When he’d first come to Dorchester to ‘watch’ over the anomaly, Nero Walker, he’d thought he was being clever. It had been like a confluence of events that had come together to give him multiple things that he’d wanted. He’d finally had a reasonably legal excuse to deal with that waste of essence Cranston, an interesting subject to study and observe, and above all… a justifiable excuse to foist his duties at the tower onto others, namely his friendly pain in the backside Mathers. Seizing the opportunity had been an obvious choice.

  While to others his actions may have looked impulsive and rushed, in his mind he’d thought he’d taken into account all the variables. He expected his time in Dorchester to be a respite, a time free from the responsibilities his position as the head of the council of mages demanded. No more meetings. No more powerful families requiring a moment of his time or organizations demanding his personal oversight for their corroboration with the Tower of Magic. Yet, as usual, the world and fate had other ideas.

  Since he’d arrived here, Archmage Jennings had been having to deal with one thing after another. He knew he was partly to blame, but a majority of the fault had to be assigned to the subject he’d come here to study… that little shit Nero Walker. The young man was a walking and talking expression of chaos given material form.

  Originally, Archmage Jennings had thought to arrange a series of challenges for the young man to overcome. His intention was to speed up the anomaly’s growth and observe how his mind worked while being close enough to observe how his soul’s harmonization with the body it was using progressed.

  That plan lasted lasted less than a month.

  He’d forgotten how conniving and irresponsible nobles could be in these tiny cities. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, they thought that they were somehow special due to the fact that they lorded over a measly few million commoners. They’d let their power go to their head and become overly brazen with their schemes.

  As a result, he’d had to dust off some of the skills he hadn’t used in years. There was a certain amount of effort involved in monitoring local intrigues and predicting the outcomes of their intersections. He’d forgotten how annoying it was to deal with. Especially when a person like the anomaly was taken into consideration.

  He was now positive that the anomaly was fateless, as in somehow outside of the predictable influence of the material realm's essence flows. His current theory was that it was due to the anomaly’s incredibly odd soul having come from outside the local paradigm. It was like the body the anomaly was using was just an extension of himself from another plane… an observer who’d been accidentally given interaction privileges with the material world. It made predicting his actions practically impossible.

  Which, of course, was why Archmage Jennings had been so busy lately. Whether it was keeping a close watch on the local powers through scrying, monitoring the anomaly’s actions, building up his local network of influence, or just cleaning up the political and magical aftermath after the anomaly’s antics got out of hand… he felt like he was dealing with more responsibilities here than he’d had when running the entire kingdom’s Towers of Magic. At least there he’d had people he could assign tasks to.

  Rubbing his hands tiredly over his face, he collapsed into his seat in his office, thoroughly exhausted from the morning he’d had. He’d managed most of what he needed to get done, but he knew his day was still far from over.

  The anomaly’s ceremony was still going on, and he needed to confirm how many of his agents he’d been able to sneak into House Walker. Having used a few mages in the local Tower of Magic as his go-betweens, he’d arranged for hopefully up to five people to be embedded into the anomaly’s new house. While not immediately useful, he hoped that in the future they could act as channels for his will, to steer the anomaly to where he preferred him to go. Although to be honest, he wasn’t all that enthusiastic about this particular plan’s prospects.

  The anomaly simply wasn’t the type to be easily manipulated.

  Pulling out a bottle of wine from his desk, he poured himself a glass and wondered whether all this effort was worth it. Sure, the amount of data he’d already collected was substantial, and he’d already learned more about the interaction between planar route dynamics than he’d had in the past century of his studies… but it was all just so irritating.

  He’d spent days having to rebuild the local essence flow structures to avoid a complete ethereal density collapse, then had to influence the Royal Academy’s evaluators and the local order of knight’s grandmaster to defend the anomaly’s actions which caused the problem in the first place.

  Honestly, he shouldn’t be complaining, seeing as the evaluators were obviously biased toward the anomaly, making the task considerably easier than he thought it would be. Which was in itself a fact that he’d have to remind himself to look into as evaluators were by design supposed to be chosen for their impartiality. At some point, he needed to figure out what they were up to.

