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... laces of the Guild of Brewers. I was on my guard, for there were likely older and fouler things than Malt here, in the deep places of the Erd.

I waved my hand in front of my nose and tried not to breathe. That anything could be fouler was questionable, given the intense oniony scent wafting from him and every brewer I encountered. The place was mostly run by brown robed apprentices and journeymen, and the younger dwarves would bow and scrape and mutter obsequieties as we walked past.

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