A Keg of Altersgruppen

In a dark tent, thick with pipesmoke and the smell of ale, all present sat quietly about a table, stroking their beards in contemplation. Each longbeard looked to the others, circling the table with respect.

"Then you are all agreed?" asked Bugman, the only dwarf not sat at the table. Instead, he stood at the flaps of the large tent posed near enough to an attention to show respect.

"We are," Nord said, looking up to the young brewmaster.

Josef nodded and turned on his heel, throwing the tentflaps open in a spectacle. As he left the tent, his boots hit the hard wood of an imporvised stage, built atop several spare boxes and emptied or useless kegs. Every dwarf under his command encircled the stage, sitting quietly, eyes fixed and ears straining to see if they could hear a shisper of the delegations inside the tent. He looked out among them, meeting the eyes of a great few before he spoke.

"I have no doubt," he began, letting his booming voice carry across the hill, "that many of you know our traditions. But there are few here who are newer to our ranks. We have certain ways within the rangers, ways of showing respect. Throughout the year, our great and noble, experienced longbeards encourage us and rap our knuckles when we've stepped out of line. Their wisdom alone is no doubt the reason we are still alive today. And so to thank them for all of the wonderful knowledge they've spread, one day every year, we grant them a single gift of their choosing. It is the duty of you beardlings to acquire such a gift, regardless of what it is, in order to thank them for saving your git arses. Pray the gift is to their liking, or they may not feel so generous in the year to come." He gave a pause to let his words sink in. Here and there, a beardling had to lean over to his neighbor and ask for an explaination. many of them recieved only elbows to their ribs in return. "In moments, The Longbeards will emerge and announce what their gift will be. Attend very carefully."

With that, he hopped from the stage and clambored onto one of the nearby carts to join Thorvald and Brock. The three sat in silence, along with the rest of the camp, slowly sipping their brews.

Within minutes, the tent flaps flew open again, and from inside the tent, a handfull of white bearded dwarfs emerged. At the head of them, Nord, bald, and bearing his great hammer, a gift from previous years. Behind him, Ol' Keggin, one eyed and scarred. Then Rulgaz Stoutcup, and so on. They spread out so that each would be seen.

After a moment, Nord drew a deep breath and spoke. "In the days of old, days long past, the days of heroes, of Samuel, Bjornni, Bailey... times were hard. The goblins were bigger, their weapons better, their numbers stronger, we all know this to be true. But i speak not of one foe or their numbers. I was wondering this world in those days, a mear beardling myself, all bright eyed and bushy bearded like yourselves. It was a hard time. Good Samuel had little idea where to go, or what to do, and it was only after years that he settled down with a place to call home.
"i remember, to this day, the very first night after all of the work was done. After the walls had been built, and the brew vats assembled and filled. the very first night all of us could sit back in our chairs next to a hearth and breath a great sigh and enjoy what we'd done. we had a feast. a grand feast, at a table four times four wagons in size. the fires roared all night long in celebration, and we danced and laughed. And we drank.
"we drank a special brew, a mythical brew: Altersgruppen Rauchbier. It was the first beer produced in our now lost brewery, by the hands of Samuel himself. he only made one batch, one hundred kegs in all. And just as the goblins were larger, the winters were colder, and the forges burned hotter in those days, so too did the beer taste all the sweeter --"

he broke from his reverie as if snapping out of a dream and looked to the Josef, "No offense" he appologized. Josef smiled and nodded, and Nord continued.

"We have decided," he said, looking about the sea of dwarves, "that you shall find us a keg of The Altersgruppen Rauchbier. A near holy artifact such as that belongs in no hands but those of dwarfs."

"And so it shall be," called Josef, standing atop the wagon, "who among you will find this Altersgruppen?"

There was a chill silence in the camp as all weighed the possibility of the longbeards favor with the strong possibility of death or worse, the longbeard's disfavor. Finally, a hand went up.

"your name, lad?" Josef called from his perch.

The hand's owner stood, though it didnt make much difference. "Yankul, sir." he said timidly. short, even for dwarf standards, and with a beard mearly six inches from his chin, he was surely only a child.

"And you believe you can find this keg, Yankul?" Bugman looked hard upon the beardling, judging his every flinch and move with a raised eyebrow.

Yankul wrung his hands nervously, looking back and forth between The Brew Master and The Longbeards. "I'd like to try, sir, if'n i can. It would be a great honor."

After a long appraising moment, Bugman finally nodded. "Very well, Yankul. And who will accompany him?"

It was another long moment before another hand was raised, then another, then slowly a few more. By the end, there were fifteen total, only a handfull any older looking than the last, and even then none more than 100 years old.

"My Lord Bugman," came a call from across the camp. Durbin walked across the clearing, followed closely by Snorri and a handful of other well challenged rangers. When at last he was next to the wagon, Durbin knealt and looked up. "My lord, i humbly ask to accompany these .... children." His words were staggered, as if he were searching for the ones that would prove his point, but with a tone that meant no harm. "We have few enough sturdy dwarfs as it is. i would hate to see ambitious lads like these be cut down simply because of their lack of experience."

Bugman looked from Durbin to the stage, where the longbeards looked upon the spectacle that was unfolding. Nord looked The Brew Master in the eye and gave a slight nod.

"Your experience would be a great boon to Yankul and his band. Although this is unprecidented, and aid has never been given in years before, you speak the truth Durbin. We cannot afford to lose anymore brothers than we have. I will allow this."

"And so it shall be!" Nord called again from the stage. "in two month's time, we shall have Altersgruppen Rauchbier!"



