The Bull and the River
The next hour is spent negotiating over just what the
dwarves can provide Ostland for the donation of the gromril, and while for a bit you question whether or not they need all four suits apparently something is happening up with the
dwarves that demands all of it. Which, of course, is when they showed you an almost mind shattering amount of gold in one single spot when you get to peruse the chests of dwarven gold and jewels. There are diamonds and rubies, emeralds and sapphires, but they are but small islands on the miniature golden lakes that are present in the chests. However, your mind casts itself away to your family, or, more specifically, to Anna. You have only one dwarven engineer teaching classes in Wulfenburg, and teaching Anna personally as well. Sure, you have several human engineers as well doing what they can, but there is something that Nuln has that you don't –
multiple dwarven engineers. Although you could request such, as it actually is something on the table, but you don't want to just drag a bunch of surly
dwarves to your city and province.
No, no instead you 'merely' request that the
dwarves begin heading more to Ostland, for trade, and that they help construct a dwarven quarter for them to stay in so that
dwarves visiting Wulfenburg can sleep in a 'proper place for
dwarves' as Bugman described it. Increasing trade between your people and theirs is far better in the long run, you believe, for the simple fact that more than just the merchant
dwarves will come in time. After all,
dwarves or human, where there is opportunity people will come. After all, Gurni has already organized some minor dwarven trading efforts, but redirecting trade routes more heavily could be done with strong wording backed up with the exchange of gromril. Further questions on just what they wanted for it were denied, apparently for operational security, though Bugman suggested that you talk to Ortrud about it for some reason. Considering her near and growing relations with the Slayer Keep it is likely that she may be involved, and coupling that with what Gurni said in his messages it moves from beyond simple consideration to likelihood. Something to think about. It's been a while since the last Elector's Meet, so you
might be able to ask her then and there.
After that, you close for the evening, though you still had yet to finalize details, and rejoin in the morning. The
dwarves, of course, slept out in the open because it's what they're used to, though they admit that when your Dwarf Quarter is eventually constructed that they'd stay there next time if they ever came around again. Though they apparently thought you missed the part where they exchanged quivering lips that held in laughter at the apparent lack of possibility for that to ever occur. Considering that there aren't nearly as many greenskins here as there were in the World's Edge Mountains, it makes sense that they would head out to where they would be able to do the most good.
The night passed with you barely sleeping at all. The thoughts in your head swirled, and quite honestly you simply could not help but remember how Gurni told you the tale of Josef Bugman, years ago in Nuln. The grief and eternal grudge that Bugman holds in his heart, for seeing the work of his father and family so ruined. Gurni, the odd fellow, was hesitant or at the least struggled to explain the intricacies of dwarf civilization and culture to you despite your repeated questions. That, too, was part of his people's natural mindset. And, despite the fact that the idea that entered your mind was one couched in…
soaked…in alcohol, it won't leave your head.
You haven't spent that much time around
dwarves, for all that you and Gurni are quite amiable. Garagrim enjoyed your company, though that was as a warrior more than anything else and the fact that you apparently got him closer to a good death than he's come in several years. So really, managing a warm relationship with a single dwarf after a night of drunken escapades and impressing a Slayer with how close you come to death isn't the best example of greater dwarven society. One is a merchant who travels regularly and is often in contact with humans, while the second is a man sworn to killing himself and the concept of dying peaceful is not just anathema but
painful anathema. So really, the idea, the
very idea, of trying to get a dwarf as old and stubborn as Josef Bugman to try and finally pass down his recipes so that the brew isn't lost, is probably not the smartest thing you've ever done. Mulling over your fuzzy memories of that one night in Nuln, you remember trying to understand just how hard and long a dwarf, his family, and his hold might hold to a sworn grudge or oath.
Josef Bugman. One of the last survivors of the essentially destroyed Dragonback Clan. Who left on a river barge one day and returned to find his Brewery, the village that had been built around it destroyed, and almost all of his friends and
all of his family dead or carried off to who knows where. Who then gathered up what remained of his companions and swore an oath of vengeance against the greenskins that had done the deed and against greenskins as a race. Whose brews were, quite simply, the best of the best. They are revered amongst the
dwarves, and for good reason. But every year there is less and less, and some day Bugman will be dead, and sooner rather than later given how damn old he looks. His secrets shall pass on into the wind and then there will be none left. It's an essential part of dwarven heritage, and you really don't want it to be gone forever.
Of course, the sheer audacity of thinking that
you, a
human, is going to dare and attempt such a thing is incredible, but you should at least try.
