Grosdrunli of Etem'arda

[Kingofdreams]

Chapter 1
​

The pickaxe felt wrong in my hands. Always had, always would. I swung it against the shallow seam, watching chips of copper ore scatter across the tunnel floor. Behind me, old Thorek huffed and wheezed, his beard grey as winter stone.

"Yer form's shite, boy."

"I know." I wiped sweat from my brow, the lantern casting our shadows long against the rough-hewn walls. I'd been working these shallow tunnels for three years now, ever since the Elders finally let me try my hand at proper mining work on my twenty-seventh nameday. They'd relented after two decades of pestering. 'Work' was generous though. This shaft barely qualified as a scratch in Etem'arda's skin.

"Copper won't dig itself." Thorek shuffled past, his own pickaxe swinging with the muscle memory of six centuries. The old bastard could probably mine in his sleep. "And stop thinkin' so loud. Can hear yer brain grindin' from here."

I returned to the seam. Swing, chip, swing, chip. The rhythm never came naturally. It did for proper dwarves born with stone in their blood and iron in their bones.

I wasn't proper though, was I?

The coin purse at my belt held three years of careful saving. Forty-two silver pieces. Enough for the brewing kit I'd been eyeing with a handful left over for ingredients. Every copper piece earned from these pathetic shallow tunnels, hoarded against the day I could finally attempt something that felt right.

The memories haunted me still. Not of this life, crawling through the Clan Durn-Kahl nursery with the other whelps. The other life. The one before. Fluorescent lights and car horns and the smell of coffee from a paper cup. I'd been someone else once. Somewhere else. The details had faded over thirty years, worn smooth like a river stone. The wrongness remained though.

"Oi!" Thorek's bark echoed off the walls. "That's enough fer today. Sun'll be down soon."

"Sun's always down in here."

"Don't get clever with me, whelp."

He called me that even though I'd saved enough. The full brewing kit waited in the merchants' quarter, every piece selected over months of careful consideration. My hand went unconsciously to the copper ring I wore on a leather cord beneath my shirt. The only thing that had come with me when I was found. No clan marks, no identifying features, just plain copper worn smooth by thirty years of handling. The Elders had given it back to me when I turned fifteen, along with the story of how I'd been found bundled in rough wool outside the eastern gates during a harsh winter.

We emerged from the shaft into the Clan Hall proper, where cooking fires painted the vaulted ceiling in dancing orange. The smell of roasting goat and fermented barley made my stomach growl. Dozens of dwarves milled about, their voices a constant rumble punctuated by laughter and the occasional crash of mugs.

"Gosdrunli!" Young Brakka bounded over, fifty-eight years old and still full of that puppyish energy the truly young possessed. "Heard you finally scraped together the coin fer that kit. Gonna brew something proper?"

"Gonna try."

"Ha! Better than the swill old Murnick calls ale." Brakka lowered his voice, glancing around the Hall. "Yer really leavin' when yer hundred-twenty?"

The question hung between us. Everyone knew. The Elders had never hidden it, never been cruel about it. Just matter of fact. I wasn't Clan Durn-Kahl by blood, so when I reached maturity, I'd venture out. Every dwarf did it. Found their trade, made their fortune, maybe came back, maybe didn't.

"That's the way of things."

"Aye. Ninety years is a long time though."

"Is it?" I thought of my previous life, how quickly those years had slipped past. Here, time moved differently. Slower. Dwarves didn't rush. Couldn't afford to when you had centuries ahead.

Brakka clapped me on the shoulder and wandered off towards the food, leaving me standing in the Hall's organised chaos. I pushed through the crowd, heading for the quieter corridors that led to the apprentice quarters. My room was barely a room. More of a carved alcove with a curtain. It was mine though, and tomorrow, it would hold my kit.

I pulled the curtain shut and lit the small oil lamp bolted to the wall. My workbench sat empty, waiting. I'd spent years practising with borrowed pots and communal equipment, sneaking time in the Hall kitchens when the cooks weren't looking. Tomorrow would be different though. Tomorrow I'd have my own equipment, and I could brew whenever inspiration struck without begging for access.

