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?

‐----------------------


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.



-----------

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?

 

[Kingofdreams]

Thank you for reading this,
I wouldn't say he's a booze alchemist exactly but its close to what I wanted.
The system gives an estimate of prices he can get realistically, although he can be talked down or he can talk it up

 

[Kingofdreams]

Chapter 3​

Morning came too early, announced by the distant clanging of the Hall's work bell. I rolled off my bedroll, joints protesting. Thirty years in a dwarf body and I still wasn't used to sleeping on stone, even with padding. I grabbed my notebook and coin purse, tucking both into my belt pouch. Eighteen silver pieces, what remained after building my dreamcap inventory. Enough for the Fire-Belch ingredients if I was careful.

The fungus gardens were three levels down, carved into chambers where natural heat from deeper geothermal vents created perfect growing conditions. I'd been there often enough over the years, watching the gardeners work whilst pretending to understand proper dwarven agriculture. The corridors were already busy with morning traffic. Miners heading to their shifts, kitchen workers hauling supplies, children being herded toward the learning halls. I kept my head down and navigated by memory.

The gardens occupied a series of interconnected caverns, each one carefully climate-controlled through a combination of ventilation shafts and runic temperature regulation. The air grew warmer as I descended, thick with the earthy smell of growing things and rich soil. The entrance chamber held the common crops. Cavern wheat in neat rows, their pale stalks reaching toward enchanted light crystals embedded in the ceiling. Root vegetables sprawling in raised beds. Mushroom logs stacked against the walls, sprouting various edible fungi that supplemented the clan's diet.

I found Nadra in the third chamber, elbow-deep in a bed of what looked like pure compost.

"Oi, Gosdrunli!" She straightened, wiping her hands on her already filthy apron. "Bit early for you, innit? Thought you mine rats didn't crawl out till midday."

"Very funny." I'd known Nadra for years, ever since I'd started sneaking into the gardens as a teenager to escape mining practice. She was seventy-three now, settled into her craft with the confidence that came from decades of experience. Gardening suited her. She had the patience for it. "I need ingredients. Got coin this time."

"Coin?" Her eyebrows rose. "More brewin' then? Heard you've been at it non-stop for weeks. Whole level smells like you're bathing in ale."

"Not bathing. Just brewing. A lot."

"Aye, well. What're you after this time? Let me guess, something ambitious and probably dangerous?"

"Embercaps. Pepperroot. And ashwillow bark if you stock it."

"Embercaps and pepperroot?" She stared at me. "Mountain Fathers' balls, Gosdrunli, what're you brewing? Liquid arson?"

"Something like that."

She laughed, a sound that echoed off the cavern walls. "Right then. This I've got to see. Come on, the hot chamber's this way."

We passed through two more growing caverns, each one warmer than the last. The fourth chamber made me sweat immediately. Heat radiated from vents in the floor, and the air shimmered slightly. The smell here was different, sharper, with an almost sulphurous edge.

"This is where we grow anything that needs proper heat," Nadra explained, leading me past beds of strange, spiky vegetables I didn't recognise. "Embercaps are over here."

She stopped beside a cluster of mushrooms growing directly from the stone floor. They were larger than I'd expected, caps the size of my fist, coloured a deep orange that faded to yellow at the edges. Even from a few feet away, I could feel warmth radiating from them.

"Three varieties," Nadra pointed. "These orange ones are common embercaps. Mild heat, good for cooking. Them red ones over there are hotcaps, much stronger. And those tiny golden ones in the corner are blazecaps, dangerous little bastards. Touch one wrong and you'll burn your fingers clean off."

I knelt beside the common embercaps, studying them. The caps seemed to pulse slightly with their own heat. "How do you harvest them without getting burned?"

"Carefully." Nadra produced a pair of thick leather gloves from her apron. "And with these. The heat's in the caps mostly, stems are safe enough to handle. You want them for brewing, you'll need to dry them first. Fresh embercaps are too volatile. The moisture makes the heat unpredictable."

"How long to dry?"

"Three days minimum, laid out in a warm place. Week if you want them properly stable." She plucked one of the mushrooms with practised efficiency, holding it up. "How many you need?"

"Start with a dozen? I'm testing ratios."

"Smart." Nadra selected twelve of the common embercaps, laying them carefully in a wooden box she retrieved from a nearby shelf. "These'll cost you two silver for the lot. I'll throw in drying racks for free since we're friends."

"Appreciated." I counted out two silver pieces, watching my funds shrink.

