Beers and Beards: A Cozy Dwarf Tale

When I’d come to Schist about contingency ideas in case of another riot, or if things went sideways with Harmsson, we’d made a long list. Schist had considered it a fun thought exercise, and I’d considered it good planning. We’d come up with a lot of ideas, but nailed down the one we’d thought would be maximum chaos with minimum destruction.

Which meant the entire garden exploded into chaos when I activated the magical trigger in my pocket and several hundred barrels of Dragonator detonated upwards, covering the entire beerfest with smoking, sticky beer.

During our tests, the Dragonator had shown to make a highly effective smokescreen when exposed over a wide area in a short period of time. When combined with an alchemical additive in the charge, we were able to increase the ‘stickiness’ factor as well.

I stuck a finger out from under the table and pressed it against a pool of beer. I had to exert a good bit of effort pulling it back out again and nodded with approval.

All according to plan.

I activated my Manasight, and green figures began dotting the smoke. It was hard to catch individual people, but it was good enough to dodge out of the way as sticky, angry dwarves flailed about, unable to get free from the swamp of beer. I began counting down in my head; sixty seconds was enough to avoid the worst of the stick, and plotted my escape route in my mind.

We all had designated exit points into the service tunnels below the beer garden. Mine was in a mausoleum about twenty paces to the east from here. That was, of course, assuming my memory was correct.

I began edging through the mass of people, moving aside any time a slowly moving mass of green mana got too close.

I let out a sigh of relief as I spotted the telltale brown mana of stone, and my outreaching hands felt the cool surface of the Mausoleum. I stumbled around it, keeping away from the figures currently glued to its surface, and felt for the lock.

Why were there two locks!?

I bent closer to examine them. One was a standard bolt lock, which I had a key for. The other was a more complex affair, that I didn’t have a key for. It also hadn’t been there during set up!

Upon careful examination, I spotted some writing on the lock in grease pen.

“Is this the bathroom?” - Birch

I instantly regretted not selecting [Godbotherer] earlier this evening, so I could’ve phoned Barck once a month for the next 600 years just to ask ‘Why are you such a douche’?

I did my best to remain calm. Everyone was still stuck to various surfaces, and the worst that would happen was getting arrested. The problem was, I wasn’t exactly popular with the Council of Greybeards right now, and I didn’t want to try dealing with charges while in prison. I also didn’t want to stick around to see if Harmsson had more up his sleeve.

I ran through the map of the beer garden in my head. From here, my best chance was a tunnel just to the North East. It would dump me in the sewers beneath Darkwater, which is why we hadn’t included it in our plans, but it was still my best bet for now.

I ducked, dodged, and dived in the quickly dissipating smoke, until the access tunnel stood before me. It was still locked, but I had the key, and I sighed with relief as it slid in and turned.

My sigh hitched in my throat as a red dot appeared on my minimap a short distance behind me. I glanced at my filters, and they were all still off. The only thing that would show as red on my map was a monster.

Or… a filter I’d set last year and never turned off. A filter for a certain gnome named… Ambermine.

I felt a tide of crimson TeAR aT My MInD, but I tamped it down. The dot was slowly approaching my position; he probably thought he had the drop on me. After all, he was an assassin hiding within a massive screaming crowd, just one gnome among many.

I felt a surge of adrenaline as I pulled a spherical glass bottle from my pocket. It contained the same alchemical mix that we’d put in the charges, but amped up to eleven. It was a fairly common item in use among adventurers called a Stickyfoot Potion. We were all carrying a few today.

Ambermine probably had ways of dodging, but hopefully I’d catch him by surprise. I kept ‘fiddling with the lock’ and counted down as the red dot approached my back. With a short swear at any watching Gods, I activated [Lucky Break], then turned and tossed the vial towards the red dot on my Minimap.

I could just barely make a short figure in the smoke as the bottle arched out. Ambermine reacted late, tried to dodge the vial, then tripped as his shoes briefly stuck on the floor. The bottle landed directly on his chest and burst, showering him with a ballooning mass of sticky goo.

Ambermine’s muffled swearing was music to my ears as I ducked inside the tunnel and locked the door behind me. I considered running over and braining him with my warhammer, but…

This world hadn’t made me hard enough to commit murder yet. Plus, I didn’t really want to get near a hired killer. That seemed to be an unhealthy place to be. Best to let the army deal with him.

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I jimmied the lock behind me and filled both it and the doorjamb with more Stickyfoot. I was now down to two bottles of the potion, but no gnomish Assassins were coming through that door today, that was for sure! A [Stoneshaper] might be able to do it, or a mage, but Ambermine was neither.

I sank to the floor in relief, my heart beating in my chest. Today had… not gone to plan. And why in the Nether had Barck locked my escape hatch!?

As soon as I caught my breath, I began hurrying down the tunnel. I pulled a small Solstone from my pocket and activated it. The tunnel was, of course, well made. A gravelly path sloped slowly downwards, and the walls were smoothly hewn from the stone. It was cramped, and I had to duck, but it wasn’t dirty.

