As we broke up, Aqua caught my attention and pulled me over.


    “Aye, what is it?” I asked, giving her an eyebrow waggle.


    “You didn’t make time for therapyst week,” she used.


    I grimaced. “Sorry, I was doin’ some axe throwing with Balin and Annie. It was meant to <i>be</i> therapy. I wanted ta see what it is they get up to, and spend some, y’know, family time.. ”


    Aqua rolled her eyes. “Schmoozing, that’s what they get up to.”


    I nodded, chagrined. “Aye, that and a lot of actually hitting the target. I managed one in three or so. Not bad, I’ve practiced before, but not great.”


    Aqua sighed. “And I’m certain they spent a lot of time talking about hitball and thenpared throwing techniques.”


    “Ugh. Yes, how do they even have <i>time</i> to keep up with hitball stats!?”


    “They <i>make </i>time.”


    “<i>Young couples.</i> I tell ya.”


    Aqua arched her brows. “They’re older than <i>you</i>.”


    “Meh, I was married for decades. Just wait and see what happens when Annie uses Balin’s beardb and leaves hairs tangled in it. Or when Balin drops a bloody axe on her couch. <i>That’s</i> when we’ll know if it’s true love or not.”


    Aqua tittered. “Hah! I’d be kneecapping any parmour who left beard hairs in my brush.”


    I grinned. She grinned.


    Then she frowned, “You’re avoiding the question. <i>Therapy</i>.”


    I sighed. “Okay. Tonight. I have a meeting with Schist first.”


    “You mean <i>Duke</i> Schist.”


    “Didn’t we just have a whole thing about lording it over people?”


    “That was you and Annie. He’s a Duke. He has a bigger axe to swing around.”


    “Axe, huh? Is that what they’re calling it these days?”


    “Yes. So you’d better chop, chop.”


    Iughed. “Hah! Good. Yes, I’m off, see you tonight!”


    She wagged her finger at me. “Tonight!”


    My meeting with Schist was distant enough that I decided to take Penelope. Schist was holed up in a wing of City Hall that’d recently been repurposed for the Council of the Commons, or the ‘Citizen’s Council’ if you were being polite.


    Penelope was… not the easiest ride. The city’s rented unigoats were generally docile (for a unigoat) and went where you told them. Penelope had her own ideas, and we lost a lot of time stopping at street vendors and nibbling on the odd nt poking out of the gstones.


    But at the same time, traffic just <i>melted</i> around us as we meandered. The other unigoats and the odd ox or horse-pulled cart seemed to practically jump out of our way. I watched with amusement as a passing dwarf was tossed off his suddenly skittish unigoat into a cart full of leafy greens. The gnome pulling the cart had some <i>incredibly</i> choice words to say about that.


    [Tranted from Foul Mouthed Gnome] “My cord greens!”


    *aahhh!* [Tranted from Prima Donna Goat] “How many times dost we need teach you this lesson, old gnome!”


    “Penelope!” I chastised as we passed by. “Language!”


    The trip was otherwise uneventful, and I soon found myself standing before City Hall. It was a massive,byrinthine ce, filled with tax collectors and government officials. In short, it was probably somebody’s version of hell.


    It took some doing, but I eventually found my way to Schist’s office. I knocked twice at a nondescript door in the Citizen’s Council Chambers that just said ‘office’.


    “Come in!” A familiar elderly voice called out.


    I pushed my way in with a big smile. “Schist! How are ya’ doin’ oh high and mighty Duke of The North?”


    Schist was seated at the head of arge wooden table that was absolutely <i>covered</i> in papers. The walls were all taken up by chalkboards that were simrly covered with math and writing. He was short as ever, with his palid pate and a grey-white traditionally knotted beard. Unlike his usual ck Master Brewer robes, he wore a set of dress armour in the currently-vogue crimson style. He also looked… tired. He still had the same manic energy that’d taken him over since he lost the contest, but he was looking a little worn around the edges.