=============================================================
One day, a bull with only one horn was walking in the mountains. Its other horn had been chipped and broken off by a giant bloodthirsty bat, but the bull itself was unharmed after being cleansed and healed by a friendly flame. As it walked, it came upon a mighty, unyielding river. And it gazed, and saw that the river was ending in an enormous hole from which nothing rose, and around which nothing grew.
"Why are you flowing towards that big hole?" the bull asked, for it was young and did not respect things like it should.
"Because that is where I have chosen to go. I am part of these mountains, and my part is this," the grumpy river replied.
"Why?" the bull tilted its head, and looked back. The river granted life, and joy, and along its course its waters sustained so very, very many. "You'll run out eventually, and then you'll be gone."
"Because that is how it is going to be."
"It doesn't have to be, does it?"
=============================================================
It was towards the end of the meeting, and you had, quite unusually, drunken nothing but a little bit of water. This had actually greatly concerned your wife and brother, but you assured them that everything was all right. After all, you needed as empty a belly as possible. A clear mind. Because you were at least a tiny bit worried that the moment you said the fateful words he would try to murder you. You were hoping he wouldn't, and you had chosen to wear a shirt of chainmail beneath your clothes, and Urgdug would be right behind you to try and get between you and Bugman. Also six of Bugman's Rangers that seemed to follow him just about everywhere. In the end though, he started to notice before you actually managed to say anything. You had grown quieter and quieter as the meeting had gone on, and the somewhat good natured conversation that you and the dwarf had been having petered out.
"There is something on your mind, manling."
You took a deep breath. Here was the moment.
"About your Brewery…"
(62/100)
Before that moment in time you had been quite sure that only the Ice Mages of Kislev could drop the temperature in a room down to near freezing level in an instant. The amiable smile on Bugman's face disappeared into a flat and unyielding face, one nearly without any expression at all. He leaned back in his chair until his back lay fully against it, and his arms crossed. Behind him, the six white and long bearded
dwarves abruptly summoned an air of grief and fury that promised something…well, something painful. Hands even dipped down low to where crossbows lay un-loaded, and one in particular began to tap his index finger against the tip of a rune covered bolt.
"Why…would you bring such a thing up, here and now, Frederick von Hohenzollern?" he almost whispered. His voice trembled with ancient rage and grief.
"Because I know the story."
You cannot read Bugman's eyes anymore.
"Do you?"
"I do."
"Then
why would you bring it up again? I respect you, Frederick von Hohenzollern, I would on your accomplishments alone. You are a Dwarf Friend, vouched for by another Dwarf Friend two times over, and Garagrim Ironfist claims that you are an exemplar of your people. So you must know that you should not speak of it."
"Because every single dwarf, according to Gurni, knows the story. Because every dwarf, knows your story, and cherishes, no, in some cases practically worships your brews. And you don't brew anymore."
"For good reason!" he growls and slams his fist onto the table, making it jump beneath his dwarven strength.
"For vengeance for those lost, I know."
"You know
nothing!" he snarls. "To see all the works of an entire clan ruined, slaughtered by the greenskins!"
"I know loss!" you lean forward, slamming your own fists onto the table, "I know what it is to lose family!"
"You still have some family
left!"
"BUT I LOST MY SON!" you bellow, and for a moment Bugman tilts back, though his face turns a ruddy red. He, unlike you, has been drinking like only a dwarf could since the meeting began. "I lost…my son," you continue quieter. "The stories say that you lost your family and almost all of your friends, that those survived joined you and became your rangers. I respect that, and I grieve with and for you, but do
not ever think that I have not known loss. Did you ever have a child, Josef Bugman?"
He grunts, and turns his head away, though you can see the fury suffusing his being, the outrage.
"No," he bites out. "There was a girl…bah!" he turns back and waves his hand as if to cast it all away. "She's dead now, and so are the rest of them. I may not have lost a son, and in
that I cannot match you, but you are no dwarf for all that your people seem to be trying so damned hard to copy us! You cannot know what it is to swear a true oath and hold a true grudge!"
"To hell with that! Zacharias the Everliving tormented Ostland since the time of Sigmar! Every single Count of Ostland has tried at one time or another to kill him, only to fail! Some, he let live out their lives in fear, others, he had killed or killed himself! I too, swore to do so, and I fulfilled that duty!" you growl. "That there is an oath and grudge over two thousand years old that
I fulfilled! One even older than yours!"
