Beers and Beards: A Cozy Dwarf Tale

Book 3: Chapter 31: Elves!!!

Berry was ‘kind’ enough to invite me to eat lunch with her and Joseph, but I was probably going to pay for it later. She introduced me as an acquaintance from Minnova who'd won the Octamillenial contest and accompanied her on the way to Kinshasa.

I was initially worried that the vague dwarven/elven rivalry I’d been feeling in Crack would make Joseph standoffish, but he turned out to be both charming and well spoken. It figured that an ambassador would have a high Charisma stat, and he probably had some Abilities from [Emissary] backing it up.

He was also very happy to answer questions about his home. In fact, part of his job description was to ‘teach the dwarven locals about elven life.’

Yes, elves were plants. Yes, elves had ‘seeds’. Yes they were planted, and could plant themselves again to heal. Yes, elves could look like dwarves if they ‘grew’ up in the dwarven enclaves, he even knew one personally. Yes, they had hair, but it was more correct to call it vines. Berry asked if she could touch it and see, and he dropped some strands for her.

At this point I just had to know, “Doesn’t this make ya feel a bit uncomfortable? Us drillin’ you ‘bout yer biology?”

Berry paused in the act of running her hands through his hair with the sudden realization of what exactly she was doing. She blushed practically scarlet and plumped back onto her seat, giving me an angry glower as she did so.

Joseph laughed. “Mate, my King sent me here to foster a relationship between the largest elven and dwarven kingdoms on Erd. If all it costs to garner goodwill with two up-and-coming artisans is answering some questions about biology, and letting them feel my hair? That’s an excellent deal. Ignorance breeds distrust and knowledge leads to fortune.”

“That’s quite smart. Was it yer idea or yer King’s?”

Joseph simply gave me a tight-lipped smile, from which I read ‘not telling’,

After our food arrived, we were a bit too distracted munching on some paté laden toast to properly talk. The food wasn’t bad, but it certainly wasn’t a Bran special. Super salty too, of course. At least the tea was good; a lovely blend of Gnomish Breakfast and something else.

We moved onto elven culture after lunch. I was worried that we were taking too much of his time, but Joseph insisted it was fine. Berry kept offhandedly commenting that maybe I had stuff to do, but I happily pointed out that the whole of the Goat was probably just now emerging from unconsciousness into cranky wakefulness.

“What are elven cities like? I imagine they're nothing like Kinshasa, but how do they compare to, say, giant villages?” I asked, as Joseph regaled a rapt Berry with his favourite things to do Kinshasa.

Joseph thought for a moment, then answered. “To start, you'll need to understand that every elven city is unique. Our kingdom is located over most of the southern cape of North Erden, and the local natural resources and microclimates dictate much of how our cities grow.”

My ears perked up at that. “Grow?”

“Yes, we have [Druids] and [Cultivators] that shape the local flora to provide cover and housing space.”

We listened in fascination as he described a fascinating mix of mass-timber skyscrapers intermixed with sculpted trees and plants. Mass timber was one of the primary building materials we used back in British Columbia, and I felt a pang of homesickness. Dwarven architecture used stone almost exclusively, with the occasional bit of wood, and it could get a bit bland. Elven cities sounded like works of art in comparison.

Joseph, as it turned out, was from Awemedinand’s capital, a city simply called ‘Tree’.

No, not Treehome, or Treetop or anything else, just… Tree.

Apparently it was a great honour bestowed upon the city that housed the oldest and wisest tree of the great rainforest.

I asked him about the ‘wisest’ part, and he admitted that no, elves couldn’t talk to plants, but there were extenuating circumstances around Tree.

I suspected a world tree or some other garden variety fantasy hooplah. He refused to elaborate, and said we'd just need to visit.

“Now, I have to ask my most burning question.” I blurted out between sips of luke-warm tea. “Do elves all drink wine? I’ve heard it mentioned.”

Joseph sighed in blissful reminiscence. “Ah, yes. The winery makes a scrumptious red that cannot be compared to any other drink in this world. But very few elves can actually afford to drink it.”

“The winery?” I chuckled. “You have a clear favourite, then!”

Joseph gave me a confused smile. “No, no, that was correct. The winery. There’s only the one, after all.”

I blinked. Berry blinked. Joseph blinked, smiling innocently.

“How… is there only one winery?” I asked. “Do ya mean tha only winery in Tree?”

“Goodness, no. The only winery in the world!” Joseph spread his hands as though presenting a wonderful piece of news and not a horrific revelation.

I choked on my tea.

“How’s that?” Berry asked. “There’s gotta be other elves that want to make wine!”

Joseph smiled mischievously. “The creator of wine has an ability called [Copyright].”

I twitched. That was the Ability Barck had created. He'd said it’d stifled creativity because dwarves and elves took so long to die. It’d originally been given to anyone who invented something impressive, and would prevent other people from copying their work.

“I don’t understand.” Berry said. “What does having a copyright have to do with anything?”

Joseph explained, “It’s a special Ability. It makes it so that if anyone else tries to make wine, it instantly sours. Oh, certainly lesser wines made with other ingredients exist, but only elven red wine made in Tree by the finest of grapes can be considered true wine. That’s why it’s incomparable to any other drink in this world; the creator has perfected it personally over thousands of years”

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We'd See about that! As a soul from another world I was immune, and I’d be able to make wine just fine. When I was done saving beer, I could see about tearing wine from the clutches of elven greed. As a vintner, I couldn’t allow a single winery to control all the wine in the world! That was a monopoly more heinous than the dreaded tyranny of Champagne!