"Now, pepperroot." She led me back through the chambers to a section I'd somehow missed before. Raised beds held plants with thick, dark green leaves. "We grow two types. Sweet pepperroot and fire pepperroot. Sweet's got a mild kick, good for adding flavour. Fire's what you want if you're looking for actual heat."

She pulled one of the fire pepperroots from the soil. The root was gnarled and twisted, deep red in colour, about the length of my forearm. "These are potent. One root this size could spice a whole stew pot. How much you need?"

"Just one to start. I can make tincture from it."

"Tincture's the right approach. Raw pepperroot in a brew would burn your throat out." Nadra brushed soil from the root. "This'll be three silver. They take eight months to mature properly."

I counted out three more silver pieces. Five silver spent already.

"What exactly are you making?" Nadra asked as she wrapped the pepperroot in cloth. "I know you said fire-related, specifics though?"

I hesitated. The idea still sounded ridiculous when I said it out loud.

"Ale that makes you belch fire."

Nadra stared at me for a solid five seconds. Then she burst out laughing, doubling over and clutching her sides. "Belch fire? Mountain Fathers, that's the dumbest thing I've heard all week!"

"It's marketable!"

"It's brilliant is what it is!" She wiped tears from her eyes. "Every young idiot in the clan'll want to try it. Could make a fortune off drunk miners showing off for each other."

"That's the idea."

"Right, right." She composed herself, though she still grinned. "Okay, so embercaps for the fire effect, pepperroot for the trigger. You'll need something to bind it all together though, keep the magic stable. Just mixing fire ingredients doesn't automatically make fire happen, you need a proper anchor."

"That's where the ashwillow comes in."

"Smart boy. We keep a stock for the enchanters, actually." She disappeared into a storage chamber and returned with a bundle of grey bark strips, each one about the length of my hand. "This'll be three silver. You know how to prepare it?"

"Steep it, don't boil it?"

"Exactly. Boiling destroys the magical properties. Steep in hot water for thirty minutes, strain, add the liquid to your brew during fermentation." She handed me the bundle. "What you're attempting is ambitious. And dangerous. You got proper containment runes for that?"

"I will."

"Better make sure. Last fool who tried fire brewing without proper containment burned his eyebrows clean off. Took six months to grow back." She added the ashwillow to my growing pile. "That's eight silver total. And Gosdrunli?"

"Aye?"

"You be careful with this. Fire magic ain't something to mess about with. One wrong ratio and you could burn your insides out."

"I'll start with small batches. Test everything carefully."

"Good. I like you alive, Gosdrunli. You'd be missed."

The sentiment caught me off guard. Nadra had always been kind to me, even when other dwarves kept their distance from the odd foundling. I managed a nod.

"Now get out of my gardens," she added, grinning. "Some of us have actual work to do."

I left her laughing, my box of embercaps tucked carefully under one arm, the pepperroot and ashwillow bark bundled in my pouch. The way back up felt longer than the descent, maybe because I was mentally calculating ratios and measurements.

Twelve embercaps, dried. One fire pepperroot, made into tincture. Ashwillow bark for binding. The natural magical properties of the other ingredients should be enough without expensive fire essence. Base ale from cavern barley. Standard fermentation. Then the additions during secondary fermentation, timed carefully so the heat and magic had time to integrate without overwhelming the brew. It could work. It should work. If it didn't, I'd have wasted eight silver and a week of preparation. If it did work though, if the system appeared again and confirmed what I'd created...

The walk back to my quarters felt long. My arms ached from carrying everything, and my mind raced with calculations. Three days minimum for the embercaps to dry. Another day to prepare the pepperroot tincture and ashwillow infusion. Day after that to start the base brew, then a week for primary fermentation. Ten days minimum before I'd know if this worked. I pushed through my curtain and set everything on my workbench. The embercaps went onto the drying racks Nadra had provided, arranged carefully so air could circulate. The pepperroot I'd deal with tomorrow, it needed to be sliced thin and steeped in strong alcohol to extract the essence. The ashwillow bark could wait.

I sat on my stool and opened my notebook to a fresh page.

Fire-Belch Ale - Ingredient Acquisition Complete

Embercaps (common): 12, drying time 3 days minimum

Fire pepperroot: 1 large root, needs tincture preparation

Ashwillow bark: sufficient for 10 bottles

Cost: 8 silver

Remaining funds: 10 silver

Days until Dulric returns: 11

Timeline:

- Days 1-3: Dry embercaps, prepare tinctures

- Day 4: Start base wort

- Days 4-11: Primary fermentation (7 days)

- Day 11: Secondary additions

- Days 11-14: Secondary fermentation (3 days)

- Day 15: Bottling

- Day 16: Testing

Wait. That was sixteen days. Dulric returned in eleven. I scratched out the timeline and recalculated. If I overlapped the drying with tincture preparation, started the base wort on day three instead of day four, I could compress it. Barely.The math was tight. Very tight. One mistake, one contaminated batch, one failed fermentation, and I'd miss Dulric entirely. Have to wait another month to sell anything. No room for error.

