Snookums and the mystery drinker

They say there are trance-like states that can be reached by a master practicing their craft. Heights of mental clarity where everything and nothing coexist in a way that cannot be explained to the merely competent. But explain it we must. Imagine every neuron in the mind arranged in crystalline perfection, singing in harmony, all focussed on the task at hand. Imagine every grain of sand on an infinite beach moving as one, flowing with a wind only the master can feel.

Haku was a master glass polisher. When he was behind the bar, the chaos of the Planar Anchor flowed around him without ruffling a single feather. Patrons came and went, beers were pulled and spirits poured, kobolds scolded and parrots... Well the bar was quite short on parrots these days, but the kobolds were definitely still scolded. All the while, the rag polished the glass, keeping rhythm with a tune that only Haku could hear.

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On the way back from the Spider Queen’s lair, Snookums was deep in thought. While his companions discussed the details of the task, Snookums could barely conceive of the enormity of what lay ahead. To create a God... How could one dwarf help with such a mammoth undertaking? He looked at his companions, their equipment the worse for wear, and decided to do what he did best. Focus on what he could do well to support the others.

Snookums was a master of several crafts, and for the next four weeks he kept himself busy with all of them. His mornings were spent improving the Dejune army; shouting and cursing at them through combat exercises, marching drills and lunch. He was determined to make the defense of Dejune one less thing the Great Downwards needed to worry about.

His afternoons were spent in the forge. First he reconstructed Agamemnon's crushed armour before handing it over to Talisa for magical enhancement. Then he repaired his shield, shattered by a colossal strike in a duel with the young hellknight. Smoke above a forge is an effective “Open for Business” sign, and a Paladin of Dwerfater always takes requests. Perrit handled the orders from the townsfolk while the apprentices delivered the completed tools, weapons, riding tack and furniture throughout Dejune. Soon, every home and business in the town had something made or repaired by Snookums.

His evenings were spent at the tavern. To the untrained eye, he appeared to be drowning some substantial sorrows. To the seasoned barfly he appeared to be a regular dwarf. But to Haku he was a fellow master, and they were practicing their crafts together.

Haku would polish the glass, then fill the glass. Snookums would drink the glass, then push the glass back to Haku. This would continue until Snookums stood up, paid his tab and slowly wobbled out the door.

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The 424th day started like any other: Snookums shouted himself hoarse trying to get Graa’aa’ak to focus on stealth instead of rabbit-hunting, then spent most of the afternoon crafting a tiny mithril breastplate which couldn’t fit anything larger than a bird. Leaving the forge that night, he felt proud of using leftover scraps of mithril to create something so intricate and beautiful. The future owner would surely cherish it.

Snookums arrived at the Planar Anchor and took up his regular seat, his first drink was already in place and slowly discolouring the lacquer on the bar. Another swiftly followed, and a comfortable rhythm was established. At some point in the evening Haku looked up from his glass-polishing and thought he was seeing double, not an uncommon occurrence given his alchemical pastimes. He squinted first with one eye, then the other, and determined that the other dwarf was really there. He shrugged and dropped another glass onto the bar, filling both.

Hours later, the final notes of a dwarven drinking song drifted away into the quiet night and Snookums looked up to find himself alone. He fumbled with his coin pouch to tip Haku for the most enjoyable evening he’d had all month, but he was surprised to find a scrap of paper in his pocket. He retrieved it and read it over, mumbling quietly to himself.

Seconds later, an entirely sober Snookums was running for the castle, note in hand.

Haku wasn’t worried though, the dwarf always paid his tab eventually.

“You do fine work with mithril and hammer. Work a god would be proud to wear. Each god has their artifact as symbol of their divinity, but there is no rule to state that this is all a god can wield. My breastplate was forged by the hand of a god, and my boots shaped by mortal men, and I would be naked without them.”