I sat on my stool and pulled out my notebook, one of my few luxuries. Proper paper was costly. I'd located a merchant who sold damaged sheets at a bargain though. The pages were stained and torn along the edges, perfectly functional for recipe notes.

Dreamcap Ale - First Attempt

Goal: Create something marketable. Prove the concept.

Base: Standard cavern barley ale

Additions: Dreamcap mushrooms (how many?), bitterleaf, sweetroot

Magical infusion: Enhanced dreams, mild euphoria

Expected sale price: 8-10 silver per bottle?

The question marks multiplied as I wrote. I'd need to test ratios carefully. Elder Grimda had been teaching me rune work since I was fifteen, two-hour sessions every Seventhday after mining practice. She'd noticed my affinity for magical infusion and decided someone ought to make sure I didn't blow myself up. The lessons had been gruelling. They'd given me something the other foundling children didn't have though. A skill that was mine. I closed the notebook and extinguished my lamp, reclining onto my bedroll in the darkness.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'd buy the kit and begin.

---

The merchants' quarter was busy when I arrived the next morning, my coin purse heavy at my belt. Forty-two silver pieces. A fortune by apprentice standards. The brewing equipment merchant was a stout dwarf named Gornik, his stall packed with copper pots, ceramic jugs, oak barrels, and more specialised tools. I'd been visiting for months, asking questions, examining his wares.

"Ah, the foundling brewer." Gornik grinned, showing gold teeth. "Finally got the coin together?"

"Aye. The full kit we discussed."

"Right then." He began pulling items from his shelves. "Copper pot, medium size. Oak barrel, quarter-cask. Six ceramic jugs, reinforced. Muslin straining cloth, double-layer. Bronze stirring rod. Corking tools and wax." I watched him lay everything out, my heart pounding.

"Thirty-eight silver for the lot. That's the price we agreed on, and I'm holdin' to it."

I counted out the coins, watching my savings evaporate. Thirty-eight silver pieces. Three years of work. Gone in moments. Worth it though. Worth every copper.

Gornik helped me pack everything into a canvas sack. "You need ingredients too? Got some basic herbs if yer interested."

"What've you got?"

"Bitterleaf, sweetroot, hopvine. Standard brewing herbs. Two silver gets you enough for ten bottles."

I hesitated. That would leave me with only two silver. Barely anything.

"I'll take it."

He packaged the herbs in paper bundles whilst I counted out two more silver pieces. Forty silver spent. Two remaining. I hauled my purchases back to my quarters, arms aching from the weight. The copper pot alone was substantial. When I finally pushed through my curtain and set everything on my workbench, exhaustion and exhilaration warred within me. This was it. My chance. I arranged everything carefully. Copper pot, aged oak barrel the size of my torso, ceramic jugs, muslin cloth for straining, and the herbs Gornik had sold me. I'd been growing dreamcap mushrooms in secret behind the Hall's refuse heap for months, so I had those ready.

Magic hummed beneath my fingertips as I traced the purification rune across the copper pot's surface. The metal gleamed, impurities lifting away like morning mist. Simple cantrip. Children's magic. I'd practised it relentlessly over the years though, along with infusion techniques that could coax flavours from the most stubborn ingredients.

Elder Grimda's teaching had been worth the effort. Fifteen years of lessons had given me precision in runework that most apprentices lacked. I measured out barley into the pot, my hands steady. Water next, purified with another whispered rune. The liquid shimmered, every trace of mineral and sediment settling to the bottom. I could have bought purified water from the Hall stores. Where was the satisfaction in that though?

The herbs came last. Bitterleaf for depth, sweetroot for balance, and a pinch of dreamcap because I was feeling ambitious. The infusion rune required more concentration. I pressed my palm flat against the pot's side, feeling the warmth of the metal, and spoke the words Elder Grimda had taught me when I was twenty. Power flowed from my core, down my arm, into the brew. The herbs dissolved, their essences spreading through the liquid in spiralling patterns visible only to my mage-sight. Green and gold and deep purple, swirling together until they achieved perfect harmony.

I slumped back against the wall, breathing hard. Infusion work always left me wrung out like wet cloth. Footsteps brought someone to my curtains.

"Showin' off again?"

