Only about half the people at the hunter’s pub were paying attention to me but I settled in to tell my tale anyway. I had turned down the awful smelling ale from the barkeep and made the excuse that I needed a clear head to fight.
Far to the west there was a small continent the size of two kingdoms. On it lay the three mortal races. Humans, clever and full of vitality, Elves, long lived and the greatest of artists, and the forgotten dwarves of yore.
The dwarves were led by a dragon from ancient times. Legends spoke of it carving the first mountain home for the mortals it watched over. Brewmaster was its name. The dragon was a lover of festivities and merry making. The dwarves were a happy and peaceful race that cultivated the best drinks ever seen in this world. Each new barrel was gifted to Brewmaster as thanks for its benevolence. His scales were the amber of a dark beer with clothes the color of a head of foam. The most notable thing about him though was the glorious beard of lichen and moss that grew from his scales upon his chin.
image [https://i.imgur.com/NROMsdl.jpeg]
Dwarves were the centralized hub of trading and would treat travelers to cold pints of beer to wash the road dust away. Rumor mongers some whispered, for a dwarf that didn’t know the latest news in the lands was the least interesting. A pinnacle of social friendliness.
They were shorter than humans and elves, stocky and strong. Great massive beards to reflect their leader were cherished not for their grooming but for the thriving life systems they supported. Such things were seen as distasteful to the other mortals causing a subtle divide. Parasites would live in their beards like ladybugs tending to a garden. They claimed the creatures kept the beards clean by eating the crumbs and dibbles. A true spectacle in the difference between the mortal races.
Their food and drink was potent in spice and flavor. Things that would choke a man with the heat of the bite was mild to their tongues. Some of their brews could only be consumed by dwarves because they were too dangerous for the other mortals. The other races found such flavors overpowering and wasteful. Only the most potent of poisons would harm the dwarves.
Words of warning were carried by messengers from the neighboring kingdoms and calls for aid were brought forth. Only the lands of dwarves seemed to prosper still and help was needed in the other realms. Great accounts of the dead and dying pulled at the benevolent dragon’s heart and soul. It would cost him greatly to help but if the other kingdoms were patient enough the aid would come.
Afraid of the social unrest that was growing in the kingdoms of elves and men Brewmaster called for a traveling festival that would visit each capital and show the best works of the kingdom of dwarves. So the greatest of their entertainers, storytellers and musicians alike came together and set forth on a caravan carrying the finest casks of brewed drink. Laden the carts with excess harvest to share.
They were met with open arms by the humans and the festival was long. Brewmaster flew down from the skies and drank with the king of men toasting to a long and prosperous friendship. The king of men told Brewmaster of the blight that had hit their crops and how they didn’t have a way to fix it.
The Brewmaster wise and kind flew to the fields. He landed upon them and cut free most of his beard. A great infusion of magic went into the discarded beard as it was mulched and mixed into more and more dirt. He called for the manure of the lands and spent a fortnight mixing the great pile of the most powerful life giving earth. Finished he stood before the king of men.
His voice echoed of the pouring of a drink and slithered into the ears that would listen, “Mix this dirt into all your fields. A bucket full will revive an acre of land. Keep what you can and mix more dirt and manure into it when it grows low and let it sit for a summer before using it once more. Do this and your crops will never wilt again.” The men of the land knelt and thanked Brewmaster greatly.
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Exhausted from his work the dwarves and their dragon lord returned to the mountain home. Brewmaster rested amidst his great collection of casks and cracked one open and drank it in one gulp. The thick dark liquid dribbled down his chin and mixed with what was left of his once glorious beard.
Once Brewmaster rested he bid the dwarves to gather a festival’s worth of supplies and travel into the elven lands. However, they were not greeted with kindness. They demanded the presence of Brewmaster, and spoke of how he favored the humans unfairly. The plight of the elves was more important for they lived vast lives and would suffer for far longer than a dying man could. In anger the elves pinned the dwarves to the ground and shaved their beards off with knives. Sheared like livestock they returned horrified at what had happened to them. The afflicted dwarves would weep openly and stroke their clean faces with shame.
Brewmaster was angered but still weakened from the great work to save the humans he compiled his demands. Explain their actions or all trade to their lands would be halted. That they had nearly caused a war with Brewmaster and would need to earn forgiveness. Brewmaster was shocked at the foolish actions of the mortal elves and what they risked in angering him was a disaster.
The elves replied saying their forest was dying and they took the dwarves' beards and mixed it as he did with dirt, manure and magic to spread it through their lands in hopes that it too would work. Since it had, they would soon come for more beards. They would take every beard in the kingdom if that saved their lands. Brewmaster called forth all his leaders and started to prepare.
Brewmaster called the kingdom of man but was only given an apology. Famine had stripped the men of their strength this year and they did not have the stocks needed to go to war. They would instead send ore and wood for forging as thanks for the miracle Brewmaster had worked.
The dwarf kingdom had never needed the knowledge to fight as their lives had been peaceful. Brewmaster however spoke of a Great War against an encroaching darkness he and the other dragons stopped. He learned how to battle from the son of Poquet, god of war. So the dwarves were put through hell to prepare. They learned to forge their hoops and bands into rings of mail, plates of armor, and shields for enemies to shatter against.
Within six months the dwarves had turned their quiet lives around and were ready for war. The first waves of scouts from the elves brought with them arrows and poisons. They attempted to soil the water supply but the hardy nature of the dwarves were unaffected. Arrows shattered against armor and blades halted by chain.
The elves grew more clever, beginning to use nets to rope capturing the dwarves and used beasts of burden to drag them away. Each fallen dwarf angered Brewmaster and as soon as he was strong enough he dragged himself from deep inside the mountain to the battlefields. Horns blared to retreat and dwarves slowly closed in forming a ring around their leader.
Elves rained arrows on the dragon and they thudded harmlessly. Sticking into his scales as if it was the hardest of woods.
Brewmaster started to inhale. A gale of wind whipped through the air causing hair and flags to snap. His chest swelled and it continued. Trees bent in the forced wind and it kept going. Air was ripped from lungs and yet it still came. Then it stopped. Brewmaster let loose the greatest dragon’s breath the world would ever see. The fog he exhaled smelled of freshly cracked oaken kegs, a perfect head of foam on a beer, the powerful kick of bourbon, and a sweetness of mead. Every elf the fog touched melted into brews of all kinds. A river of wine, liquor, and beer flowed through the lands and the elves that survived fled in terror.
Brewmaster collapsed into a deep sleep and the dwarves banded together to haul their lord and master back to his hall. They tended to his every need as he slept. Brushed his scales, tended his beard, and continued to bring him casks of drink. The elves came once more and were repelled. Their kingdom fell into ruin after the warriors of their land were wiped from the face of the earth.
A growing fear began to fester in the lands. A dragon’s true strength was beyond imaginable.
‘You lot better come back tomorrow. I won’t be repeating any of the tale!’ Most of the men went from half paying attention to being wrapped up in the story. I could feel the drops of strength enter me as those that could remember kept the story with them.