As we broke up, Aqua caught my attention and pulled me over.

    “Aye, what is it?” I asked, giving her an eyebrow waggle.

    “You didn’t make time for therapy last week,” she accused.

    I grimaced. “Sorry, I was doin’ some axe throwing with Balin and Annie. It was meant to be therapy. I wanted ta see what it is they get up to, and spend some, y’know, family time.. ”

    Aqua rolled her eyes. “Schmoozing, that’s what they get up to.”

    I nodded, chagrined. “Aye, that and a lot of actually hitting the target. I managed one in three or so. Not bad, I’ve practiced before, but not great.”

    Aqua sighed. “And I’m certain they spent a lot of time talking about hitball and then compared throwing techniques.”

    “Ugh. Yes, how do they even have time to keep up with hitball stats!?”

    “They make time.”

    “Young couples. I tell ya.”

    Aqua arched her brows. “They’re older than you.”

    “Meh, I was married for decades. Just wait and see what happens when Annie uses Balin’s beard comb and leaves hairs tangled in it. Or when Balin drops a bloody axe on her couch. That’s when we’ll know if it’s true love or not.”

    Aqua tittered. “Hah! I’d be kneecapping any parmour who left beard hairs in my brush.”

    I grinned. She grinned.

    Then she frowned, “You’re avoiding the question. Therapy.”

    I sighed. “Okay. Tonight. I have a meeting with Schist first.”

    “You mean Duke Schist.”

    “Didn’t we just have a whole thing about lording it over people?”

    “That was you and Annie. He’s a Duke. He has a bigger axe to swing around.”

    “Axe, huh? Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

    “Yes. So you’d better chop, chop.”

    I laughed. “Hah! Good. Yes, I’m off, see you tonight!”

    She wagged her finger at me. “Tonight!”

    My meeting with Schist was distant enough that I decided to take Penelope. Schist was holed up in a wing of City Hall that’d recently been repurposed for the Council of the Commons, or the ‘Citizen’s Council’ if you were being polite.

    Penelope was... not the easiest ride. The city’s rented unigoats were generally docile (for a unigoat) and went where you told them. Penelope had her own ideas, and we lost a lot of time stopping at street vendors and nibbling on the odd plant poking out of the flagstones.

    But at the same time, traffic just melted around us as we meandered. The other unigoats and the odd ox or horse-pulled cart seemed to practically jump out of our way. I watched with amusement as a passing dwarf was tossed off his suddenly skittish unigoat into a cart full of leafy greens. The gnome pulling the cart had some incredibly choice words to say about that.

    [Translated from Foul Mouthed Gnome] “My collard greens!”

    *Blaaahhh!* [Translated from Prima Donna Goat] “How many times dost we need teach you this lesson, old gnome!”

    “Penelope!” I chastised as we passed by. “Language!”

    The trip was otherwise uneventful, and I soon found myself standing before City Hall. It was a massive, labyrinthine place, filled with tax collectors and government officials. In short, it was probably somebody’s version of hell.

    “Don’t do me any favours, Harmsson.” I muttered under my breath. Out loud, I gave a curious, “Yes?”

    “The Greybough Consortium, under the direction of the Ambassador Joseph Stannard from Awemedinand, wants to begin brewing beer. We think it would be a perfect opportunity for dwarven expats living there to showcase our culture, while helping repair cultural bridges that could use some basic maintenance. We need a cultural ambassador. They need someone to teach them to brew. I believe we should send them a noble of the Kingdom who is knowledgeable and outgoing, and willing to fully immerse themselves in a new environment.”

    I nodded along. Those all sounded like necessary qualities for the job as described. When he finished talking and stared pointedly at me, the proverbial armoured sock dropped.

    “Oh, no.” I waved my hands in front of my body as a desperate shield. “Not happenin’. I just finished a beervolution. I donnae need ta get involved in even higher politics.”

    “You’re the best dwarf fer the job, Pete.” Schist said seriously. “And think of all the good fishin’ you’ll be able to do up on the surface! I hear there’s even fish other than trout!”

    “Mebbe salmon.” I sighed, thinking back to the few times I’d gone out bottom bouncing for Sockeye on the Fraser River. “But no! You will not tempt me, Duke! I shall not be swayed by your honeyed words!”

    “Listen Pete.” Schist’s tone was tense. “Things are tight in the city right now. And with our new Council in charge of the purse... we really need a win, economically speaking. To prove to the Council of Greybeards that this isn’t all a big mistake. This deal with Awemedinand could be it. They’re offerin’ a lot of trade concessions, but brewing and blacksmithing techniques are on the table. The blacksmithing will be a hard sell, but the citizenry is ripe fer trading in brewing right now. And we could really use the extra gold.”

    I licked my suddenly dry lips at the familiar refrain. Money, money, money, it always seemed to come down to that. “How, ah, much gold do ya need? Mebbe you could borrow some from a friend?”

    Schist rolled his eyes. “I’m not goin’ to beg you for money, even if Duchess Barnes did fill me in on your financial situation somewhat. I’d prefer something a little more long-term, and if there’s anything elves do well, it’s long term.”

    “Almost as long as their ears!” Mcgofer squeaked.

    There was a general sensible chuckle.

    “How bad is it, Schist? Really.” I asked.

    “It’s bad, Pete. The Blackbeards and their allies in the Council of Greybeards looted the treasury dry over the past couple millenia. All of Yellowwall is in desperate need of infrastructure, and the population of the city grows by the day.”

    I grimaced. “We’ve been hearin’ tell in the tavern. Lots of Dungeon Breaks and roving monsters. Folks’re lookin’ for somewhere safe.”

    Schist leaned back in his chair and pinched his nose. “The reports on those are somewhere in that mess of paper on the table. The number of dungeon breaks is up almost 300% from last year, and it’s happening everywhere. Ambassador Stannard says that news from the surface is similar, and our southern and northern cousins report the same. We need more Highwatch, which means more weapons, armor, and potion supplies, and all that costs more Gold.”

    There was some silence as I digested everything, broken only by Viola scritching on paper as she did her best to ignore us. Eventually, Schist stood, gesturing to the door. “At least think about it, Pete. Ambassador Stannard says he’d love to talk to you further, and that he has a prize he owes you. Talk to him, then get back to me.”

    I was ready to deny him outright, but... I really did need to think about it. Visiting the home of the elves could be fun, and I’d get to find new ingredients on the surface and try new foods and new alcohols. Think of it as a vacation! Getting schmoozed by all and sundry as the high muckety-muck from Crack. Yes, yes, it could be fun. But it would also be a lot of work.

    Bing!

    New Quest: The Ambassador Part 1/3!

    Become the brew ambassador to Awmedinand and meet with the Elven King!

    Accept Schist’s Offer: 0/1

    Rewards: Charisma +1

    Do you accept?

    Yes / No

    I waved the quest away for now, not accepting or denying it. “I can’t promise anything, Schist,” I began, haltingly, “but I’ll talk to Joseph and think about it.”

    “That’s all I’m asking, Pete. Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my next appointment will be here soon. So long!”

    And with that, he deposited me outside his office.

    I stared around the empty Council chambers, then marched resolutely out. Time to see Joseph, who did indeed have something he owed me. Something tied to a quest and of great personal interest to me.

    Elven wine!