MAY THE ROOF ABOVE
NEVER FALL IN
Now this was something he could get behind! He approached the boss with his head leveled with his spine. What little life existed behind the cataract in his dead eye glinted in the dancing flames as he investigated the pots. He had never seen anything like them before, but the stench of what he knew was alcohol wafting off them was familiar enough, what had shocked him however was just how powerful the scent was. He had already begun to wonder when the word “Drink” kept coming up, as far as he knew the only thing one could drink was water, getting plastered on the other hand came from eating rotting fruit. It had been so in the land he grew up in and the land where he…Well.. that wasn’t something he wanted to think about. “Fook me.” He muttered, carefully stepping away from the jars now that he realized that their contents were near sacred. In his motherland, he had been renown for his ability to hold his liquor, sometimes eating as many as three fermented peaches at once just to prove a point, but now it seemed he was a small fish in a big BIG pond- The wolves here were larger than any he had ever seen before, and were clearly familiar with what Chaos had referred to as a “Brew” each jar of which, he had determined, might have contained a whole orchard worth of alcohol. But then, he wasn’t much fun sober anyway, and going into a drunken stupor for the rest of the season sounded like a wonderful plan to him.
He wasn’t sure he’d be the life of the party, but he did have plenty of stories from his glory days and a few from- He squashed that thought before he could complete it. No one wanted to hear about that. Those stories weren’t even that great for lively moods such as this one anyway, and either way, he had already gathered a story from this place that to Chaos in particular might be interesting. He had saved his encounter with who he had dubbed “The Great Brown Bastard” just for an occasion just as this. The Great Brown Bastard might not have understood him, but he would be damned if the legend of Hewart Jass; the crafty bandit with one brown eye, died at those rapids.
This is talking
MAY WE BELOW NEVER FALL OUT
