Ch 98 - Fermented Follies

The dwarven city was a marvel of engineering, carved into the hollowed heart of the mountain. Its cavernous expanse pulsed with life, veins of massive pipes crisscrossing the stone, carrying molten magma that powered the city with unending thermal energy. It was a place that seemed plucked from myth—a dream forged in stone and fire.

Below the city, a lake stretched into darkness, its surface shimmering faintly under the glow of lanterns and bioluminescent crystals. Strange, otherworldly creatures darted beneath the water, adapted to this self-contained ecosystem. The dwarves hadn’t just built a city; they had cultivated an entire ecosystem.

A handful of outsiders have ever had a chance to view this city. But our goal wasn’t sightseeing, we were here to catch a ride to the next continent via a port.

We are currently heading towards the rocky cavern walls of the mountain. A bit different route from where we had entered.

But as we drew closer to rocky walls, I noticed something peculiar—rows of perfectly carved caves in the stone face, each equipped with a landing platform. From within, the deep roar of rushing water echoed through the cavern like guttural groans. Long tubes of pipes crossed the caves that carried water and steam.

What caught my eye was the massive cylindrical pods, suspended by thick chains, being hoisted into position at the cave mouths. With a mechanical whir, the pods shot forward and vanished into the tunnels beyond.

I blinked, “What… what is that?”

Sestia smirked, her boots tapping against the stone floor as she glanced over her shoulder. "Welcome to Speed Port," she said with a sly edge. "The pods’ll shoot you out to sea—and straight to your ride. Just a little warning: if you’re prone to motion sickness, try to hold it in. Cleaning fees are no joke."

The station buzzed with activity. Dwarves hurried about, hauling luggage and supplies, while some Dwarven warriors queued to book their rides. Some of them even wheeled their own cylindrical pods on carriages, booking a cave slot. The air was thick with the hum of machinery and the occasional burst of steam.

As we were heading inside, Luc suddenly stopped, his brow furrowed.
“Hold on a moment, missy. What about our luggage and the supplies you promised?”

Sestia didn’t break stride.
“Yeah! I remember it’s already taken care of. Your cargo’s in separate pods. As for your carriage, it’s been returned to the Adventurers’ Guild Commissions.”

She then reached into her pockets and handed us each a long, metallic card.
“These are your boarding passes for the ship. Once you reach the port, one of our dwarven contacts will meet you and help you adjust to the vessel.”

“And after that?” I asked.

She shrugged.
“After that, they drop you off on the Isle Continent. From there… you’re on your own.”

The station was a hive of activity, with dwarves hauling crates, equipment, and supplies.

Sestia spoke briefly with a station employee, who directed us to our assigned departure point. Our pod was already prepped and ready, our luggage already sent ahead.

The three of us stood atop a set of mechanical steps, their dwarven technology evident in the seamless way they carried us upward. The steps moved silently, effortlessly lifting us toward the caves above.

As we rose, the city below unfolded into a stunning panorama—a glowing nest of fireflies, alive with flickering lights and constant motion. A pang of regret tightened my chest. We’d barely scratched the surface of this remarkable place. Perhaps one day, we’d return, with time enough to truly explore its depths.

After a few minutes, we arrived at Cave Station 18.

"Is that our ride?" I asked, staring at the sleek, cylindrical pod suspended at the cave entrance.

"Yup. The finest the city has to offer," Sestia replied with a wry grin. "Lord Jaltar sure knows how to treat his guests."

The pod gleamed under the cavern's amber light, its surface etched with intricate dwarven designs. Faintly glowing runes pulsed along its body, while engravings of mythical creatures curled around its sides—dragons, gryphons, and beasts I couldn’t name. Suspended by a sturdy crane, it hovered just above the tracks, poised for deployment.

Peering further into the cavern, I noticed the water rushing beneath the rails—a powerful, churning current that surged like a molten river. Heat shimmered off the surface, mixing with the damp air. I realized the dwarves had harnessed natural geysers, channeling them through magma-heated tunnels to power an underground high-speed transport system. A marvel of ingenuity—or a giant, boiling waterslide.

Sestia reached up and tugged a lever. With a soft hiss, the pod’s doors slid open, revealing a surprisingly luxurious interior. Plush, cushioned seats lined the cabin, and a small table sat neatly arranged with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"Alright," Sestia said, exhaling sharply. "Hop in. The pod stops automatically, so don’t touch anything except that lever to open the door. And, for the love of stone, not mid-ride—unless you're keen on an express dive into boiling water." Her lips twitched into a smirk. "The pods are heat-insulated and fitted with cooling gems, so you won’t roast alive. But falling in? That’s a whole other story."

