Beers and Beards: A Cozy Dwarf Tale

We walked up to join everyone in a black mood. I was especially grumpy. A beer that copies other beers? What kind of brewing was that!? Where was the soul!? The heart of a brewer!? Bah!

But at the same time I could see where Lapis was coming from. A beer that was capable of being every beer in Crack absolutely could count as representing the country. Imagine being far from home, and wanting the taste of your local brewery. Just hop over to the liquor store and get Brazen’s Bull’s latest bull and it’ll be just like home. So long as you didn’t drink any other beer first.

At the same time, it was a bit of a cop out. And it all came down to the opinion of one dwarf; the King.

“You two look dour.” Aqua said as we walked up to join them.

“I’ll tell you later.” Annie muttered as we took our seats. We weren’t quite in the nosebleed section, but we were pretty high up, and I felt my dwarven vertigo setting in. The arena was jam-packed, full of signs and banners, variously cheering their respective drinkers on, or decrying this sacrilege to the sacred brew.

There were significantly fewer of those than the last time I’d been at a drinking contest, I noted with approval, and none of them were black-robed Master Brewers.

The arena was sand, just like Minnova, but this time there were thirty-two huge barrels lined up down the middle. Each had an adjoining table with a long line of Whistlemugs. Brown armored attendants were dumping kegs of beer into the barrels as quickly as they could, and I couldn’t help but wince. Pouring it early like that would flatten the beer and make it taste worse.

Then again, flat beer for a drinking contest wasn’t a bad plan.

“What beer’re they usin’?” I asked. “Did ya hear, Kirk?”