Completed Das Broofest of Astenvale

[Faramund]

"Well, I for one am glad that you've finally decided to join us. Damn place was starting to fall apart without ya," Faramund replied, more than happy to exaggerate now that ol' Aoife had returned to them. In truth, the Order was doing just fine. But that didn't mean the elf wasn't needed; on the contrary, there always seemed to be more work than there were knights to do it.

Fortunately, the Order had gotten particularly lucky with its most recent recruits. Petra Darthinian and her Storm Dragon were the first that came to mind. Then, there was Squire Hadrian, finally knighted after so long shovelling shit for the Anathaeum. Fara had been pleased to hear the kid had been initiated into the Dawn Sanctum. Only the Gods knew what would have happened had he wound up with the duskers.

Fara shivered at the thought.

Josai's next announcement elicited cheers from the crowd and a smile from Faramund. "Now we're talking!" He exclaimed, raising his stein as the stout began to flow like liquid gold. Fara had always been a fan of dwarven brews. Hells, his best drinking buddies, Gilbert and Gorm, knew that all too well. Waiting for his stein to be filled, the dawnling was quick to snatch it up.

"Bottoms up!" He told Aoife before guzzling down on Belgrath's mightiest brew.

The Wall hit him all at once, and, as his stein thumped down on the table, empty save for one or two drops, Fara got the distinct feeling that he might have just made the worst mistake of his life. "Oh, dear God..." He began. "Does the ground always move like that or is it just me?" He asked, pressing to his feet as the world beneath him began to rock like the deck of a ship. Around him, the crowd laughed and hollered. Until they didn't.

"Oh shit... I think he's about to pass out!"

"Medic!"

Josai Aoife Baskara

 

[Abrielle Huxley]

Abrielle waited impatiently as the squires refilled the steins. He fingers tapped imapatiently as she waited for her drink, and as soon as hers was full, she greedily downed it much like the first. She slammed the stein down onto the with a very loud, and decidedly unladylike belch.

Abrielle looked down the table and a broad drunken smile cracked her lips. One by one her competitors were being taken out by the booze, birds, and other unfortunate happenings. She had done it. Making it past the first round had seemed like wishful thinking. But there she was sitting with the last few remaining brave souls.

Retrieving her stein, Abrielle rose to her feet and clambered onto the table. She swayed unsteadily as she raised the stein to her lips and took a moment to coax the last remaining drops from the stein. A quiet giggling could be heard echoing around in the stein, and by the time Abrielle had lowered it, she was giggling like a madman.

"How do ya like that huh?" she shouted between bouts of laughter, pointing out into the crowd gathered to watch. Abrielle thought she was singling out her fallen completion, but couldn't quite be sure with the way her vision was swimming. "Beaten by a lightweight half your size!" More maniacal laughter followed as she tottered around to face down the table and flashed a rude gesture at the ones seated there. "Y- *hic* You're next cow-man! Nearly everyone else is gone. And now that we've gotten rid of those filthy knife-eared tree fuc-"

The world abruptly came crashing down around Abrielle as she tumbled down onto her rear. Before she could process what was happening, she found herself leaning forward between her legs and emptying the contents of her stomach over the edge of the table.

She struggled as a strong pair of arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her off the table. "H-Hey... Lemmego! Itsnotoveryet! I still gotta win!" After a second round of vomiting, she reluctantly allowed herself to be escorted away, a surly pout on her lips.

 

[Hector]

Hector wasn't sure people always understood how tough being a squire could be. Take for instance, having to carry Marchosias Syr... Syr Marchosias off of the stage? It took six of them! And even then, his arms still ached from the effort. And that was after they had loaded up the barrels to show off all the good brews that were up for chugging this year, not to mention all the help they did with the decorating.

Or the stein refills.

"Ha, really didn't think he would be the first to go," Roki said, still tending to the fallen Marchosias with a pat on the belly, and a kindly rub across his feathers and fur. "Guess his mysteries only continue to grow, really,"

A smirk cut across Hectors lips. "Yeah, suppose so," he said as he watched the contestants drink down the Dwarven Stout.

The first to fall was Syr Aoife, and Hector didn't say he knew her well... but man... he was sad to se her go. Roki looked sad too. Though neither young man could tell you why. Least, they probably wouldn't.

The hooded figure knocked it down with ease, and Hector was impressed. "Bad ass..." he said beneath his breath.