The chair flies out from beneath him as he stands up, and you do the same. Even as it happens, he angrily drains his mug of dwarven brew that he himself made, and gestures for one of his rangers to pour him another.
"You are no dwarf!"
"I never claimed to be!"
"You think you are the first to talk about my Brewery? Of me passing down my families secrets?!" he roars. Another mug makes its way down his throat, he seems to be drinking as a reflexive reaction at this point. Which, to be fair, is something you share with ostka and flasks.
"I doubt that highly, Sir Bugman, but that does not mean that I should not make the attempt!"
The Brewmaster shakes in place, fists clenched.
"Make your pitch then,
manling, and know that the only reason I have not cut you down where you stand is because you're a Dwarf Friend," he hisses. "I will
not give up my families secrets."
"You are so set on your course that you'd rather die than pass it on!?" you say, flabbergasted.
(71/100)
"
That is what it is to be a dwarf!" he grunts, wildly gesturing so that he can take what must be his ninth mug of Bugman's Best and drain it since this conversation had begun a few minutes ago.
"Then no wonder your people have lost so much if you willingly let the best things die and leave the world however!"
"How
dare you!" he actually does draw a small handaxe this time, though this time he slams the blade into the table instead of throwing it towards you. "I should…"
"What would it take for you to do it?"
"Nothing!"
Ah but now your blood is up, and even when you feel the words coming out of your mouth you are half inclined to try and strangle yourself for it.
"I'll fight you for it."
Bugman draws up short. The rest of his rangers have by this point come close, their crossbows loaded as they surround their leader at the side and back, eyes on you and fury in their eyes. Behind you, Urgdug has drawn his Bull Cannon and let it rest against the table. You have faith in his thick plates of armor, but at the same time those are dwarven crossbow bolts. He drinks his thirteenth mug almost absentmindedly as he stares incredulously at you.
"You'll…what?" he whispers.
"Not…not in combat, no. But surely there is some way that I can convince you to do it," you splay your hands out. You aren't going to touch a hand on Bugman's head if you can help it.
"Never. I swore an
Oath manling, that is the way of things."
"What, exactly, were the terms of that oath of vengeance then, Bugman?" you shoot back, marveling at how he continues to drink. That is a dwarven Brewmaster for you, you suppose.
"To take vengeance on the goblin tribes that attacked and destroyed my home and clan, to hunt them down across the mountains until every last debt was paid three fold over in blood!" he shouts, almost proudly in fact. His dwarven mug leaves a crack on the table as he drains a sixteenth.
"Then you've already done it!" you yell. "Ten thousand goblins personally, and many more as a group, that
has to have been enough to fulfill your oath of vengeance. That and all your rangers as well!"
"It will
never be enough, never!"
"Then what the
fuck is the point!?"
His beard is white, and his face is red, and he swirls and yanks a small barrel from the side of his rangers, cracks open the head with his axe, and begins to drink heavily. There is a moment where the only sound is of the glugging of the drink as it slides down his throat, until he throws the emptied barrel away to smash onto a wall. Setting aside the fact that he just drank an entire – if small – barrel of Bugman's Best, he only wobbles slightly when he faces you again.
"I swore an oath!"
"I know that, I'm not asking you to stop or give it up, I'm just asking you to take a small break! Teach your secrets to a dwarf who you can trust, and then go back to killing goblins as you please! It's not like one excludes the other!"
"Yes it does!"
"
How," you plead with him, "How does it do that then."
(55/100)
"You. Cannot. Understand. It. You are but a manling, a beardling of a manling, braying and complaining about things that he should leave to his elders who have seen centuries more," he grunts, leaning forward on the table, even as a ranger brings him another frothing mug.
"I'll fight you for it."
"You've said that before, manling, but you don't mean an actual fight. Even if you did, I'd gut you faster than you could blink. Kings have begged me to do what you ask, Brewmaster's from every Hold I've ever visited have demanded the same. I've fought and killed some who dared to try and force the secrets from me. I've had entire Hold's offer their weight in gold, more gromril than even you've ever seen, and none of them succeeded
because I swore an Oath!" after every single sentence he drains another mug. It's one of the most amazing displays you've ever seen.
But actually…seeing him drink as such…spawns an idea. A worse idea than the one that got you into this.
"When I say fight, I mean something other than beating our fists bloody, or swords at dawn, or crossbow shooting."
(81/100)
He glares at you from around the side of his rapidly emptying mug before slamming it once more onto the table. It's a good thing that the table was made up of old and thick Drakwald Oak, else you suspect that it would have cracked apart.
