I had no experience to gauge what a “Personal Milestone” was. It was probably something similar to [Pete’s Poor Manasense], which had been dangled in front of me like a carrot for the past few months. I expected celebration, but instead the party ground to a halt. It wasn’t like the pregnant pauses of earlier, filled with shocked silence and disbelieving blinks. Instead, it went full on catholic mass. Several brewers held their hands in the standard holy sign and a few, Masters Caskitt and Cimon among them, even got down on their knees.

“We’ve been blessed to see one of our own receive the grace of a God.” Malt bowed deeply, his long white beard touching the ground. “Would ya be willing to tell us tha name of yer Milestone, Inventor Goldstone? That we may record it in the annals of history?””

“[The Luck of Clan Goldstone],” Annie whispered reverentially. She was staring into space where a notification was probably blinking at her. Her eyes remained glazed when she looked back down. “I - I’m not going to say what it is. I apologize, but that will be for my clan to know.”

Drum had actually stopped breathing. I could see his face turning purple.

Master Brewer Fault cackled. “And you lot wonder if the Ancestors approve of what Goldstone’s doing? It’s clear who tha Gods support! Chew on that, eh!”

“Doesn’t necessarily mean that.” Icewhite was quick to complain, though her heart clearly wasn’t in it. “It could be for staying the course of the sacred path of brewing even after so many setbacks.”

“We cannot know the whims of the Gods.” Cimon agreed. “Unless we want to go bother a [Prophet]. But that’s expensive, and Prophet Barnes is impossible to get ahold of.”

Rudd shouted, “That’s fer later! Congratulations, Inventor Goldstone!”

“Aye!””Congratulations!””By Barck’s Beard!””Cheers to tha Goldstones!”

Maaan - er, dwaaaarf. [Pete’s Poor Manasense] had to be a dig. She got an epic sounding Milestone like that, and I got… baby’s first budget Personal Milestone? What kind of tinker toy crap was that? It had better be more effective than the name implied.

“Thank you everyone.” Annie nodded at the party. “But I think we need to decamp and give the news to my family.”

“Oooooh! Will there be a Blessing party catered by Bran?” Malt’s eyes were quite literally shining. It was freaky. “Am I invited? As your new guildmaster?”

“We’ll think about it.” Annie snorted. “Pete, we should hurry home and give everyone the good news!!”

“Nooope, hold it!” I held up a hand. “There’s still something vitally important that we haven’t discussed.’

“More important than a God expending their power for a specific clan?” Rudd asked sarcastically.

It was more important to ME, but I carefully didn’t mention that.

Instead I said, “we have ta do it now, ‘cause tomorrow’s too late! As a member in good standing of the Honourable Guild of Brewers, we’d like to petition fer one of the eight spots in the Octamillenial Brewing Contest!!”

Malt coughed and looked sideways. A few others scratched their heads or pulled at their beards. Icewhite actually laughed, a high mocking titter that was uncharacteristic for a dwarf.

I had a building feeling of foreboding. “What?”

“All eight spots are already filled.” Caskitt smirked, her green moustache twitching. “We doled them out last week.’

I turned a burning gaze on Malt. He shrugged and held his hands out innocently. “I only said you had to do something incredible to get back into the Guild, not that I’d just give you one of the spots. I didn’t think it would take you so long! I tried to hold it off as long as possible! It’s entirely your own fault!”

His explanation didn’t do much to quash the feeling of betrayal. My vision went red at the edges and I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Not worth crying over spilt beer, and I could always poison Malt’s food the next time he came to the Goat. “Do we have any recourse?” I ground out.

“Of course!” Malt nodded cheerily. “If one of the other eight gives up their spot, and the chance for glory and a shop in the capital, as well as the eye of the King, you’re welcome to take it! I doubt any would begrudge you, under the circumstances! There’s a good chance you’ve made us all quite a lot of gold, and you’ve just received palpable Godly approval!” He gestured at the assembled brewers.

Nobody spoke up, and a few shuffled uncomfortably. Caskitt and Icewhite folded their arms, and one of the still-hooded brewers scoffed.

That was the smoothest buck pass I’d ever seen. Too bad said buck stopped here. I leaned in to whisper to Malt.

“I’ll remind you, Malt, that I only said I’d be ‘happy’ to share the secret ingredients in my brew with the guild. Not that I would. I’m currently very NOT HAPPY.”

“I couldn’t in good faith keep pushing it off, Pete!” He hissed back. “The members wanted to have time to prepare! My hands were tied, and I really did try!”

“Godsdammit! You should have warned me before this meetin’!”

“Just wait! Give them time to think!”

