Chapter 80

Return to Simple Days

Since BarnacleEyes was becoming more proficient in brewing goblin spit beer, I had been able to step away for a bit of time here and there to continue coopering sapling bound barrels. I did so at the threshold of the brewery where I could gaze out into the wilderness and watch it drizzle on and off. BarnacleEyes joined me from time to time between her tasks and unhappily ate the food I’d been making for us. She hated vegetables, roots, salads, soups, and herbs. The only food she didn’t seem to mind were raw onions, salted fish, and the occasional clove of raw garlic.

I’d taken a brief moment in the morning to brew and harvest on the ethereal plane and I finally surpassed level 500, with Brewer’s Harvest trailing right behind by only a few levels. Most exciting was bringing Brewer’s Bubble up to level 54, allowing me to use it on 1 gallon batches.

In addition to reaching higher levels, I earned the Hop Wallop skill. It was a simple skill, but much better than having to navigate through my inventory for hops, and then to add them by hand while in the middle of brewing. Having Hop Wallop was a breath of relief, and since the skill was so simple, I had a hunch it was going to level to awesome potential. It couldn’t just stay a simple skill indefinitely.

“I’m on the last one,” BarnacleEyes said, pitching a barrel with yeast. “That oughta do it. So what’s next?”

“Well,” I said, hanging up my tools, “I was thinking of foraging. It’s only drizzling and I wouldn’t mind a nice walk.”

BarnacleEyes was set on going to her cove to try and build another raft instead of foraging with me. I wished her luck, grabbed my axe, and headed northeast after retrieving a small bottle of beer from the cellar. The drizzle was light enough to break into sheets of mist. Spokes of sunlight appeared every now and then to light the ferns.

I followed no trail, instead choosing to carefully cross through the thick layer of shrubs. When I reached the conifers where the forest floor was a carpet of pine needles, I sat beneath an old tree that bled resin. Then I added a new beer to my collector’s journal.

[Victor. Lager.]

[Brewery Eifendotch.]

[Silver. 42/100 Respectable.]

[Brewed in the small town of Eifendotch with aged Eifendotch hops and Aken hops. Brewed with bottom fermenting lager yeast.]

A silver ranked lager with no attributes. I poured it in one of my tall and narrow glass pitchers. The beer was frothy and hazy. The foam built and sat upon the lager like a dollop of meringue.

The malty flavors were light and straightforward. The hops were a distant flavor, but the beer had a haze to it that was thick. It went down with a texture as though it were full of ice crystals. The balance was incredible. I could taste the fields that bore the barley. I could taste the grain kiln. The hops were almost a secret, but they were there with faint esters of lemon. The foam was an airy sort of desert on its own. It melted like cotton candy into streams of marshmallow colored ribbons that twirled with the malt of the beer in every sip.

I closed my eyes and immersed every one of my senses into the experience.

This is the sort of beer I want to brew. Something astounding. Something delicious. Something that grabs you by the soul and makes you fall in love with the world all over again.

The experience ended too soon. The bottle was empty and I reveled in the last drop.

With pine needles and sap stuck to my clothes, I wandered through the conifers. I turned westward and arrived at the coast hours later. I came upon a stretch of raspberries that were just starting to flower. Fiddleheads uncoiled in the woods and I picked two bushels worth and stored them in my inventory. Since I was near the apple trees, I collected 6 bushels worth of ripe and unripened apples.

Though Thrush was gone, I was delighted to see the signs of animal life. There were deer tracks that moved along the coast. I came upon droppings a few times and a nest of ticks that I had to brush off and search my clothes and body for.

I then came upon the larger pellets of moose poop in piles that ran northeast from the coast. Woodpeckers knocked in the canopy. Grackles hissed, spit, and choked. The chickadees performed their fee-bee and chick-a-dee-dee-dee calls.

The sounds of the wilderness accompanied me, and later in the day, after watching the sun glint off the sea for a brief break, I followed the coast south. I came upon a span of cleanly cut trees. A strong breeze blew through the open area. The sea was exposed and I could see hundreds of goblin freebooter ships in the distance.

I sighed and then continued following the coast until I came to the port that orcs guarded. Then I took my trail back to my cabin where I prepared some chicory root tea. After spot cleaning sap and stuck pine needles from my wool sweater, I sat in last year's garden and contemplated what I would plant.

Until the last vestiges of daylight, I tilled the garden after weeding new spring growth. I planted several varieties of squash, tomatoes, and peas.

By the time I hit the bed, I could barely keep my eyes open. The night passed in the blink of an eye, but it was filled with a dozen different dreams. I spent another morning brewing with BarnacleEyes and grinding my skills on the ethereal plane while I planned my next beers. I wanted to break another quality barrier and I had several beers in mind to brew that might help me with that.

The first one I wanted to brew was my hoppy beer, but with double the hops. I wanted to see how far I could push the hoppy aroma. The second beer was a spontaneity apple beer. The third was an imperial stout. Each one was out of my wheelhouse but I would spend the next few months working as hard as I could to reach silver rank. I had to be ready to use Alchemical Control if and when Thrush returned with the cowbell root. If he was going through the effort and risk to acquire the ingredient, the least I could do was be prepared to use it.