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Interlude 2: Blue Opal

“What did Pete call it?” Opal mused as she took another sip. “A Lager.” She personally preferred the sweeter Solenbrau to Ale. Almost all Solenbrau in the city was made using yeast from that very first Keg. The same was true of nearly all the Beer in the city. Dwarven Brewmasters owed their craft to the First Brew, and in recognition they all used the yeasts from that very first batch. Solenbrau being the exception of course.

Opal peered into her tankard, which was now nearly empty. Exception. There was the problem. Was it an exception, or had Solenbrau simply happened so long ago that it had been given the opportunity to grow? The fight after the Radler incident had been vicious. She had fixed at least a dozen black eyes and a broken arm. Someone had even shaved another dwarf’s beard! It was unheard of! Poor Tim would take years to grow back his cropped beard, if it ever grew back the same at all. Some of the camp were still not quite on speaking terms, and that was simply not the dwarven way. She didn’t know what was going to happen if Pete ever got free from the camp and started to bring his ideas down into the city. There could be actual civil unrest.

All over beer. Opal shook her head, scandalized at her own thoughts. It was beer! The Brew of the Dwarves! And yet… and yet that was all it was. If beer disappeared tomorrow, dwarves would still be dwarves. They’d wake up in the morning and work hard, follow the laws as set forth by the ancestors, and find something new to fight over in the mess hall. Then they would shake hands, laugh, and do it all again the next day. These grudges and dark mutterings in defense of beer… they were undwarvish!

What could be done though? At this point beer was one of the most sacred traditions. Entire family lines were dedicated to the protection of the yeasts and malts of the founder. Proud adventurers went into the dungeon each day risking their lives to bring out the herbs and spices used to flavor the wort. All “As the First Brewer Intended”. What, did they think that the First Brewer was a God? He was simply another Dwarf, blessed by Tiara and Barck, the first to be granted a Title related to beer. If it could happen once, surely it could happen again?

“Everythin alright Opal?” A voice asked by her side. She turned to see Bran standing next to her table carrying a cream puff on a delicate plate. She loved cream puffs! Truly, she was spoiled here. When she had first gotten the job as Camp Doctor, she had been worried that the food would not meet her exacting criteria. She had considered bringing her own personal chef, but she wanted to fit in with the convicts as best as she could. She had sat down for her first dinner expecting to be disappointed and been pleasantly surprised. The roast beef had been succulent and the erdroot had actually been moist instead of powdery. The two had combined so perfectly with the beer that had she wondered where she was. This was prison fare?! She’d burst into the kitchen to see the chef and run right into Bran, knocking him over and covering him with gravy. She was still a bit embarrassed about that to this day.

“Everything’s fine Bran. Thank you for the dessert. Could I have another Radler, please?”

“Aye, one more Radler comin up. Yer gonna be the heaviest drinker in camp soon Opal!”

“Well, if you keep making such delicious concoctions what choice do I have?” The two of them laughed as Bran went to pour her another drink. Opal watched him as he worked. He had lost a lot of his angry edge in the thirty years since they’d started working together.

Apparently, Bran’s family had owned a café that catered to Gnomes. It was a strange occupation for Dwarves, but Gold was Gold. The cafe was bought out by a gnomish consortium and his parents retired, but Bran had been upset. He’d gone back to the café and thrown rocks through every window. He had been arrested and placed in the prison camp. As the only dwarf capable of cooking, he quickly became head chef. His indenture had ended over a decade ago, but he liked how much everyone in the camp appreciated his food. When she asked him about it, he’d said: “Nobody enjoys food like a Dwarf who spent all day mining fer gold he’ll never own.”

“What gave you and Pete the idea for the Radler, Bran?” She asked, her mouth full of sweet dessert. “And what on Erd did you add to this cream puff?” Bran made his way back with the tankard and placed it down on the table. He tugged at the braids in his beard before finally speaking.

“Ta be honest Opal, ‘twas all Pete’s idea. He let me have summa tha credit, but all I did was pour.” Opal arched her eyebrows as he continued. “Tha cream-puffs ave lavender in em. That was Pete’s idea too.”

“Oh? How many of the confections you\'ve made recently have been Pete’s idea?” Opal watched in amusement as Bran squirmed for a while before answering.

“All of em… I made ‘em and even improved on summa his crazier ideas, but they’re all his recipes.”

“So I really have Pete to thank for all these delicacies?”

“Aye… but! I made ‘em all! Pete’s an ok cook, but he’s got nothin on me!” Bran protested.

“I see.” Opal decided to tease the chef a little. “Well, I do appreciate a dwarf that’s able to come up with so many wonderful recipes. He’s so industrious and inventive!” Opal giggled internally as Bran grew pinker and pinker as she spoke. She was aware of his feelings, and the two of them had been dancing around the issue for years. She could tell that Bran was too ashamed of his past as an ex-convict to make any serious advances. She wasn’t a noble or anything, but she came from a very prestigious family with a lot of Titled individuals. She had been raised to be one of the elites since birth, and her work here in the mines was merely a stepping-stone to higher things. Bran… was an ex-convict child of restauranteurs. There was no real shame in doing time in a prison mine, but Opal knew the convicts rarely felt the same way.

However, if she was honest with herself…. She quite liked Bran. Opal blushed a bit and hid it in her tankard. He was kind, well groomed, and had a sweet smell from all his work in the kitchen. He had a jolly laugh and got along well with others. He was probably the most liked dwarf in the entire camp, even if you included Balin. However… now was not the time. She had to focus on her work as camp Doctor until she was done her tenure. After that though, when she returned to Minnova? Maybe she would sit down and have a chat with Bran. For now, she had other more pressing concerns.

“Well Bran, Pete may have some good ideas, but it’s your cooking I love.” Opal smiled brightly at Bran and he reddened further. “If it means I get more Radlers and Lavender Cream Puffs I give you permission to let Pete use my personal supplies for any of his crazy ideas.”

“Are… are ye sure? He was mentioning somthin about boilin beer and addin milk...” Bran’s brow furrowed as he spoke.

“You have my permission. Let’s see what Pete makes for us next.” Beer and milk? What in the nether would that even taste like? Would it be… sweet?