Elder Grimda's voice made me jump. The old crone stood in my doorway, curtain pushed aside, her silver beard braided with amber beads that clicked when she moved.

"Just practising."

"Practising, he says." She shuffled closer, peering into my pot with eyes that had seen seven hundred years of foolishness. "Yer infusion's too strong. Dreamcap'll give whoever drinks this the worst headache since Thorek fell off the ale wagon."

"I can adjust it."

"Course you can. Yer a natural at this, boy." She settled onto my spare stool with a grunt. "Didn't spend fifteen years teachin' you rune work just to watch you burn someone's brain out with dreamcap." There it was again. That casual reminder of how much time she'd invested in me.

"I'll manage."

"Aye, reckon you will." Grimda's gnarled fingers drummed against her knee. "Always been strange about you. Good strange, mind. Strange though. Like yer mind's somewhere else half the time."

My heart stuttered.

"Just thinkin' about recipes."

"Recipes." She snorted. "Right. Well, keep yer thinkin' focused on that brew. And remember, lad. Being orphaned don't make you less. Different's worth something in this world."

She heaved herself up and shuffled out, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my too-strong dreamcap infusion.

I stared at the pot, watching steam curl towards the ceiling.

I found three empty bottles buried in my clothes chest, relics from previous purchases at the merchants' quarter. The glass clinked as I arranged them on my workbench.

The brew had cooled enough to handle. I ladled the amber liquid through muslin cloth into the first bottle, watching the herbs strain away. The colour was perfect. Rich gold with hints of copper that caught the lamplight.

Second bottle filled. Third. I corked them with wax stoppers, sealing each with a preservation rune that would keep the contents fresh for months.

The moment my finger lifted from the final rune, the world exploded into light.

Words blazed across my vision in script that definitely wasn't dwarven. My heart hammered against my ribs as I read:

BREW ANALYSIS COMPLETE

Dreamcap Ale - Apprentice Quality

Alcohol Content: 7.2%

Magical Infusion: Moderate

Effects: Moderate euphoria, enhanced dreams, temporary headache

Market Value: 1 gold per bottle

Brewing Experience Gained: 250 XP

The text hung there like fire against my retinas. I blinked hard, willing it away. More information scrolled past though:

Current Level: Apprentice Brewer (Level 1)

Next Level: 250/1000 XP

What in the Mountain Fathers' name was happening to me?

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A/N There was a dire lack of dwarf fics so I made my own

 

[Kingofdreams]

Chapter 2


I stared at the glowing text until my eyes burned. Thirty years. Thirty damned years I'd waited for this. The bottles rested on my workbench, innocent amber glass illuminating in the lamplight. Three bottles of dreamcap ale that had finally, finally triggered the thing I'd anticipated since recovering consciousness in a dwarf nursery. A system interface.

The words faded after perhaps thirty seconds, dissipating like morning frost. I remained perfectly still, my heart pounding against my ribs.

Brewing Experience Gained: 250 XP

Current Level: Apprentice Brewer (Level 1)

I'd read enough web novels in my previous life to recognise the pattern. Isekai protagonist dies, wakes up in a fantasy world, receives a convenient system to assist in navigating their new existence. Except mine had taken three decades to emerge, and I'd tried everything to activate it.

"Status," I whispered.

Nothing.

"Character sheet. Menu. Inventory. Skills."

Still nothing. Just my cramped alcove, the bottles, and the lingering spectre of that glowing text etched into my vision. I'd spent my first five years in this world attempting every combination I could think of. I shouted "Status!" at the ceiling until the nursery minders believed I was touched in the head. I tried mental commands. I spoke in English instead of Dwarvish. I attempted meditation and concentration, even bopped myself on the head once to see if that would "activate" something.

Nothing worked. Eventually, I surrendered, assuming I was just an ordinary reincarnation. No cheat abilities, no system guidance, just remnants of a previous life alongside the knowledge that magic was real here. And now this. I took one of the bottles, turning it slowly in the lamplight. The preservation rune I'd carved shimmered faintly. The amber liquid sloshed gently.

The system had manifested when I completed the brew. When I'd finished all three bottles and sealed the last one. Not during brewing, not during infusion, but at the moment of completion. A crafting-based system. It had to be. It explained why nothing had worked before.