  Tapping his fingers on the desk in thought, he realized that was the crux of the issue. There were too many plots going on with ties to many actors he hadn’t identified. If he’d just had to deal with local nobility, he could have handled that. Yet, that didn’t seem to be the case.

  He’d discovered his assistant, Mage-Adept Newbanks, was currently acting as an agent of the crown. While he wasn’t entirely sure of her goals, he’d been careful not to tip her off as to his suspicions.

  Then there were the evaluators. They obviously had their own agenda. For some incomprehensible reason, they’d abandoned their duties to the Royal Academy to follow the anomaly. While they’d been careful about the legality of their actions, he still found what they were doing troubling.

  Locally, there were the various plots by the nobles he was being forced to combat. The city lord and her allies had theirs, the Blackwoods and others had theirs, and then the general and his supporters had their own. It was all just a mess, and he couldn’t be sure there wasn’t someone else coordinating everything from behind a veil of anonymity.

  Normally, he’d just run a few calculations and find out everything he needed to know, but with the anomaly acting as an uncertain variable, it would be pointless. He’d never in his millennia of life had to deal with this type of uncertainty.

  Taking a large gulp of wine, his shoulders drooped as he allowed himself to sink deeper into his chair with a sigh.

  While he was lost in all these thoughts, part of his mind watched the ceremony going on. Unsurprisingly, the anomaly went out of his way to complicate things even more, thoroughly lampooning the plot he’d spent weeks trying to combat with a few simple words.

  ‘Whoever was behind the faith district's efforts to stir up divine controversy must be livid,’ he thought to himself with a smirk.

  Abruptly sitting up in his seat, he turned his entire attention to what he was seeing as the dwarven contingent he hadn’t had a chance to think about was making their presence known. He’d been thinking about how to handle the issue that had cropped up with the mountain’s providence, but it seemed that his efforts might not be needed. The dwarven king seemed to already be taking a liking to the anomaly.

  He wasn’t entirely sure he liked where this was going.

  While part of his mind was focused on other tasks, he kept watch over everything from his seat in his office at the top of the local Tower of Magic. He saw House Walker’s leadership skillfully add to the house’s ranks, growing their forces and influence with numbers. He was pleased to see every one of his agents take their oaths. He was even more pleased to see that the faith’s influence had been completely dismantled before they could become a problem.

  After the ceremony, he nervously watched as the nobles made their way to the reception hall to begin their scheming, the entire time he remained focused on the dwarves. He’d known about his king’s plan to expand on the work his ancestors had begun, developing the kingdom’s ties to the other races. It was a laudable, but foolish, goal. In his opinion, the effort involved simply outweighed the benefits.

  Other species were just too different than humans. Predicting their behavior and thoughts was a waste of time and resources. The calculations created to model human behavior didn’t work on them, and the likelihood of acquiring enough data to adapt the equations was unlikely. It would require the aid of the other species themselves, and he couldn’t see them agreeing to it. Especially the dwarves, they and humans just didn’t get along. Trading and cooperation weren’t out of the question, but friendship and trust were simply impossible.

  Of course, his opinion was immediately proven wrong by the actions of the anomaly. He sat dumbfounded as he watched the little shit actually getting along with the bearded nightmares. What he was witnessing was unprecedented, and entirely outside of his considerable experience.

  ‘Is he… actually drinking with dwarves?’ he thought to himself in awe.

  While it wasn’t uncommon to see a human sharing a few drinks with dwarves, it was entirely unexpected to see a human enjoying the experience. Normally, that type of situation quickly devolved into a fight with either the human or the dwarf insulting the other party and shattering the cordial atmosphere. From what he understood, dwarves and humans both were warned from a young age to keep their emotional distance from each other. The two species could be allies… but never friends.

  So, he honestly didn’t know how he should be feeling watching the anomaly pelting dwarven royalty with questions while he taught them some drinking game he made up on the spot.

  ‘This… might not be good,’ he thought to himself with his worry plainly expressed on his face in a frown.

  —--

  “No, no, no! You’re being too aggressive! You have to just ‘flip’ it!” Nero shouted while demonstrating the correct way to ‘flip’ a cup.

  With half of the shiny metal mug halfway over the edge of the table, Nero skillfully applied two fingers under the tankard and flicked it. In one smooth motion, the empty mug shot a little up into the air and flipped, landing upside down on the table with a wobble.

