Chapter 29

The Hunt Begins.

Abigail Yak

“-are you?” I said.

The brewer vanished. He was gone as quickly as he had appeared, but I knew how he came to be here. He’d gotten his hands on my Heart of Time Ale. Most likely through a quest path reward.

It was uncommon for adventurers to receive one of my beers in a loot box. A legendary one, of course. Even rarer still for a brewer to get his hands on one. What surprised me the most was not the visit—or attempt thereof—but the fact that it failed. Which meant that the brewer was quite inexperienced and wasted a perfectly good brewer’s portal attribute beer.

He drank it. Instead of selling it. Or saving it. How odd.

The only possible explanation was that the man was inexperienced. Otherwise he’d be standing here in my garden. What a poor choice on his part; drinking such a valuable beer.

Tsk.

The man was bronze ranked at best. Only part of his form had been visible. I had felt the brewer’s portal before it happened and I was prepared to have to deal with the infamous diamond ranked Margeaux and her exhausting demands. It was only ever her who came to see me. When I realized it wasn’t her, I was pleasantly surprised. It was nice to see a new face.

The brewer was a few years younger than me. Quite unkempt, as though he’d been lost in the woods for some time, but there was a handsomeness in his eyes somewhere. There was a peacefulness about him that was comforting to be around.

I bent back to my task of tending to my garden before the northern snows arrived. I tried to go about clearing debris from the garden, but I often found myself pausing to think back on the encounter earlier. I couldn’t remove my mind from the event. Why would such a low rank brewer drink something so valuable? Why not hold on to it, if selling it wasn't of any interest to him? It wasn’t often that my curiosity was so piqued and I decided to reach out to Potere himself.

Crafting a beacon ale was a trifle effort for me. Calling upon a god was no easy task, and even Fable Stones were known to fail at times. Let alone let you choose which god you seek.

I lifted a hand out and channeled my gold rank brewer skills.

[Brewer’s Harvest. Level 3045.]

[Brewer’s Bubble. Level 3680.]

[Brewer’s Fire and Roast. Level 3128.]

[Brewer’s Hop Wallop. Level 3117.]

[Brewer’s Chill. Level 3210.]

[Brewer’s Kiss of Yeast. Level 3001.]

[Brewer’s Flash Ferment. Level 3068.]

[Brewer’s Foam Cascade. Level 3111.]

[Brewer’s Alchemical Control. Level 3420.]

Crystal barley seeds flew from the space of my inventory, out into the world and into the soil around me. Grass grew from those seeds until they were just taller than me. The grass turned from green to a bronze and gold color. The grain heads grew, and when the kernels were ripened, they plucked off their heads and raced toward me. In the blink of an eye, the kernels were malted and lightly roasted.

I lifted my other hand, drawing water from a waterskin in my inventory. The crystal clear spring water ran in a laminar stream towards the floating grains. Together they formed a large bubble. Steam began to rise from the bubble as it quickly increased in temperature. Bubbles raced from the bottom of the sphere to the top. The grains bled a pale straw color as they steeped. I withdrew vibrantly green Yak hops from a coiled vine in my inventory. They plucked off the vine and soared straight into the floating sphere of mash. With a wave of my hand, I filtered out the grain and hops, leaving a murky, pale-gold bubble of wort. I focused on the temperature and rapidly cooled the beer, then pitched it with an isolated strain of wild yeast from these very hills. The beer then rapidly fermented.

With another gesture, I withdrew a small vial of blood from my inventory. Potere’s blood. Off came the cork, and a single drop of the god’s blood sailed forth and splashed into the floating bubble of fermented beer. The sphere contained a brief explosion and when everything settled and foam started to build at the top of the bubble, I held out a glass bottle. With but a flick of my finger, I guided the liquid into the bottle and suppressed the foam down to the middle of the neck.

[Potere’s Beacon has been crafted.]

[Gold Rank. Level 34/100 Mythic.]

[Abigail Yak’s Original Brew.]

[Special Attributes: Beacon Call of the Gods. Call’s upon a specific god. May or may not be answered based on the discretion of the god.]

“Save that for another time,” a familiar voice said from beside me.

“Potere,” I said. “My god.” I corked the beer and stored it in my inventory.

“I knew you would call upon me when I sensed my blood spill in your world,” Potere said.

“Yes. Of course,” I said. “The strangest thing just happened. One of your brewers drank one of my beers with the portal attribute. A lower rank brewer. Such a waste.”

