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28 years after the death of Himmel the Hero, on a dirt road, near the Lakritz Hovel
After their night in the grotto, the three mages falling asleep beneath the boughs of the Wisteria tree, and Senken's hope left behind within that prayer box, they had made tracks.
The conversation, for him, had gotten somewhat stale. There would be long moments of quiet before someone would notice something and make a comment upon it, wherein the other two would usually share some manner of opinion or just wordlessly agree, before they would begin walking again.
It was a relief from the beginning, where it felt Senken had to offer as much as they gave, and Bericht gave a lot of vocalized opinions, all of which were positive in some facet. Winzig, much like him, was much more reserved. Now, however, most conversations were little more than a sentence or two, so they didn't intimidate Senken as much.
Which was comedic to think about. Face someone like Satoru Gojo? No sweat, even welcome the challenge. Have polite conversation? Would rather fight two Gojo's.
Which he kind of did at the end.
As they moved further and further south from the border checkpoint, the chill of winter left faster, trees blooming and sprouting fresh leaves. The floral scent that lingered along their chosen path was a wonderful little medley of experiences and breeds of flowers.
Which was cut through, strongly, by the sweet smell of fermentation, and a headier scent of some manner that Senken couldn't place.
"Smoke," Winzig said, gesturing to above the treeline, where the white-gray wisps of smoke bled into the clouds behind them. "Ahead of us. There shouldn't be a village near here."
"Maybe a camp?" Bericht posed, but Senken was able to place the smell after a moment and corrected the second oldest mage in the group.
"A brewery."
"Hm." Winzig said, pulling from a side pocket in her pack a well folded map. "We aren't anywhere close to Glockenheim, which is the closest brewery I am aware of."
"Maybe it's a new one?" Bericht offered.
"Maybe, but it's a little far out to be by itself, traveling to a village to sell their wares would be a trek not easily taken."
"Shall we go ask them?" Senken asked, and the other mages shared a look before shrugging along. It was on the way, and they were not strangers to detours, they might as well see what it is.
Senken also wondered if they had any ale to cook with. A beer steamed sausage sounded fairly good.
So they made their way towards the smoke, unhurried, for the better part of an hour. The Gray-White smoke never changed color in that time, letting Senken know that it was controlled. When they eventually reached the source of it, they came across a truly large tree trunk, its size easily able to hold Senken's childhood home, the wood towering some fifty feet above them before the tree seems to have been broken, spiraling another ten or so feet, smoke coming out of the point like a natural chimney, the whole thing packed in moss and draping vines common to the local flora.
Half hidden by the foliage around it, a door had been recessed into the wood of the trunk.
"It's someone's home?" Bericht asked aloud, rhetorically.
Senken sent a soft dismantle to cut the excess foliage from above the door, stepped it into the ground as he approached, and knocked twice, firmly, on the door.
There was the quiet sound of footsteps approaching, thumping against the ground before the door was wretched open as if it offended the occupant. Standing there, about half as tall as Senken was, was a man with a heavy brown beard that hung over his chest and stomach like a poorly worn apron. His hair was far more managed, but both were in loose curls, greasy, and beginning to streak through with gray.
The dwarf huffed.
"You aren't Verkäufer." He said, stating the obvious. "What do you want?"
"I want to buy some alcohol. Are you selling?"
The dwarf huffed again, as if he didn't have the air to speak before he did so.
"That's Verkäufers job." He complained, but stepped back from the entrance. "Come in, I can't pitch it like he can, but I can at least show you what we got."
Senken stooped low to get in, standing to his full height within and finding they had fully hollowed out this giant tree trunk.
The ground floor they were on seemed to be storage, various barrels stacked upon each other. Above them, on large perches of remaining wood, were stills that could hold even Senken's lumbering form, almost a dozen of them attributing to the vast amount of gray-white smoke leaving through the spaces in the top of the structure that were made into chimneys.
"So," Bericht asked, walking in behind Senken. "What's your name?"
The dwarf who answered the door turned back to look at him, as if not expecting anyone but Senken to be there. Perhaps he hadn't seen his travelling companions.
"Lakritz."
Winzig made a noncommittal noise, and when Senken spared a glance, he saw her looking up, towards a series of hammocks set against the wall of the trunk, four in total.
