Along with the discovery of barrels ca the unlocking of the brewing system.
By adding different ingredients into a barrel, one could brew a wide variety of alcoholic beverages.
Wheat, for instance, produced malt beer. Add a splash of honey, and you had ad. Water plus apples? Cider. Toss in plums, and you got plum wine. There was also carrot wine, corn liquor, grape wine, rum, vodka—you na it. The list of potential drinks was long and surprisingly imaginative.
Each ingredient produced a distinct brew, and the process itself had been wonderfully simplified: add water, throw in the ingredients, seal it up, and wait.
At last, the mountain of food stockpiled in the territory could be put to proper use.
That morning, under the curious gazes of the townsfolk, Eric summoned a pile of construction materials and got to work. He built a large warehouse on a patch of open land, then excavated a sprawling, multi-level wine cellar beneath it.
The warehouse above would hold raw materials. The cellar below? Ferntation and storage.
The space wasn't enormous—Eric had no intention of digging halfway to the core of Middle-earth—so he carved out just enough room to fit a few thousand barrels, give or take. Once he was satisfied, he spent several days holed up inside the wine cellar, working nonstop.
By the ti he finally erged—blinking into the pale dawn light—hundreds of barrels were already bubbling away in neat rows, each properly labeled and sorted. Every section had a sign to prevent mix-ups: this corner for cider, that one for rum, the far side for high-proof vodka.
The longer a barrel brewed, the stronger its alcohol content beca, up to the system's natural limit. Opening a barrel too soon would halt ferntation, freezing the alcohol level at whatever it had reached.
Curiously, thanks to the brewing system's magical chanics, certain spirits didn't even require distillation to hit high proof. Vodka, for example, could naturally brew up to 55 percent alcohol.
One gulp of that, and even a troll would need a sit down.
After finishing his setup, Eric climbed out of the cellar just as the sun was peeking over the horizon—only to find Ved waiting for him.
"Milord!" Ved jogged over, breathless. "Everyone's asked to check with you… Could we perhaps use so of the grain to try our hand at brewing?"
Eric raised an eyebrow.
"We've got a few folks who used to dabble in brewing, back when they weren't living hand-to-mouth," Ved explained. "They've wanted to ask for a while, but since they've never seen you drink or heard anyone talk about alcohol around here, they assud you weren't keen on it… so they never brought it up."
After spending so ti with Eric, Ved had realized that his lord was nothing like the noblen he'd t before. Eric didn't stand on ceremony or fuss about etiquette. In fact, Ved still wasn't sure what kind of greeting he was supposed to give—so he just used the most generic gesture he knew and hoped for the best.
Eric, thankfully, didn't care in the slightest. Half the ti he didn't even notice.
And that easygoing attitude had gradually allowed Ved to drop the formalities. While still respectful and loyal, he no longer walked on eggshells. He even passed along the occasional bit of heartfelt feedback from the townsfolk.
"Let them do it," Eric replied simply. "You already know what I'm about to say."
"I do, milord."
"No waste. Use what you need. Nothing more."
Ved nodded, repeating Eric's favorite phrase, then turned to deliver the ssage.
Grain, in the old days, had been far too precious to use for anything but eating. Brewing with it would've been considered borderline criminal.
But here? Things were different.
As long as it wasn't wasted, they could use as much as they wanted.
The older craftsn, thrilled by the news, leapt into action. They rolled up their sleeves and began preparations at once. But excitent soon gave way to a new obstacle.
Tools and ingredients.
Sure, they could cobble together containers and basic equipnt from local materials. That part was easy. But when it ca to brewing techniques, they weren't Eric. They couldn't rely on the system to handwave past traditional processes. So steps still required specific items or procedures.
By their level of skill, the elder brewers were more than qualified to beco full-fledged Brewmasters. Unfortunately, their reputations weren't quite there yet—they hadn't unlocked the [Professional] class, so they couldn't officially assu the title.
Which ant they were still missing so key materials.
While Roadside Keep was rich in resources, not everything could be crafted on the spot. So items were simply unavailable or took ti to produce.
But the townsfolk weren't ones to sit on their hands.
Trade.
That was the answer.
They took inspiration from the wandering rchants of Dorwinion. If traders could co to Roadside Keep, why not send their own caravans out?
Several residents proposed the idea of forming a trade party. They'd visit nearby towns and barter for tools and ingredients. After receiving Eric's blessing, they elected eight people to form Roadside Keep's very first trade team.
Before departing, they took note of every item requested by their fellow townsfolk, promising to bring back exactly what was needed—no more, no less.
As the townsfolk gathered to see them off, the small caravan rattled away down the road, pulling a modest wagon filled with produce and preserved goods.
Four of the eight traders were forr hunters with decent combat skills. More than enough to deal with minor trouble.
Not that they expected much. Ever since Eric had taken up residence in the area, orc and goblin activity had mysteriously vanished. Even the wargs avoided the region like it was cursed.
It used to be that the wilds between Bree and the Weathertop were plagued by roaming beasts. But these days? If a rabbit darted into Eric's territory, the wargs would sit at the boundary and sulk, too scared to cross.
As for bandits… well, they'd all disappeared.
Word had gotten around. Nobody wanted to risk being around when the "man from the Keep" was having a bad day. Rumor had it he'd cut down a dozen troublemakers in one afternoon and left their heads for the crows. Whether true or not, it had been enough to terrify even the nastiest lowlifes into submission.
Bree's usual thugs had either gone into hiding or—shocker of all shockers—found honest jobs. So took up farming. Others worked as guards or laborers.
Not out of guilt, mind you. Pure survival instinct.
After all, who would cry over a dead thug?
That title, once worn with pride, had beco a liability the mont Eric strolled through town. The so-called "Nesis of Evil" was known to be particularly harsh on those with sticky fingers or a habit of bullying the weak.
Just recently, he'd personally intervened in a property dispute in Michel Delving. The guy didn't even let hobbits off easy.
The ruffians of Bree could only imagine what he'd do if he caught them stealing or extorting villagers.
So yes, they were being "good"—but it was a very nervous, sweaty kind of good.
Even if it didn't last, they weren't willing to test the waters.
As for the trade team, their journey went smoothly. They reached Bree in a few days, only to find that Dorwinion's rchants had beaten them to the punch. Most buyers had already stocked up, leaving little demand for the Keep's goods.
Undeterred, they pressed on toward the Shire.
This ti, fortune smiled on them.
The Shire had enough towns that, despite Dorwinion's early presence, so were still eager for trade.
Better yet, the goods they brought—fresh vegetables and at—were a hit.
Hobbits, ever the food enthusiasts, were delighted to find fresh produce in the middle of winter. Sure, they had pantries stuffed to bursting, but nothing beat a crisp apple or a juicy steak when everything else tasted like dust and salt.
It was the sa reason Bilbo had insisted on shopping at the market instead of offering Eric his own stockpile when they first t.
By the ti the trade team left the first village, their wagon was empty. Hobbits had cleaned them out entirely.
Mission accomplished.
They used the silver they earned—and so well-bargained trades—to gather every requested item. When they finally returned to Roadside Keep, their wagon was full once more.
Outward bound, full of goods. Hobound, just as packed.
And just like that, Roadside Keep's first experint in external trade ended in success.
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