Chapter 25

A Rusted Turret

The Honey Wick’s clone brew was the first to finish fermentation. Then the Greater Poor Man’s ales, and finally the firkin. The firkin was sort of a problem. The amount of blue smoke that came from the container was too much for my cabin to handle. The fire in the stove was smothered out. Even the cellar was filled with blue. Opening the front door helped only a little and I had to struggle to start another fire to keep the beers at a good temperature to keep up fermentation. I was cold, hungry, and tired.

On the final day of fermentation, I fanned out the blue smoke for hours, keeping the stove in the fire burning, and closing the door for only a few minutes at a time in an attempt to keep it warm. I ended up wrapping the beers in my bedding for insulation.

All that effort paid off. My system notification told me each time a beer was finished fermenting. I corked each one and set the gourds in the cellar. The firkin and clone brew were kept out.

I hadn’t yet opened the clone brew because I had it in my mind that Thrush would be here to share it with. Alas, I simply had to enjoy it without him. That was the reality.

When the clone brew was sufficiently chilled, I popped it open. A nut brown foam rose into the neck and mushroomed over the edge. The foam was dull and light brown. It hissed and a faint scent of roasted malts permeated the air.

I poured a drop onto a new page of my collector’s journal and then filled my copper mug. The ale smelled of roasted and burnt grains. Esters of the yeast bombarded my senses, and I was worried my clone brew would fail the quest objective.

There was only one way to find out. I put myself at the threshold of my cabin, leaned against the jamb, and gazed out into the melting snowscape. Now that Thrush was absent, winter birds had returned. They chirped and moved from bough to bough like mindful arrows.

I took my first sip. The flavor was rough, and there was a bit too much burnt aftertaste. I thought I had been careful when roasting.

System notifications popped up with the details, and it matched with the collector’s journal. Though the original was common, my clone brew was considered uncommon. Then another notification came up.

[Quest Objective: Clone Honey Wicks Brown Ale. Complete.]

[Clone accuracy: 12%]

[Reward: Twenty uncommon brewer’s loot chests. Two rare brewer’s loot chests. One legendary brewer’s loot chest]

[Rewards have been added to your inventory]

“Yes!” I said, feeling totally refreshed from my achievement. Even though my accuracy was quite low.

I was looking forward to the loot chests, because I was running out of ingredients. I planned on brewing my next beer right away. The day seemed peaceful enough now that the storm had totally abated and the sun was starting to come through these past days. It’s the only way I wanted to spend a quiet day.

Wait a minute…

It was too quiet. The bird’s had been active just a few minutes ago. It had slipped my attention that they’d suddenly gone quiet. Not a moment later, they leapt off from the canopy in a hurry, crying out and flashing away.

That’s not good. I wonder what spooked them? Last time the birds had been acting strange was when Thrush…

Could it be?

I grabbed my axe and left the cabin, peering through the woods opposite the direction of the birds’ flight. I saw nothing, but I felt unsettled. There was no sense in seeking out danger, so I stayed put, keeping an eye out.

When the earth began to shake beneath my feet, I became increasingly unsettled. As the moments drew by, the earth shook more violently with the pattern of a running giant slamming soles into the earth.

Beyond what I could see, trees sounded as though they were being ripped from their roots. A violence of plowed snow and slush sounded like an avalanche. When I began to see trees come crashing down in massive arcs, I braced myself and glanced at the open door of my cabin from the corner of my eye. I wasn’t sure how much protection my cabin would offer me against whatever was headed my way.

Thrush came barreling over a fallen tree, leaping higher than the height of my cabin. He was a monstrous sight to behold. His features were similar to when I’d first met him, with much rounder ears, but much greener eyes. Eyes that seemed to be made of layered lichen and moss. His cheeks were thrice the size of his belly and I could see the outlines of objects, or food. Most impressive, however, was the massive harpoon turret he carried upon his back like it was but a pillow.

Thrush kept up his run, stomping deafeningly into the ground, sending waves of slush and snow flying in great arcs. The ground shook with each booming step he took until he slid to a halt right in front of me.

He panted like no beast I’d ever seen pant before. His eyes throbbed a manic pattern.

“T-Thrush?” I said, not sure where to start. After a moment, I realized that he had returned with the metal he was after. The turret. “Thrush! You did it! How-what-where-where did you find that?”

The weapon was old, rusted, and bent at the feet where it would have been bolted down. One of the feet still had a bolt in it, and it was still pinching a broken plank of wood.

“Did you take that from a ship?” I said, imagining Thrush taking down a massive Orc ship and taking their turret.

Thrush let the turret drop. It sank through snow, and I was positive it broke the earth beneath. Thrush yawned a colossal yawn, revealing six barrels. Six, five gallon barrels. Stuffed into his cheeks.

One by one, he pulled them out and tossed the gloopy barrels beside the turret.

“Hawkin,” Thrush said, though the word was distorted from his stretched cheeks. “I found what I was after. Easy find.”

“I’m… I’m quite impressed,” I said. “You must be cold. Come on in, I’ll make some hot tea for you. I’ve got some leftover squash soup I can heat up as well.”

“Do you have any smoked fish?”

“No. No, but I’ll tell you what. Let’s eat and drink what we have. Then we can smoke some fish.”

I turned and beckoned Thrush to follow. I turned back around when I heard a slushy splat. Thrush had fallen face first into the snow. I rushed over to him, and despite my efforts, I couldn’t roll him over. I only stopped when I heard him snoring.

My efforts to wake him were fruitless. I couldn’t turn him, he was way heavier than he looked. All I could do was cover him in some bedding, fresh off the firkin.

Not sure if that’s going to do you any good, but it's the best I can do, buddy. When you wake, we’ll share a few beers and you’ll tell me all about how you ended up with a bunch of barrels and a turret. In the meantime, I’ll bring the barrels in and… I guess I’ll just leave the turret where it is.