“Not one of mine,” Potere growled. “The fool chose a different god when he took the brewer’s path.”

“A god other than the god of drink?” I said. “What sense does that make? No wonder I found the circumstance strange.”

Potere huffed. “The man rejected me in the most insolent way. He interrupted me and didn’t care one iota on hearing what I had to say.”

“Ignorance?” I said.

“A bit of that, yes.” Potere ground his teeth and clenched his jaw. He looked off into the distance. Salt crystals hung from his beard. Deep wrinkles cartographed his face.

“What god did he choose?” I said.

Potere huffed and shook his head. “Dellia Lucerne.”

“I haven’t heard of her,” I said.

Potere smiled. “Of course not. She’s not as great as I am.”

The god stood straighter and tensed his muscles, flexing for show. His smile killed me and I blushed. Mirth faded from his face as he relaxed and looked back out over the hills and towards the mountains. He was silent for a moment.

“You’re troubled,” I said.

“I don’t like the man. Hawkin is his name.”

“Hawkin,” I said. “Shall I eliminate him?”

Potere leaned back upon an invisible support and rubbed a hand over his beard.

“Is it the man that bothers you?” I said. “Is it that he insulted you? Or that he chose another god over you?”

Potere shot a look my way. His eyes darkened. Anger and blood heated his features. He clenched his jaw. Then his features relaxed in a defeated resignation just before he responded. “He may turn out to be a good brewer.”

“Wow. Praise. Coming from you.”

“Watch it, Abigail.”

“Apologies, my god.”

“I can’t help but feel that he was stolen from me,” Potere continued.

“By the other god? Dellia?”

“Yes.” Potere shot up and gesticulated. “She’s not even a goddess of beer. Of ale. Of water, even!”

“Then what is she a goddess of?” I said.

“She’s a Planes Cutter.”

“A Planes Cutter? As in, dungeon entrances? Portals? Other realms? The ethereal?”

Potere hung his head. “Yes, Abigail.”

“That’s why she didn’t warn him from drinking my ale with the portal attribute. That’s what I’m assuming at least. He could have portaled completely through and been stuck here with no way to return besides by foot.”

“He couldn’t have portaled. Not possible at his level,” Potere said.

“She’s encouraging him to explore some of the most rewarding magics of the brewer path,” I said. “That’s… Has that been done before? It wasn’t introduced to me until I reached silver rank.”

“I don’t know what Dellia is up to. I refuse to speak with her.”

“She’s really gotten under your skin, hasn’t she?” I said.

“They both have!” Potere said, raising his voice and making fists. “Hawkin was mine! That ungrateful mortal was mine! As long as I have influence in this world, I’ll be sure he regrets ever disrespecting me.”

Potere’s angered words echoed in the valleys all around. The clouds trembled in the distance. I involuntarily stepped away from the god and swallowed.

“How can I help?” I said.

Potere ground his teeth and took a long meditative breath. “Dellia said something that I can’t get out of my head. She said that Hawkin has done something. I quote: ‘There’s something you’ve done with yourself. Something that has opened you to become one of the greatest brewers your world has ever seen.’”

“I-I don’t see how that’s possible,” I said.

“I don’t see it either, but I don’t think Dellia said that to manipulate him into choosing her. He had other reasons. He didn’t want to travel and go on adventures, or something.”

“He doesn’t want to travel or… Wait a minute. What sort of man do we have on our hands here? He doesn’t want to fulfill the basic needs of an adventurer and he’s done something to make himself the best brewer in the world? I can see why this troubles you.”

“I don’t want Dellia to be known as a better god of drink than me. It’s a matter of pride and influence. If I lose a mind of influence, I will wage a war upon her.”

“We have Margeaux. How can anyone best Margeaux? I don’t think this Hawkin could become one of the greatest brewers.”

Potere smiled. “Margeaux. Yes. That’s why I’m not too troubled.”

“I’d like to help,” I said.

“Find him. Find out what he did with himself that may help him become one of the greatest brewers we’ve ever seen.”

“Why not ask Dellia where he is?”

“I already said I won’t speak with her. There are other things that require my attention, and finding someone whom you have no influence over is a lot of legwork for a god.”

“Any clues?”

“Last I saw him, he was wearing an oversized wool sweater. This was just before your winter started, so perhaps one of the northern cities where it’s colder?”

“I’ll get ready and leave in one week,” I said.