"Well what in Grungi's name are you on about, let's get it over with so that I can get out of here and
never come back. I was fine with this little errand before, but you've managed to transform it into a piece of gobbo shite. How you got two different Dwarf Friends to name you such, I may never know. I
do know that I'll have to knock some sense into this Gurni Baragorsson if I ever meet him, and that Ironfist boy as well!" the rangers behind him gently place a second empty barrel on the far wall, not wanting it destroyed like the first.
"I challenge you to a drinking competition, and
if I win-,"
You are interrupted by a wild burst of derisive answer from all the
dwarves present, but you grit your teeth and shout over the noise.
"IF I WIN, you'll have to pass on your secrets to
someone!"
(29/100)
Bugman abruptly stops laughing, and turns serious even as he drinks another mug of dwarven beer.
"Manling, you say you know me, you really think that you can beat
me at drinking? Me?! I'm Josef Bugman! I'm a dwarf! You may be a good
manling drinker, but you can't possibly hope to beat me!"
"You don't know that."
"I
absolutely do," he laughs again, scorn burning your ears even as the third barrel is slid back to the wall. A small nod is granted to the dwarf ranger who offers him a fresh mug from the fourth barrel. Bugman's Rangers carry around plenty of the things, but you are still impressed by the speed and efficiency by which they provide some for their leader. Practically without pause. "I'll tell you what, manling. I appreciate the audacity. You're not the first to try beating me, but you won't win. You
can't."
"I can
try," you shrug.
Bugman laughs again, but it isn't the nice if weary laughter of before. It is a laugh one reserves for the village idiot.
"I'll tell you something, manling," he slides away his empty mug only for it to be refilled and slid back. "If we do this, I'll bet you that you can't even come five drinks, no
ten drinks in range of me."
"Well if I do, will you swear an oath to pass on your teachings?"
The dwarf growls as he looks down his nose at you despite the fact that you are in fact taller.
"You won't."
"I can."
"You
can't."
"What will you do if I match you, Josef Bugman?" you tilt your head at him.
"You won't."
"What. Will. You. Do. Or are you scared?"
The
dwarves hiss.
"I accept your bet, I'll come within ten drinks of whatever you hit. Swear on it, dwarf, swear."
Bugman spits to the side, and wipes his mouth to clear off the foam of his latest mug. You
hope that you are accurately reading that his eyes are just a bit glassy underneath those massive bushy eyebrows.
"Oh I'll swear all right. But if you
lose, you'll give up drinking
forever."
Your eyebrows climb towards the sky, and your throat is suddenly quite dry indeed. The stakes have just been raised significantly.
"Ok then. You pass on the secret to your brews to someone, someone you can trust,
or I'll give up drinking forever. That'll be the end of this then, Josef Bugman, that I swear as well."
"Good."
=============================================================
"You cannot hope to change my course," the bitter old river growled to the one horned bull.
"Yes I can," the bull snorted back.
"I've been this way for longer than you've been alive," the angry water grunted.
"I know," the bull rolled the kinks out of its shoulders.
"It is the way of things, you can't change that," it insisted.
"I will," the bull said defiantly.
"No, you can't," the raging rapids hissed.
"I can try," the bull lowered its head, and began to dig in.
=============================================================
An hour later, during which Bugman did not actually cease drinking and draining the supply of barrels that his Rangers carried with them, you ordered the entire supply of ales, beers, wines, and Bugman's that were in the cellar of Wulfenburg Castle. Which was…considerable indeed. After all, this was a Castle in Ostland, and more than that it was the biggest Castle in the capital. All the while, you sat calmly in the chair, opposite Bugman, who did little more than drink and squint at you. Apparently he was 'warming up' by drinking extensively. But, it is for a good cause. This stuff is legendary, and you can easily believe what the Brewmaster said about people offering entire treasury's for his secrets. But
dwarves hold their secrets harder than anything you ever have. If so inclined they'll hold even minor things in their heads till death harder than you hated Zacharias during 2315.
But you'd had enough wool gathering. This was one of the most ill-advised things you've ever done. You're locked into the course now though, and if this works it should suitably improve some aspects of dwarven society. Surely, having an actual source of Bugman's Best would make some of those sour
dwarves a bit happier.
Dwarves will literally fight better if they've got some Bugman's in them, that's what Gurni told you. You think. Somewhere after you threw up onto the roof of the Temple of Sigmar. Whatever.
"You're going to lose, manling."
"We'll see."
