereign of the city. You can't just come in here and start breaking things. You are no longer welcome in this establishment."

Now, Mossy," said Mr. Beanhammer, "what exactly is going on here?"

"Oh, it's you, Mr. Beanhammer. Well, you see, this is gonna take a moment to explain, but these guards here," he said, gesturing to the six grumbling guards. "Came in and started trouble, and these adventures. Thanks, by the way. Jumped in to help out."

"Now, Mossy," said Mr. Bean. Hammer. "I enjoy your enthusiasm, lad. But are you sure it wasn't the other way around?"

"No, Mr. Beanhammer. It was definitely the guards creating a ruckus and the Heroes Helping out."

"The boy speaks the truth." Said the wizard in gray. "These soldiers barged in and started turning over tables, and disturbing the mystical flow of feng shui that permeates this fine establishment."

"See," said Mossy butting his hands on his hips.

"Now, lad, why would soldiers do a thing like that?"

"I don’t know, Mr. Beanhammer, they said something about the will of the sovereign and rejecting your offer or something."

Ignatius stiffened. Oh no. Where they really hear from the dragon. Are they really here to create problems For him? He stepped forward toward the guard, who seemed to be in charge of the others "Now, is what my employee says true? Are you lads here to cause trouble?"

"I am Olivia Proudstar of the City Watch. I'm not a lad, and the only trouble here is that the owner of this establishment—I believe that's you? refused the reasonable request of Lord Silverblood."

"Reasonable request, you say. You mean the one where I'm just supposed to sell my shop and leave my home? That reasonable request?"

"I believe the terms were very reasonable," said the guard captain.

"You believe they were reasonable? Well, if you believe they were reasonable, why don't you sell your shop?"

"I don't have a shop."

"Well, if you don't have a shop, then how would you know whether or not it's reasonable?"

"Please don't make this more difficult than it has to be."

"Why? How difficult does it have to be?" Asked Mr. Beanhammer

"If you decide to sell, it could be quite simple. I mean, you could just relocate your shop to another location."

"No, I couldn't; this is the only place where it can be."

"And why is that?" Said the guard captain.

"That is a trade secret. And a dwarf never reveals his trade secrets."

"Fine, have it your way. We will leave; just know that next time we come back, we will not be nearly as civil."

"Civil, you say, is it civil to threaten a businessman to force him to sell all he's built? To threaten him when he doesn't do what you want."

"Mr. Bean hammer. Please be Reasonable."

"Reasonable. There's nothing reasonable about this. That flying fish wants what's mine. He can't have it, so he sends you here to disturb the peace. which, if I'm not much mistaken, is your job to keep the peace, so why don't you keep the peace someplace else? Get out of my establishment and don't come back."

With a nod to the gray robed adventures, the webs holding the guards in place disappeared. "We'll go," said the guard, "but when we come back, you'll regret it."

"Just get going," said Mr. Beanhammer. The bell jingled as the door slammed behind the guards.

Mr. Beanhammer turned to Mossy. "See that these fine adventurers are well taken care of, lad. I need to go back and think." This wasn't right. Ignatius knew that a dwarf had to stand up for himself for his property. It was right to refuse the sovereign, but a Dwarf had to defend what was his. Today, it took the intervention of several adventurers to defend what was his. He looked at the old war hammer hanging on his office wall. The one he had vowed to leave behind. No, he wouldn't let a pompous old Snake force him back to the life he had left behind.

He was building a foundation. Building something new. He knew this was right. This was Dwarfish, what he was building here. Even if the others couldn't see it. He would stand proud. He thought about the mess in the front of the shop. The damage that had been done in only a few seconds. He could easily afford the repairs, but what would happen next time? What if one of his other staff was on duty and was not thinking as quickly as that young elf? What if they actually managed to hurt someone next time? The dwarfish way was to dig deep and build defenses. Could he just dig deeper into the basement? Lower his shop a few floors? No, he wouldn't get the same foot traffic if it wasn't right on the plaza.

There had only been six guardsmen, and there were hundreds more. Could he really fight the whole city for the sake of his business? A true dwarf defends his home. If he couldn't dig down, and he couldn't build up his defenses. What was there left to do? He needed to see an old friend.

He found himself trudging across the square to the concert hall. He looked up at the statue of his old friend and adventuring partner. There were five of us once. The others made their fortunes, sold their businesses, and moved on. "No, we can't follow their lead. The two of us can make a stand together."

Walking through the empty music hall. He looked at the gigantic organ pipes. He had helped Radacast fashion. Now that was a bit of proper Dwarfish engineering; the steam wasn't just good for making coffee, was it?

"I’ve been expecting you, old friend," said Radacast as he peered out his large window up towards the tower at the center of the city. "Seems the two of us have a new sort of fight on our hands. What's that old gnomish expression? May you live in interesting times. It seems that our times are about to get very interesting indeed."

Ignatius Beanhammer took a step to stand next to Radacast and put his hand on his friend's shoulder. The two retired adventurers looked up at the Citadel of Silverblood. "Very interesting indeed, lad."