A Giant's Brew

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A Giant's Brew

Postby Gormal » Sun Mar 05, 2006 5:17 am

The soft crunching of the fresh layer of snow brought a smile to Gormal’s face. If there was one thing
that the deep mountain halls lacked that he loved, it was snow. The fringes of his fur-lined cloak
swirled about legs from a light wind that sent up wispy clouds of powdered snow across the frozen plains
of Jotunehim. A gleaming ribbon of ice in the distance wound lazily between the rolling hills off into
the distance. Gormal knew to stay away from the road of frozen water, the black-eyed trolls would spot
him easily if he were to expose himself on the slippery road. The white-cloaked dwarf kept to the gentle
slops and flatlands where he could defend himself should the need arise. Experience had taught him that
it would.

Gormal withdrew a dented silver flask embossed in silver with the Foaming Mug from beneath his suit of
mithril battle mail. The flask had been a gift from his cousin, Durron Stoneforge on his one hundred and
fiftieth nameday. He unscrewed the crown-fashioned cap and took a swig of the fiery whiskey that Durron
brewed. Warm fingers snaked down the dwarf’s throat and spread throughout his chest.

‘Only three things serve to keep a dwarf warm.’ Gormal remembered his father’s advice. ‘A warm fire, a
heated battled, and a swallow of a brew master’s finest.’

He replaced the flask without stopping, keeping his eyes on the shadows on the hill he trudged up. A
thick pillar of white smoke rose behind the hill: a beacon of warmth amidst the bleak landscape. As
Gormal crested the hill, the snow-covered roof of Brimir’s hall rose into view. The deep drifts of snow
that banked against the high granite walls resembled a gaping mouth with gleaming fangs of ice that hung
from the eaves.

Gormal turned southward where the snow piled up to the rooftop, retaining his vantage of the plains.
Following a shallow path carved into the snow, the dwarf climbed over the roof of the building and down to
the heavy oaken door on the eastern side. The door was well oiled, but still creaked as Gormal threw his
full weight against the giant-sized door. Brimir refused to cater to the smaller races who braved
Jotunheim for a taste of his ale with a smaller door.

Smells of honeyed mead, and roasting meat swept out into the cold air as the door swung inward to the
high-ceilinged hall. As Gormal pushed to door closed, he stamped his feet sending clumps of snow and ice
falling to the floor and swung his cloak from his shoulders, letting the warmth of the room seep into his
body. Huge benches and tables littered the cavernous room, surrounding an enormous stone table at the
center. A pair of bearded giants slumped against the nearest table asleep, tankards still clutched in
their hands.

Gormal chuckled and headed towards a small table (by giant standards) in the back corner. No sooner
had he draped his cloak over the bench and seated himself with a deep moan of relief than a smiling
apron-clad giant approached him.

“Ello, Master Brimir” greeted the dwarf.

“Back again for ‘nuther cask eh?” Brimir asked, looping his thick thumbs through the straps in his

“A tankard will do for now, but I wondered if ye’d join me. Ah’ve an offer for ye that might interest

“Brimir would love to share drink with Lord Stoneforge!” the giant bellowed.

Gormal chuckled, “Just Gormal, else I’ll start to call you Barmaid Brimir.”

Brimir’s head flew back as a loud roar of laughter echoed across the hall. One of the giants across
the room stirred from his stupor long enough to take another drink from his tankard before collapsing back
onto the table.

The giant bartender returned promptly with a pair of pewter tankards, one appropriately sized for the
dwarf nearly vanished in his hand. Thick ale sloshed over the rim of their drinks and Brimir dropped them
onto the table and himself onto a stool as tall as Gormal was.

Gormal wet his throat with a deep swig of the sweet, warm ale and nodded in approval. “As good as
ever. It’s too bad that ah’ve got to travel so far for a cup.”

“Brimir make ale good enough that you come though!” The giant smiled and took a heavy drink from his
enormous tankard, carved with a pair of growling wolves. Foaming clung to his thick whiskers as he set
the cup back to the table.

“Aye, it’s true but have ye ever considered sellin’ year brew outside of the castle and year hall?”

“Brimir not go to others with mead, others come to Brimir.”

“Aye, but ye do sell it not give it away do ye not?” Gormal arched a thick red eyebrow and took
another swig of the ale. “Yer’s is the finest ale outside of Mithril Hall. The rest of the realm would
pay well for its like.”

“Brimir makes ale. King Loki sends workers to buy. Brimir does not leave his home.” Brimir slammed a
fist onto the table, emphasizing his point and sending foam and liquid into the air from both tankards.

“My clansman cousin will be opening a tavern soon in the new city of Ashstone, and would do well to
sell yer ale. His own brew is nearly as good, but as they say, it’s better to have too much beer than
just enough.”

“Gormal is packhorse now? Bringing Brimir’s mead to small folk bar?”

“No packhorse, ah’m just here to make an offer, and of course to drink some for myself. Durron will
send others to bring the casks back, and to bring you yer coin.”

The bartender giant scratched at his chin and picked up his tankard again, eye the dwarf over its rim
as he drank. Twin streams of ale ran down either side of his mouth as the giant upturned his cup,
emptying it in one large swallow. Brimir wiped his sleeve across his mouth, belched loudly, and licked
his lips.

“Gormal is good friend to Brimir and Brimir will sell his mead to him!”

“Thank ye, friend.” Gormal picked up his own tankard and emptied down his throat in salute to Brimir
with a wide grin. “Durron’s tavern just became the only place in the realms to sell the finest giant’s
brew made!”

Gormal and the giant ate and drank through the evening and into the night, sharing stories and jokes.
Gormal woke early the next day beside the huge granite hearth, its fire burned low to embers. Brimir was
sprawled out on the floor snoring so loud, Gormal was surprised that the rafters didn’t collapse. He
quietly gathered his belongings and headed back out into the snow.

Durron’s pub had begun as just an opportunity to establish a place for the Mithrilguard to meet away
from the Hall, but as he worked to establish it, the idea had quickly endeared itself to Gormal as more
than just a building. Perhaps it could be a home away from home for all dwarves; perhaps. Gormal brushed
the thought aside and pulled his cloak tight about him as he stepped out into the cold morning snowdrift.
Idle thoughts could distract, and he had no wish to be caught daydreaming by the furred yeti, the trolls,
or the giant armored worms that could swallow his kind whole. It would be a long walk back to Mithril
Shevarash GCC: 'Are you going to be confrontational to me everytime I answer a question on GCC and you're at keys?'
Posts: 4161
Joined: Thu Jun 14, 2001 5:01 am

Postby Ashiwi » Sun Mar 19, 2006 7:41 pm

Ooooooh, I doff my cap to your marketing genius. It brings a tear to my eye... ::sniffle::
Gormal tells you 'im a dwarven onion'
Gormal tells you 'always another beer-soaked layer'

Inama ASSOC:: 'though it may suit your fantasies to think so, i don't need oil for anything.'

Haley: Filthy lucre? I wash that lucre every day until it SHINES!

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