Squire Delaney fell second. "Squire's pride, Delaney!" Roki called out with a tusked grin. "You did your best!" The big minotaur slayed his drink, and Roki's cheer turned to stunned wow.

Then came the cat-masked man. His precious little companion bolting off the stage. Wide eyed, Hector tracked the tiny feline through the crowd as best he could, watching as the crowd seemed to hop and startle as she yowled across the way.

He hoped she would be ok. Something plopped into Captain Selene's cup, and Roki near fell over laughing as the masked captain walked away. Hector shoved him and laughed a little himself.

Something hit the ground hard, and other Squires rushed over to help, Calling for the healer as Syr Josai lost her magick smile and nervously pointed with darting eyes over at the fallen Dawnling. "Lady Elinrya!" Hector called out. "They need you on stage!" The squire hurried to the druid's side and whispered to her. "Syr Faramund has magic resistance, Syr Josai won't be able to attend him easily," no one really knew how Syr Faramund worked.

"Not the MUND..." Roki said with disbelief, too paralyzed with shock to do more than stand struck by horror. "I'd heard the man took a lightning bolt to the chest..."

Hector looked over at the barrel of dwarven stout, black drops of drink pouring slow drip after slow drop from the spigot. His eyes trailed back to the stage. "Couldn't take a stein of stout though," he said absent mindedly.

"Yo, is that Abrielle?" Roki asked in confusion, his brow cocked and his face scrunched. "What the hell is she doing on the table?"

The Anirian squire started her shouts of bravado. Face red and angry. "Come on, we should probably help her down," Hector said to Roki. The half-orc squire nodded and the two young men made their way up the stage, just as her second bout of laughter started rattling out of her throat. Her hands flashing insults, the crowd, who had laughed along with the show of confidence stared now with worry growing in their eyes. She plopped down onto her ass and started vommiting. Hector and Roki stared at the mess at their feet in horror. "I got her," Hector said with certainty, and hooked his arms under hers and pulled her off with ease. "Come on, Abri, a bath and some tea will do you good," he said as he exited the stage.

Roki blinked, and looked down at the puddle of sick. Gulped, and remembered Syr Josai's moves but moments ago. He closed his eyes and let out a long cool breath, focused his magicks and opened his eyes as he drew out his hands and swirled them around an invisible sphere. Fluid motions whipped the wind and the gross liquid gathered up in a wobbly ball of stinking sick. The half-orc seemed to turn greener still, and the ball wobbled and smooshed as his face grew sicker and sicker and his hands lost their fluid rythm.

It almost splattered out. The disgusting magick show. The crowd gasped. Some people screamed, aware they were in splash zone. Till a bright flash of white shimmered across each globule of puke, and every bit and piece froze in the air. Sparkled with the light of the distant candles.

Josai, with eyes lit by moon's magick, hands splayed out and fingers spread long and tense, as if pulling invisibles strings, held the frozen puke still. A quick whip of her arms and flick of her chin sent the puke shards flaying away from the crowd, and a gentl lift and drop saw them fall into some distant shrubbery.

The crowd blinked. Laughed. Then cheered. Most of them were pretty hammered anyway.

Josai let out a sigh of relief and Roki hurried off the stage.

Elinyra Abrielle Huxley Faramund Roland Grayson Selene Aoife Baskara Marchosias Trovik Half-horn Ashling Delaney Jezebeth Af Malakath

 

[Josai]

All the use of magic was really starting to way on her. But, she supposed that's why they picked her to be the Master of Ceremonies. She was no slouch when it came to hydromancy. And she smiled with pride upon remembering just that. Her eyes still closed, she let out a cool breath and gave a nod. The wide brim of her steeple hat bounced, as did the bent cone that curled behind her like a long curling tail.

Her eyes came open again, still alit with a cosmic light, and her smile, wide despite the chaos, sparkled bright as the stars that dotted the sky. "Well! What a round folks, what...a...round!"

The crowd whooped and hollered, clapped and stomped. "Cow man, cow man!" A drunken section cheered.

"We're fookin Minotaur's thank you very much!"

"Mino taur, Mino taur!" came the chants.

Laughter rang out.

"My money's on the mysterious one! Just look at her! All mysterious like and one armed!"

"No one cares about yer fancies, Darold!"

"Hooded one, hooded one!"

Josai smiled as the squired readied the table, wiping things down and cleaning things up as others set out a series of steins. Two rows of three steins. Each filled with a frothy ale that seemed to glow of gold and sizzle with strange power. It smelled of honey and golden flours, though with a certain heat, like potent spices and peppers that burned the nose.