I'd brewed before, dozens of practice batches in borrowed pots over the past three years. Simple ales following traditional recipes, no magical infusion, just standard fermentation. The system hadn't cared about those. Mining didn't count either, I was merely following Thorek's instructions, chipping away at whatever he guided me toward. But this? This was different. An original recipe. My own design. Magical infusion I'd calculated myself. Not copying tradition, creating something new. That was the key. The system didn't reward completion. It rewarded creation.

"Analyse," I tried, focusing intently on the bottle.

Nothing.

"Inspect. Identify. Appraise."

Still nothing.

I set the bottle down harder than intended, the glass clinking against the wood. Fine. If the system only appeared when I produced original creations, I'd simply have to keep creating. At least now I knew it existed, even if I couldn't control it. That was far more than I'd had an hour ago.

"Yer burnin' lamp oil fer nothin', boy."

I yanked the curtain aside. Thorek stood in the corridor, his expression hovering between concern and irritation. The old bastard had perfected that look over six centuries.

"Just thinkin'."

"Thought we established yer thinkin' too loud." He peered past me at the workbench. "Them bottles ready to sell?"

"Should be."

"Should be? Either they are or they aren't." Thorek shuffled closer, squinting at my work. "Yer preservation runes look solid enough. What's the problem?"

How could I explain that I'd at last obtained a system interface after thirty years of waiting, but it only appeared for a few seconds and I couldn't access it again? That I'd half-expected magical assistance since infancy, based on memories of tales I'd read in a completely different world? I couldn't. Not without sounding completely mad.

"Just nervous, I suppose. First real batch I'm sellin'."

Thorek snorted. "Aye, well. Merchant Dulric's in the Hall tonight. Comes through monthly from the southern clans. He'll buy damn near anything if the quality's there." He tapped one bottle with a thick finger. "Dreamcap ale though? That's ambitious fer a first sale."

"Elder Grimda approved the infusion work."

"Did she now?" Something shifted in Thorek's expression. Not quite approval, more a decrease in disapproval. "Right then. Clean yerself up and get to the Hall. Dulric won't wait all night."

He stumped off down the corridor, leaving me alone with my bottles and my racing thoughts. I carefully gathered the three bottles, wrapping each in cloth scraps before placing them into a small wooden box. My hands trembled slightly, and not just from anxiety about the sale.

This changed everything. If the system appeared for completed original brews with magical infusion, it meant I could receive feedback. Information. Perhaps even guidance on how to improve. All the things I'd yearned for as a bewildered five-year-old dwarf, remembering being a thirty-four-year-old human. Better late than never. The Clan Hall buzzed with its usual evening chaos as I emerged. Cooking fires blazed, arguments erupted over dice games, and someone sang badly in the corner. I spotted Brakka near the central hearth, animatedly gesticulating while telling a story to a group of younger dwarves who looked suitably sceptical.

Merchant Dulric wasn't hard to find. He had claimed the best table near the Elders' platform, his considerable bulk settled onto a reinforced stool. His beard was black, streaked with silver, braided with trade beads from a dozen different clans. The mark of a dwarf who'd spent more time on the road than in any one hall.

I approached slowly, clutching my box.

Dulric glanced up from his ledger, eyes sharp beneath bushy brows. "Help you, lad?"

"Got some brew to sell. If yer interested."

"Always interested in quality goods." He set his quill aside. "What're you offerin'?"

I placed the box on the table and unwrapped the first bottle. The dreamcap ale shimmered in the firelight beautifully, that rich amber-gold I'd worked so hard to perfect.

Dulric picked it up, held it to the light, swirling it gently. Professional assessment. He uncorked it and inhaled, his expression neutral.

"Dreamcap infusion?"

"Aye. With bitterleaf and sweetroot for balance."

"Hm." He produced a small wooden cup from his pack and poured a measure. Sipped.

I held my breath.

"Infusion's too strong," he said finally. "Gives anyone who drinks a full bottle a right bastard of a headache come mornin'. But the flavour work is excellent. Better than most journeyman brewers I've met." He set the cup down. "Who taught you?"

"Self-taught, mostly. Elder Grimda helped with the infusion runes."