Luc and I climbed inside, squeezing into seats clearly designed for dwarven proportions. Our legs awkwardly bumped as we settled opposite each other, the cramped space leaving little room to shift.

I glanced around the cabin and asked, "Where’s the driver?"

Sestia snorted in response. "Kid, this pod drives itself. Just sit back, sip some wine. That bottle is a special gift from me and my squad, so be thankful."

Luc extended his hand and said,
"Thanks for everything, Lady Sestia. I hope our paths cross again."

She hesitated, her sharp gaze flicking to his hand before shaking it with evident reluctance. "Let’s hope not. This little favor cost me a few months' wages. You’d better make it worth it."

Luc chuckled dryly. "Well, I hope the border patrol will be a little nicer in the future."

Sestia scoffed. "Nice? Not in a dwarf’s vocabulary—especially for the 'Merchant of Death.' Remember, this was Lord Jaltar’s goodwill. Next time, you’re on your own."

Luc sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I was hoping for a tour of the dwarven nation."

She shook her head with a faint smirk. "Maybe in your next life, when you're born as a dwarf. Now, hurry up and get going!"

Without another word, she gripped the door handle and swung it shut with a decisive clang. The crane groaned as it lowered the pod, releasing it onto the tracks with a jarring thud. As soon as it hit the rushing water, the current snatched hold, yanking us into the depths of the tunnel with staggering force.

Through the small window, I caught one last glimpse of Sestia standing at the platform. Then, in a heartbeat, her figure blurred and vanished, swallowed by the streaking walls of the tunnel as we were hurtled forward.

The pod lurched forward, gaining speed as it plunged deeper into the underground tunnel. The force pressed us into our seats, the entire cabin twisting and turning as we shot through the crisscrossing tunnels. It felt like we were free-falling.

Luc and I clung to the armrests as the pod rattled violently, every jolt threatening to shake us loose. Outside, the tunnel blurred into streaks of stone, a dizzying kaleidoscope of rock.

“How long until we reach the bottom?” I managed to choke out, my voice trembling.

Luc exhaled sharply, his knuckles white against the seat. “A couple of hours, I guess,” he muttered, sounding as thrilled as I felt.

Speedports were supposed to be marvels of dwarven engineering—underground highways powered by geysers and magma. But this ride felt more like being hurled down a mountainside in a tin can. My stomach churned with every bump, and each sharp twist made me feel like my organs were being rearranged. This contraption was clearly built for dwarves—sturdier, tougher, and far less prone to motion sickness than we humans.

It didn’t take long for the misery to set in. Within minutes, we were both pale and nauseous, our shared suffering filling the cramped pod with groans and muttered curses.

Somewhere in the chaos, Luc groaned and reached for the wine bottle on the table. “I can’t do this sober,” he muttered. “I need a drink.”

He popped the cork—and immediately, the most god-awful stench erupted from the bottle. It was as if someone had distilled the essence of rotting pig feces and let it ferment for centuries. The smell hit us like a physical blow, thick and suffocating, spreading through the pod like poison gas.

My eyes burned. My throat closed up. “What the hell is that smell?!” I gagged, clamping my nose shut. “Is that—poison gas?”

Luc recoiled, his face twisted in horror. “That wrench…” he muttered, glaring at the bottle. “Well, ‘poison’ isn’t exactly wrong. This is an infamous dwarven liquor, brewed from fermented boar excretions. Only dwarves with iron stomachs can handle it.”

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. “This… this was her revenge, wasn’t it?” I gasped.

Luc sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, this was definitely Sestia getting back at us.”

“I told you not to rile her up!” I snapped. “Now I have to suffer her wrath along with you.”

The toxic fumes had already filled the pod, trapping us in a hellish cloud of fermented despair. There was no escape. My stomach churned violently, and I felt the wave rising.

“I—I think I’m gonna puke,” I wheezed.

“Hey, hey!” Luc shot me a panicked look. “If you throw up in here, we’re gonna have to pay a cleaning fee! Just swallow it back down!”

“Easy for you to say,” I groaned, barely holding it together. “And move! You’re too close—I’m not ruining my clothes.”

“Move where?!” Luc snapped. “There’s no room! Are you planning to ruin my clothes instead?”

The next two hours were pure, unrelenting misery.

By the time the pod lurched to a stop, I was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. Luc wasn’t faring any better—his pale face looked like it had been through a battlefield. As the ride finally ended, I peeked out the window. Blue sky. Ocean waves. We had made it.

Without a second thought, I slammed the lever down. The doors hissed open, and we stumbled out like survivors escaping disaster, gulping in the fresh air like it was the cure for all ailments.