"For our final round we have, from the Monastery itself! Our commander's special brew! The Gold Dragon's Fire Ale!" the crowd errupted. When it cooled off, Josai went on. "Hark, ye brave contenders of chug, you will drink as many steins as you can finish! They who drink the most, shall be considered, The Champion... OF CHUG!" Josai raised her hand high into the air, and the sky seemed to shimmer and sparkle with illusory light. "On your marks... chuggers... Get set... chug!" She brought her hand down quick, and the final challenge was underway.

Spoiler: The FINAL ROUND

For the Final Round we will do things a little differently. Roll 1 d 6, that is the number of drinks your character consumes. Whoever rolls the highest, wins! If we have a tie, we will roll tie breakers until we have a clear winner. Have fun!

Trovik Half-horn Jezebeth Af Malakath

---

BONUS SCENE​

You Chase princess through the crowd, sure that you are fast on your little sovereign's tail. The crowd is thick and rowdy, but you are determined, steadfast! You see her little figure hop up a long dark trail.


"Hello," comes a cool and confident voice, husky as it curls around your ears. "Is this your little man?" the voice asks Princess. "My, what a leal knight," the ebon haired woman says with a smirk across her lips. She holds Princess with care, her three eyes staring, into you as your little highness gets comfy in her arms. "Well, don't you want to know your sovereigns savior?" she asks with a smile.

---

Roland Grayson

 

[Elinyra Derwinthir]

Elinyra responded quickly to Squire Hector's plea to help Faramund, although she was fairly certain he'd tried to stumble a few paces towards Josai before losing consciousness. Well, like it or not, today he was getting an austere elf for a healer.

She kept in mind what Hector had explained, about the man's resistance to magic. She considered what an interesting double-edged sword that was as she hauled her medical bag up to the stage.

"Help me sit him upright, and keep to his sides if you can help it," she gently directed the squires who were helping to move Faramund. They sat him up against a wall so he wouldn't drown himself if his body decided to violently eject the poison in his stomach like the small obnoxious woman's had done.

Elinyra removed from her bag a paper-bound smudge stick about the size of her index finger and two sturdy twigs each slightly charred along their lengths. Striking the two sticks together, she used the barest touch of druidic magic to coax a flame from them and lit the smudge stick. She held her breath as she held the smoking deffil'meir beneath his nose. No magic item, but rather a dried herb that smelled so badly when burned, it was said to be enough to wake the dead. An inebriated man should pose no challenge.

It wouldn't take long for the deffil'meir to do its work. While she waited, Elinyra fished out some other medicines to help speed Faramund's recovery from his alcohol poisoning.

Faramund Josai​

 

[Roland Grayson]

Booze sloshed and splashed about as Princess weaved her way through legs of people, tables, and chairs. She stank of strong booze and was wet all over. The crowd too loud and too thick for her liking. She preferred the quiet bubble of peace her knight always made for her when they were in new places. That bubble had burst upon the stage when fermented plant piss had attempted to drown her. All she wanted was to find a new quiet place and take the days it would require to clean the foul tasting filth out of her fur.

Roland had flipped his switch. The cheery mask of a carefree rogue had fallen. The overly serious killjoy beneath now revealed. His eyes darted about erratically as he kept track of his love. Years of fighting and hunting finding their true purpose for once. His footwork instinctive as he pivoted, slide, and twirled about bodies with the ease of a dancer at the peak of their performance. Little apologies and sorries offered to most. Curses and demands to move offered to the slow of body and wit.

Eventually both found themselves away from the crowd. Princess in the arms of a calming stranger. Gentle words and a gentle touch.

Her words to him roll over him like a river a stone. Felt and known but nothing to note. His hands went out as he came upon his Princess. Without hesitation, the fluffy liege leapt to her knight. He caught her with soothing sounds and words as he began to look her over for any possible harm. Nothing more than the wet and reek of spilled drink upon her.

A rag was produced from within his clothes. One that was meant to be used to wipe his hands and mouth of grease and brew, but had yet to be used. Now it was meant for royal purposes as he began to dry off her fur. An act that both pleased and upset Princess as she squirmed under without actually attempting to flee again.

His concerns now calmed, Roland finally looked to the three eyed woman. The unsettling feeling of being studied, examined, and judged finally creeping over him upon meeting her gaze directly. A smile start then half formed into a frown before being willed back into a half smile.

