Hill Dwarf in the Big Mountain

Note: Image is from Ironage.media for their January 17, 2024 weekly writing prompt "The Homesick."

I went to a bar after my shift at the forge.

My clothes were stained black from soot, but so was the city on account that the bleeding chimneys never stopped belching.

I spent more of my free time at mountain bars than I did in the small, stone chamber I called an abode. The whistles had sounded nigh thirty minutes ago, and the bar was already starting to fill up.

Everyone was so damn cheery it made me sick. Drinking with friends and lovers. Laughing, making plans, enjoying life in the big mountain. Meh, who was I kidding. I was just jealous.

I sat down on a lonely stool at the end of the bar.

“Fancy a wee swally, laddy,” asked the bartender. He was handsome for a mountain dwarf. His skin was washed clean and his black beard was oiled and finely braided. His hands had probably never seen a day's work in a forge, mine, or quarry. Spirits were his trade, nothing to be looked down on by a dwarf though. His bar top was made of iron, and the stools were bolted to the stone floor. Oil lamps filled the black bar with warm light. The entire joint was a chiseled alcove dug into the side of the mountain.

“Whatever you have on well today. I’ve no coin for anything else.” 

“Something bothering you, is it?”

I snorted. “Oh, aye. You could say that.”

“Well, go on, laddy. Tell us your woes. What else is a bartender for if not to lend a sympathetic ear to a thirsty patron light on luck and coin?”

He slid me a steel shooter with brown liquor in it. I sniffed it. Whew, ember whiskey. Cheap as cheap gets, and strong enough to knock the hairs off your toes. I gulped and threw the shot back. Oh, it was dreadful, burned like I swallowed a hot coal. I slammed the empty shooter down on the bar.

“Nana’s beard, that’s awful that is.”

The bartender chuckled and leaned against the bar, tucking his hand towel into his leather apron. He fixed me with a long stare, and I knew then that he was going to be a chatty twit, not willing to move on until he pried my sob story out of me.

“Oh, fine, to tell you the truth, I don’t even know where to start.”

“How about at the beginning. That’s where most good stories start.”

I nodded, thinking back to what brought me to this dark metropolis in the first place.

“Well, I suppose it’s not the first time you’ve heard a story like mine in a bar like this. But I’m a hill dwarf, see. And a smith to boot. A thumping good one too, or so I thought anyway.”

He stood back up and put his hands on hips.

“Now you’re right about that. I’ve definitely heard this story before. Let me guess, you were the best smith under the hill, right?”

I nodded.

“You had dreams of making it big, but the gold doesn’t flow under the hill like it does in the big mountain. So, you, being the fiery upstart you are, brought your skills here, eager to make a name for yourself?”

I nodded.

“Only, once you got here, you realized there were a thousand others just like you?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’ve heard it all before. You’re the one who asked me to share. Have you got any advice or are you just going to chap my arse all night?”

“Fear not, laddy. I won’t leave you hanging high and dry. Your solution is rather simple, if not a little difficult.”

I raised my eyebrows and gestured for him to explain.

“You’ve got to be honest with yourself. Lying to me don’t matter more than wet coal. But lying to yourself, that’ll quench your forge right quick, it will.”

“Ok…what do I have to be honest about?”

“On whether you're struggling because you’ve realized you’re not as special as you thought you were, or…and often I find this to be the answer, if you don’t mind me saying so…are you missing home?”

I did not have an answer to that. I slid the shooter back to him and signaled for another.

“Bartender, you’re going to have to give me a second to think on that one.”

He smirked and topped me up, sliding the small cup back under my nose. It made my eyes water. I swallowed the liquid fire and sat there with my chest burning. I needed to go somewhere alone and sit, have a good think.

The menu on the barback said the ember whiskey was a copper a shot. I tossed my two copper pieces on the bar top and left. He called to me as I rounded the corner out of his bar.

“Remember, laddy. You’ve got to be honest!”