Beers and Beards

Chapter 50: Pong

Chapter 50: Pong

“Did you hear something?” Beatbox frowned slightly as he looked towards the brewery.

Rumbob tipped his head and strained his ears. “That high pitched screamin’ sound?”

“Yes. It sounds like my daughter when she sees a particularly good deal on wrenches.”

“Sounds more like Erd’s most excited kettle to me.”

“I think it’s coming from inside the Thirsty Goat. Should we go check it out? Or vacate? They did have something explode here last year.”

“Nah, I’m sure it’s fine.” Rumbob took another sip of his beer. Agh, it was wonderful getting a brew fresh from the brewery. Rumbob liked fizz, and there was a lot of extra fizz the closer you drank to the source. Sadly, it wasn’t too often that breweries threw a party with product straight from the barrel. The earthy and sour flavour of Thirsty Goat beer complimented the bitter tang of the grout at the bottom of his mug. Then of course there were the tasty nuts from the general store. Rumbob chewed happily while he watched Emerelda and Tania take part in a boisterous arm-wrestling match.

This was the first time he didn’t feel ashamed, sitting in public amongst a bunch of other pro drinkers. No worries about snide remarks for ‘wastin’ tha brew’ or angry mutters about ‘drinkin’ too fast to enjoy it’. All it had taken was a single word from the King that he wanted the ‘greatest drinkers in Crack’ to compete at the decamillenial. He smiled as his eldest son attempted a bashful conversation with a blushing gnomish waitress. Now there was a match that would have been frowned upon just a scant few millennia ago!

Rumbob shook his head. Dwarven society needed a bit of spring cleaning. He had noticed more and more young dwarves that were unhappy with the matchmaking system and the current status of the nobility. They wanted to fall in love and for society to damn well keep their noses out! As a matchmaker, he was inclined to agree. Too often, a good match was ruined by a noble who couldn’t keep his hands to himself, or a grandmother that had a bit too much to say about the potential groom’s beard.

Speaking of change, Rumbob looked over as Pete stumbled out of the brewery, a grin plastered to his face. He recognized that smile, but it was usually reserved for the first time a pair held hands. Rumbob quite liked Pete, and he was on a rather meteoric rise within the city. Perhaps his little Tiger would be interested in him? She was partial to dwarves that broke the mold, especially since she started listening to that crazy Raspberrysyrup's ‘pop’ music…

“What is the matter, Pete?” Jim asked, as Pete stumbled to their table.

“I… I….”

“Gaht somethin’ in yer eye?” Chuck chuckled. His accent was very reminiscent of Richter’s deep Nigerian bass.

“Maybe one of those nipples...” Beatbox muttered. Chuck was dressed in the shirtless style of the southern continent, and his bright orange spade beard stood out against the pitch black of his skin. Chuck grinned wolfishly and flexed his muscular pecs in reply.

“I… I got into the Brewery.” Pete whispered in shock. “Goldstone is letting me on to the brew floor.”

*ho ho ho!* “Congratulations! Did you go inside yet!” Rumbob clapped the young dwarf on the back. It was always a joy when a dwarf joined the prestigious order of brewers!

“I did. And then… I got a Milestone!” He sounded like he couldn’t quite believe it. “Then Annie kicked me back out and told me to socialize.”

There was a shocked silence at the table for a moment, and then several cheers, both verbal and mug. A new Milestone was always a matter for celebration! It was no Blessing, but it put someone a bit closer to their Specialization!

*ho ho ho!* “Congratulations! Was it [Bottomless Barrel]?”

“Uh, yeah. How did you know?”

“A few of my friends have it, there’s a lotta nobs and brewers with it.” Rumbob nodded.

Beatbox leaned into the conversation. “Careful with that one. The beer it makes has to be drunk right away, so you can’t make multiple kegs. It’s meant to ensure you don’t run out of beer at a party.” Off to the side, Emerelda and Tania had started a small brawl that was beginning to expand. A grim looking Goldstone walked past carrying a bench. The conversation at the champion table stopped for a minute as several dwarves were politely ‘given a seat’.

“The message said I threw a party that got more than five hundred people drunk on my brew at a single party. I think it’s because I’m officially a part of the brewery now? And I threw the party?” Pete watched Goldstone stalk back inside with a broken bench. “But Annie and the others did all the work!”

“Aye, but as far as everyone here knows, you threw it m’boy!” Rumbob chuckled. “Intent can matter fer Milestones!”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

“God’s don’t need ta be fair!”

“Don’t need to tell me that.” Pete muttered darkly, and then drained his mug. A brief look of discomfort passed on his face, but it quickly replaced with joy.

“Who cares! I’m in! I did it!!!” Pete roared, and got up onto the table. “YOU HEAR THAT MINNOVA!!! I DID IT!” He roared out to the crowd.

“Don’t let Goldstone hear that!” Someone shot back. There was general laughter and some cat-calling.

“Ugh, I don’t even care. This calls for some drinking games!” Pete spun and looked down at his cadre of new friends and acquaintances. “Who here plays pong?”

He was met with a bevy of confused glances.

Beatbox was the first to ask the question. “Pong?”

—

“This looks like a waste of beer.” Beatbox opined, as he brought another half dozen mugs over.

I wasn’t allowed back into the brewery until after the party. Annie wanted me to ‘mingle and drum up more interest’. I could do that, though I was really itching to get onto that brew floor. In the meantime I had commandeered a table for us to play one of Earth’s most famous drinking games: Beer Pong.

“It’s not a waste Beatbox, we’re going to be drinking it.”

“I thought you said it was for a game?”

“It is for a game. A drinking game!”

“Drinking isn’t a game.” Someone shouted from the curious onlookers.

