*Day 29 - Roadside Ambush*
"NOBODY TOUCHES THE HAMMER!" Spun-Duh roared, surrounded by six Ghul'rok.
His beard, Alewhisker, sensed danger. It began to respond, the ferromycelial symbiosis activating. This would be glorious. This would be—
The beard formed a soup ladle.
"Not now!" Spun-Duh hissed at his facial hair. "Weapon! WEAPON!"
The beard reconsidered, shifted, and became... a larger soup ladle.
The Ghul'rok paused, confused. One tilted its head. "Is he going to... feed us?"
"It's a tactical disadvantage!" Spun-Duh insisted, swinging the ladle-beard. It made a pleasant *ting* against the Ghul'rok's armor. "Making you underestimate me!"
Alewhisker, apparently offended, changed form again. This time: a corkscrew.
"Oh, come ON!"
The lead Ghul'rok actually lowered its sword. "Is... is he having a stroke?"
"I'M HAVING A TACTICAL MOMENT!" Spun-Duh charged, beard spiraling like a wine opener.
Then something miraculous happened. The corkscrew caught in the Ghul'rok's armor joint, twisted, and somehow - SOMEHOW - popped the entire chest plate off like a wine cork.
*POP!*
The armor flew off. The Ghul'rok stood there, confused, in its undertunic.
"I MEANT TO DO THAT!" Spun-Duh declared, as Alewhisker promptly formed into what appeared to be a tea strainer.
But here's the thing about Spun-Duh - he committed. He swung that tea-strainer-beard with all his dwarven might, and by pure accident, it caught another Ghul'rok in the eye holes of its helmet. The beard, excited by success, immediately expanded into a full colander, trapping the creature's head.
"BEHOLD!" Spun-Duh shouted. "THE ANCIENT DWARVEN TECHNIQUE OF... KITCHEN-FU!"
Alewhisker, now fully confused about its purpose, started rapidly cycling through forms: whisk, spatula, tongs, pizza cutter, egg beater...
The egg beater caught a Ghul'rok's sword.
Tangled it.
Yanked it away.
"HA! THE BEARD OF CHAOS!" Spun-Duh was now just making things up. "FEARED ACROSS... KITCHENS!"
One Ghul'rok tried to grab the beard. Alewhisker, offended by the audacity, immediately became red-hot (it had been trying for a frying pan, missed, became the concept of heat instead).
The Ghul'rok shrieked, hand burning.
"Nobody touches the beard!" Spun-Duh declared. "Even I don't touch the beard! It has trust issues!"
By now, Alewhisker had settled on becoming a pasta maker, somehow extruding metal noodles that were tangling everyone's feet. The battlefield looked like an Italian restaurant had exploded.
Kaelen, watching from nearby, rubbed his temples. "Is he... winning?"
Ora watched a Ghul'rok slip on metal linguine and impale itself on its own sword. "I... think so?"
"THAT'S SEVEN!" Spun-Duh announced, standing atop the pile of defeated enemies, his beard now shaped like a cheese grater for absolutely no reason. "NO, WAIT, SIX! ONE'S STILL TWITCHING!"
The twitching Ghul'rok raised a hand weakly. "Please... no more kitchen implements..."
"ALEWHISKER, FINISH HIM!"
The beard formed into a nutcracker.
"...Close enough!"
*CRACK*
"THAT STILL ONLY COUNTS AS ONE!" Spun-Duh declared to nobody in particular.
Later, in the tavern, Spun-Duh regaled everyone with the tale: "And then my beard became Glamdring itself!"
"It became a potato peeler," Kaelen corrected.
"A TACTICAL potato peeler!"
Alewhisker, pleased with itself, was currently formed into a beer tap, directly feeding ale into Spun-Duh's mouth.
"At least it knows priorities," Ora admitted.
"Shhh," Spun-Duh said, eyes closed in bliss. "The beard is learning. Today kitchen utensils, tomorrow... slightly sharper kitchen utensils!"
The beard hiccupped.
Foam everywhere.
Perfect.
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*End Chapter 19.11*
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