I stared at the revised timeline, my previous life's project management skills bleeding through. Critical path. Dependencies. Risk mitigation. All the corporate nonsense I'd hated at the brewery, suddenly useful for magical ale that made people breathe fire.

"Status," I whispered, knowing it wouldn't work.

Silence, as expected.

Fine. The system wanted completed work, not planning. I'd give it completed work. In eleven days, I'd have Fire-Belch Ale. And then I'd see what happened.

---

A/N

Be gentle plz with comments

 

[Kingofdreams]

Chapter 4 ​

Three days felt like three weeks. After returning from the gardens, I'd set the embercaps on their drying racks and thrown myself into preparation. The pepperroot needed to be sliced paper-thin and steeped in strong alcohol to extract its essence. The ashwillow bark required careful measurement and timing. Every detail mattered.

The embercaps dried properly, their orange caps fading to a dusty rust colour whilst their heat concentrated into something more stable. The pepperroot tincture sat in a sealed jar, dark red and potent enough that opening it made my eyes water. The ashwillow bark steeped exactly thirty minutes before I strained it into a clean bottle.

Now, on the morning of the fourth day, I stood before my workbench with everything laid out like a surgeon's tools. Twelve dried embercaps in a ceramic bowl. Pepperroot tincture in its jar. Ashwillow infusion in a bottle. My copper brewing pot, freshly cleaned and inscribed with containment runes I'd spent two evenings perfecting. And five pounds of cavern barley, soaking in purified water.

I pulled out my notebook and reviewed my final recipe one more time.

Fire-Belch Ale - Final Recipe

Base: 5 lbs cavern barley, standard ale fermentation

Primary fermentation: 7 days

Additions during secondary fermentation:

- 6 embercaps, crushed (start conservative)

- 2 oz pepperroot tincture

- 4 oz ashwillow infusion

Containment runes: Triple-layer, slow release

Expected yield: 10 bottles

Expected effect: Controlled fire exhalation upon belching, 30 seconds duration

The scientific method meets magical brewing. Marcus Chen would have approved, even if he'd never imagined applying it to literal fire-breathing ale. I started with the base. The barley had soaked overnight, softening enough that I could mash it properly. I drained the water, added fresh, and began heating it slowly over my small brazier. Temperature control was crucial. Too hot and I'd kill the enzymes, too cool and they wouldn't activate.

My hand hovered over the pot, feeling the heat rise. No thermometer. I'd learned to judge temperature by touch and instinct. When the water reached what felt right, just hot enough to be uncomfortable, I added the barley. The mash smelled earthy and slightly sweet as I stirred. Steam rose in lazy curls. This part was familiar, comforting even. I'd done it dozens of times whilst learning, perfecting the base before attempting anything fancy.

Sixty minutes of stirring, maintaining temperature, letting the enzymes convert starches to sugars. My arm ached by the end. The liquid had taken on the right golden colour and the taste test confirmed sweetness. I strained the wort through muslin cloth into my fermentation vessel, a ceramic jug with a narrow neck. The spent grain went into a bucket for the Hall's pigs.

The wort needed to cool before I could add yeast. I set the jug aside and began the second phase. No point wasting time. I crushed six of the embercaps in my mortar, the dried caps crumbling to rust-coloured powder that still radiated warmth. The smell was sharp, almost peppery, with an underlying heat that made my nose itch. Six would be conservative, enough to create an effect without overwhelming the brew.

The pepperroot tincture came next. I measured exactly two ounces into a small cup, the liquid so dark it looked almost black. Opening the jar made my eyes water instantly.

"That smells like dragon piss."

I turned to find Brakka poking his head through my curtain, grinning.

"How would you know what dragon piss smells like?"

"I wouldn't. If I did though, I reckon it'd smell like that." He pushed through fully, eyeing my setup. "So you're really doing it? The fire brew?"

"Started this morning. Base wort's cooling, then I add the yeast."

"And the fire bits?"

"Secondary fermentation. Week from now." I gestured at the crushed embercaps. "These provide the heat, pepperroot triggers the release, ashwillow binds it all together."

Brakka picked up one of the whole embercaps, turning it in his fingers. "Still warm even dried. How much heat are we talking? Like spicy food hot or actual fire hot?"

