Sophia White
Stories
6
Chapters
1,465
Words
493.5 K
Comments
0
Reading
1 d, 17 h
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Master Brewer Schist was quite short for a dwarf, nearly gnomish in height, with a balding pate and a grey-white traditionally knotted beard that matches his palid skin. He wore a set of golden spectacles and beard bangles that offset his black master brewer’s robes quite handsomely. Said robe was worn quite loose, looking more like a poncho than armored dress-robes. His face was etched with laugh lines and he squinted as he looked around the pub. He very much reminded me of several interpretations of…
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Cooking with beer. It’s one of my favourite things, along with cooking with wine. There’s just something about using a drink Not quite as awesome as becoming a father, but it was close. Among dwarves, cooking with beer was unheard of a scant three years ago. Heck, I’d had to do some serious mental reprogramming to convince Bran to cook with Of course, I strongly doubt that Bran and I were the first to cook with beer. Dwarves were obsessed enough with it that it had to have been done before.…
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We all looked up as Johnsson entered the room, festooned in red and yellow and wearing ‘Kinshasa Brew Gives You Wings’ Draconis merch. He looked at our crestfallen faces in concern. “Uh oh. What happened? Why’re you all weepy?” Richter patted a space on the chair beside him. “Come on Johnsson. You’re ‘de last one.” “Aye, sorry. There was a cat fight.” I winced at the image. There were thousands of cats in Kinshasa, and cat fights could rapidly spiral out of control. ”Do they…
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Ah, good old deja vu. I closed my diary and curled back into the pillows I’d piled into my cave-nook. It felt like just a few months ago that I’d been sitting here writing in my diary about winning a round of the Octamillenial. Annie got the next set of rules in a pretty little manilla envelope this morning, and we were scheduled to debrief it tonight. We won the quarterfinals by a landslide. They didn’t show us the exact numbers, but we ended up getting sixty-seven percent of the vote, quite…
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We were almost as busy today as we were on release day. I think we underestimated the patriotic fervour that Kinshasa Brew would engender. We spent all morning and afternoon making as much of it as we could, so hopefully we won’t run out. Ironically, is going to save our butts here. But not mine; my butt remains unsaved. I have to spend nearly every waking minute in the brewroom using Abilities. I haven’t even had time to learn any new spells yet! Lucky Jean’s released their brew for the contest…
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Hey everyone, I'm out with Bacterial Bronchitis. It's been whamming me hard, and I'm way behind in all my writing. Kinda just tired and hard to concetrate with low oxygen levels. I started an antibacterial course today, so I should be back up by next week. Regular chapter will go out on Saturday! We're entering the downward stretch! I've got around 80 chapters or so planned for book 3, then we are on to book 4 and the finale! Why can't I just make announcements without a word count? Why can't I just…
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The more I thought about it…. The more I didn’t want to live forever. Reincarnating in Erd had been a traumatizing experience – the feeling of being ripped away from my loved ones and acclimatizing to a new world was one I never wanted to feel again. Yes, I had new friends and family There was a reason popular culture back home often turned living forever into a curse. seemed interesting, but it just didn't quite mesh with what I Farewell, ! You were my favourite, and you saved my bacon…
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As soon as I made it into the brewroom, I grabbed a mug from the office and poured myself a glass of barista brew. I specifically wanted a stout for this, but our local porter would do. I activated my again, and peered into the depths of the mug. The Mana of the brew was mostly white, with hints of blue and yellow. According to ‘Professor’ Richter, that indicated the presence of gaseous Aethers and liquid Aethers, as well as some minute solids. The elements in Erd were different from back home. There…
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It’d been two weeks since we tried the first batch of gose, and with only one month left till the end of the quarter-finals, it was finally time. The places were set. The kitchen was ready. The goat was pampered. “Tha dang line is gettin’ bigger!” Bando shrieked. “What ‘ave we done.” Johnsson whimpered. “What do ya mean A dozen fists continued to beat a staccato rhythm against it, and I was horribly glad that we'd taken Sam’s advice and gotten the doors and windows reinforced a few…
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