"Grimda, eh?" Dulric's eyebrows rose slightly. "She doesn't waste time on fools." He considered the bottle. "I'll give you eight silver per bottle. That's generous for apprenticeship work with a flaw." Eight silver. The system had indicated one gold, ten silver, market value. But I was untested. Unknown. And Dulric was offering real coin for my first batch.

"Deal."

We shook on it, his grip crushing mine briefly. He counted out twenty-four silver pieces with practiced efficiency, then tucked my bottles into his pack.

"You plan on brewin' more?"

"Aye. Got a full kit now."

"Good. I come through monthly. You make somethin' worth sellin', I'll buy it." He returned to his ledger. "Fix that dreamcap ratio though. Halve it, add more sweetroot to compensate. Next time I'm through, I'll be lookin' for better quality."

I nodded and retreated, my purse heavier than it had been in months. Twenty-four silver pieces. Not a fortune, but a solid start. And Dulric would be back in thirty days. Time to prove I could do better. My hand went to the copper ring beneath my shirt, a nervous habit. I'd gone from two silver pieces to twenty-six in a single transaction. Enough to buy ingredients for something more ambitious. Enough to prove I wasn't entirely mad for choosing brewing over proper dwarven work.

And more importantly, enough to see if the system would appear again.

I found an empty corner and sat, watching the Hall's chaos swirl around me. Brakka's story had devolved into an argument. Someone dropped a plate near the kitchens. Elder Grimda emerged from somewhere, her amber beads clicking as she navigated through the crowd. But I wasn't thinking about the Hall. I was thinking about Dulric's advice. Halve the dreamcap. Double the sweetroot. Simple adjustments that could transform a flawed brew into something better.

If I spent the next few weeks perfecting the dreamcap ale, building up inventory, I'd have something reliable to sell. Proven income. A foundation. Then I could experiment with something truly ambitious. I stood, making my way back towards my quarters. Tomorrow I'd start another batch. Tomorrow I'd test whether the system rewarded improvement as well as creation.

The corridor to my alcove was blissfully empty. I pulled the curtain shut and lit my lamp, settling onto my stool with my coin purse in hand. Twenty-six silver pieces clinked pleasantly.

I tried one last time. "Status. Character sheet. Skills menu."

Silence. Just the distant sounds of the Clan Hall filtering through stone.

Fine. The system worked on completion, not command. That meant I needed to craft more, brew more, create more. Push the boundaries and see what happened.

I pulled out my notebook and started writing.

Dreamcap Ale - Improved Recipe

Adjustments based on Dulric's feedback:

- Reduce dreamcap by 50%

- Double sweetroot

- Maintain bitterleaf ratio

- Test for headache reduction

Goal: Prove the system rewards iteration and improvement

I closed the notebook and extinguished my lamp, reclining onto my bedroll in the darkness. Thirty years late, but I'd take it. A crafting system. Finally.

Now I just had to figure out how to use it.

---

The ten days after selling to Dulric passed in a blur of brewing and refinement. I couldn't risk running out of stock when he returned. If the Fire-Belch Ale I was planning worked, I'd need inventory. If it didn't, at least I'd have dreamcap ale to sell. Either way, staying busy kept my mind from obsessing over the system.

The second batch went faster than the first. My hands knew the measurements now, the timing felt natural. I'd taken Dulric's advice and halved the dreamcap, doubled the sweetroot. The result smelled different during brewing, sweeter, more balanced. Less of that sharp medicinal edge that had probably caused the headaches.

When I sealed the final bottle of eight, the system flared to life.

BREW ANALYSIS COMPLETE

Dreamcap Ale - Improved Recipe

Alcohol Content: 7.4%

Magical Infusion: Moderate (Balanced)

Effects: Mild euphoria, enhanced dreams, no adverse effects

Market Value: 1 gold, 2 silver per bottle

Quality Improvement Bonus: +50 XP

Brewing Experience Gained: 300 XP

Current Level: Apprentice Brewer (Level 1)

Progress: 550/1000 XP

I stared at the notification, my heart racing. The system had given me bonus experience for improving an existing recipe. That was new. Useful, too. And the market value had jumped from one gold to one gold and two silver. Dulric's eight silver per bottle suddenly seemed like robbery, but I'd expected that. First-time seller's price. Next time would be different.