    There were two other dwarves in the room, one an elderly greybeard I didn’t recognize, and a scowling dwarfess I did. I gave the dwarfess, one of Thad Harmsson’spanions, a curt nod. “Lady Vi”


    “Brewer Roughtuff,” she harrumphed back.


    “Have you, ah, booted ckbeard in the apricots yet?” I asked, searching for just the right words. It had been Harmsson’sst request before he hadn’t actually died, but I’d passed it on all the same.


    “No.” She frowned. “Louis ckbeard is in prison. <i>Actual </i>prison. All his nonsense finally caught up with him. The booting seemed unnecessary.”


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    An awkward silence stretched, as Schist and the other greybeard looked quizzically back and forth between myself and Lady Vi. I coughed “Any word from Harmsson?”


    Vi’s gaze grew knifelike and she turned to read some paperwork, not answering my question.


    “Funny you should say that.” Schist broke in, pulling a paper from the pile and holding it out to me. “But first, would you give this a read?”


    I gave Vi a sheepish smile and walked forward, taking the paper from Schist.


    I read it over, my eyebrows slowly rising the more I did. When I was done I gave Schist a <i>look</i>. “Schist… is this real?”


    Schist nodded. “Aye. That’s the number of applications the Brewer’s Guild has received in the past month. In Kinshasa alone.”


    I gulped. “Over twenty <i>thousand!?”</i>


    “It’s bigger when you take into ount other cities.” The greybeard added, pulling another sheet from the table and passing it over.


    It was a report from my own ‘hometown’ of Minnova. It listed another ten thousand prospective brewers.


    “Maria – Guildmistress Monk has reached out to tha government to take care of it. The currentws don’t allow the public sale of these new Brewers’ brews, but that may have ta change given the sheer volume of it all. Do ya have any thoughts?” Schist asked.


    n/?/vel/b//in dot c//om


    I considered what I’d had to drink the past few weeks. Just because they weren’t up for sale didn’t mean the eager beavers weren’t pawning off their brews on anyone willing to try one, and usually that meant <i>me</i>. “Um… most of them probably shouldn’t be up for sale. People will get sick.”


    “That bad?” The greybeard asked.


    “I’ve only been fine because I have [Sense Poison]!” I nodded at the greybeard, then gave Schist a long blink.


    Schist looked nk, then realized. “Ah, sorry. Brewer Roughtuff, this is Administrator Mcgofer. Mcgofer, Roughtuff. Mcgofer is on loan from City Hall and has been helping me with paperwork.”


    I reached out and shared a fistbump with the unfortunately named dwarf. “Nice to meet you.”


    “Oh, the pleasure is mine. Though you may not realize it, your influence on all these proceedings has been quite monumental. I’d hazard to say that it wouldn’t have even been possible without you!” Mcgofer waxed poetically.


    I chuckled nervously. “Surely not <i>that</i> much.”


    No seriously, <i>please</i> don’t me me for it!!!


    Schist nodded seriously. “Yes. I wouldn’t have gotten involved in all this without your influence Pete, and who knows what would’ve happened to Harmsson without you. Everymon dwarf and gnome in Crack owes you much.”


    “Ahaha….” Iughed nervously, thinking about how <i>upset</i> certain subsets of dwarves were about all the changes ripping through dwarven society right now. They were the minority, but it only took one highly Specialized individual to ruin your day.


    “But that wasn’t why I called you here,” Schist continued, “though it is rted. My Minister of Finance, you may know him? One Thad Harmsson? He has a proposal that I think suits you perfectly.”


    “Don’t do me any favours, Harmsson.” I muttered under my breath. Out loud, I gave a curious, “Yes?”


    “The Greybough Consortium, under the direction of the Ambassador Joseph Stannard from Awemedinand, wants to begin brewing beer. We think it would be a perfect opportunity for dwarven expats living there to showcase our culture, while helping repair cultural bridges that could use some basic maintenance. We need a cultural ambassador. They need someone to teach them to brew. I believe we should send them a noble of the Kingdom who is knowledgeable and outgoing, and willing to fully immerse themselves in a new environment.”