  Holding his hands up into the air in fists, he looked down at the angry dwarf with a smug look on his face and declared, “That’s how it’s done bitches! I am one with the cup! Bow before my flippy-cup skills and tremble at my might!”

  Focusing intently on the mug in front of him, King Mavros Mithrilstrike carefully placed his mug over the edge of the table. His entire being was tense with anticipation of his attempt. Rolling his shoulders, he decided that if he was going to do this, he was going to do it right.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Removing his gauntlets wasn’t easy, and he rarely if ever did it when he was out in public, but he didn’t hesitate for more than a second before ripping them off and placing them on the table. He needed his fingers free from any and all constraints if he was going to succeed at the young human’s challenge.

  Delicately, as if he were handling a precious gem, he placed his large stubby fingers under the edge of the mug. While keeping his hands steady, he took a deep breath… and flicked. With an incredibly serious look on his face, he watched as the mug launched lightly into the air. He held his breath as the mug flipped beautifully, like a throwing axe on its way to a target. His heart trembled as it landed perfectly, face down on the table… only to begin pounding as it began to wobble. He felt the heavy moment of silence around him as everyone waited to see if it would stabilize. Then, like magic, the mug slowly stopped moving, coming to a perfect stop upside down on the table.

  The area around him erupted into cheers, his dwarven comrades shouting in praise at his accomplishment. Even the human lad who’d been taunting him began pounding a fist on his armored shoulder and shouting, “YEAH, BOI! That’s how you nail that shit to the table!”

  With a smile wide enough to show his teeth through his beard, he turned around to accept the praise he was receiving. His dwarves shouted and hugged each other, demonstrating their excitement at his achievement. For a moment, he felt like he was back in one of the taverns near his old clan hall, enjoying some time with his friends. He felt 300 again.

  Crusher, his longtime friend shouted directly into his face, “Well done, Mavros! I knew you could do it. It’s just like etching a filigree… a steady hand and a firm heart!”

  Interrupting the celebration, the human lad shoved his way through the dwarves and declared, “Great! But that’s just the introduction! Now we can get to the game!”

  The dwarves all quieted down, thoroughly confused by what he was saying. Mavros muttered, “What do you mean, lad? Is there more to this ‘flippy-cup’ than that?”

  Throwing his hands up into the air in excitement, Nero shouted, “Of course there is! Come on, do you think you can just flip a cup and drink? This is supposed to be a competition. You can’t have a game without competition, and you can’t have a drinking game without drinking! Come on, everyone step up to the table. You pick four people for your team, and I’ll pick my four. Crusher! You’re on my team, and I don’t remember anyone else’s name, so grab three others.”

  Mavros instinctively shouted back, “Wait! Why do you get Crusher, he’s my second in command?”

  Nero smirked and replied, “Because I called him first.”

  The dwarves all exchanged looks with each other, trying to decide whether or not the lad had a point.

  Crusher patted Mavros on the shoulder and said in a serious voice, “That’s right, my friend. He did call me first.”

  Frowning in annoyance, Mavros pointed up at Nero and said, “Fine! But I get Tiggie and Oliver!”

  Nero nodded in acceptance as he poured out half-filled mugs of beer from the cask before pausing and looking at the king in surprise. “There’s a dwarf named Oliver?”

  A heavy-set dwarf pushed his way forward, his fluffy beard bouncing like a whiskered ball of fur on his face. “Yeah, I’m Oliver. You got a problem with my name?”

  Nero didn’t stop pouring the beers as he replied with a shrug, “Nope. I just didn’t expect a dwarf named Oliver. It’s like meeting a human named Firebelly or Ironbutt or something. Like I said, I don’t know anything about dwarves, so this is a learning experience for me. Is Oliver a popular dwarven name? Does it come from anything?”

  While the dwarves spread out around the round table, Nero passed out the beers while his attention remained on the dwarf named Oliver.

  Rubbing his head in thought, Oliver replied, “Not really. It’s just a name. I think my grandad heard it somewhere or something. Everyone’s gotta be called something, right?”