A second passed, then another, then ten, then a minute. I could see gears grinding in heads, and my own gears were grinding too. I had [Mental Maths] on, as I tried to determine how much it would cost to buy one of the Breweries out, or somehow move our entire operation to one of the other cities and join their Brewers Guild in a single day.

Then Rockwood held his hand up. “I’ll give my spot to the young’uns. They worked hard for this, and my clan isn’t really excited by the idea of sending a crew to Kinshasa anyways.”

“Master Rockwood -” Cimon began.

“You going to tell me I’m wrong? Who's got the greyer beard Cimon? Or did ya just miss Barck Hisself handin' young Goldstone a Milestone??” Rockwood arched a shock-white eyebrow.This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“Are you quite sure, Rockwood?” Malt asked.

“Aye.”

“Well then, you see, Brewer Pete? You’re back in the guild, and you’re in the contest! Welcome aboard, and I’m looking forward to seeing how you do!”

“It’ll be poorly.” Icewhite snapped. She and Cimon and several other brewers were standing and decamping early. “There’s no way any reasonable judge will approve of anything that comes out of that brewery. And for all we know that Milestone was from YEARN.”

Then Drum was pounding me on the back. “Congrats, lad! You made it! Yer pa - ah, yer probably goin’ ta make all of us proud!”

My increased Perception caught his little stutter; Drum was hiding something. I mean obviously Drum was hiding something, the dwarf had more dark corners than a dwarven mine, but he seemed to have purposefully avoided something there.

Yer p - a

Yer path

Yer pantry

Yer pants

Yer pal?

Yer…. pa?

Hmmm… I filed that away for later, It was time to celebrate!!!

Literally, Annie had grabbed me in a huge hug and was lifting me off the ground. My feet scurried helplessly, and I suddenly felt very acrophobic. I’d been claustrophobic and arachnophobic in my previous life, but I didn't find dark tunnels or giant insects really set my fear bells jangling anymore. Having my feet lifted off the ground while I pedaled helplessly?

I wrenched my head back, then tunked my helmet into Annie’s jaw; it was practically instinctual. She dropped me with an oath, and went to kick me in the shins, but I had already activated [Flesh of Stone]. Her foot cracked against my craggy limb and she grunted with pain. As I unfroze I grabbed a chicken leg and threw it at her. She ducked and it hit Master Brewer Crackle directly in the face. He in turn grabbed a meat pie and threw it at me. I dodged aside and the pie exploded all over Master Brewer Caskitt’s green beard. She roared in rage, grabbed the tarts -

And all nether broke loose.

I broke at least two noses with [Basic Slashed] chicken legs. It was glorious.

—

I sent a runner to Copperpot with the good news, and he sent a pair of guards. We were still under the watch of his secretive Corporate Combat squad, but it was the ‘muscle’ that helped me feel safe as we limped back to the Thirsty Goat.

“You have the biggest black eye.” Annie chuckled. “You never fought like that back in the mine.”

“I actually think that’s blackberry, or bimbleberry, or whatever berry was in those tarts.” I remarked. I smiled feverishly and my lip split again where my [Regeneration] had recently knit it back together.

“And that’s strawberry there, on your lips?”

“Yer one to talk. That bruise on your chin is so big that we should start callin’ you Blackbeard! Yarrrr!!!”

“What? No, Blackbeard is a respected - ohhh, that’s a reference. Right. Aqua was telling me about those.”

“And what did she saaaaaay?” I leaned in.

“That I should smile and nod.” She smiled and nodded.

I sighed. “It isn’t the same. A groan would be preferable, maybe a dry chuckle? I’d even be happy with a snort.”

Annie snorted.

“Ha!”

“That doesn’t count!”

“Sez you."

We shared a chuckle before I got back to business. "Do ya think the brewers will finally get off our backs with Barck or whoever on our side?" I gave a wide grin. That had been good timing!

Annie shook her head. "The Gods don't interfere. It goes against their rules; the choice to act is ours. The most they usually do is what you saw, using their divine power to grant personal Milestones. It happens very rarely. Even then, just because one God is happy, doesn’t mean they all are.”

“And tha guild?”

“The guild will probably stop working directly against us. Mostly to avoid getting caught up in any Godly drama."

"Well, damn. So… are ya goin’ to spill the beans on what your Ability is?"

Annie opened her mouth to begin, then looked askance at our guards. She pulled out a notepad and began writing. She covered the writing as she did so, then passed the paper to me.

It read:

The Luck of Clan Goldstone: Choose CHARISMA number of dwarves bound to you by blood or rite. Grant them any of your own Abilities related to luck. Barck controls luck, so it's most likely from him.