Our covered wagon clattered down the cobbles of Minnova. Its fabric sides were nicely stitched up with an enormous Thirsty Goat logo, and I’d paid the gnomish [Enchanters] we’d been using to put some strengthening and lightening enchantments on it. The runes glowed faintly from beneath the cart, and we had to send someone under there once a day to replace the monster core charging them, but it was worth it. It also had a magic refrigerator since going on a road trip with Bran without fresh ingredients would have been a missed opportunity.

This cart would be able to take most forms of long range punishment, and could even block a strike or two from monsters. Plus it practically floated over the stones. A good thing, given how bumpy the ride would have been otherwise. We were going to be spending a week on the road, so I’d spared no expense for comfort. The seats were padded with thick brown goat’s wool, and a small table ran through the center for eating or sleeping on. There were several cloth partitions that could be set up for privacy, and a series of kegs ran along one side for easy drinking.

Of course, that left us fairly cramped, with Balin, Annie, Johnsson, Richter, Aqua, Kirk, and myself in a single wagon. Oh, and suddenly guildmaster Malt as well. At least Kirk had volunteered to spend most of the day walking, so things were simply tight instead of crushing. He was also carrying more than half our total supplies in his porter space, which made him very nearly the most important person in our caravan. If he got killed or dropped dead en-route we’d be hooped.

I watched the single-storey buildings of Minnova rattle past, and shooed away the occasional cat that tried to hitch a ride. The purple light of the crystal poured in through the fabric sides and cast deep shadows within the cart. I stared at the black shapes as they bent and twisted, and reminisced.

It was a bit surreal, actually. Just over two years ago we’d entered the city from the other direction, heading to an uncertain future in a failing brewery. Now we were exiting triumphant, the greatest brewers in all of Minnova leaving to compete in a national brewing tournament.

It was poetic, in a way.

I turned to Aqua, who was chatting with Annie beside me. “Hey Aqua, think you could write a song about us winning the contest? Immortalize it in music and whatnot?”

Aqua gave me an “I’m busy” wave.

“I could write you something for the tin-whistle, Pete!” Malt called merrily. He had somehow managed to get his comfy chair from the guild installed in the wagon and was lounging while drinking a bottle of his own Marvelous Malts. I decided to ignore him and moved forward to chat with the dashing duo instead.

Johnsson and Richter sat in the driver’s seat, ensuring that our three unigoats stayed on course. Our wagon train was now five wagons long, with Opal and Bran adding a wagon of their own last minute. Copperpot was in front, followed by Bran and Opal’s fancy carriage, then us, next was Raspberrysyrup’s ginormous stage wagon, and finally Whistlemop bringing up the rear with his ostentatious merchanting affair.

“Johnsson, Richter, how goes it?” I asked. “Who’s driving?”

Johnsson held up his hand. “Me.”

“Thanks for the hard work, driving.”

Johnsson gave me a confused glance. “What?”

Richter barked a note of laughter, then smiled and nodded.

I grinned back. “Any accidents yet?”

“Nah. Only had to dodge a single hitball scrimmage.” Johnsson said. He was leaned back in his chair and relaxed, with the nonchalance of someone that has spent decades driving. “Little moustachios need someone to give ‘em a toss.”

“You almost hit dat old dwarfess.” Richter chastised.

“Well she shouldn’t ‘ave tried to beat me across the street. It’s a dumb idea even with a movement Ability.”

“And da cat?”

“Cat’s don’t count. They go where they want, and sometimes that’s under wagon wheels.”

“You know, we’re barely out of the city. How are we going to survive all the way to Kinshasa if we nearly have an accident every minute?” I asked, amused.

Johnsson shrugged. “It’ll be fine once we hit the highway.”

Richter frowned. “Though we’ll need ta keep an eye out for monsters. You ‘ave a high Perception, Pete?”

“Pretty high. One sec.”

I pulled up my character sheet for the first time in a long time. I really had started to stagnate in Minnova, and I could see how dwarves became so set in their ways. No new Milestones or Stats for long stretches of a time really put you in a rut.

Status: Provided by the Firmament

Name: Peter Roughtuff

Age: 50

Conditions: [Blessed]

Race: Dwarf

Blessings: [Flesh to Stone], [Flash of Insight x 2], [Strength of All: Held], [Regeneration], [Minimap], [Refine Brew]

Title: [Otherworldly Brewer]

Milestones: [Power Pick], [Basic Slash], [White Lie], [Mental Maths], [Big Money], [Bottomless Barrel], [Thick Skin], [Friend: Gnomes], [Pete’s Miniature Remembrance], [Check Quality]

Strength: 15.4

Vitality: 19 [23]Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Agility: 12.2

Dexterity: 13.8

Wisdom: 15.4

Intelligence: 15.8

Perception: 18.4

Charisma: 17.4