Beers and Beards

The King was, as could be expected in a world with literal magic and special Abilities, as impressive as could be expected. The absolute weirdest part was that I could feel the King arrive before I saw him. There was a palpable… energy? Gravitas? Something, that swept through the arena the moment before the King entered. I meant that literally, as grains of sand stirred down on the arena floor.

He strode out into the Royal Box to massive applause as the three Dukes rose to their feet and clasped their hands in front of their chests. He was dressed in shimmering layers of plate armor, with comically large pauldrons shaped life wolf heads. Lightning arced around him with each step, the ionized crackle audible even over the shouting of the crowd. He wore a wolf’s pelt cape, and had an enormous greatsword in a scabbard strapped beneath it. His beard was knotted with care in a complex weave all the way down to his ankles, and he wore a helmet straight out of the Lord of the Rings that covered most of his face.

His every move spoke of power, of max stats in all attributes, of a dwarf that could kill everyone in this arena if he so felt.

The crowd continued to cheer as he entered.

“FOR CARL!”

“FOR CARL!”

“FOR CARL!”

Then the King raised his hand, and the crowd was silenced.

Not ‘grew silent’. Was silenced. Every mouth in the arena snapped shut with a *clack*

*Bing!*

Milestone Used

[Unbending] has prevented [Royal Command].

“Good people of Kinshasa,” The King said, his voice penetrating into my skull just as the Lord of Minnova’s had. He had a warm tenor, rather than the deep bass I had expected. It was strong and clear, every word cleanly enunciated. “And Our subjects from afar. Thank you for attending this, Our proud country’s Octamillenial. Eight thousand years of history are no small feat, and We have no doubt we shall see eight thousand more! For Crack!”

The arena practically burst at the seams. “FOR CRACK!”

“We take great pride in the works We have seen presented thus far, of the skill of arms and the heart on display. We know many in this arena have competed, or are kin to those who worked themselves to the bone to see this year a success. We wish you to know that WE SEE YOU!” He roared the last, raising his fist into the air. “We see you, so know that you have pleased Us! Oh you of rock and stone, lay your bones beneath the Erd, knowing that your children's children will sing your praises! So sayeth I, King of Crack!!!”

The crowd roared and surged to their feet.

“Let the festivities resume!” With that, the King sank back into his throne.

I registered the event with a passing curiosity, because I was still staring at the prompt I’d received a moment before.

Kill the King?

EXCUSE YOU!?

I glanced at the absolute monster in the royal box, and a bead of sweat trickled down my back as he looked directly back at me. No, that had to be an illusion, or an Ability that made it look like he was always looking at you. There’s no way he was eyeing me in particular in this massive crowd.

I turned back to look at the prompt which was in a different font than usual. I still had a ‘true love’ quest kicking around from whom I had to assume was Yearn. This new quest gave something as incredible sounding as [Unstoppable] as a reward, so… was it from the God of Freedom, Solen? That tracked, since he was also the God of Chaos.

Still, I had zero interest in ruining my life here. I went and hit ‘No’ as the announcer came back. “Now, please welcome back our final drinkers! I hope they’re thirsty, because we have over five hundred liters of beer for them to drink!”

“Flat beer,” I grumbled.

“I see Rumbob!!!” Aqua shouted, raising the sign again. We all hopped to our feet and hooted and hollered as the Santa lookalike entered the arena. He had on his trademark cheery smile, and he waved at us as he took his spot next to one of the giant barrels.

The announcer waited for the applause to die before continuing. “In case you need a reminder! For this round, the contestants will need to drink one beer every minute! If they’re unable to finish their beer in that time, they will be eliminated! They will continue drinking until only one competitor is left! Are you all ready?”

The contestants answered with a bevy of shouted drinking Abilities.

“Then, begin!”

And they were off! It wasn’t so much a speed round as an endurance round, so the competitors took their time, calmly drinking each mug in turn, and then starting on the next as the gongs rang the time. There were no early eliminations this round, and the crowd grew more and more electric as the number of mugs passed five, then ten.

The first to fall tipped over and threw up all over the arena. He was quickly carted off by a pair of attendants, while the announcer called his name. “That was Madix Maceson! It looks like he can’t handle the alcohol!”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The crowd catcalled and laughed as he was carted away.

Soon the second fell, then the third.

Rumbob was still going strong, as was the human contestant from Goma, and Willsson, the contestant from Kinsahsa. The other few were beginning to flag, and one by one they dropped out, either physically or by stepping away from the table.

Then, as a gasp of horror spread rapidly through the arena, Willsson slowly toppled to the ground, leaving only Rumbob and the giant, who we’d learned was named Justin.

“I cannae believe it.” Johnsson said in hushed tones. “A human might win the Sacred Brew drinking contest…”

“I can believe it.” Kirk said brightly. “We have bigger stomachs and a higher alcohol tolerance. Honestly, I’m surprised there aren’t more humans competing in this.”

Aqua had jumped to her feet to wave her flag a while ago, and she began screaming at the top of her lungs. “RUMTUMRUMBOB! RUMTUMRUMBOB!”

