My day in town was calm and peaceful. I spent a few extra minutes talking to the women of Tea Loaf about their lives getting stories of pleasant lives. Every little tale gave me a drop of power I would need.
There was a fight outside the hunter’s pub and I worked to break it up. Drunk men did not regret their decisions while beer was in their blood so it was mostly tearing them off one another and tossing their stumbling selves to the ground.
There was a palpable feeling of waiting for another part of the tale. Eyes tracked me as I gathered a dirty glass of water and set it upon the mantle of the fireplace and leaned against the wood. Everyone not getting a fresh drink was paying close attention.
Two hundred years passed as Brewmaster slumbered. Dwarves became more secluded in their need to protect their sleeping leader. Their crafting of drink remained a deep secret upon the mountain. Each time they lined Brewmaster’s chamber with an offering. In his rest the Brewmaster’s beard returned and it was celebrated. Lands outside the care of the dwarves were stripped and overused. Humans forgot the rules and guidance Brewmaster had told them for the magic fertilizer he had made. Their supply was gone in a generation and the plight of food returned.
Elves came from the woods once more to hunt the dwarves. Unable to keep up in the battles against scouts, the more agile opponents drove a deep anger in the hearts of the dwarves. The leaders that had risen in the ranks of the dwarves and called for war. Someone needed to protect the mountain in their absence. They sent a treaty of trade and mutual benefit to the lands of men. A call for war against the elves.
The king of men promised forces to protect the mountain home and upon the battlefield. Forces combined, the poorly trained stayed behind at the mountain and the rest marched. Only the dwarven women, children and elders remained as the dwarves decided to place a trust in the humans for they offered to help return their lands to thriving ways. This was a grave mistake.
As the battle against the elves began a great betrayal started. In the mountain home the human soldiers went to work. They stole the casks of beer, liquor, and wine. Piled all the grain and food that they could high upon wagons that the lands of men sent. Then with great scythes they began to harvest the beard of Brewmaster. Pinning the dwarves to the ground and ripped the hair from their faces and heads. The long rumor of their magical properties of fertility being handed down. The world had turned against the dwarven kingdom.
Brewmaster awoke as they cut into his beard. He roared and fought against the soldiers but they had been ready for it. The elves had told the humans of the tale of their army’s slaughter and had been spreading rumors of the dragon’s oppression. It was only a matter of time till he betrayed all but his followers and destroyed all else. Long had they been discussing the dragon’s potential weaknesses and strengths. Without the dwarves to help protect him in his groggy state things would go badly.
The elves had baited the dwarves to war. Had made sure to be such a threat that the humans would be called. They bribed the men with jewels, magical knowledge, and the finest of elven women. It was planned that the humans and elves would surround the dwarven warriors and destroy them.
Upon the battlefield the dwarves fought ferociously against the elven lines and heard the calling horns of men behind them. The decades of lessons and training constantly in the martial ways the reaction of the dwarves was instant. A circle of impenetrable shields was raised. Great hooked polearms struck down from high to split skulls and shoulders. Blood was spilled and for every dwarf that fell a dozen would follow.
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Arrows dropped from the sky like rain and clattered against the metal helmets and armor. Each wound was ignored as the dwarves fought with the ferocity of a cornered bear. When polearms broke short axes came to hand. A rotating shield wall was performed to perfection as the battle raged on into the day.
In the mountain Brewmaster struggled, his hoard so overflowing that he inadvertently crushed his own barrels. Each time he went to use his breath the men would throw bags of poisonous dust into his throat and cause him to cough violently. They set fire to the hard liquor and barred the entrance to his chamber, trapping the men that didn’t flee inside to cook alive. Rank smells of cooking meat wafted from the door as Brewmaster collided with the door.
The women and children could not overpower the men to help. They were shoved and pushed into the deepest of places to keep them out of the way. Shaved bald and threatened with violence they became cowed. The elders had fought and died against the men trying to find some way to win.
When Brewmaster broke free from his chambers they had a sharpened battering ram to act as a massive spear. With all the might they could muster they rammed the weapon into Brewmaster's chest piercing his scales with a mighty crack of bone and wood. Wounded so deeply he fought on. His collection of the finest ales boiled away behind him. With a mighty charge he crushed the men that wielded the ram against him. He slew and liberated the dwarves who desperately worked to save what was left of the hoard. With a painful rip he tore free the sharp log from his chest and blood poured from it. Dwarves wept and called for him to rest and that the warriors would return. Brewmaster knew better, men had betrayed them and he had to act.
Brewmaster, even so wounded, took flight to aid his warriors and landed mightily upon the battlefield. With a bellow that shook the mountains he crushed and killed a thousand men as they stabbed and punctured where the ram had met his chest and split it. So great was his rage that it did nothing to stop him. Arrows tore his wings apart and he could no longer fly. Elves with wood axes took to his legs to cripple him. The dwarves though had been given the break they needed. With a mighty horn they charged to their master’s defense. The armies of man and elf shattered and fled.
Brewmaster collapsed, his hoard was not grand enough to let him recover from such a heinous wound. He called the dwarves and spoke with them one last time. “A darkness comes. It has infected our world and is eating away at the minds of all. Stay strong and be ready.”
The dwarves warred for years to drive every last man and elf from their continent. They carried the body of Brewmaster back to his chamber and rested him peacefully in place. A collection of shrines to him were erected all over the continent to show the belief they had in the dragon. They adorned his wound with jewels and steel. They rebuilt his collection and hoped that one day a miracle would come and he would return.
It is said that to this day the dwarves deny all men, all elves, to their shores. They sent a warning with a boat full of bodies. Only a dragon would be welcome to their lands.
‘That was the tale of betrayal and the dangers of what time can do to warp the minds of people.’
I still wasn’t sure how true this tale was but I visited as my true self as the boats filled with elves and men came to shore upon the central continent. I waited till night and soared across the sea. I was met with skepticism still but the eldest among them told me the story. They had offered me a single barrel to drink and I told them the tale of how Brewmaster had helped save the world. The sheer loyalty the dwarves demonstrated soothed my grief.