Brindle Goldenbeard, Muscle Mercenary

11 Feb 2025 - Transcribed by Paul Turner

This is the story of Brindle Goldenbeard, the Dwarven Muscle Mercenary. Brindle only cared about three things. Mass, progressive overloading, and his beautiful golden locks. He had always been obsessed with his appearance, having broken his mother’s water after doing one too many burpees in the womb. His mom did not even have to push him out and Brindle pulled himself out with a single arm and immediately started doing single arm push-ups with the other arm.

Brindle’s childhood was fairly ordinary. That is, if you consider it ordinary for a baby dwarf to learn how to do pistol squats before learning to walk or having their first words be “More weight!” as they benched a makeshift barbell crudely cobbled together from a hewn branch and toy blocks. As he got older, his dad tried to apprentice him as a blacksmith, but Brindle was let go after shaping a newly forged sword. He struck it against a hammer by lifting and hitting the anvil over it. In the blacksmith’s defense, it was a terrible way to try to make a sword. Brindle kept the blade, and wore it at his belt.

Blade in hand, he tried to join the city guard of a lord’s keep in the neighboring valley. However, his captain banished him for not following the uniform code. Brindle’s mighty pythons could not be contained by the tunic sleeves. He went through five tunics on his first day. Dejected, his spirits were not even lifted when he punched a hole clear through a cutpurse on his way out of the city gates.

His actions had garnered attention though. Later that night while traveling the roads back home, he was visited by a ranger clad in black leather. Brindle was fast asleep while the campfire he had made gave off little more than embers. He did not even hear the visitor approach, and was awoken to the sensation of cold steel against his neck.

“Don’t move a muscle,” said the ranger.

Eyes wide, Brindle stared at the cloaked intruder bathed in moonlight. His eyes began to burn as he struggled not to blink.

“So pedantic,” sighed the ranger. “You can move a few muscles already-”

His next words were broken off as Brindle did two things in rapid succession. First, he blinked several times. This brought crucial moisture to his eyeballs. Second, he flexed his neck muscles. This flung the knife away from his neck and out of the ranger’s hand. Before the clattering of the blade could be heard, the ranger tried to back away, but he was rocketed over Brindle’s shoulders by a swift knee to the groin. Brindle got up and stood over the ranger.

“You woke me up rudely.”

The ranger sat up and spit. He nursed his groin, and would never have children.

“Gods that hurt,” he managed to say after a few minutes of rocking back and forth.

“You said I could move a few muscles. You should know Brindle Goldenbeard doesn’t have anything to steal. I can’t even cut it as a city guard. My own sword isn’t worth the leather it’s sheathed in. If you want a fight though. That I can give you.”

The ranger considered him for a moment. Brindle was a teenager. His beard was still adolescent. He would do, though.

“I came here to offer you a job,” he finally said.

“With a knife to my throat?”

“With a knife to your throat. Do you want to hear the offer or did you just want to flex your muscles again?”

“Don’t see why I can’t do both,” said Brindle.

With that, the ranger told Brindle of the sad tale while Brindle posed and flexed his mighty muscles. The ranger was named Kalanth, and he had traveled to the cities nearby to find suitable protection. Kalanth had come from a royal dynasty, he claimed. When he was young though, his father had brought shame to their name by being caught fondling the family sheep, so to speak. Stripped of their titles and lands, his family soon became penniless. His mother died. In desperation his father sold Kalanth’s birthright, a mirrored shield he claimed could harness the power of the sun itself to burn any who would stand in its path. He wanted it back, but it was held deep within a Dwarven vault guarded by iron golems deep underground.

Brindle was just warming up when he realized Kalanth had finished his story.

“So you want me to help you get back a shield? What’s in it for me and my muscles? I may be strong, but even I can’t bend Dwarven steel.” As he finished his last statement, he whispered apologies to his biceps and kissed each of them.

“No, but we won’t need to break into a vault. The shield is to be the prize for a competition being held a few towns over.”

“Competition? What kind?”