“We just came from a drinking tournament ya idjit.” Someone else put in.

“What did you say?”

“Yer head as daft as yer beard? You heard me!”

I ignored the small scuffle that ensued as I explained the rules to everyone else and finished setting up the board.

“The first thing we need is twenty mugs of beer. We put ten o’ them into a triangle shape at each end of the table.” I set up the first set of ten mugs in a style reminiscent of billiards, and then moved on to the other side of the table. “You can see I’ve staggered the cups and left about two thumbs width in between each tankard.”

I looked up to see a crowd of nearly a hundred dwarves and gnomes watching in rapt attention. Good, good. I kept an eye on my quest to influence people with my otherworldly knowledge. I was hoping that drinking games would count as well. It was still ticking up, but no big jumps.

“I’ll need three willing volunteers to play! Champions?” I turned to my table, and an eager Beatbox thrust up a quivering hand. “There’s one. Anyone else?”

Emerelda and Chuck raised their hands, and I pulled them all over to explain the rules. At the same time, a gnomess ran over from the general store with a set of four small wooden balls.

“Ah, thanks Spruceleaf!”

“You are most welcome Peter! It’s on the house from my old man! He says thanks for all the business!” The green-haired young woman said brightly, before running off to continue serving tables.

“I’m always game for games, Pete.” Emerelda winked and flexed her fingers. She sported a fresh new black eye, and her black garibaldi beard and walrus mustache were smeared with a spot of blood from a cut lip.

“And ah’m always up far tryin’ samthin’ new!” Chuck added. He and Emerelda sized each other up with competitive grins.

“Alright then, let’s get this party started. Here are the rules.” I handed one ball to each player. “Beatbox, you and Chuck stand on the other side of the table there. Emerelda, you stand beside me here. Notice that when you stand like this, there is a triangle on the other side of the table with the point facing you.”

“I think I get it! Are we supposed to throw the balls into the mugs on the other side of the table?” Beatbox put in.

“Bingo!” I sent a double fingered point his way.

“What?” He scrunched up his brows in puzzlement.

“Uh, yes. That’s correct.”

“No, what’s Bingo?”

I looked down at the small, middle-aged gnome with grey whiskers and a few liver spots on his receding hairline. ‘My spotty dog’s name-o’ died on my lips. Thank the gods for thinking before speaking.

“Just something I like to say when someone is right. It’s just a me thing. Don’t worry about it. Anyways, you were correct! The objective is to toss your ball into the cups on the other side of the table. When you get it in a cup, your opponent needs to drink! The first team to fall unconscious or drink all their cups loses!”

“Clear ta me.” Chuck nodded and Emerelda cracked her knuckles as I got ready to take the first shot. A few other tables were set up around us so people could sit and drink while they watched us play, and I saw another table being set up for a second game.

“Oh, one last thing,” I mentioned, as I lined up my throw, “no Milestones, since that would make it too easy.” I made a lazy toss, and the ball spun through the air to land directly to the side of the triangle. Huh, that was odd. I wasn’t an expert at this back home, but I was certainly a semi-pro. How had that missed?

“Who needs Milestones when you have a high dexterity?” Beatbox asked, as he easily flipped his ball into a mug on our side. Emerelda took the drink with a *hmph* and downed it in a single go.

“Don’t hold me back, Pete!” She grumbled, as she easily dunked a ball on her turn.

I quickly checked my dexterity. It was eleven. Balls. Chuck easily landed his first shot and I took a drink. This was not going to go well.

Play continued back and forth, and after another botch, I managed to land the ball most of the time. More of that ‘spirit affecting my spark’ as I was beginning to call it. After the first six mugs were drunk on each side, the cups were rearranged into a diamond shape. Beatbox and Chuck started to miss the target a bit more often at that point, and the game became more competitive. There was even a cheering section!

Ok, my cheering section may have mostly consisted of *maaahs* but that counts!

While we waited for Beatbox to go through a pre-throw routine that included asking his wife to kiss his ball (ugh), I turned to Emerelda.

“Hey, what’s up with the Whistlemugs?”

“You didn’t know about them?”

“I was living in a cave for the past few months. Literally.”

“Ah, right. They’re sold by Whistlemug’s Fineries, and they’ve been real popular.”

“Oh, reaallly?” I hissed, like a pissed off cat.

“Aye, they’re nice and clear so you can see your brew, and the shape makes the bubbly really pop!”

“Dwarves really like the bubbly, huh?”

“Some, well, a lot do.”

“Annie had the right idea then.” I tapped my fingers on the table as Chuck got the crowd into a cheering frenzy for Beatbox’s shot.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, just thinking.”

We stepped to the side as Beatbox’s shot bounced off the rim of a mug. Emerelda quickly stepped up and unceremoniously took her shot. It landed square in a mug and the crowd crowed with laughter as Beatbox drank it with chagrin.

I gave a small *heh* as she turned back to me. “Did you already own one, then?”

“Yes. They’re quite expensive, nearly five silver, but I think they’re worth it. Rock collectors are going wild over them!”

That was fifty loonies! And he must have sold tens of thousands! Argh! I needed to see this for myself!

"Would you be interested in showing me to Whistlemop's? I'm kind of curious after your description."

"Oh? You're askin' me? That's new. Sure! I'd love ta!"

Alright, it was likely that if someone bought a Whistlemug when they already owned one it didn’t affect my quest, but I wanted to make sure. I’d need to do a little testing, but this could be a useful benchmark to check how quests were tabulated.

The game was a massive success, and soon there were several tables playing. Oh, and we lost. “Sorry, Penelope.”

*mournful maaaaaah* [translated from prima donna goat] “I don’t understand what is happening, but my disappointment in you is immeasurable and my day is utterly ruined.”