This short story is dedicated to Hawkeye. Thank you for your patience and your questions. Sorry it took me so long to get this posted!
Wrinkling her nose in disgust Daraia quickly made her way to the Ironforge Auction House, deftly dodging drunken patrons hawking beer. "How could I have possibly have forgotten it was Brewfest?" she muttered. "Hopefully I can just get my business done and flee back to Dalaran."
"Daraia! Just the person I wanted to see, I knew you couldn't avoid me forever." A heavy gauntlet descended on her shoulder with a thud only to be removed with remarkable speed. "Blast it all, why do you have to keep weapons there?" Turning Daraia couldn't keep an evil grin from her lips as she observed Amalt shaking his injured hand. Then she got a good whiff of him.
"Good Light Amalt, what happened to you?" Waving her hands before her nose Daraia backed away from her friend. Eyes widening in horror. "You REEK!"
"Oh that." Amalt replied dismissively. "I was helping the Thunderbrews deliver some stock and there was a bit of an accident."
"Say no more." Daraia interrupted with a laugh, "I have helped them in the past. Why they insist on THROWING the barrels at people is beyond me."
"Yeah, well my new cologne isn't what I wanted to discus. You were saying some pretty interesting things the other day during that incident with the Stickhead's addition to your Tea." Amalt chuckled at Daraia's thunderous expression. "No you can't get at him. Last I heard he was going on an extended visit with his menagerie to see his brother Firager in Darnassus. Something about not wanting to risk any of his precious babies to your wrath while he was away."
"I swear you are in the wrong profession Amalt." Daraia groused, glaring at the grinning paladin. "Besides, you should know I have little to no memory of anything I might have said, so if you have any questions you should be directing them at Therigwin."
"Yeah well, the Big Guy isn't being very forth coming. He starts sputtering every time I bring it up, then the next thing I know we are under attack. It didn't take me long to figure out it was a deliberate diversionary tactic." Shrugging Amalt continued. "So I figured if I asked YOU while in the middle of somewhere relatively safe, I had a better chance of getting a straight answer."
Daraia couldn't help but laugh at Amalt's reasoning. "Ok, so what has you eaten alive with curiosity?"
"You made the comment that the last time you got drunk you woke up married to Therigwin...." Amalt trailed off watching Daraia closely.
"Oh no, poor Therigwin. No wonder." Daraia leaned against a wall as she laughed. "Oh Amalt...you WOULD want to know all the gory details." Wiping tears from her eyes Daraia straighten and attempted to compose herself. "Honestly Amalt it really isn't that interesting. When Therigwin and I first met he was a healer. Heck just about EVERY paladin was a healer back then. To make a long story short, I had gotten injured and Therigwin gave me something for the pain. Well, you saw how I react when I consume alcohol. The problem was that while under the influence I happened to confess my true feelings for him after MONTHS of denial. Lets just say that one thing led to another and my comment wasn't ENTIRELY accurate. "
"Oh come on Dar, you got to give me more than THAT!" Amalt whined. "I have waited this long, and you have no IDEA what all Therigwin has thrown at me in his attempts to keep from answering my questions."
"Really Amalt, this was YEARS ago, why does it even matter?" Laughing at Amalt's woebegone expression Daraia relented. "Fine, when I was more coherent he informed me that I had agreed to marry him. He has always felt somewhat guilty about that. It wasn't on purpose, but he DID take advantage of the situation. You know how he is."
"That's it?" Amalt complained.
"Fraid so. Told you it wasn't worth all the fuss." Tuning Daraia headed out of the Auction house.
"Hey, where are you headed off to now?" Amalt questioned chasing after her.
"Fleeing back to the questionable peace of Dalaran. I had forgotten it was Brewfest this week. I can't STAND this holiday. I mean it's origins are noble enough but what it is at present leaves much to be desired." Shuttering she marched towards the flight master intent on escape.
"What do you mean? How can you not like Brewfest!"
"Amalt, Brewfest has become nothing more than an excuse for people to get so plastered they can't even see straight. The only reason they don't get into more trouble is because their mounts refuse to move if they start acting like to much of an idiot. Light help any fool who happens to own one of those Gnomish or Goblin crafted choppers that can't refuse to function when their owners are unable to see straight and start running into things causing endless heartache." Shaking her head Daraia paused to allow a set of rams race by, their riders calling out advertisements for Barleybrew and Brewfest. "I don't know if you have had much contact with Merla, the priest, but she is actually a Wildhammer, who married a Bronzebeard. She was the one who told me how this whole silly thing got started and believe it or not it had little to do with getting drunker than skunks on a cold winters night."
"If you haven't noticed the Dwarves don't have a lot of open water due to the colder temperatures outside. They found if they added other ingredients to melted snow it not only purified it but added flavor giving them more liquid. Well, give them enough cold winters and they came up with various beers. Of course each clan ended up setting up their own Breweries and declaring them the best. Being Dwarves they decided they had to figure out who was indeed the "best". High King Anvilmar established an annual contest each fall where each clan would present their best offerings. Of course after the War of the Three Hammers the contests were forgotten. Then the Barleybrews decided to revive them as a marketing tool to the other races. Since the Thunderbrews pretty much had the corner on the market to the Bronzebeards they needed a way to tap into the non dwarf races. What better way than a beer festival?"
"Huh, so you mean this is nothing more than a huge sales pitch?" Amalt asked, scratching his head.
"Well isn't it obvious?" Daraia asked, turning to her friend as she reached the flight master. "I mean they have tents set up at all the major capital cities, both Alliance AND Horde. They practically SHOVE the stuff down people's throats. Beer in and of itself isn't bad, it is what you DO with it. And this is just one huge over indulgence fest. I'll pass thank you very much." Swinging her leg up she mounted her gryphon. "I'll see you in Northrend! Hopefully my business with the Darkmoon Faire won't bring me back south before then." With one last wave she flew off.
The Mythic Roadblock
6 days ago