*****



"do you have any idea where you're going to start looking?" Snorri asked skeptically. He stood against a tree near Yankul's tent, watching the beardlings gather their few possessions as Durbin took a scouting party out into the wood surrounding them.

Yankul for his part was jovial. the youngster packed away his tent and blanket and wrapped his axe in his cloak all while humming a merry tune. It was one he'd heard in a tavern just weeks before joining the rangers. it was one about bugman, and his crusade. a smile played on his lips at the thought.

"'ey!" Snorri snapped, nudging the beardling's behind with his steel coated toe.

Yankul snapped from his happy tune. "sorry sir. I was thinkin, if Ol' Samuel was hard up for money, he might've sold it to them empire counts. I imagine one of the stuffy noble's sons has one tucked away in a vault somewhere."

Snorri nodded, "a trophy of some sort, aye?"

Yankul shook his head excitedly. "I was also thinkin the towns along the river might be best. better chance of he did business with them folk."

Snorri scratched at his beard thoughtfully. "aye," he said after a moment, "as good a place as any to start looking." Then, turning to the rest of the Ufgi that had signed up for this, he called out "Come on then, ye prattling snots. We'd best get going before you've spent the whole of the night twiddling your thumbs."



*****


"Stop!" Durbin hissed. He looked about them with eyes of a hawk and turned to those behind him. Though it wasnt really necissary, he put his finger over his lips in a hushing motion. Despite having been rangers for months or more, and knowing that so much as the noise of a sneeze can kill you, each dwarf nodded slowly and advanced.

Durbin sniffed the air, looking this way and that before pulling out his crossbow and silently knocking a bolt. He heard the rest behind him do likewise. The small clicks and dull twangs made him cringe and wish for his own command group back. But there was no time for that.

Climbing the small hill infront of him, Durbin crouched at a bush, gently poking a branch out of his view with the tip of his crossbow. He nodded to himself and looked back to the handfull with him, pointing to Yankul and waggling his finger.

The young volunteer gulped and eased forward, carefully watching for branches and fallen leaves in the thin wooded yard. A few clicks and rustles later, he was atop the hill with the captain. Durbin nodded to the other side of the hill, and motioned for Yankul to look.

Down below, not fourty feet from him, was a pack of goblins. Ten, maybe twenty in total, ran around a fire, beating each other with sticks. Amung them sat two orcs, large enough to tower above the gobs even while sitting on the ground. They paid little attention to their brood though, munching hungrily chunks of meat pulled off of a spit above the camp fire. occasionally, they'd throw a bone over their shoulder, causing more goblins to squabble over who got the last lick of meat juice or bone fat.

Yankul nodded as he took in the scene. all twenty odd greenies were gathered in a large pit created by three surrounding hills. No doubt they'd hoped to avoid being spotted, counting on the hills for cover. Even with all of his inexperience, Yankul realized the mistake, as the orcs put themselves right in the perfect place for an ambush.

As he took in the layout, Yankul's face suddenly became ashen. On the other side of the ridge, a lumbering hulk of a creature stumbled down into the camp. twice the size of an orc, and scaley blue, the thing jotted happily toward the orcs, as if it were a child running to it's mother. it was stopped short, and Yankul breathed a sigh as a chain that attached to the troll's neck was pulled taught just before it within reach of the roasted meat about the campfire.

He felt a slow, but deliberate grip on his arm and turned to see Durbin staring at him. It was a stare that simultainiously said "keep your head, boy," and, "if you mess this up, i'll kill you before you have to worry about the troll." Yankul nodded his understanding. After a quick look behind him, Durbin pointed from Yankul to one of the orcs, then from himself to the other, designating shots. Yankul remembered this in his bried training and nodded. Durbin took sight on his crossbow and held three fingers over his shoulder. two. one.

At once a barrage of bolts flew over the hill. Yankul saw that Durbin's orc fell over without a sound, falling face first into the fire. His own bolt didnt strike as true, and bounced off of the orc's shoulder pad. If the gobs fell into order, he could tell, they just seemeed to run around in a frenzy like before. Dwarfs poared into the pit, axes cleaving into as many gobs as could be found. Yankul watched as Durbin leapt over the hill, throwing two axe mid stride before bowling over the remaining orc.

Yankul took a deep breath, and grabbed up his axe. Shouting with all his might, he sped down the hill side, swinging in wide arcs, reasured by the familiar feeling of the blade chopping into green skin. a spear was thrust at him, and he stumbled backward swinging wildly at the snarling face behind it. He didnt feeling it, but he was on the ground. a thudding pain knocked at the inside of his head. His vision blurred. At some point he bacame aware of a sharp pain in his leg.


*****


A booted foot stamped down inches from Yankuls nose. He snapped back to attention looking up at the owner of the boot. Snorri stood above him, bashing one grobi's head in with the butt of his crossbow before solidly punching another's pointed nose crooked with a satsifying crunch. As the gob crawled away, Snorri took aim and pinned it to the ground.

The ranger looked down and smiled. "Still alive, lad?" he laughed, offering Yankul a hand up.

As he stood shakily, rubbing his head, Yankul looked about. Snorri ran off, stomping in any gob heads that moved. Several dwarfs hobbled up the hills, grabbing at injuries or holding bandages over cuts of stabs. No bearded bodies lay on the ground though. Dubrin walked calmly from his orc corpse, grabbing up an axe that lay on the ground and holding it over the fire. He turned it once, then again, letting the rugged blade get red with heat and the handle smoke a bit. He raised his head to gaze on the Troll. He smiled.