“An arm-wrestling tournament,” said Kalanth with a sly smile.

Brindle smiled back slyly. The pretenses had been dropped and they were just two guys with sly smiles.

“So you’ll do it?

Brindle shrugged. “Sure, but I expect to be paid.”

“Do this, and I’ll make sure you get your weight in gold,” said Kalanth.

—–

Kalanth and Brindle traveled for three days to the city of Nurint. The two of them arrived to find stiff competition already warming up. There was Fishy Dave, who was a wiry leather strip of a man who you just know had that weird kind of man-strength that could bend a copper coin like it was nothing. Next up would be Harvey the Golem, a man so ugly that it was debated whether or not he was actually an iron golem who had killed enough people to fashion a disgusting skinsuit. Last would be the reigning champ. Surprisingly little was known about him, but whispers abounded that no one had come close to bending his arm.

Brindle was entered, and Kalanth sold his shortbow to buy them clothes more suitable for the competition. He explained that it would be important for intimidating the competition as well as getting the crowd on their side. Kalanth firmly believed in the power of the people’s support. Brindle found it odd, but new clothes were new clothes.

As the sun set, clouds filled the night sky and torches were lit in the town square while a man in a stylish tunic walked into the middle of the square. He had several staff helping load in the mirrored shield. Brindle had to admit to himself, it was a thing of beauty. Even this late in the day, it seemed to glow from the light it had absorbed. The announcer addressed the crowd.

“Ladies and gentle-sirs! It is time once again for our most beloved of competitions to begin! Please, gather one and all for Nurint’s Second Annual Arm-Wrestling Sunset Slam!”

The crowd cheered. Brindle and Kalanth stood off to the side, ready to be called.

“How are you feeling? Good?” Asked Kalanth.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You’re sure? You don’t need to use the bathroom or anything?”

“I’m good. What’s with you?”

Kalanth sighed. “I’m just nervous. I’ve been waiting a long time for this, you know?”

Brindle nodded. Kalanth clapped his hands on Brindle’s shoulders and nodded back. The announcer walked over to the two of them, a wide smile on his face.

“Alright gentlemen. You’re up!”

The first match was against Fishy Dave. Brindle and Dave eyed one another. Their right hands clasped together as their free hands grabbed the support pegs. The crown cheered. Several in the stands waved dead fish above their heads as they yelled, Dave’s superfans. The announcer began the countdown and the crowd joined.

“Three!”

“Two!”

“One!”

“Augh! My freakin’ arm!” Yelled Dave.

His arm had been splintered and hung loosely like an arm whose bones had been shattered by severe arm-wrestling trauma, which they had. The stunned crown sat in silence for a moment before one guy shouted out.

“Hey, the new guy won it!”

The crowd erupted into applause. Brindle had won his first competition easily. Fishy Dave, a lifelong man of the sea who had only joined the competition as something to do in the offseason, had now become the first loser against a rising star. His superfans dropped their dead fish and sulked off to a local tavern. In the meantime, the next competitor was brought out. Harvey the Golem.

Harvey smiled at the crowd, which caused them to become silent. His face was hideous and his teeth looked like chipped granite. He had scarring across his face and arms, from what, only he knew. Harvey kept the smile as he towered over Brindle. He stooped low to place his arm on the pad and his meaty hand easily contained Brindle’s entire fist.

On the sideline Kalanth felt his stomach sink. This may not go well for him. The announcer began his countdown, the crowd abating for the time being, and soon they were off. The two struggled, veins rising to the surface of their arms. Kalanth could no longer stand looking, and turned his gaze to the crowd while they continued to battle it out. His eyes settled on something familiar. Anger rose in his throat.

“What the hell?” He roared.

The two competitors continued their match as Kalanth stomped off to the crown. Brindle gritted his teeth as he pushed against the might of Harvey’s arm. Once or twice, he swore he felt it budge, but it would be a long time before the arm finally fell and he did not know if he had the stamina for it. Then he heard more yelling. It was Kalanth.

“Yeah Dad, I guess I am surprised to see you here!”

