Dwarf’s Log, Deathdate 003

These are the voyages of the starsoul Peter Phillips. I appear to have died and been transported from my loving family and home to an underground prison hellscape of bad BO and worse beer. I am trapped in the body of a dwarf named Pete Samson. Samson arrived in the city of Minnova about three months ago, where he was picked up by the local guards after he was caught begging for beer in the streets. I took over Pete’s body after my untimely demise on Earth. I am working in the City of Minnova Reform Mine, where I will remain until such a time as I have paid off Pete`s indenture. I appear to be in deep shit.

I scooped some shit up and plunked it into the cart beside me, then avoided brushing the sweat out of my eyes. The unigoat in the stall beside me chuffed and added to my work. Yep, a real deep canyon of shit. After the sulphur and spit debacle I got put on punishment duty by Grim. Goods from the mine were carted down to the city by unigoats, and nobody had cleaned the manure pit in ages because… dwarves. Seriously, some of this stuff was crusting over.

I admit to being a bit disillusioned here. I don’t know what I was expecting after I died. I wasn’t religious, so heaven was out. I grew up Catholic, but that wore off around the fourth time I got blackout drunk in college. Hell? Purgatory? I certainly wasn’t expecting a small mining camp filled with boisterous and outgoing, if slightly surly, hairy alcoholics.

And my God, the alcohol! It was sour with a bitter aftertaste, had almost no alcohol content, and left my mouth feeling filmy. It’s SO BAD, and they’re drinking it ALL THE TIME! They even call it the Sacred Brew.

Wake up? Take a drink.Break? Take a drink.Lunch? Take a drink.Go mining? Take a drink.Almost die? You guessed it! Take a drink!

They all love the stuff and seem to have zero actual tolerance for alcohol. I’d put their beers at around 1 percent actual alcohol content, and I haven’t seen anything that appears to be a harder drink. As far as I can tell, some dwarf invented beer ages ago, and they all fell so in love with the stuff that they never bothered improving it. It’s a cultural institution, and the idea that it could be better is completely foreign to them.

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“How ya’ doin, Pete?” A voice interrupted my reverie from the other side of the stables.

“Hi, Balin. I’m doing a bit better,” I replied, taking the opportunity to get out of the pit.

“‘Ave yer memories come back?” Balin asked, as he took a step back. His handlebar moustache quivered at the stench wafting from the manure pit. We both looked to the side as the sound of rumbling drew our attention.

Another pair of dwarves, Annie and Wreck, pushed a massive cart filled with ore past us. A total of twenty dwarves lived in the camp: sixteen miners, the warden Grim, Doc Opal, Speaker John, and Whisperer Gemma. Doc Opal was the one who saved me from sulphur poisoning, and she’s also the one helping take care of my ‘amnesia,’ or as she calls it, “damage to the spirit.” I was pretty sure “spirit” referred to my mind and soul, so wasn’t that a comforting thought?

“Not yet,” I replied to Balin as I washed my hands in a trough.

“Nothin’ in yer Status Sheet?” Balin kept his distance as I washed up, his eyes tracking Annie. Last night he confided to me in a drunken stupor that Annie had “the finest beard this side of Crack,” whatever that means. It is a really nice beard though, long and silky with finely woven tresses and a Dali moustache. She was one of the few blonde dwarves as well; the rest of the miners were mostly brunettes with only Doc Opal and Speaker John having white hair.

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Yes, female dwarves did have beards and moustaches. Contrary to certain pop-culture, it was still possible to tell them apart. Their beard hair was usually softer and downier than the males, and they had softer, more feminine facial features. Some discrete questioning revealed they also had breasts, but traditional dwarven clothing favoured chest-flattening armour.

I replied as I opened my … Status Sheet … by intoning ‘status’ in my head. A slightly translucent blue box appeared in my vision with a cheerful *Bing!*

Status: Provided by the FirmamentName: Peter Phillips SamsonAge: 48 Conditions: NoneRace: DwarfBlessings: NoneTitle: NoneMilestones: [Otherworlder]

Strength: 12Vitality: 12Agility: 10Dexterity: 11Wisdom: 12Intelligence: 10Perception: 13Charisma: 8

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