Beers and Beards

Book 3: Chapter 78: The Kinshasa Drinking Contest

Book 3: Chapter 78: The Kinshasa Drinking Contest

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?”

Kirk nodded. “Aye. It’s Riverside Ale True Brew. They bought up all the last of it, since Schist isn’t allowed to brew any for another century.”

“Feel a little bad about that.” Aqua murmured, looking out over the crowd.

“Eh, he’s fine with it.” I said, craning my neck. “Where’s tha King?”

“The royal stand is over there. The King hasn’t arrived yet, but the Dukes were seated a little while ago. That was what all the cheering was about.” Johnsson pointed to an enormous gazebo on the bottom row, right at the arena’s edge. A large ornate throne flanked by four chairs sat inside, with a commanding view of the space. Flapping above the gazebo were the Kinshasa flag, which was a blue river on a white field, and the Crack flag, which was a stylized golden mountain on a red field, with a big ‘crack’ running through the mountain.

Three dwarves were already sitting inside. One was a buff looking Dwarfess in mithril plate armor. She had eschewed headwear, instead choosing to pile her platinum hair on top of her head in an impressive nest of golden thread and gemstones. Her beard was in a dutch style, with gems affixed artistically inside it. That was Lady Barnes, who I recognized from my short time with her. The other two could’ve been twins, each with shock white braided hair and beards. One wore a leather gambeson with golden filigree, and was fiddling with his war-axe with a stormy expression. The other wore a black breastplate and chainmail with a manticore rampant emblazoned on the front, and was sitting in his chair looking bored.

The throne, and the final chair, which had a symbol of crossed axes with a beard carved into the backrest, sat empty.

Johnsson pointed at the chair. “That's Tourmaline's mum in Duke Barnes's seat! And Duke Blackbeard’s chair is empty! Mcshave was right, somethin’ big is goin’ on!”

We were interrupted from any further comment as bagpipes roared and the brown figures in the sands below scattered back into the tunnels.

With pomp and circumstance a massive marching band of pipes and drums filtered into the arena. They circled in circles playing the Crack national anthem. As one, all the people in the arena rose to their feet and placed their hands over their hearts. Unlike the Minnova anthem, the Crack anthem had no words, moving the listener simply through the sheer majesty of it. It reminded me quite a bit of Loch Lomond back when I’d last heard it at the Highland Games. The shape of the arena reflected and amplified the sound up to the roof of Crack, where it doubtless bounced back to cover the entirety of the city. Beside me, Balin swept away a tear with his free hand.

The song lasted about 10 minutes. As the last strains of the bagpipes echoed out, an announcer walked out to the center of the arena and spoke with [Project Voice].

“Citizens of Kinsahsa! Thank you for coming to this, the Octamillenial Drinking and Brewing Contest! Today we will see the greatest lovers of the brew in all of Crack compete to see who can drink the most, and then the King himself will stand as judge to decide the greatest brewer in our beloved country!”

The audience cheered and cat-called. The announcer waited for the sound to die down, then shouted, “And now, please join me in welcoming the drinking contestants!”

A set of gates on one end of the arena opened, and an eclectic group walked out into the arena. They were mostly dwarves, but I saw a couple gnomes and a single human among them. They wore a solid mix of clothing, everything from full armor to basic linens, but each also had a tabard with the flag of their city emblazoned on it.

“Ahhh!!! There’s Rumbob!!!” Aqua screamed. “Kirk, help me with this!”

So saying she jumped up onto a protesting Richter’s head and lifted one side of an enormous banner that said ‘Rum Tum Rumbob’ on it. Kirk obligingly lifted the other side with an apologetic nod at a swearing Richter.

“RUMBOB!!!!” Johnsson called, waving. The contestants all swiveled their heads about as they walked, looking for friends and family. We could tell when Rumbob spotted us by his cheery wave. He was wearing some simple comfortable linens with a tabard of Minnova's spreading tree.

Each of the contestants was led to one of the giant kegs and seated in front of the table. When they were all set, the announcer came back on.

“I’d like to start by explaining how all these fine folk came to be here! If you missed the first round of the drinking contest, the format was as follows – “

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He then launched into a description of the first round of the Barck Beer Brawl. I smiled in fond remembrance. That brawl had been the start of, well, everything. It was how we’d saved the Goat from bankruptcy, and gotten enough attention to start making sales again.

When he was done with the description, the announcer began introducing every one of the contestants in turn. Various sections of the stands cheered as they were announced, some more or less than others. Fully half the stands erupted when the contestant from Kinshasa, one Shawn Willsson was announced. By comparison, the single human, a contestant from the city of Goma, barely got any cheering at all.

“Where’s Goma?” I asked Richter.

“Pretty far east.” He whispered back. “I’m surprised he came so far. He’s probably a [Displacer].”

“Psh. Overland or oversea is the only real way to travel.” Kirk scoffed. “By boot or brig, that’s my motto!”

“I thought your motto was Kirk Manly, Action Adventurer.” I said, arcing an eyebrow.

“That too.”