“No, I don’t care! I don’t want to meet her.”

“My new mom? That’s a sheep!”

A wealth of laughter erupted from the crowd. It grew into a cacophonous swell which enveloped the two competitors. Brindle felt the moment arrive, and he slammed Harvey’s hand down. He had won the second competition. Harvey began to cry out.

“No, stop laughing at Harvey! It not Harvey’s fault he look like this! Harvey no like laughter!”

He stomped off past the crowd and into the hills. Some villagers say that late at night if you ever hear the sounds of a donkey crying in the woods, it could just be Harvey the Golem. Either way, he was considered a loser, so who cares.

Brindle was given a moment to rest before the last competitor would be brought out. During his brief respite, the announcer modeled the shield. The crowd gasped. Kalanth rubbed Brindle’s shoulders.

“It’s almost mine. My birthright. You can do this, Brindle.”

Brindle was sweating. He had many muscles, but he felt like the next competitor might push them further than even he could handle. The announcer, as though he sensed Brindle’s apprehension, set aside the shield and calmed the crowd.

“People! People! The anointed hour has arrived! It is time to find out who our champion will be! Will it be Brindle Goldenbeard, our newest competitor? Or will it be our reigning champ?”

The crowd cheered as four oiled men in leather loincloths stepped out, carrying a seat on their shoulders. On the chair sat the previous year’s winner. Brindle now understood why it was a mystery. Atop the chair, on a velvet cushion, sat a large beam of Dwarven steel. All hope was lost. The crown continued to cheer as the oiled men brought the beam to the square. They leaned it against the side of the table, bracing the bottom with the cushion. One of the men removed the championship belt from the beam and slung it over his shoulder.

Brindle peered up at the beam, which hung over him even while resting at an angle. His blood ran cold. He placed his hand on the side, gripping the flange. It was warm, as though the Dwarven steel had just been forged. The announcer counted down with the crowd. The match had begun.

Brindle pushed with all of his might. His arms bulged. Sweat poured from his body. The Reigning Champ remained stoic. Neither competitor moved an inch. The crowd was silent, in awe of the sheer show of strength on display. High above, the clouds parted and a bright moon shone down, illuminating the two competitors. One bathed in sweat. One bathed in hardened steel.

Something else shone in the moon’s light. The mirror shield, Kalanth’s birthright. It sat on a podium behind the two competitors, slightly askew from the handling by the announcer. As the two continued to struggle against one another, their glow became a dim candle to the bright eminence of the shield. The shield’s light became a torch, then a beacon, and finally a blinding ray as several in the crown averted their gaze.

The town square lit up as though daylight had arrived. Then, in a sudden flash, it was gone. The shield was still on the podium, but it had returned to a cool glow. One of the crowd members gasped.

“The Champ!” She called.

The Dwarven steel beam had been warped. It now had a ninety degree kink halfway up and its top end touched the table. Brindle, red and glistening with sweat, had done the impossible. He had beaten the reigning champ. He had bent Dwarven steel.

Kalanth cheered. Soon, the entire crowd erupted in applause. Brindle had become the new champion. It was only as the announcer put the belt around his waist that anyone noticed half of his beard was missing. The hairs had been scorched off. He was devastated.

Kalanth embraced Brindle in as big of a hug as he could manage since he had no chance of reaching around those swole shoulders. Brindle tried to laugh, but he touched his smooth cheek, unsure if it would ever grow true again.

“I’m hideous now.”

“What? You’re the champ now! And I’ve reclaimed my birthright! I did it! We did it!”

“I guess,” he said morosely.

The crowd cheered on, drinks were had, and the celebrations carried on into the early light of morning. As the townsfolk awoke, many of them realized their pouches had been lightened. Already out on the open road, Brindle and Kalanth traveled in search of new adventure. Brindle felt an unease in his stomach as he looked back to the shrinking landscape. Kalanth had only paid him a tenth of his weight in gold. He was unsure if his gorgeous beard would ever be full again. Worst of all, he had no idea how he would increase his load on his next workout.

THE END