From the introduction: For many, Venerable Arendt was a saint. He led a simple life in a cave in Blackwater Gorge, a deep, narrow fissure in the hills, yet many people made the arduous journey to visit him. His underground garden was a wonder, his magnificent railway a mechanical marvel unheard of outside the grandest dwarven mines. What made him legendary, however, was the sublime, invigorating drink he brewed from the aromatic kurá beans in his garden. Arendt’s hot kurá was bliss in a cup, a delicacy without peer. But alas, Venerable Arendt is no more.