Rumbob had begun to slow down, but as the arena began to cheer for him and Justin he redoubled his efforts. At one point, the announcer stopped the count and spoke briefly to the two, then resumed the contest at double the pace. As the gongs continued, one after another, the cheering turned into silent awe. The truck-sized barrels beside each of them had begun to empty, drop by drop.

“How long ‘ave they been goin’?” Balin whispered at one point.

“Nearly two hours.” Aqua whispered. “They must’ve drunk at least a couple hundred liters of beer by now.”

“And I tried to compete with that.” I choked. “I’m amazed I did as well as I did!”

“Ach, that bastard! He must’ve been going easy on us whenever we played Coins!” Richter fumed.

Suddenly, a tremor ran through the crowd as Justin choked on his beer. He coughed, spluttered, recentered himself, took another sip, then collapsed on the table with a groan.

Rumbob finished his mug, then stood and raised his fist in victory.

The crowd went wild.

The announcer ran forward and caught Rumbob as the rotund dwarf staggered on his feet. “Congratulations to our winner, and the greatest drinker in all of Kinshasa! Rumbob Bejornsson! Do you have anything to say?”

Rumbob gasped, then spoke. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to have [Project Voice], but the announcer repeated it for him with an incredulous look. “Ho Ho Ho?”

Rumbob nodded, then collapsed.

The Thirsty Goat broke into guffaws that spread through the crowd.

And then clapping erupted from the royal box as the King joined in. The two white haired Dukes sitting beside him were white-knuckled and nervous, but Lady Barnes seemed pleased.

The King stood and the crowd grew silent as it became clear that he was about to speak.

“An excellent show of skill and love of the Brew! And good sportsmanship besides! We congratulate you Rumbob Bejornsson, for you have made your Ancestors proud! Is he awake? Can he hear Us? No? No matter, We’ll reward him later. We must say, We haven’t seen such a good show since Our hitball days, isn’t that right, Iris?”

Lady Barnes tilted her head. “As you say, Your Majesty.”

“Hah! Well, that went on for quite awhile, and Our back isn’t what it used to be. It’s this darned old age! It’s getting time for Us to pass the throne to the next generation!”

“As you say.” Lady Barnes tipped her head.

“Mmm…. We do say, and We’re the King!” The King said. “But none of that, we’re at a contest, so let’s begin the next event! We understand there’s something to drink around here?”

The King held his hand to his forehead and swept his gaze over the multiple giant barrels of beer and shook his head. “No, We don’t see anything. Where is the Guildmaster of the Brewer’s Guild? We would speak with her about this shameful lack of our most Sacred Brew!”

Right on cue, Guildmaster Monk of the Kinshasa Brewer’s Guild walked into the Arena from the tunnels below.

With Master Schist beside her!

The pair walked in stoically, each carrying a single bottle of beer. Guildmaster Monk was carrying the bottle from Brazen Bull Brewing, while Schist carried ours.

When they were standing beneath the royal box, Guildmaster Monk spoke in her commanding alto.

“Your Majesty! I present to you the craft of the two finest breweries in Crack, and seek your counsel to determine which is deserving of the title of the greatest in your Kingdom.”

The King cracked a laugh. “What, and you aren’t one of them Schist? What a surprise! We were so certain you’d win that We bet Lord Harald a mithril crown!”

Schist’s face was impossible to see from our angle, but I could feel him smile. “I’m afraid not Your Majesty, like you said, perhaps it was time for me to step back and let the next generation take over.”

“Pfah,” the King actually scoffed. “You were deposed. It’s not the same at all.”

Schist bent his head. “As you say, Your Majesty.”

“And now We hear that We won’t be able to drink your beer anymore? What is this nonsense, Guildmaster Monk? Why has Our favourite Brewer been spending his days bothering me about a slip of paper, and not brewing as he should be?”

Monk lowered her head. “Master Schist broke some of our most sacred Ordinances, Your Majesty. It was necessary for order.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ve got some stuff coming up that I know you’ll love.” Schist quickly followed.

The King nodded. “Good. See to it. And you owe Us a mithril crown.”

“As you say, Your Majesty.”

“Yes, yes, as I say.” The king waved his hand dismissively and Schist stepped back. “Now, bring Us the beers of the upstarts that defeated my loyal subject. Actually, no, hold. I would have them do it themselves. Masters of the Thirsty Goat and Brazen Bull Brewing. [I Summon Thee]!”

I had just enough time to share a horrified glance with Annie when I felt an invisible hook grab my spine just below my navel, and I was yanked through space itself to arrive directly in front of the royal box. Beside me, Annie heaved a breath and barely kept from throwing up. Master Lapis stood similarly disoriented beside us alongside her husband, a short fellow with a black beard practically as wide and tall as he was.

The King practically loomed over us from on high. “Good dwarves, We appreciate you heeding Our summons! Now, present to us the fruit of your craft and explain it to Us, that we may whet Our bloody thirst!”

Wordlessly, Schist dumped a bottle in my hands and pushed me forward. Malt did the same to Lapis.

Cool! I was going to meet the King of the Dwarves!

Who one of the Gods had just told me to kill.

Cool, cool, cool.

Cool.