That stuck up sparkling snob of white wines was the nemesis of all vintners. No matter how good our own Veritas Vinum Vineyards sparkling white wine had been, we were never allowed to call it Champagne. Nooooo, only sparkling white wine made in the Champagne region of France using a specific method was allowed to have that most hallowed of epithets. It was, in fact, the law of the land, even in Canada. The original protections were put in place in the late 1800s in Europe, but were adopted by over fifty other countries over the next couple centuries. Nearly any place that could make wine, couldn’t make Champagne.

Except for California. The right cheating, loophole making, bastards.

“How is the inventor of wine still alive?” I asked, suspicious. “I thought elves only lived a couple’a thousand years. Isn’t wine older than that?”

Joseph smiled mischievously. “Elves can live for a very long time under certain circumstances. The [Vintner] in question was born over 10,000 years ago; he invented wine in his youth.”

I gulped. I could barely comprehend last Aarday, let alone 10,000 years ago. “But still, surely people get bored of the same wine! Sacred Brew is basically monolithic, and even we have dozens of breweries in every city. Does the winery not have different vintages? Different styles??”

Joseph shook his head. “No. You’d need to drink some to understand. I don’t have any with me right now, but I do have a bottle back in my Embassy quarters for special occasions.”

“I have an ability that helps prevent oxidation! And lets me turn anythin’ into a bottomless drink! You could share it and not waste a single drop!” I wheedled.

Joseph laughed. “Oxidation? If you mean spoiling, that sounds like a very handy Ability. I’ll tell you what, Mr. Roughtuff. If your brewery wins the Octamillennial brewing contest, I’ll bring the bottle to share at the celebration!”

“Hah! I’ll take it!” I grinned, and Joseph grinned back.

*Bing*

New Quest: What’s all the Fuss About

What’s the deal with elven wine? Find out for yourself!

Wine Drunk: 0/1

Rewards: You Get To Drink Elven Wine

Do you accept?

Yes / No

Well, that was certainly a… reward. The reward was the Quest? Boo! Rip off!

I’d have to put it down to Barck being Barck. He just really wanted me to try elven wine. To be fair, it had certainly piqued my interest, so I agreed to the Quest.

Eventually desert was brought out, a strawberry cream cake confection thing with vanilla cream and custard. Unfortunately, it had gluten, so all I could do was angrily watch while the other two devoured theirs in blissful silence.

“Do ya do this a lot then? Meet up with local businesspeople and just chat? Let ‘em get to know you?” I asked Joseph as he licked his fork clean.

“Yes, it’s been very helpful in both my work as a merchant and an ambassador. Dwarves are very amenable to conversation, especially over a bottle of Sacred Brew.”

“Oh really! How is - ah, the taste?”

Joseph gave me a look, either reading my expression or using an Ability. Whatever he saw, he grimaced and said, “Honestly, not great. I realise that local brewers find that the extra bits and pieces found in Sacred Brew adds to the flavour, but I find it distracts from appreciation of the taste. I feel that brewers could greatly improve their product with a little quality control.”

“Yes! Exactly!” I thumped the table, and Joseph and Berry jumped in unison. “Erm, sorry. But that’s what I’ve been saying since I – well, since forever! Have you tried any of our brews Joseph?”

Joseph shook his head, “I’m afraid not, Brewer Roughtuff, but I’ll make sure to do so now that I’ve met you.”

We chatted for a while longer, but Joseph eventually begged leave to go and do his Ambassadorial duties.

As he exited stage left, I watched Berry watching him. She had a far-off look in her eyes.

“He was nice.” I said, offhandedly.

“Uh huh.”

“Smart and charming.”

“Yeppers.”

“Nice hair.”

*sigh* “It felt really good.”

“Tight butt.”

Berry’s smiling facade cracked as she turned a baleful eye on me. Ah, yes, I definitely recognized that look after years of being the only man in a house of two women, one entering menopause and the other past puberty.

“Yeesss?” I drawled.

“You know godddam well! You’re telling me you couldn't dip and leave me to my fun!?”

I shrugged. “I would’ve, but I didn’t have any cookies to dip.”

Berry’s face darkened. “Read the room, you punk-ass bit – !”

“Language, dear!”

“AAAGGGHHH!!!”

“But more seriously, Berry,” I interrupted, as her face promised bloody violence, “I couldn’t leave you alone with him until you heard what I came to say.”

Berry’s face grew uncertain. “What? Wait, yeah, why are you here?”

“I came to warn you. I met some people who know what you are, and I think there are more. Copperpot for one. And your new beau Joseph there is another distinct possibility. He certainly seems nice, but… listen to what I have to say first.”

We absconded to her quarters, and I explained what I’d learned. About the other Chosen who’d come before, and the marks they’d left on the world. About the likelihood that old, powerful families would be able to ferret her out. And how I suspected Copperpot was one of them. I left out the treasure for now.

When I was done, she was ashen faced.

“Oh, Jesus. I’m gonna hurl. Can I trust anyone?? Are they all just trying to mooch Blessings and knowledge?”

I hesitated. “I’m not too sure. Your regular Joe-Schmoe is almost guaranteed safe, and that’s most of your staff. I’ve seen Copperpot with his students, and we interacted before he could’ve ever known I was a Chosen. I find it likely that who he is, is genuine, even if his motivations are suspect. I think he deserves an honest chat. I’ll handle him, don’t worry about it.”

“And Joseph?”

“The elven Ambassador from an ancient elven kingdom with a knowledge base to draw from that goes back at least 10,000 years? Who suddenly showed up to court you to come to court? I’d be more surprised if he didn’t!”

“FUCK!”

“LANGUAGE!”

“AND FUCK YOU, OLD MAN! YOU’RE NOT MY DAD!”

She shoved me out the door and slammed it behind me. Screams of incoherent rage and breaking furniture came muffled through the wood.

“Well, that could’ve gone better.” I muttered, as I wandered out of the inn.