"Actual fire. Small flames, controlled by the runes."

"Brilliant." He set the mushroom down carefully. "I want to test it."

"What?"

"When it's ready, I test it first. You're the brewer, you need to watch what happens. Besides, what's the worst that could happen? Bit of heartburn? Singed tongue?"

I stared at him. "You could burn your throat out."

"Nah. You're too careful for that. You've measured everything three times, haven't you? Written it all down in that notebook?" He grinned. "I trust you. And think of it this way, if it works, I get to be the first dwarf in Clan Durn-Kahl history to belch flames. That's worth a little risk."

The earnestness in his voice made me relent. "Fine. You sip it slow though. And you stop if anything feels wrong."

"Deal!" He clapped me on the shoulder. "Knew there was a reason I liked you. When's it ready?"

"Ten days minimum. Maybe twelve if the secondary fermentation needs extra time."

"I can wait ten days to become a legend." He paused at the curtain. "Oh, and Nadra says the whole Hall's talking about this. Half think you're brilliant, half think you're going to burn the place down."

"What do you think?"

"I think you're brilliant and you might burn the place down. Makes it more exciting." He left laughing.

I shook my head and returned to work. The wort had cooled enough. I added my yeast slurry, watching it settle into the golden liquid. Within a day, fermentation would begin in earnest. The waiting started now. I cleaned my workspace, putting everything away except the fermentation vessel. That stayed on my workbench where I could monitor it. The embercap powder went into a sealed jar. The tinctures got stored on my shelf.

My notebook came out.

Fire-Belch Ale - Brewing Log

Day 1: Base wort prepared. Good sugar conversion, proper temperature throughout. Yeast pitched. Should see activity within 24 hours.

Embercap powder prepared (6 caps). Tinctures ready.

Secondary additions: Day 7 or 8, depending on fermentation progress.

Brakka (the mad bastard volunteered)

I stared at the last line, then added another.

System trigger hypothesis: Will it appear again? Dreamcap batches showed it rewards original recipes AND improvements. This is entirely new. Should be significant.

Days until Dulric returns: 34

---

Seven days passed in a blur of normal clan life and obsessive monitoring. The fermentation started within twelve hours, bubbles rising steadily through the wort. I checked it three times a day, watching the activity slow gradually as the yeast consumed available sugars. The smell changed from sweet to slightly alcoholic, the colour deepening to a richer gold.

I spent my mornings in the mines with Thorek, who complained less than usual about my distracted swinging. My afternoons were dedicated to the brew, taking samples, checking progress, preparing for the secondary additions.

On day seven, I judged it ready. The base ale tasted clean, slightly bitter from the hops I'd added on day two, with good alcohol content. Solid enough to support what came next. I heated water in my copper pot, bringing it to a gentle simmer. The embercap powder went in first, stirring until it dissolved completely. The liquid turned faintly orange, and heat radiated from the pot even beyond what the fire should have produced.

"Careful now," I muttered to myself, adding the pepperroot tincture. The liquid darkened immediately, and the smell intensified to something that made my eyes water again. Two ounces exactly, measured three times to be sure.

The ashwillow infusion came last. Four ounces of pale grey liquid that smelled faintly of wood smoke. The moment it hit the mixture, everything seemed to settle, the roiling surface calming to a gentle simmer. I let it steep for thirty minutes, maintaining the temperature carefully. The magical components needed time to integrate, to bind together into something cohesive.

When I finally strained it into my fermentation vessel with the base ale, the colour had shifted to deep amber with orange highlights. Even through the ceramic, I could feel warmth radiating from it. My containment runes flared to life, glowing softly on the vessel's surface. Triple-layer, designed to hold the fire magic in suspension until triggered by the specific chemical reaction of carbonation and stomach acid.

The system hadn't appeared yet. I'd learned from my dreamcap batches that it only triggered upon completion, when something was truly finished and ready. Bottling would be the test. Consumption the proof. But I could feel this one was different. The dreamcap ale had been an improvement on tradition. This was entirely new.

If the system rewarded innovation, this should trigger something significant. I sealed the vessel and set it aside for three more days of secondary fermentation. The magical components needed time to fully integrate before bottling.

I pulled out my notebook.

Day 7: Secondary fermentation initiated. All additions made according to recipe. Containment runes activated successfully. Warmth radiating from vessel as expected.

