Book 2: Chapter 48: The Octamillenial Brewing Contest

Book 2: Chapter 48: The Octamillenial Brewing Contest

And so I found myself in the Arena of Minnova once again. Hopefully for the last time.

I thought back fondly to that day of the Barck Beer Brawl. That had been... almost exactly one year ago, come to think of it. It was just me and Balin against the world then. Things had certainly changed.

First of all, a two-dozen dwarf contingent of bag-pipers was currently marching around the wall of the arena blasting a rousing rendition of ‘Pomp and Circumstance’, or something equally pompous. It was quite entertaining, especially with all the jets of flame erupting from a bigger bagpipe the size of a cello.

And this time I wasn’t alone. The Thirsty Goat and our hangers-on took up a good sized section of the Arena. In the stands behind us, Rumbob, Beatbox, and the rest of the pro-drinkers were setting up some kind of cheer device invented by Beatbox’s youngest daughter (he was still banned from tinkering). Emerelda twirled her red braids and waved at me; I gave her a wide smile back. Behind them were a dozen faces I recognized from our recent weekly axeschlaggen night. I spotted Aqua’s father Tom and his wife and waved at them. Tom was wearing Thirsty Goat gear and seemed excited by the atmosphere. Richter and Johnsson sat on a small cask of Liquid Gold they’d smuggled in for post-win celebrations and were cheering the bagpipers on. A second cask full of secret pretzels sat under my own tooshie.

Then there were at least another couple rows of regulars. In fact, there were a lot of our regulars. They well outnumbered our cluster of employees, and I spotted Berry’s manager Amethyst alongside Aqua running up and down the stands selling Thirsty Goat branded gambesons. Two gold per piece.

No sense in wasting a good chance for hustle.

Looking out over the competition, it was easy to spot the individual breweries by their new logos.

There were:

Caskitt’s Full Cask

Rudd’s Ruddy Bloodbrews

Drum’s Rusty Battleaxe

Icewhite’s Moon over Minnova

Cimon’s Drunken Duck

Crackle’s Crackin’ Brews

Fault’s Faultless Brews

The other breweries were in attendance as well, but not worth mentioning. Each section was teeming with brown-robed apprentices, and they all had branded gear similar to our own.

I could smell Malt’s involvement in that.

In fact...

“Oy, Malt!” I shouted down to the sands of the Arena.

The small white haired and steel-armoured figure down below squinted up and waved. He shouted back unnaturally loudly with his Ability. “I greet you on this most auspicious day, Brewer Pete!”

“‘I greet you on this most auspicious day’ to you too. Why’re ya down there? I thought this was being run by tha city!”

“I’ve been asked to announce as the Guildmaster of the Brewer’s Guild! They bribed me with tarts!”

“What kinda bribe...” I muttered, as the elderly dwarf cheerfully hobbled over to the raised platform in the center of the Arena.

There wasn’t anything big this time. No picnic tables or black armoured attendants. No makeshift market or kitchen counters.

There was a single raised platform in the center of the arena with a large ornate picnic table and three separate chairs. A fancy lectern stood to the side with a stool behind it. The same enchantments that had allowed us to see zoomed in scenes of the cooking contest were set up to give the entire arena a close-up of the seats. The largest and fanciest chair had the symbol of Minnova on it. The chair to its right was inset with the symbology of the Gods, and the chair to its left had a pair of crossed axes with a beard overlaying them chiseled into the backrest.

Sooooo, the Grand Lord, Prophet Barnes, and Louis Blackbeard - who, it should be noted, wasn’t a Titled anything. Not even a [Politician]. From Johnsson’s stories about him, I still couldn’t believe he was a noble. Doc Opal had taught me waaaaaay back when that dwarven nobility was earned, but that was clearly as much a crock-of-shite as any such claims back on Earth. Old money and big clans ensured nobility was kept within old money and big clans. Sure, dwarves like Bran could earn nobility through impressive work and fame, but they were few and far between.

No wonder there was a little civil-disturbance pressure cooking in Kinshasa. I was going to need to visit one of the Great Charter rallies at least once.

“Hey... is that who I think it is?” Aqua caught my attention and pointed to one of the knots of brewing apprentices.

I squinted. “Who?”

“Is that our goatboy? He just ran under that banner of a moon over the spreading tree of Minnova.”

“Who?”

“You know! The [Therian] who applied to the brewery but fought with Penelope?”

“Who?”

Though branches seek to block our path,

They bleed when we cut bark.

Beseech the Gods

To Bless us all

And give thanks for our home!

Minno-ova, Minno-ova,

A place for all who roam!

Minno-ova, Minno-ova,

We watch the ways for thee!

Minno-ova, Minno-ova,

Ho-ome of the tree!

For a moment I was back in Vancouver, watching the good old hockey game. We were singing Oh Canada in the stands of Rogers Arena. Sammy was wearing an orca hat almost as big as her head and Caroline’s face was painted blue. The Canucks were losing again.

Then the world snapped back into focus. The blue was Aqua’s beard, and the orca hat was a goat stenciled carefully on a Thirsty Goat banner.

I cheered with everyone else, my voice only cracking a little, as the Grand Lord sat in his ornate chair in the center of the stage.

Malt’s voice called out again and this time his voice was solemn. “Our next judge. Master of Minnova Cathedral. The voice of the Gods in central Crack. [Doorkeeper of the Pinnacle]. Prophet Barnes.”

And then there was silence, like a switch had been thrown. Not even a cough, except for a single drunken dwarf who cheered then screamed as he was tossed out a window. The figure of Prophet Barnes walked out onto the sand. He was wearing his white robe of office with the gold stitching and was flanked on both sides by blue mithril-armoured guards.

To the dwarf (and gnome), everyone in the stands raised their hands in the pointer-and-pinky-finger-straight-up with-the ring-finger-down-and-middle-and-thumb-fingers meeting-in-the-middle holy-sign. The eerie stillness continued until the elderly Prophet arrived at the table and sat. He and Lord Grafter nodded at each other as the crowd let out a collective breath.

“And finally, coming to us all the way from Kinshasa to provide input from the capital nobility! Son of the Duke of the East! Baron of Copperfort! Louis Blackbeard!”

The dwarf that entered next was the complete opposite of Prophet Barne’s simple self assuredness, and lacked the Lord’s regal power. He wore a set of black clothes. Like, an actual suit uniform, not chain, or padded leather, or scale mail, or any form of armour I could see. The cuffs and seams of his suit were lined with silver thread, and his belt had some kind of dark purple ruffly lacey thing running underneath it. His black beard almost dragged on the floor as he walked, and it was weighted down with a mass of jewelry tied in amongst a myriad of knotwork. A white ruff billowed out from beneath his collar and framed his beard, making it really pop.

From what I could tell, he was tall for a dwarf, almost the same height as Jeremiah. Oh, no, skip that, his shining, black, steel-toed boots had high heels.

He only had a single guard with him, a figure in fancy golden armour. Said guard carried a shield and mace and looked pathetically out of place as he moved in next to the businesslike Highwatch and deadly church guards.

Balin wore it better.

The crowd... cheered-ish. And then it was time.

“May the Luck of Barck be with our contestants!” Malt called in the first goat, and a dappled brown unigoat trundled in through the portcullis bearing a cart laden with a single cask.

*Bing!*

New Quest: The Best Brewer Part 1

Go win your contest.

I expect something delicious.

Obtain the title of Best Brewer in Minnova: 0/1

Rewards: [Pete’s Miniature Remembrance]

Do you accept?

Yes / No

Obviously I clicked 'yes'.