"And the others?" She asked, accusingly. The tone didn't seem to reach Lakritz, however, as he gave her a raised eyebrow.
"The same?" He returned the question with his own.
"You're all named Lakritz?" she clarified, arms folding over her chest.
"We all share the same mom and dad," Lakritz explained, and Senken felt his abdominal mouth stretch into a grin as the concept of surnames seemed to have left Winzig behind. "So, yes."
"What about your first names then?" Bericht offered helpfully.
"What about them?" Lakritz returned, and then, sighed, turning away. "Just call us Lakritz. One of us will answer and the rest will listen, simple as."
The dwarf stepped between barrels, muttering about tall folk and complaining about having to sell them their hard work, while Senken turned to Bericht and Winzig.
"This is my first time interacting with a dwarf." He said plainly. "Are they always so…"
"Prickly?" Bericht offered helpfully.
"Hardly." Winzig answered. "He seems to have a branch up his ass, which, given he lives in a tree trunk, makes some sense."
"Don't be mean, Winzig." Bericht said, turning to their senior. "He's probably worried about the person he thought was knocking, Verkäufer?"
"Probably the one in charge of selling their stock." Senken guessed, looking at the litany of barrels. "They do seem to have quite the backstock."
"It has to age," Winzig helped. "Some of this is probably a few years out before they wanna sell it."
"Well ain't that a sight," A voice said above them. "Tallfolk knowing about our brews."
Craning his neck, Senken could see another dwarf leaning over a railing to look at them. The similarities between them and Lakritz were visible, similar shaped noses and eyes, with the same greasy black hair. This one was different with thicker eyebrows, shorter hair, and longer mustache hair.
The dwarf hefted himself over the railing, and dropped, plummeting towards them, before being caught by a length of rope around his waist. It caught, and spun, unwinding the dwarf until with a sudden crack of movement the dwarf himself spun the last ten feet to the ground, landing on his feet in a show of masterful agility, spinning the rest of his momentum off to face the three mages, face split with a big smile.
For Senken, that was probably the most unnecessary entrance ever contrived. Sparing a look to Bericht and Winzig proved they thought the same.
"Sooooooo," Lakritz, the new one in front of them, drawled. "Verkäufer has now been over a week late to return, and we have three vagabonds at our door instead."
"Mages."
The first Lakritz rolled a barrel into view, speaking gruffly. "Anyone walking the roads without visible weapons and no cart is a mage."
"Do you think they…" the second Lakritz began.
"No, I don't." The first interrupted. "Verkäufer wouldn't have told them anything. Besides, they don't look nearly bad enough to be robbing us of our ale."
Winzig made a noise through her nose. "I'm glad we don't look like desperate drunks."
"You think something happened?" Senken questioned. "Foul play?"
"Maybe." The first Lakritz said, as the two of them lifted the barrel onto a stand, the second one pulled a tap from his pockets and smacked it into the wood with his bare hand.
"Just as likely he hasn't gotten enough sold to come back." The second one spoke up.
"Or decided to use a few coins of profit to drink his own supply." The first grumbled back, reaching under the stand for mugs made from the same wood as the tree they were in, the coloring matching the walls of the brewery.
The dwarves each poured themselves a mug, and drank of it, mulling over the taste before they both nodded and the second Lakritz poured another mug, and handed it to the first Lakritz, who then handed it to Senken.
Senken looked at the brown liquid and brought it to his mouth to drink. It was bitter, of course, like all ales were initially, but he could taste the wood of the barrel, and the various items that they had fermented to make the brew.
He likened it to a rather floral salad, hiding its taste behind a canopy of color that crawled along his discerning palate. It wasn't the worst he had drank.
In his mullings of the ale, Bericht had seemingly talked with the two dwarves and turned back to him, face split with a smile that wouldn't have been out of place on Yuji.
"Hear that Senken?"
"Nope."
"We're gonna find Verkäufer!"
Senken turned to look at Winzig, who shrugged. "I don't mind."
Senken looked back to Bericht. "For what reward?"
Bericht deflated slightly. "I…thought we would just do it cause it was helpful."
"A discount on the ale?" The second Lakritz offered, listening to the conversation. Senken finished his ale.
"Works for me. So, what does Verkäufer look like?"