Stouthammer's Speciality Brews

[Intrepid42]

Murin is amidst his vats and kegs, cheerily chanting sonorously as he stirs, the vat bubbling and vibrating ominously in reply.

"Cask and ale, hearty and hale, hark our ta-"

Suddenly he clutches his temple and furrows his brow in concentration.

The low resonance of the vat fades dejectedly.

He looks to his vat with an apologetic expression, then eyes the kegs against the wall.

"Right, best get this lot to the Schild for Master James pronto. Better see the Supervisor about a fast wagon."

[Intrepid42]

Soon afterwards, an Exigo wagon thunders out from Sundren. A nervous-looking wagon driver guides the stagecoach chargers, with four mighty kegs on the back. A laughing dwarf sits atop the kegs, armored with two reinforced kegs on his back, bow in hand and bandoliers of flavorsome incendaries across his chest.

"Don't spare the horses, lad! These kegs have to reach the Schild by nightfall! The Ale Express waits for no man, nor orc!"

The wagon soon disappears from view, with a dwarven tune echoing between the houses.

"Cheer all ye up, no reason to look grim
There's no need for dwarven waistlines to be slim
Never mind the weak-stomached one's snore
Full round bellies make grave spirits soar!"

[Intrepid42]

The road starts to tilt upwards, and the Schild mountain hoves into view.

Having changed horses at one of the smaller settlements, the wagon continues to power along the way, sustained by song and chant.

"Ho there, lad! Orcs on the road! Steer straight at 'em. When ay give the word, pass 'em on the right!"

The driver looks aghast for scant seconds, before the song changes and the driver, then even the horses, return to their efforts with renewed determination.

"The sword is sharp, the spear is long
The arrow swift, the Gate is strong
The heart is bold that looks on gold
The dwarves no more shall suffer wrong"

Arrows fly from the greenery beside the road and thunk against the kegs, now half buried behind a glowing nimbus. The dwarf fires arrows at a pair of Orcish warriors ahead, before a ceramic flask flies ahead and bursts into flame among them, just as horses plough past.

"Ha! Onwards, lad, onwards!"

A truly massive Orc bursts into view, and powers down the road after the wagon, his face paint barely masking a hateful scowl.

"Brodan's beard! We got a chaser!"

Arrow after arrow creases the brute's trunk, with little seeming effect. Flames from another throwing spirit wash over the charging Bloodmaim, but it is unpaused and closes steadily on the wagon.

"Thrar's Tooth! Bleedin' Demon Orcs! Time fer the backup plan."

The dwarf awkwardly clambers over the kegs, and adjusts a small set of levers attached to a device by the driver. He pumps a handle, sending empowered brew down hoses, which sprays into the mouths of the stage-horses.

They surge forward, and finally the pursuing Berserker falls behind, covered in arrows and burns. The wagon speeds onwards to it's rendevous with the battle-parched Legionnaires of the Schild post.

"That'll have t'go under miscellaneous expenses. Those Legion boys'll get their ale yet, lad! Ha!"