"My deepest apologies and greatest thanks to you. And yes, I would care to know." He pulled one hand away as he continued to dry off Princess. It was held out to her palm up so that he might kiss the back of her hand if she accepted the offer. "I am Roland Grayson and this is my little Princess. Once she is presentable again she will offer her thanks as well.... Maybe."

Josai

 

[Trovik Half-horn]

The minotaur continued to pump up and hype the crowd, he loved the attention and the showmanship after he was the best here so he had to put on a show. He lit up at the name of this new ale, now he was interested in drinking this one just for taste. His hand gripped around the first stein tightly as he waited for the mark to start.

With Josai's mark, he began, bringing the stein to his mouth and began to drink the ale, it had some kick to it, and he can certainly see why it got its name, he downed the first stein no problem, he was entirely focused at the task at hand he wasn't even scared, he knew he was going to win. The second stein took a bit longer, this stuff was something else, he was actually struggling. Finally, he finished the third, he knew he had met his limit, any more and it was going to be coming out the other way.

 

[Josai]

Drink after drink, cheer after cheer, the flagons were drained, the Fire Ale spilled over, and though the one armed stranger drank, and drank, the third drink did her in, while the minotaur stood strong through three. With a raise of her hand, the one armed stranger admitted defeat, doing all she could to hold back the ale from spilling over and out in a horrid mess.

"We have a winner!" Josai cried out with magick ampliefied voice.

The crowd erupted into a raucous cheer.

"Mino taur, Mino taur!"

They chanted in unison.

"YA! I PUT THREE GOLD ON YOU BIG MAN!!!"

"Bloody fuckin brilliant!"

"It was all strategy it was! I saw him takin a piss before the contest!"

"AROOOOOO!"

Josai struggled not to laugh, her Loch-lit smile hid behind her hand for but a moment as she hid her tittering beneath the wide brim of her steepled hat. A pair of squires brought out a fine oaken cask, and laid it at the champion's feet with a goodly thunk. Upon its top was engraved.

Champion of Chug

Circa 370
Gold Dragon's Fire Ale
Brewer's Mark - Artorias
​

The master of ceremonies showed her magically Luminant face once more, and clapped along with the crowd, still roaring with pride and cheer.

"Let's hear it, one more time for all our brave contestants!" she cried out.

"Oy, Captain Selene! Better luck next year!"

"What happened to that one dashing foreign fella?" A bawdy festival goer asked.

"Oh, tha grumpy squire's got a lot of vinegar in her!" one wildkin elf cried out.

"I cannae believe tha the big dragon fella lost in tha firs round!"

"Oy, where the Mund go? Fella owes me some ooin!"

"One armed mystery mistress, please!"

"Thought the cat man had it, for damn sure,"

"For fucks sake, did anyone think to check on Syr Aoife?!"

Josai blinked. Forced a smile as she tittered nervously, and went on when the crowed lulled. "Well well, what Chug-a-thon that was, folks, and what potent brews our chuggers faced! But, as always, there can only be one, Champion of Chug, so lets all give up for," a squire slipped her a slip of parchment. She read it. "Trovik, Half-horn!"

"Half-horn, Half-horn!" the crowd began to chant.

As the competitors recovered, the squires made sure to find them and gift them their commemorative mugs, each one themed of wolves and the Wyld. Trovik's however, was quickly inlayed by an aspiring enchanter. A simple spell. One refill of any drink, per day.

"Enjoy," Roki said with a hint of pride in his eye as he handed the big minotaur one of his prizes.

With a twirl of her finger and a flick of her writ, Josai willed wind's water to scribe into the champion's prize cask, just bellow the title. 'Trovik Half-horn'

The festival would play out as good festivals often did. Late into the night, with great cheer and only a dash of trouble. Nothing a few more sober Knights of Anatheaum couldn't put out.

---

For the Grayson​

The three eyed woman smiled cooly, all three of her blue white eyes squinted with amusement. "Charmed," she said as she offered up her own hand, so that he might bestow a kiss upon her bare knuckle, pale as a moonlit grave-stone.

"I am Ivalda of the Trinemorro," her hand slipped away from his, and she bowed to the noble hero. "I shall remember your name, Roland Grayson," she promised. "Till next our fates align," and she was gone, lost in the crowd, a sudden mist curling about the edge of all the warm bodies still milling about.