I pulled out my notebook.

Batch 2: Improved dreamcap ale. 8 bottles. System confirms improvement. +50 XP bonus for iteration. Market value increased by 20%.

Hypothesis confirmed: System rewards both creation AND improvement.

The notification faded, leaving me alone with my thoughts and eight bottles that represented real progress. Not just in brewing, in understanding how this system worked. Over the next week, I brewed two more batches. The third batch was identical to the second, a control test to see if the system would still reward me. It did, but with only 300 XP total, no bonus. Repetition without innovation earned standard experience.

The fourth batch was different. I added honeyflower at Nadra's suggestion, a touch of sweetness that complemented the dreamcap's earthy tones without overwhelming it. The result was smoother than anything I'd made before.

BREW ANALYSIS COMPLETE

Dreamcap Ale - Honeyflower Variant

Alcohol Content: 7.2%

Magical Infusion: Moderate (Balanced)

Effects: Mild euphoria, enhanced dreams, subtle sweetness, no adverse effects

Market Value: 1 gold, 3 silver per bottle

Recipe Variant Bonus: +50 XP

Brewing Experience Gained: 350 XP

LEVEL UP!

Current Level: Apprentice Brewer (Level 2)

Progress: 200/2500 XP

I sat back against the wall, breathing hard. Level two. The first level had taken one original creation. The second had taken multiple batches of iterative improvement. The system wanted me to experiment, to refine, to push boundaries.I could work with that. By the time I'd finished all four batches, my alcove smelled permanently of fermentation and magical herbs. I'd arranged twenty-four bottles in neat rows on shelves I'd borrowed from the Hall stores. Eight original recipe, eight improved, eight honeyflower variant.

Nadra had commented on the smell twice when passing in the corridor. "Whole level smells like a distillery now, Gosdrunli. You trying to get the Elders drunk through fumes alone?"

"Just practising."

"Practising." She'd grinned, showing the gap between her teeth. "That what we're callin' it now?"

I'd also noticed other reactions. Passing dwarves in the corridors, their voices carrying in the stone.

"...foundling's brewin' again. Can smell it three levels down."

"Better than smellin' like the mines, aye?"

"Suppose. Still strange though. Thirty years and he still doesn't quite fit, does he?"

I'd kept walking, my face neutral. Didn't quite fit. That was kinder than most put it. The copper ring pressed against my chest under my shirt, a reminder that I'd never fit. Not fully. Not here. But maybe I didn't need to fit. Maybe I just needed to be good enough at something that it stopped mattering.

I pulled out my notebook and tallied the numbers.

Dreamcap Ale Production - 18 Days

Batch 1 (original): 3 bottles, sold to Dulric, 8 silver each

Batch 2 (improved): 8 bottles, 1g2s value each

Batch 3 (improved): 8 bottles, 1g2s value each

Batch 4 (honeyflower variant): 8 bottles, 1g3s value each

Total inventory: 24 bottles

Estimated wholesale value: 29 gold, 4 silver

Current funds: 18 silver (26 silver - 8 spent on Fire-Belch ingredients)

Days until Dulric returns: 12

Current level: Apprentice Brewer (Level 2)

Experience: 200/2500 XP

I sat back, staring at the numbers. If I sold even half of this to Dulric at a fair price, I'd have enough gold to commission better equipment. Maybe even secure dedicated workshop space instead of brewing in my cramped alcove.

The Fire-Belch Ale ingredients sat on my shelf, waiting. Embercaps dried and ready, pepperroot tincture sealed, ashwillow bark prepared. Twelve days until Dulric returned. Just enough time to brew, ferment, and test something truly ambitious.



I pulled the ingredients down and began planning.



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A/N there was a dire need of cookies.

 

[Kingofdreams]

Sorry was using mobile and duplicated chapter, sorted now.
Will some minor edits tomorrow as crossposting currently.

 

[LostMarbles]

Booze Alchemist as a premise compelled me to read this, and after reading i can confidently say that i am better off for it. thank you for the chapter.

Quick question.Is it just me, or does the system's only ability seem to be telling him average prices?