An ancient Brewmaster,
the Brewmaster of the world. Not just of
dwarves. On the other end, you. An accomplished drunk, a native of Ostland. He has drained six small barrels of Bugman's Best in the time it has taken to get to this point. You, on the other hand, are completely sober. For a short time, at least, because you have little doubt that at the end of this you are going to be drunker than you've ever been. He doesn't think you can do it. None of the
dwarves think you can do it. But he's passed tipsy, and he is already a little bit drunk, so maybe you'll have a slight advantage.
"We start, here and now," you point at the empty tankards on the table, with barrels lining the sides.
"Grimroot, you'll serve me. Steelstone, you'll serve him," Bugman snaps his fingers and two
dwarves separate from the mass behind them, one at his side and one comes to you. 'Steelstone' sneers at you. "Steelstone I swear on my ancestors that if you do
anything to infringe on this, I'll string you up
after shaving your beard." Steelstone immediately schools his face into impassiveness.
"As long as I hit ten behind you…"
"You won't."
You roll your shoulders.
"We'll see. I swear a Blood Oath, here and now, that if I can't do it, I'll never bring it up again," and you allow Urgdug to lightly cut on your one hand, dripping a few drops of blood into the mug, which you then slide over to Bugman. He grimaces and does the same with his own hand, and slides his mug over to you. The two of you nod.
"I swear…a Blood Oath…that if you manage to come ten drinks behind me, that I will find someone to…bah, you know what I'll do." He has to bite out every single word.
"
Well then. Shall we begin?"
The first two barrels are opened, and that precious liquid fills all the way up to the rim. You lick your lips at the foam atop it, and Bugman does so as well. Though he was practically stampeding his way through the drinks before, this is going to require a bit more ceremony. More gravitas. You're asking him to pause his endless quest for vengeance to pass on the secrets that he is sworn to keep. He earnestly doesn't think you can do it, and you know that, but at the same time his respect for you is enough that he is willing to let you even have a shot. He could have just left, but pride has driven him to this while a wild impulse has done the same for you.
(First Round 48/100)
He swiftly drains his mug, as do you, but he is faster. More drink is poured, and that is that. The first round of drinking goes to Bugman, it simply has to, but this isn't a race. Well, it is a race, but you need to pace yourself lest you drown entirely. Moisture bleeds along the mugs and the barrels, for they are still cold either due to the time from the cellar not being enough to warm them up completely or by the rune crafting of the
dwarves on the barrels keeping the contents the perfect temperature. You slam your tankard down as he is on his third, and pulling ahead still. But it's not over yet. Not by a long shot, you've just begun after all.
(Second Round 75/100)
Bugman's eyes bug out as he sees you slowly start to advance, and no matter how fast he puts down a drink you are always within the range of ten drinks or less behind him. At some moments, when a new barrel has to be moved, you come closer and closer, to the point that you are only three behind. Doggedly, you drink as well, letting the potent Dwarven Ale pass by your tongue as quickly as possible, for if you try to savor it for too long it will stick there. You need your throat to be as clear as possible, and yet even already you can feel a small amount of sweat beginning on your brow, the familiar fuzz in the back of your vision has arrived with a thunderous entrance.
(Third Round 37/100)
You start doing worse, however, though perhaps that is because the
dwarves started taking you a little bit more seriously than before. The dwarf called Grimroot pours another tankard, but his eyes are unblinkingly on you, the man who dared challenge Josef Bugman to a drinking contest. To your side, Steelstone sneers no longer, probably because you've kept going beyond what he thought a human should be able to manage. Nonetheless, here and now you've dipped out of the ten drink range, and Bugman knows it, but doesn't slow down. If anything, he goes faster! Growling, you crack your neck back and forth then dive back in.
(Fourth Round 29/100)
Despite everything, you are flagging. You know it Bugman knows it, and the
dwarves know it. Your stomach has begun to swell, slightly, and the fuzziness of your vision has grown blurry as well. Will and effort work together to keep you in your chair, all the years of practice of doing so now coming back fully and to the fore. Urgdug stands silently behind you, but you've spent enough time around your brother to know that he is slightly concerned. You aren't giving up, but you can feel yourself losing, and pretty badly. Bugman belches loudly, and sits back slightly, not even taking the next drink from his newly refilled foaming mug. There is a conciliatory look on his face.
"You've done well, Frederick. But you simply
can't beat me. The secrets of Bugman's Best will die with me, but take heart in the fact that I will not fall until my vengeance is sated. My people will benefit plenty enough, they've done so for more than two centuries thanks to me."