“Want to know my motto?”

“No, what is it?”

“What's what?” I replied, innocently.

Kirk blinked. “Uh, the motto?”

“Dunno, what’s tha motto with you?”

Everyone smiled and nodded, though Kirk cracked a laugh.

“The first round of drinking is a speed round!” The announcer continued as he finished introducing the final contestant, a tall gnomess named Kattie Hannah. “Contestants will have one minute to drink one of the beers in their flight! Then we’ll take a one minute break before halving the time to drink the next one, and then continue halving! If a contestant fails to drink their beer within the time limit, they’re out!”

“What’s a flight, Pete?” Aqua asked.

“That line of beers.” I pointed at the line of Whistlemugs. “Though a flight would usually be a series of smaller glasses, usually three or four ounces. They’re a way of trying lots of different beers at a Brewery.”

The crowd broke into excited chatters. Unless they’d been to the beer brawl, most of them had probably never seen someone speed drinking. Down below, Rumbob rotated his arm in its socket and cracked his neck. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out an oblong shape. He stuffed it into his mouth and began chewing.

“HE HAS BUTTER!!!!” I shrieked, pointing at him. “YEAHHH RUM TUM RUMBOB!”

“Gods, its spreading…?” Annie grumbled with disgust.

The announcer waited for silence, then continued. “After the first round, we have a small show for you provided by the Brewer’s Guild. After that will be a volume contest! Contestants will need to complete one beer a minute for as long as they can! We know some of them are big drinkers, and Abilities are allowed. Thankfully – “ The announcer walked up to and patted one of the enormous barrels. “We’ve got more than enough beer for even the greatest of drinkers!”

The crowd dutifully laughed.

“What about, like, an extradimensional stomach?” I whispered to Richter. “Would that be cheating?

“Those have limits. That’s why those barrels are so big.” He answered.

“Following the drinking contest, we’ll be joined by the King as he judges the Brewers that provided the beer you see being sold here today! Now, please join me in counting down for the first round!” The announcer held up his hands to show ten fingers. “Ten!”

The crowd joined in as a joyous noise. “Nine!”

“Eight!”

“Seven!”

“Six!”

“Five!”

“Four!”

“Three!”

“Two!”

“One!”

There was a thump as magic launched into the sky and erupted into crackling nets of lightning over the arena. The contestants all began drinking, and the crowd cackled with glee as one of them immediately choked on his first drink and threw up from the sheer stress of the moment.

Rumbob completed his handily, and sat waiting as the gong rang to announce the next beer.

“Oh no! It looks like the contestant from Boma is out! At least they’re still in the running for best Brewery!” The announcer chuckled.

The beers began to fly faster and faster as the gongs came closer and closer together. Some of the drinkers began shouting out Abilities, while others activated theirs silently, and one by one the losers were eliminated.

It was a fun show, with the crowd cheering, booing, and generally having a marvelous time. I spotted a hawker walking through the crowd selling beers and called them over. They had exactly two flavours, ours and Brazen Bull’s.

“One mug of the CPA please!” I called, paying for the overpriced bottle.

“We have plenty, and it’s our beer, why would you pay for that??” Aqua asked, bemused.

“Arena beer tastes different. Everyone knows that. It’s so much sweeter because you pay so much for it.”

“Uh huh…”

Soon enough, the speed round ended. Rumbob raised his hands in victory alongside another fifteen contestants. The arena erupted with various anthems and magical effects as the fans cheered for their hometown.

“Thank you contestants!” The arena master came back to center stage. “We’ll now be taking a short break! Please welcome the Wonderous Wizards as they perform a spectacle of magic and music!

A trio of dwarves in mages robes walked forward, each of them carrying a staff. I’d assumed at first they were for casting the spells, but then one of the three spoke into it and his voice boomed over general noise.

“HEY THERE KINSHASA! ARE YOU READY FOR THIS!?”

The lead then began singing. It was a song about, of course, gold; and the love thereof. Then the three broke into a complex dance routine that ended with a shower of electrical sparks.

“Is that Berry’s music magic?” I asked Richter. “My Manasight can’t see that far.”

Richter nodded. “Aye, it is! I am happy it's spreading!

The wizards did their show while the tables were cleaned of spilled beer and fresh mugs laid out. When everyone was done, which took about another half an hour, the announcer came back out and waved for attention.

“Thank you to our performers for that incredible show, and the Brewer’s Guild for financing it! Now, before we begin the final round, could you please join me in welcoming The Great Wolf of the West, Slayer of the Brindlewyrm, High Lord of the Glittering Caves, Master of the Mountains of Mourning, his Royal Majesty, King Carl!

The arena rose to their feet and cried as one. “For Crack! For the King! For Carl!”

At the same time, I received a prompt.

*Bing!*

Quest: Kill the King!

Kill the King. of the dwarves!

King of Dwarves Slain: 0/1

Rewards: [Unstoppable], Deific Intervention x 1

Do you accept?

Yes / No

I gaped at the prompt, beer dribbling out of my open mouth and down my beard. WHAT!?