Day 10: Bottling (projected)

Day 11: Testing (projected)

Days until Dulric returns: 34

Current inventory:

- Dreamcap Ale (improved): 8 bottles

- Dreamcap Ale (standard improved): 8 bottles

- Dreamcap Ale (honeyflower): 8 bottles

- Fire-Belch Ale: 0 bottles (pending)

Total value if all sells: 59+ gold

The curtain rustled. Elder Grimda stood there, her amber beads clicking as she moved closer.

"Heard you bought embercaps from the gardens."

Word travelled fast in the clan. "Aye."

"Fire brewin'?"

"Aye."

She shuffled closer, peering at my setup with the sharp eyes of someone who'd seen seven centuries of foolish apprentices. "Yer containment runes look adequate. Triple-layer was smart. What're you usin' fer the catalyst?"

"Pepperroot tincture."

"Hm. Could work. Could also burn straight through the vessel if you miscalculate." She picked up my notebook without asking, flipping through pages. "You've documented everythin'. That's more than most do."

"Seemed sensible."

"It is sensible. Too many brewers work from memory and tradition, then wonder why their batches vary so much." She set the notebook down, then glanced at the shelves where my dreamcap ale bottles sat in neat rows. "And from what I've heard, you've already got quite the stockpile. Twenty-four bottles of improved dreamcap, aye?"

"You heard about that?"

"Word travels, boy. Always does." She tapped the Fire-Belch fermentation vessel. "You've got the makings of a proper business here. Now you just need to not blow it up."

"I'm being careful."

"Course you are. You've got a methodical mind, lad. Unusual fer someone so young."

I said nothing. How could I explain that my mind wasn't young, rather carrying memories of a completely different life lived to adulthood?

"The Elders are talkin' about you," Grimda continued. "Not badly, mind. Just curious. You sold brew to Dulric, now yer workin' on somethin' ambitious. They're wonderin' if maybe you've found yer callin' after all."

"Instead of minin'?"

"Instead of pretendin' to mine." She gave me a look that was almost fond. "We all know you hate it, boy. Every swing of that pickaxe looks like it pains you. But this?" She gestured at my workspace. "This you do with passion."

"Does it matter? I'm leavin' in ninety years anyway."

"Ninety years is a long time to be miserable. And who says you can't come back? Plenty of dwarves venture out, make their fortune, return when they're ready." She paused. "If you become known as a brewer, a good one, you'll have value anywhere you go. That's worth more than clan blood."

She left before I could respond, her beads clicking down the corridor.

I sat in the silence, thinking about her words.

Value anywhere I went. That's what I needed, wasn't it? The system was one kind of advantage. Skill and reputation were things people could see and respect though. Things that would let me make my way in a world where I'd always be slightly foreign, slightly wrong.

Ten days since I'd started this batch. Ten days of careful measurement, precise timing, methodical documentation. Everything my Earth life had taught me about process and quality control, applied to something that would have been pure fantasy there. And in three days, I'd know if it was worth it.

******

A/N

More cookies for the cookie god.
one of the biggest problems I have is adding suspense into writing.
so will try and get better with it

 

[Kingofdreams]

Chapter 5​

Day ten arrived with the weight of expectation. I woke before the work bell, my mind already racing through the final steps. The secondary fermentation should be complete. The magical components fully integrated. The containment runes stable. Theory met practice today. I pushed through my curtain and made my way to the communal washing station, scrubbing sleep from my eyes. The corridors were still quiet, most of the clan not yet stirring. I preferred it this way. Less noise, less distraction, just me and the work ahead.

Back in my alcove, I lit my lamp and examined the fermentation vessel. The warmth radiating from it had stabilised over the past three days, no longer the intense heat of freshly added embercaps, rather a steady, controlled temperature that suggested the magic had settled properly.

I pulled out my notebook.

Day 10: Bottling day. Vessel temperature stable. No visible issues with containment runes. Proceeding with bottling process.

The ceramic jug felt almost alive in my hands as I carefully unsealed it. The smell hit me immediately. Sharp, peppery, with an underlying sweetness from the barley base and something else. Something that made my nose tingle and my eyes water slightly. Fire magic, properly bound. I had ten bottles prepared, each one cleaned and inscribed with preservation runes over the past week. Getting the brew from vessel to bottle without losing the magical properties would be the tricky part. Too much agitation and the containment could break. Too slow and the magic might begin to dissipate.

I started with a small prayer to the Mountain Fathers, though I wasn't sure they listened to foundlings who brewed fire into ale. The first bottle filled smoothly. The liquid was darker than my dreamcap ale, deep amber with those orange highlights that seemed to shift in the lamplight. I could feel the warmth through the glass as I corked it, then traced a fresh preservation rune across the wax seal. The rune flared briefly, accepting the magic within.