I only managed a few shaky steps before collapsing near a rock and retching out everything I had left in my stomach. It felt like my insides had been rearranged into something unrecognizable. That liquor stench—the absolute worst—was burned into my soul. I couldn’t fathom how dwarves could endure such a concoction. Their engineering was genius, but their taste in booze? Absolute trash.

After what felt like a lifetime, I finally inhaled the salty ocean air. It was cool, sharp, and utterly refreshing, almost washing away the remnants of misery.

We had landed on a beach at the border of the Heirya Kingdom. Behind us, the towering mountains stretched high, their jagged peaks forming a natural barricade between the continent’s heartland and the endless ocean.

Ahead, the docks bustled with activity. Workers moved swiftly, loading cargo into a weathered but sturdy ship that swayed gently with the tide. The creaking of wooden planks mingled with the distant cries of seagulls wheeling overhead.

I wiped my mouth clean from the aftermath of our hellish pod ride and pointed at the vessel.

“Is that our ride?”

Luc turned the glinting metal boarding pass over in his hand, furrowing his brow as he studied it.

“Looks like it,” he said finally. “The ship’s name is Dagonir.”

Almost on cue, a stout dwarven sailor strode toward us. His thick beard fluttered in the sea breeze like a battle banner, and his sharp eyes scanned us—no doubt clocking our ragged state.

“Oi! You lads finally made it!” the dwarf called out, grinning widely. “We’ve been waitin’ for ya!”

Something about him seemed… overly cheerful. A banjo was slung across his back, which wasn’t exactly standard issue for a sailor.

Luc stepped forward. “Seems we’re right on time. Greetings!”

The dwarf extended a hand, his grip firm and welcoming.

“Name’s Neyar. Musician aboard the Dagonir. We were told to expect you—Lord Jaltar’s orders.”

Luc shook his hand. “I’m humble merchant Luc. And this boy here is—” he paused dramatically, then smirked, “—my cargo.”

I frowned. “Oh, clearly you didn’t just forget my name.”

I took Neyar’s hand, shaking it properly. “Benjamin Almond. Nice to meet you.”

Neyar beamed. “A pleasure, lad! But especially Sir Luc here!”

Before we could question the strange emphasis, Neyar unstrapped his banjo in one fluid motion, twirling one of its strings between skilled fingers. Then, with a booming voice that carried both jest and admiration, he declared:

“Lemme present a song in your honor, oh Merchant of Death!”

Luc and I stiffened.

Song of what now?

Before we could stop him, Neyar launched into a dramatic ballad:

♪ In the dusk where shadows roam,
A silent hand seals fates unknown.
A subtle mark, a whispered sign,
Leaves its trace upon the spine. ♪

♪ Five soft whispers in the night,
Each a secret, each a bite.
The Merchant of Death,
Whose touch defies all breath,
Guides you to eternal rest. ♪

♪ They say his caress? A measured art,
A dance with death that tears souls apart.
From a kiss that starts a fated score,
Till the final note—forevermore. ♪

Luc and I just stood there, stunned.

I exhaled, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Well… at least you finally have a fan who isn’t trying to kill you.”

Luc blinked, then gave a small grin. “Yeah, the lyrics are a bit dramatic… but honestly, this is still a better welcome than what we’ve been getting lately.”

A loud blast of sound interrupted us.

“OY! NEYAR, YA OAF! STOP DILLY-DALLYIN’ AND GET THE PASSENGERS ON BOARD ALREADY!”

A dwarf on deck was yelling through a metal trumpet, his voice amplified so much that even the seagulls flinched.

Neyar snapped to attention. “Ah—right! Let’s get movin’! We’re about to set sail!”

As he turned toward the ship, Luc quickly called after him. “What about our luggage and supplies?”

“Already placed in yer room,” Neyar assured him with a wave. “So hurry up!”

The two of us jogged up the wooden boarding ramp, the Dagonir rising and falling gently with the waves.

Neyar smirked,
“Well, having the Merchant of Death as a passenger means this ship won’t need much security. Nobody would dare attack us.”

Then his smirk faltered.

“…Which is exactly why I’d prefer if people didn’t know I was here.” He glared at Neyar. “We’ve been keeping a low profile for a reason. I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t spread my name around.”

Neyar waved him off. “Of course, of course! I’ll keep my mouth shut—on one condition.”

Luc narrowed his eyes. “…What condition?”

The dwarf grinned. “Tell me yer tales so I can write another song in yer honor!”

I rolled my eyes. “Yep. He’s definitely going to blow our cover.”

Luc hesitated, then sighed in defeat.
“Fine. I’ll share a few stories. But just call me Luc while we’re onboard.”

“Of course, of course, Sir Luc!”

“Drop the ‘sir,’ will you?” Luc muttered.

With that, we finally set sail for the Isle Continent.