    I nodded along. Those all sounded like necessary qualities for the job as described. When he finished talking and stared pointedly at me, the proverbial armoured sock dropped.


    “Oh, no.” I waved my hands in front of my body as a desperate shield. “Not happenin’. I just <i>finished</i> a beervolution. I donnae need ta get involved in even <i>higher</i> politics.”


    “You’re the best dwarf fer the job, Pete.” Schist said seriously. “And think of all the good fishin’ you’ll be able to do up on the surface! I hear there’s even fish other than trout!”


    “Mebbe salmon.” I sighed, thinking back to the few times I’d gone out bottom bouncing for Sockeye on the Fraser River. “But no! You will not tempt me, Duke! I shall not be swayed by your honeyed words!”


    “Listen Pete.” Schist’s tone was tense. “Things are tight in the city right now. And with our new Council in charge of the purse… we really need a win, economically speaking. To prove to the Council of Greybeards that this isn’t all a big mistake. This deal with Awemedinand could be it. They’re offerin’ a lot of trade concessions, but brewing <i>and </i>cksmithing techniques are on the table. The cksmithing will be a hard sell, but the citizenry is ripe fer trading in brewing right now. And we could <i>really </i>use the extra gold.”


    I licked my suddenly dry lips at the familiar refrain. Money, money, money, it always seemed toe down to that. “How, ah, much gold do ya need? Mebbe you could borrow some from a friend?”


    Schist rolled his eyes. “I’m not goin’ to beg you for money, even if Duchess Barnes <i>did</i> fill me in on your financial situation somewhat. I’d prefer something a little more long-term, and if there’s anything elves do well, it’s <i>long term</i>.”


    “Almost as long as their ears!” Mcgofer squeaked.


    There was a general sensible chuckle.


    “How bad is it, Schist? Really.” I asked.


    “It’s bad, Pete. The ckbeards and their allies in the Council of Greybeards looted the treasury dry over the past couple millenia. All of Yellowwall is in desperate need of infrastructure, and the poption of the city grows by the day.”


    I grimaced. “We’ve been hearin’ tell in the tavern. Lots of Dungeon Breaks and roving monsters. Folks’re lookin’ for somewhere safe.”


    Schist leaned back in his chair and pinched his nose. “The reports on those are somewhere in that mess of paper on the table. The number of dungeon breaks is up almost 300% fromst year, and it’s happening <i>everywhere</i>. Ambassador Stannard says that news from the surface is simr, and our southern and northern cousins report the same. We need more Highwatch, which means more weapons, armor, and potion supplies, and all that costs <i>more</i> Gold.”


    There was some silence as I digested everything, broken only by Vi scritching on paper as she did her best to ignore us. Eventually, Schist stood, gesturing to the door. “At least think about it, Pete. Ambassador Stannard says he’d love to talk to you further, and that he has a prize he owes you. Talk to him, then get back to me.”


    I was ready to deny him outright, but… I really did need to think about it. Visiting the home of the elves could be fun, and I’d get to find new ingredients on the surface and try new foods and new alcohols. Think of it as a vacation! Getting schmoozed by all and sundry as the high muckety-muck from Crack. Yes, yes, it could be fun. But it would also be a lot of work.


    <i>Bing!</i>


    <strong>New Quest: The Ambassador Part 1/3!</strong><strong></strong>


    <i>Be the brew ambassador to Awmedinand and meet with the Elven King!</i><i></i>


    <i>ept Schist’s Offer: 0/1</i>


    <i>Rewards: Charisma +1</i>


    <strong>Do you ept?</strong>


    <i>Yes / No</i>


    I waved the quest away for now, not epting or denying it. “I can’t promise anything, Schist,” I began, haltingly, “but I’ll talk to Joseph and think about it.”


    “That’s all I’m asking, Pete. Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my next appointment will be here soon. So long!”


    And with that, he deposited me outside his office.


    I stared around the empty Council chambers, then marched resolutely out. Time to see Joseph, who did indeed have something he owed me. Something tied to a quest and of great personal interest to me.


    <i>Elven wine!</i>