"
Dwarves would do
better if someone was brewing it again," you slur.
"Bah!" his grunts, "Shut up and drink!"
"I
will!"
(Fifth Round 91/100)
Eyes nearly pop out of sockets as the
dwarves watch you enact a feat that they would remember for some time. A human drinking faster than a dwarf, draining mugs almost as fast as the dwarf attending him could fill them. You do not blink, you do not move anything other than your arm and your mouth. Every other part of your body is left limp, as you sit in the chair, and drink and drink and drink. Bugman begins to speed up, apparently surprised that you are rallying so, but you keep on drinking. At one point, you tilt back your head, and expertly tip the tankard so that the ale slides down past your throat and into your stomach faster than you could simply swallow.
The actual drunkenness is going to hit you later, but speed has become the essence. At one point you realize that your whole 'pacing' plan has sort of fallen out the window, but you aren't going to let anyone, not even a dwarf, insult your drinking ability. You're an Ostlander damn it, this is your culture, your culture since the time before there
was an Ostland. When Udoses ran about half naked and were surprised when Sigmar himself popped by and told them that they were going to be in an Empire of unified humanity. Your advance is inexorable, and foam stains your face and beard, but all the liquid makes its way down which is the important bit, and such is the speed that Bugman has begun drinking at that he too is getting a bit of foam spray across his white bushy hair, eyebrows, and beard.
(Sixth Round 86/100)
Metal slams again and again onto the table, shuddering it with the force behind the blows. Banter fades, and the
dwarves who were muttering, passing around gold in bets as to just when you would be forced to bow out either from exhaustion or simply passing out, stop. Now their eyes are just staring at you, and Bugman himself is just glaring at you. Eventually, this is going to stop, you'll run out. So you have to keep up. Because the actual Bugman's Best is done and gone, and you've moved onto regular dwarven brews. All far better than anything that a human has thrown together, but there is an inescapable difference between Bugman's work and that of every other Brewmaster's special that you drink here and now. Things have gone beyond just a little fuzzy, but your vision is crystal clear so long as it is either looking at his face or down at your mug. A thought muddles its way through the drink and plops itself into your consciousness.
"Urgdug," you say after belching loudly.
"Yes?" he leans in close.
"After a certain point, I'm pretty sure that I'm not going to be able to move my body. If that happens I need you to tilt my head back and pour the stuff down my throat regardless."
"Uh. If you aren't moving, shouldn't-,"
"Yeah you might want to grab a Priest or two. Also the Jade Wizards."
He nods, and exits, yet you still drink.
(Seventh Round 70/100)
"You talked about how your vengeance is doing good for all
dwarves, eh?" you slur heavily.
"Do you know how many damn battles I've won, how many Holds I've saved?" Bugman slurs back, pounding the table with one fist while the other holds his tankard in a loose but secure grip. "I've done more for my race than I ever did brewing! Ever!"
"That's a fucking lie! Have you heard how the
dwarves talk about you? How they worship the damn ground you walk on, each and every drop of Bugman's Best is liquid gold to them!"
"Bah!"
"Bah yourself!" you shout, or at least try to. You aren't able to keep a firm grasp on your volume at the moment. In between every few phrases you drain the….container thing in front of you, just to ensure that you keep up. You do know that you're still within the ten drink range. Closer than that, actually. "Do you know how much it would probably improve the morale of all dwarven kind if they heard you started brewing up again?!"
"Enemies would come after it! Greenskins and skaven! They tear at everything we are, all we hold dear, each and every day, and you would want me to
stop fighting them!"
"There's more than one way to fight, Bugman!" you roar, "Hell, we're doing a bit of that right now!"
"I swore an Oath!"
"An' I respect that, but you're gonna have to start coming up with something else to say!"
"Bah!"
(Eighth Round 82/100)
"I'm not saying that you need to stop fighting forever. Hell, you won't be stopping at all! Every time a dwarf drinks Bugman's Best and fight that much better in battle, every time they know that part of their culture isn't fucking dead or dying, that's a victory!"
Bugman isn't talking anymore, just trying to drink his way past the ten drink range that he himself set. Which, honestly, you're thankful about. That was pride talking earlier, and watching him drink now you know that you could never have possibly actually matched him. But he set the rule that you just had to stay at least ten drinks behind him. Or was it fifteen? You're staying inside ten just to be safe. Or are you? It's getting harder to remember things, but you know that you are only five drinks behind him. Your mind and vision is locked onto that, and you won't let it pass by. You've had a lot to drink, so keeping a rein on your thoughts its getting a bit more difficult.