One down. I worked steadily through the rest. Each bottle received the same careful attention, the same precise sealing, the same runic preservation. By the time I sealed the tenth bottle, my hands were shaking slightly. Not from fear, from anticipation.

Ten bottles of Fire-Belch Ale, arranged in a neat row on my workbench. Each one radiating gentle warmth, each one containing magic I'd bound with my own hands and knowledge from a life that shouldn't exist in this world. I sat back on my stool, staring at them. Nothing happened. No glowing text. No system interface. No confirmation of completion.

I frowned. The dreamcap ale had triggered the system immediately upon sealing the final bottle. Why wasn't this working?

"Maybe it needs testing first," I muttered, picking up one of the bottles. "Maybe completion means someone actually drinking it and proving the effect works."

That made a twisted sort of sense. A brew wasn't truly complete until it fulfilled its purpose. The dreamcap ale had been simple enough. Standard intoxication plus mild magical effects. But this? This was supposed to make someone belch fire. Until that happened, until the mechanism proved functional, the system might not consider it finished.

Which meant I needed Brakka.

I found him in the Hall, already working through a bowl of morning porridge whilst arguing with another young miner about the proper depth for copper veins.

"Brakka."

He turned, saw my expression, and grinned wide enough to show all his teeth. "It's ready?"

"Aye. If you're still willing."

"Willing? I've been counting the days!" He shoved his bowl at his companion and bounded over. "Where? Your quarters? Should we get Elder Grimda to watch? What if something goes wrong?"

"Slow down." I grabbed his shoulder before he could race off. "We do this careful. Small sips first. You stop immediately if anything feels wrong. And yes, we should probably have someone with healing knowledge nearby."

His enthusiasm dimmed slightly. "You really think it could go that wrong?"

"I think I've bound fire magic into a drinkable liquid using methods I invented based on theory and guesswork. I think caution is warranted."

"Right. Caution. I can do caution." He paused. "After I try it though."

I shook my head. Some things never changed. Brakka's enthusiasm was going to get him killed one day, hopefully not today.

We found Elder Grimda in her workshop, a chamber filled with enchanting tools and half-finished projects. She looked up from a piece of stone she was carving runes into, her expression shifting from annoyance at the interruption to interest when she saw us.

"The fire brew's ready then?"

Word really did travel too fast in this clan.

"Aye. Brakka volunteered to test it. I wanted someone with healing knowledge present in case things go wrong."

"In case you burn his throat out, you mean." Grimda set down her carving tool and stood, joints popping. "Right then. Let's see if you've made something brilliant or something catastrophically stupid."

We returned to my quarters, the three of us barely fitting in the cramped space. I retrieved one of the bottles from my workbench, holding it up to the lamplight.

"This is Fire-Belch Ale. The theory is simple. Embercap powder provides the fire essence, pepperroot tincture acts as a catalyst triggered by stomach acid and carbonation, ashwillow bark binds everything together. The containment runes should hold the magic dormant until the triggering reaction occurs, then release it in a controlled fashion through the drinker's exhalation."

"Controlled fashion," Grimda repeated. "Define controlled."

"Small flames. Thirty seconds maximum. Harmless if done properly."

"And if not done properly?"

"Then Brakka's eyebrows join the last fool who tried fire brewing without proper containment."

Brakka laughed. "My eyebrows are magnificent. Be a shame to lose them."

I uncorked the bottle, and the smell filled my small alcove. Sharp, peppery, with that underlying tingle of bound magic. Grimda leaned closer, inhaling carefully.

"The binding work feels solid," she said after a moment. "Can't speak to the ratios though. That's yer own madness."

"Comforting." I poured a small measure into a wooden cup, perhaps two mouthfuls worth. "Start with this. Sip it slow. Pay attention to how it feels going down."

Brakka took the cup with hands that barely trembled. His earlier enthusiasm had evolved into something more focused. He understood the stakes now, even if he wouldn't admit to being nervous.

He raised the cup in a mock salute. "To mad brewers and magnificent eyebrows." Then he drank.

The first sip went down smoothly. Brakka's eyes widened slightly.

"It's good. Really good. Bit of heat, sweet though, and the flavour..." He took another sip. "It's like drinking a campfire, the good parts though."

I watched him carefully. No immediate adverse reactions. No choking, no pain, no signs of internal burning. He drained the cup and set it down, smacking his lips.

"Well?" Grimda asked. "Feel anything unusual?"

"Warm. Like I swallowed sunshine. And there's this tingly feeling in my chest, like something's building up." His eyes went wide. "Oh. Oh, I think I need to..."