  Hearing mutters of agreement from the dwarves, Nero shrugged again and replied, “Fair enough. It’s better than being all Dick or something.”

  As Nero’s intention of a pun tried and failed to be translated correctly, all the dwarves looked confused for a moment. Luckily, Nero had finished getting the beers handed out and was now ready to teach them how to play the easiest and most enjoyable drinking game he’d ever experienced… flippy cup.

  Getting to this point hadn’t been easy, but it hadn’t been all that hard either. He’d read that dwarves and humans didn’t get along all that well, and he now had a better understanding as to why that was. These weren’t exactly the same type of dwarves he’d grown up reading about in fantasy books, but they weren’t all together all that different.

  They were more like excitable racist grandfathers. They took everything a human said personally… like they were just itching for a reason to start a fight. Or at least they had at the beginning of the conversation. They’d eased up a bit after a while.

  Now, they were more like the jocks he used to hang out with, mixed with theatre nerds.

  Nero couldn’t come up with a better comparison. The dwarves had that same physical presence and intensity of athletes, but they also had that reserved intensity of drama club kids. They put their everything into whatever it was they were doing. To Nero, it was an overly dramatic atmosphere that would have looked pretentious on anyone else. But, for some reason, it worked for the dwarves. It was like the emotion of childlike enthusiasm somehow had a baby with a day planner. He’d never met anyone who was both overly emotional and so serious at the same time. Their personalities weren’t at all what he’d been expecting… while at the same time fitting the image of what a dwarf should be to a ‘T’.

  He was having a blast interacting with them. Unfortunately, the leaders of his new house had not been feeling the same way.

  While he’d been hanging out with the dwarves, he’d been keeping an eye on them through his essence field. They’d all moved tables and were now watching over him from a distance. He could ‘feel’ that they were both confused and impressed by his ability to get along with the dwarves. In a way, it was amusing to see how strongly they were affected by his success.

  Earlier, when he’d gone off to find a servant to get the beer he’d promised the dwarves, apparently the dwarven king, King Mavros Mithrilspike, had almost come to blows with Cathleen. Vera had wanted to get the matter of the mountain’s ownership handled quickly, and Marvros had told her in no uncertain terms that talking to her was a waste of his time. Cathleen, having been offended on Vera’s behalf had stepped forward. They were just about to agree to a meeting time in the arena when Nero had luckily returned.

  He understood immediately where they were both coming from. From Mavros’ perspective, he didn’t want to bother speaking with an intermediary when Nero was the one who owned the mountain. Vera on the other hand just wanted the matter settled, and as an efficient woman was trying to be direct. Neither of them was necessarily wrong, but they were both kind of being assholes about it.

  It hadn’t been all that difficult to put a stop to the tension, as arriving with a group of servants carrying casks of bear and mugs worked well as an ice-breaker. What took longer was convincing Cathleen and the others that he’d be fine on his own. Just having to explain to the dwarves that the human’s caution wasn’t an insult to their dwarven honor was a headache in and of itself. But, it had eventually all worked out.

  Unsurprisingly, he and the dwarves still hadn’t gotten around to talking about the mountain. The conversation had immediately gotten sidetracked by the king and the dwarves complaining about how weak and pathetic the beer he’d gotten was. To Nero, it had sounded like the typical elitist shit he used to hear when a Guinness drinker was handed a Bud Light. Which of course led to Nero proclaiming that every beer had its time and place.

  Having not drunk a single beer since arriving in this world, Nero had no idea if what he’d served them was something he should be defending. When he’d asked the servants for beer, he hadn’t been terribly specific. In fact, he’d asked them for casks of a good ‘working man’s’ beer. He hadn’t wanted to offend the dwarves and guessed what they’d like based on what he thought dwarves would be like. Honestly, even after they’d argued about it, he still didn’t know what kind of beer they’d actually prefer.

  Rather than confront the problem, he did what he always did and changed the subject.

  Instead of cheap beer being an insult, it was a beer he brought over because it was good for drinking games and first meetings. The dwarves were at first skeptical, as their drinking games were only for close friends and family. They were intended to be shared with those a dwarf didn’t mind getting drunk with, not strangers.