"I gotta….I gotta kill them…" he grunts, leaning on the table either to keep steady or to emphasize his point. Maybe both. "I gotta kill all of them…"
"You
can't. No man, no dwarf, no one can kill hope to kill every single greenskin in the world alone, but we can do a good job. We can push them back. And you don't
need to just fight alone," you sway in your chair. Thank….thank someone for putting the thick armrests there to prevent you from falling out of it.
The door to the room opens again, and Urgdug enters with the Jade Wizards, as well as a Priest of Sigmar and a Priest of Ulric. All of them stare at the complete and total disarray to the room, but they are at the least professionals. The Priest of Ulric, at the least, barks with laughter at the sight, for drinking heavily at least resonates with the Cult of Ulric.
"Urgdug," you loll your head heavily towards your brother, who rushes to you so that you don't fall over. "I think that thing we were talking about earlier is going to start happening soon," you lean closer so that you can whisper. "I can't feel my legs…"
"I swore an Oath!" Bugman cries out, though he is slurring so hard that it sounds more like 'I swagnoouth'. Luckily you have had great experience with such things. Here and now, drunker than you've ever been in your entire life, even during the war against Zacharias, you have had another thought. One that, quite frankly, your impulse control is not sober enough to stop.
"Yeah, well you swore another one that said you'd pass on your secrets! Hell, why not just restart the Bugman Brewery here in Ostland! Far and away from all the greenskins and beastmen and skaven! I'd post up soldiers around the place just to keep it safe even!"
"Fine, why not!" he shouts back. "I'll start up a whole damn brewery, if you win! But you can't! Because I. Am. Josef. Bugman!"
"The
dwarves have lost so much, but I can't understand why you're so damned reluctant as a people to rebuild and build anew! Why is that then, huh! You've taken a lot of pleasure in telling me I'm not a dwarf, so explain it to me damn it! Come on!"
"Bah!"
(Ninth Round 77/100)
No, there it goes. You can't manage it. Starting with your toes, numbness and inability to move has swept up towards your head, and your arm can't twitch. Luckily Urgdug is there, and he helpfully lifts the mug towards your mouth with care. Your head is still able to move at the least. You could swear however that it's like looking through an ocean pond. The
dwarves, save for the three involved in this, seem utterly frozen. Well, almost frozen. They keep looking back between the two of you, shock open on their faces. You shouldn't have made it this far, they probably think. Well, that will teach them to underestimate a human, much less an Ostlander again! Your mouth wriggles slightly as you try to make it form a smile. Bugman is visibly swaying back and forth in his seat, and his hand grasps out towards the tankard, but the dwarf attending him has to slide it into his hands because he couldn't quite manage to grab it. Which is surprising to you, at least before you remember that he drank three...wait not thix. Six? A number higher than three barrels of Bugman's Best before you even began this competition. He was drunk before this began, but those words mean different things at different times between
dwarves and humans. But that doesn't matter as much as winning matters. Because this is one of the hardest thing's you've ever done in your life, and you'll be damned if you just give up. You're to stubborn, at least when it comes to drinking. You look up again at Bugman, who has to use both hands to pour the drink down, but he's still technically managing better than you.
"Every time a dwarf kills a goblin or an orc or a skaven or anything with a cold belly, that's a loss. Every time they do it with some Bugman's in them, its a victory! They'll go that much faster, that much harder, and
that is an overall improvement that you could be contributing to! I'm not saying stop hunting them down, that's good work! So do both, damn it! Make a base, make a brewery, and teach! You've got tricks and training and experience, and you can pass that on rather than just stump around in the wilderness without anyone else knowing!" you struggle to say. Bugman snarls, but no one else seems to understand what you said, so you look to Urgdug out of the corner of your eye because you can't move your head.
The confused look on Urgdug's face tells you enough however, that you've achieved such horrendous amounts of slurring and near blackouts that only you and Bugman can understand one another. Because you have reached an entirely new dimension of drunk that you did not know existed. You've never been a blackout drunk, so apparently this is where one goes when they aren't. Tipsy lays at the foot of the mountain, drunk half way up. Smashed was just below the mountaintop, and now you and Bugman are on the very tip of the mountain leaping up into clouds.
"Your people deserve
more than just waiting to die..."
"You don't even know us," he gasps out, breathing hard now probably because the ale inside of you needs to go
somewhere after filling up the belly.