The belch started deep in his chest, audible even before it reached his throat. When it emerged, so did the flames.

A small gout of orange fire erupted from Brakka's mouth, perhaps thirty centimetres long, bright and clean and unmistakably real. The flames lasted exactly the five seconds I'd calculated for a two-mouthful dose, hot enough that I felt the warmth on my face from across my tiny alcove.

Then they stopped. Brakka stood there, eyes wide as plates, mouth hanging open.

"I just breathed fire."

"Aye," I managed, my own heart pounding.

"I. Just. Breathed. FIRE!" He whooped, the sound echoing off stone walls. "That was incredible! Did you see it? Did you see the flames? I'm a dragon! I'm a bloody dragon!"

Grimda was staring at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "You actually did it. You mad little bastard, you actually did it."

The world exploded into light.

Words blazed across my vision, that same incomprehensible script that definitely wasn't dwarven.

BREW ANALYSIS COMPLETE

Fire-Belch Ale - Journeyman Quality

Alcohol Content: 6.8%

Magical Infusion: High

Effects: Controlled pyrotechnic exhalation, duration scales with consumption, mild euphoria, warming sensation

Market Value: 3 gold per bottle

WARNING: Not suitable for children or those with respiratory conditions

ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: First of Its Kind

Created a completely original brew with no existing precedent

Bonus Experience Awarded

Brewing Experience Gained: 1500 XP

LEVEL UP!

Current Level: Apprentice Brewer (Level 3)

Progress: 1700/5000 XP

LEVEL UP!

Current Level: Apprentice Brewer (Level 4)

Progress: 2700/10000 XP

LEVEL UP!

Current Level: Journeyman Brewer (Level 5)

Progress: 4200/25000 XP

RANK ADVANCEMENT: Apprentice → Journeyman

New Ability Unlocked: Ingredient Analysis

You may now focus on any brewing ingredient to receive detailed information about its properties, potential applications, and optimal combinations.

The text hung there, burning against my vision whilst Brakka continued celebrating and Grimda continued staring. Fifteen hundred experience points. Three level ups. A rank advancement. A new ability.

And a market value of three gold per bottle.

I had ten bottles.

Thirty gold.

That was enough to... Mountain Fathers, that was enough to do almost anything. Buy better equipment. Secure proper workshop space. Maybe even start building a reputation beyond Clan Durn-Kahl.

The text faded, leaving me blinking spots from my vision.

"Gosdrunli?" Grimda's voice cut through my daze. "You alright, boy? Look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine. Just... processing."

"Processing what? That you've created something completely new? That every young fool in the kingdom is going to want to try this?" She picked up one of the remaining bottles, examining it closely. "This is marketable. Really marketable. And dangerous enough that people'll pay premium for the experience."

"Three gold per bottle," I said without thinking.

Both of them stared at me.

"Three gold?" Brakka's voice cracked slightly. "You think someone'll pay three gold for a bottle of this?"

"I think they'll pay more." Grimda set the bottle down carefully. "I think you've got no idea what you're sitting on, boy. This goes beyond skilled brewing. Every tavern from here to the capital would stock this if they could get it."

She was right, I realised. The system had valued it at three gold, that was probably the baseline. Wholesale. What would a tavern charge for a single mug? What would nobles pay for the novelty?

"I need to talk to Dulric," I said. "He's due back in... how long?"

"Thirty-five days, give or take," Grimda said. "Depends on the weather and what deals he strikes in the southern clans. You've got time though."

I pulled out my notebook, mind already racing through calculations.

Fire-Belch Ale - First Successful Batch

10 bottles completed

Effect confirmed: 2 mouthfuls = 5 seconds of flame (approx. 30cm)

Test subject: Brakka (survived with eyebrows intact)

Market value: 3 gold minimum per bottle

Days until Dulric returns: ~35

Current inventory:

- Fire-Belch Ale: 10 bottles (30 gold value)

- Dreamcap Ale (various): 24 bottles (29 gold value)

Total potential: 59 gold

Time available: Could brew 2-3 more Fire-Belch batches before Dulric returns

I looked up at Grimda. "How much trouble am I going to get from the Elders for this?"

"Trouble?" She laughed, the sound harsh but not unkind. "Boy, you just created something that could bring serious coin into the clan. The Elders are going to throw you a feast, not trouble."

"Even though I'm leaving in ninety years?"

"Ninety years is a long time to profit from your work. And who knows? Maybe you'll decide to stay." She moved towards the curtain, pausing to look back. "Get ready for Dulric, lad. This is going to change things."

She left, her amber beads clicking down the corridor.