  Nero’s argument was that while they were of course right to think that, what better way was there for a stranger to become a friend than to skip all the pointless talk and instead share a drink? None of the dwarves had a logical response to that. So, now, here they were, playing flippy cup.

  Pointing at one of the dwarves who hadn’t been picked for the teams, he said, “Alright, you’re the referee. When you say ‘go’, we start. Remember, one at a time, and you can’t start until the guy in front of you has successfully flipped his cup. No cheating, no touching the table, and no early starts. Disputes are up to the ref to handle. Everyone ready?”

  The dwarves all had removed their gauntlets and helms, taking the game more seriously than he’d thought they would. Each of them was hovering their hands over their tankards like they were just itching for their turn.

  Looking to the dwarf king on his right, he smiled widely and said, “We’re starting it off. Good luck, you’re going to need it.”

  Mavros chuckled while scowling, “Same to you lad. Just don’t be too embarrassed when you lose.”

  Nero laughed loudly while crouching over the table to get in position, his hand cupped around his half-filled tankard. “That’s the great thing about drinking games. Win or lose, everyone wins, we all get to drink.”

  Just as he finished his joke, the dwarf assigned as the ref shouted, “Go!” while slamming his fist on the table hard enough to shake it.

  Nero deftly tipped his tankard into the air, drinking it smoothly while remaining in a rigid and controlled squat. Meanwhile, Mavros the king was muttering a curse as he was caught off guard by the signal, having unfortunately been laughing at Nero’s quip about everyone being a winner. But, he recovered quickly and began chugging his beer.

  Like a pro, Nero finished his drink and delicately placed his mug on the table, ensuring that exactly half of it was over the edge. Taking a moment to breathe, he focused and flipped. Luckily, he’d already gotten a feel for the correct amount of force he needed to flip this type of cup, and on his first try, he succeeded. Being a solid metal tankard, it wasn’t all that difficult to flip compared to the plastic cups he once played with.

  The moment it stopped wobbling, he turned to the dwarf on his left and shouted, “Drink!”

  Like he’d been released from a cage, the dwarf hopped into action, raising his tankard and chugging in one smooth motion. Nero watched with a grin as the dwarf finished and began carefully arranging his cup for the impending flip attempt. It was incredibly amusing to see how seriously the dwarves were taking the competition. While not exactly ‘cute’, it was kind of adorable.

  Although none of them were particularly good at the flipping part of it, they were incredibly good at the drinking part. The game proceeded well, each dwarf adhering to the rules and waiting for the turn. Almost from the beginning, the dwarves who hadn’t been chosen for the teams began cheering them on. While it had started out as gruff voices of encouragement, by the time Nero’s team had gotten a full-person lead, the crowd had begun to truly clamor.

  As if the gods of competition had personally taken note of events and interfered, Nero’s third team member had trouble with his flip, ensuring that they didn’t get too far ahead. Shouts of encouragement and derision rang out, causing the dwarf in question to buckle under the pressure, allowing the king’s team to catch up.

  Like the conclusion of a movie, it all came down to the last two dwarfs. Crusher versus Oliver, a battle for the ages. They both started drinking at the same time, finished at the same time, and began their flip at the same time. The moment the tankards were in the air, all the noise seemed to stop, even the essence around the table froze in anticipation of what would happen.

  Nero forced himself not to touch the table, despite how much he wanted a closer look at what was happening. The rules were clear, and he did NOT want to lose to a foul.

  Then, it happened, while the wobbling tankard in front of Crusher tipped over, the one in front of Oliver remained standing… perfectly upside down.

  The dwarves erupted into cheers while Nero’s team’s heads drooped in defeat. Crusher looked… crushed. Mavros and his team hopped up and down, hugging each other while the crowd patted them on the back in congratulations.

  Nero shouted, “You got lucky! I demand two out of three!”

  The dwarves as one came to a stop, awkwardly frozen while in the middle of their hug. Mavros turned away from his team, crossed his arms, and jutted out his beard. “What did you just say, boy?” he asked angrily

  Nero put his hands on his hips and replied seriously, “I said two out of three. Best of three wins!”

  The dwarves all shouted in excitement as they began resetting the table. Patting Mavros on the shoulder, Nero said, “See what I mean. Even when you lose a drinking game, you still win!”