Fizzwick Scalebottom's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Fizzwick Scalebottom wanted to win the drinking tournament, and he was too drunk to say so. The tall green dragon slumped over the mossy keg table, one claw wrapped around his mead bottle. Every legendary drinker in the land would come to the Mossblossom Inn for the contest. Fizzwick planned to drink them all under the table. First he had to stay awake long enough to enter. He listened while he pretended to sleep. That was his real trick. His height let him catch whispers from every corner. He already knew the miller cheated the tax collector. He knew the innkeeper watered the ale. He kept all of it. He never told a soul. Tonight a chibi orange drake three tables over leaned close to a friend. "Aldric hides the good stuff," the drake whispered. "Mushroom mead. Behind the storehouse wall. Stronger than anything he sells." Fizzwick's ear twitched. Mushroom mead. The brewmaster's private stash. He had waited months for a slip like this. Whoever drank that mead would never lose a tournament. He set down his bottle and tried to stand. The room tilted. His tail knocked a stool. Every head turned. Aldric Moss came out from the back. The dwarf ran the inn, and he was the third brewmaster to try. The two before him had failed. Aldric meant to be the one who lasted. Flowers grew in his red beard. He looked at the fallen stool, then at Fizzwick. "You heard something," Aldric said. It was not a question. Fizzwick opened his mouth. Only a hiccup came out. He pointed a shaky claw toward the storehouse wall. Aldric folded his arms. "That stash isn't for sale. Isn't for sharing. Ask the whole grove. They'll tell you the same." Fizzwick tried again. He wanted to say he only wished to buy one bottle. He wanted to say he would win the tournament and make the inn famous. The words came out as a low groan. He swayed and caught the table. The orange drake laughed. Others joined. Fizzwick felt his face burn under his scales. Aldric studied him a long moment. Something in his eyes softened, then hardened again. "You know things," the dwarf said. "Everyone in this grove knows you listen. So listen close." He leaned over the keg table. "The mushroom mead comes from one patch. Nobody finds it. Nobody follows me. The last two brewmasters chased shortcuts and this grove broke them. I won't break." He straightened and walked to the storehouse door. Then he stopped. "But," Aldric said, "I need a champion for my tournament. Win it, and we talk about the mushroom mead. Enter drunk like this, and you won't last one round." The door shut behind him. Fizzwick sat in the quiet. He had wanted a secret. He got a bargain instead. Now the mushroom mead had a price, and the price was winning the contest sober enough to stand. He looked at the bottle in his claw and, for the first time in years, set it down full.