Brakka was still grinning like a fool, occasionally burping small puffs of flame that made him giggle. The effect was wearing off though, each subsequent belch producing less fire until finally they stopped altogether.

"That was the best thing I've ever drunk," he said seriously. "I'd pay three gold for that experience. Maybe more."

"You're not paying anything. You risked your throat for me."

"Aye, and it was worth it." He clapped me on the shoulder. "You're going to be famous, Gosdrunli. The foundling brewer who taught dwarves to breathe fire. That's a legacy worth having."

He left still grinning, probably to tell everyone in the Hall about his newfound dragon powers. I sat alone in my alcove, surrounded by nine remaining bottles of Fire-Belch Ale and one empty that had changed everything.

Footsteps approached. Heavy, deliberate, the kind that came from six centuries of walking stone corridors.

"Heard my apprentice made somethin' that turns dwarves into dragons."

Thorek filled my doorway, his grey beard freshly braided, his expression unreadable.

"Not dragons. Just... fire-breathing."

"Close enough." He stepped inside, eyeing the bottles. "Brakka's tellin' everyone in the Hall. Won't shut up about it. Half the clan thinks he's mad, other half wants to try it themselves."

I said nothing. Thorek picked up one of the bottles, holding it to the light with surprising gentleness for his thick fingers.

"You never belonged in the mines, boy. We both knew it." He set the bottle down. "Didn't stop me from tryin' to teach you proper though. Thought maybe you'd find your way to stone eventually, given enough time."

"I'm sorry I disappointed you."

"Disappointed?" Thorek snorted. "Boy, I'm six hundred and twelve years old. I've trained forty-seven apprentices in my time. You know how many became master miners?"

I shook my head.

"Thirty-two. Good dwarves, all of them. Competent. Reliable. Not a spark of brilliance among 'em." He tapped the Fire-Belch bottle. "You know how many created somethin' entirely new?"

"None?"

"None." His expression softened, just slightly. "You're not a miner, Gosdrunli. Never will be. But you're a brewer. A damn good one, from what I'm hearin'. That's worth more than swingin' a pickaxe with proper form."

The words hit harder than I'd expected. I'd spent three years thinking Thorek merely tolerated me, counting down until I left.

"I'll still finish my mining obligations until I'm a hundred-twenty."

"Aye, you will. Contract's a contract." He moved toward the door, pausing at the curtain. "But maybe I'll stop complainin' about your shite form. Seems pointless now."

"Thorek?"

He glanced back.

"Thank you. For teaching me anyway."

"Hmph. Don't get sentimental on me, boy. Makes my beard itch." But there was something almost like a smile tugging at his mouth as he left.

I sat in the silence after he'd gone, feeling something settle in my chest. Not quite acceptance. Not quite belonging. But maybe the beginning of both. The system was real. It levelled. It provided new abilities. And it had just confirmed that I'd created something worth thirty gold at minimum. I pulled the copper ring out from beneath my shirt, holding it in the lamplight. Whoever had left me at those gates thirty years ago, whatever they'd expected me to become, I doubted it was this. A brewer with a crafting system and fire magic in bottles. I tucked the ring back and opened my notebook to a fresh page. Time to see what this new ability could do.

I picked up one of the remaining embercaps I'd saved, focusing on it the way the system description suggested.

Text flickered across my vision.

INGREDIENT ANALYSIS

Common Embercap (Dried)

Primary Property: Fire essence (moderate)

Secondary Properties: Warming, digestive aid

Magical Affinity: High

Best Used In: Heating potions, fire-aligned brews, winter tonics

Pairs Well With: Pepperroot, ashwillow, cinnamon bark, honey

Warning: Excessive consumption may cause fever

The information settled into my mind like I'd always known it. I could feel the potential in the mushroom, sense how it would interact with other ingredients. This was going to change everything. I spent the next hour testing the ability on the ingredients I had left. The bitterleaf revealed unexpected synergies with cooling herbs. The sweetroot suggested combinations I'd never considered. Even the barley showed subtle variations in starch content that affected fermentation.

By the time I finished, my head ached from processing so much information, but I had ideas. New recipes. Improvements to existing formulas. The work bell rang for midday meal, but I barely heard it.

Thirty-five days until Dulric returned. Thirty-five days to prepare. I had inventory worth nearly sixty gold if I could sell it all. I had a system that rewarded innovation and improvement. I had abilities that let me understand ingredients at a level no other brewer could match. And I had fire in bottles.

Time to see how far I could go.

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A/N
Enjoy - it will go up to Chapter 7, then twice a week will update.