I went over my options as I made my way down the tunnel. I had Harmsson’s approved speech, and we’d managed to ‘halt’ the revolution with our contingency. Hopefully that would count for something, and with Tourmaline’s help maybe we’d be able to avoid any jail time.

That was our best case scenario.

Worst case, I’d be spending another century in a reform mine.

I continued down the path for another ten minutes or so, and I smelled the sewer before I saw it. The air grew damp, and spongy moss began appearing on the walls as the temperature dropped. I was nearly home free!

Which was precisely when I heard the sound of combat from further up the tunnel.

Great. I immediately doused my Solstone and the darkness closed in on me.

I couldn’t exactly go back, so I turned on all my Minimap filters and inched forward. Down here there weren’t any other people, so the three dots showed up clearly.

I gripped my warhammer tight in one hand, and my second-to-last bottle of Stickyfoot in the other, and tiptoed the last few paces down the tunnel as quietly as I could. I peeked out into a murky cavern that stretched out of sight to my left and right. A river of something I didn’t want to describe ran in a deep channel in its center. Luminescent moss, likely the same stuff that formed the ‘stars’ on the ceiling of Crack, filled the space with an eerie purple light.

And by all the bits o’ the Gods, it stank.

Three dwarves were locked in combat. Two wore the standard issue equipment of the army, and the other I couldn’t quite make out in the poor light. He was wearing a cloak and hood and favoured one side. Blades flashed and Abilities were activated amidst the clash of steel as they spun in a dance of death.

I only had a moment to think, so I activated [Flash of Insight]. Barck had likely set me down this path for a reason. The only people that should be down here were the Thirsty Goat crew or the Garden staff.

The two from the army looked like they were aiming to kill, while the third dwarf was on the defensive.

So… I did what any intelligent dwarf would do in such a situation. Friendly Fire!! I waited until the three were clustered together in a confusing melee, then tossed the Stickyfoot potion into the mix. All three went down in an angry swearing mess. The more they tried to extricate themselves, the more they got stuck together.

I waited until the angry yelling dropped to angry panting, then stepped out into the light, my warhammer held high.

The two guards began shouting at once.

“By the order of the king! Lay down your arms!”

“We are on assignment from the High Council of Greybeards! Delaying us is a crime!”

“Let us free and we’ll be lenient!”

I considered the pair and chose my words carefully. “How do I know you’re with the army? Anybody could claim that.”

“My name is Captain Urist Mcextra! You can find my name on my pauldrons!”

I couldn’t help myself. “Seriously?”

“Yes! Release us and help us capture that criminal and you’ll be rewarded!”

“Aye, aye. Just gimme a sec. I need to corroborate your story.”

The so-called ‘captain’ grumbled, but stopped thrashing. As I got closer, my face fell into the light, and the third figure began struggling harder. I reached over and pulled away the cloak, to reveal…

Lord Freaking Harmsson. The massive asshole himself. He looked nothing at all like the well-manicured and put together Lordling I’d seen up on the stage. He was sweating and banged up, his clothes covered in sticky black beer, and his side was wet with blood.

“Peter!” He gasped. “I’m so glad to see you! Help me!”

I stepped away as though stung. “Yeah, maybe I should let these two finish ya off.”

“No! You can’t!” He said, hoarsely. “They’re the Council’s Secret Police! They’ll kill you too, just to remove any witnesses!”

The pair of guards went very still and I eyed them a bit more warily. I spun my warhammer idly as I spoke. “I could off all three of you. I especially have a bone to pick with you Harmsson.”

“Peter. You’re not a killer.” Harmsson’s face twisted into a sick smile.

“Now that’s a cliche villain line if I’ve ever heard one.” I mused. “Did you set Ambermine on me?”

“Who?” Harmsson asked, blankly.

I sighed. “Cut the crap. I know he’s working for you. What I don’t understand is why you waited so long to stab me in the back. If you were going to send an [Assassin], why not do it while I’m sleeping at night.”

Harmsson’s vision twitched up and to the left. “I honestly don’t know what you’re – “

“Do you plan to release us?” Mr. Mcextra interrupted.

I glanced his way in surprise. “Uh… maybe. Depends on how I’m feeling?”

“Very well, then. [Iron Command]! RELEASE US!”

I felt my mind twist, and wrench at his words.

*Ding!*

Milestone Used

[Unbending] has prevented [Iron Command].

“You shouldn’t have done that. I’m allergic to mind affecting Abilities.” I said angrily, then splashed my final Stickyfoot potion over the two. By the time I was finished they were quite thoroughly coated and glued to the ground. I did have the good grace to make sure they could still breathe through their noses. Their breaths came out in angry snorts, as they heaved with rage.

“You should’ve just killed them.” Harmsson muttered.

I shrugged and leaned on my warhammer. “The night’s still young. And not all of us are so comfortable with murder. Now there’s nobody to disturb us, so, let’s talk, Harmsson.”

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