Book 1 - Prologue
“Pete, dish ta’ table four!”
“Got it!” I took the plate, heaped tall with steaming goat at and roasted root vegetables, and walked into the pub. I tucked my beard into my belt to keep it from dipping into the food and looked for table four. My destination was a single custor in a well-lit corner, but first I had to navigate the zoo. It was ti for the dinner rush, and the pub was full to the brim with excited dwarves of every shape and size and even a few adventurous gnos. I dodged so tables as they exploded with laughter and rrint and waved down a few invitations to join in.
“Here’s your food! Braised goat with roasted vegetables and mashed erdroot!” I presented the al with a flourish to the dwarf seated at the table before . He wore a set of rather conservative chainmail barding, with the barest hint of silver ornantation. His beard was long and scruffy, a dark brown mixed with black, and his hair was cut short to fit beneath an armoured cap. It was a sight I’d grown used to over the past year.
“Thank ye! Barck’s Beard, this looks amazin’! An adventurin’ buddy wouldn’t stop talkin’ about this place, so I had to try it self!” He rubbed his palms together with glee and stuffed a napkin down his gorget. His stained and calloused hands spoke of a labourer, likely fresh from the mines and hankering to try so food from the city’s most notorious and popular new establishnt.
“Glad you could make it! Can I get you anythin’ else?”
He took a big bite of tender two-day braised goat and grunted with pleasure. Juice dribbled into his beard and he wiped it away with a leather vambrace. “This is amazin’!!”
I chuckled. “Aye, it’s one of our specialties.”
“Not fer long! With food this good everyone’ll start copyin’ ya soon enough.” He took another enormous bite and sighed with pleasure.
“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Everyone in town will know who made it first, and that’s what matters.”
He was silent for a mont, then began in a hoarse whisper. “I heard—” he licked his lips, “I heard from an Adventurer that ca by the mine that you lot have a New Brew.”
This was another sight I’d grown accustod to. I leaned in conspiratorially. “Aye, we do. A few actually, would ya like to try one?”
“Aye! But in a plain mug! Don’t want to call attention to self!” He looked around nervously.
“Don’t ya worry, everyone in this pub loves our ales. In fact, they can beerly live without them!” I waggled my enormously shaggy eyebrows.
“What?”
“Never mind. One ale coming right up.”
He stopped as I turned to go. “Do folk ever get upset about all this? Tha’ new beers I an?”
“Sotis, but I’m not concerned. This isn’t just a ga – we’re serious about improving the brew. Besides, not even death could stop from brewing.”
We laughed together, but the laughter didn’t quite reach my eyes.
After all, it wasn’t a lie – even if I was a human on earth when I died.
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