"I know enough. I know the stories, I know Gurni and Garagrim. I know
you. Urgdug?" and thank goodness your brother recognizes the maligned noise that came out of your mouth as his name. "Take off my chainmail. I need more space."
The dwarve's gasp as Urgdug does so, and you suddenly gain more space for your stomach to expand.
(Last Round 99/100)
Urgdug goes faster, and faster, and Bugman by contrast begins to
slow. It was those six kegs beforehand. You know it. He knows it. But those didn't count, not to the grand total, not for the actual competition itself. Self sabotage? Maybe. But he swore to the terms, and you did too. The two of you drink, and you've drunk all the dwarven ale. You drink, and you're out of wine. You drink, and you're out of beer. You drink, and you end up with just ostka left. Regular, human, Ostlander, ostka. Breathing is hard, you can feel the blood pulsing in your ears, and there is a great and terrible pounding in your head that you know will bring upon you a tremendous pain once your body processes that it is time for a hangover. You close the gap, closer, and closer, and closer. As you do so, Bugman gains a second wind, and begins drinking harder as well, but there is blood in the water and you are the drunkest shark in the entire world.
"Ostland. Here. Brewery. You. Make."
"Nnnnever....
vengeance...."
"Vengeance after Brewery, make for while, pass on, then go kill!"
"Grraaaggh!"
You haven't just kept within the ten drink gap. Here, at the end of it all, you are
matching him drink for drink. Bugman trembles as he struggles to lift the tankard to his lips. You cannot do anything but let Urgdug lift your tankard up as well. You can't even taste what is going down your throat anymore. Everything is numb. Everything but the flickering embers of your mind. Keeping you conscious. Keeping you alive. Drinking.
"You...you can't beat me....I'm Josef Bugman...." he gurgles. "You're not even a
dwarf..."
"I....am Frederick von Hohenzollern...and
I am from
Ostland!"
A bolt of energy strikes you, and you clutch the tankard out of Urgdug's grip. To the horror stricken look on the
dwarves faces, you drain the entire thing, and slam it down, cracking the wood beneath it. For with it, you had pushed
ahead of Josef Bugman, who stubbornly held onto his own drink and struggled to raise it to his lips.
"No...no...!" he opens his mouth, tongue trying to lap at the liquid.
You lean forward, everyone does, and the tension grows. But then...something snaps, and the dwarf slumps back down into his chair, the tankard clattering back onto the table and tipping onto the side to the shouts of the
dwarves. He groans once more, reaching, reaching...and then his head lolls forward.
Josef Bugman passes out in his chair, one drink behind
you.
"I outdrank you, Josef Bugman! I outdrank you! You're gonna build a damn Brewery here in Ostland, you're gonna pass on the secrets to your brew, and then you're gonna go back to killing greenskins!" you shout one last time as you fall to the ground, passing out.
REWARD:
Increased Dwarven Trade to Wulfenburg and Ostland. +250 Trade Income Per Turn.
Construction of Dwarf Quarter in Wulfenburg.
Beat Josef Bugman in a Drinking Contest. +300 Prestige Points.
VICTORY - Josef Bugman has sworn an Oath to pass on his teachings, to construct the new Bugman Brewery In Ostland, and only after completing both of these tasks will he return to the wilds with his Rangers to kill and strike fear into greenskins once more! The Secrets of Bugman's Best will not be lost to all dwarf kind. Bugman's Best and all other Bugman Brews no longer finite in the world. Dwarves the World Over may Rejoice! Due to this, expect a rising dwarf population as Brewmasters, and perhaps even entire Clans arrive to settle nearby. The fame of Bugman's Brewery is a heady one indeed.
Frederick is Heavily Wounded - Internal damage from drinking enough to beat Josef Bugman has left Frederick with immense internal damage. Rest, relaxation, and a total lack of alcohol is required for at least three years!
=============================================================================================
"What did you
do?" the ancient river asked, frightened.
The Bull, exhausted, flopped onto the ground.
"I dug you away from the hole. You might run out one day, but you shouldn't just flow into a hole. You've got a lot of life left in you," it said, exhausted and covered in dirt.
And it was so. The river now flowed onward, away from the hole and further into the mountains. Life sprang up, and joy grew stronger.
"But I was supposed to go into the hole, that was my purpose until my waters ran out!" the river said.
"Your water will run out eventually anyway. But you shouldn't waste it."
"....thank you," the river eventually said.
"No problem. Now...can I have a drink?"
"....ok."
