Brewfest

The way the Dun Morogh snow crunched under her boots was satisfying in a way it had never been in Gilneas. It glittered gaily in the morning sun and seemed to stay in a powder state, never once turning to slush.

It made it far easier to ball up and lob at the back of her lover’s head.

41. The ground shook under her, and she braced herself in the doorway of her home. The while walls, not yet painted beyond a few decorations around the windows, cracked and chipped as the structure trembled. There was a crash from the storage room as a heavy pot fell from its shelf, and her hammock swung wildly, thumping against the wall. Below, in the raptor pen, the matriarch let out a piercing shriek and the others joined in, their calls nearly drowning out the rumbling. She'd found some stability, but it seemed at that moment as if everything was coming apart around her: her friends, the village, her mastery over the raptors. The world merely mirrored her inner confusion. The tremors ceased and her confidence returned, but she was left with the lingering, bitter-tasting memory of how easily she had been shaken.

First there was the twitter of birds, each little pip and chirp like a damned Kaldorei arrow through his forehead. Then there was the searing light of the sun pouring like magma against his eyelids. The oversized troll grunted, big lungs filling and deflating with a huff. Umbuya was used to waking up to pain – his teeth, his tusks, his muscles, his head – but he wasn’t accustomed to waking up draped over the branch of an Eversong oak.

They had woken early, the six of them, before the sun could start baking the world. The desert’s sky only showed a hint of blue-black bruise at the edge, an innocent preview of what would blaze forth with deathly power at noon. “Come on!” his brother Yuuba called, standing a head over the others. He was the ringleader of the troop of younglings. With a crazy grin around his budding tusks, he pressed a spear to Umbuya’s hand. “Let’s go.”

So I probably would've never gotten into this whole mess if my sister hadn't stole my kodo.  Dammit, why's she so good with animals, anyway?  Well, anyway, so I'm stuck at Brewfest, don't particularly wanna trudge how many miles through Durotar's dust-choked ravines.  So, well, I drank.  After a while, it was all good!  The goblins said their rams were legally obtained, so I borrowed one to try to ride it back to the camp.  It seemed to know where to go, so I just hung on and enjoyed the ride.

((The Journal is actually a Voice Recorder.))

Dearest Journal,

Quet cracked an eye open, wincing and squeezing it shut again at the stark morning light. Hell of a night...

She took stock of herself, starting with her toes. They seemed to be moving alright. Legs--sore, but not aching. She had some vague memory of cuddling up to a very large troll the night before, but she wasn't in nearly enough pain for anything to have happened there. Pity.

Her lower back, just above her rump... oww. Back, shoulders, arms were all stiff but not too bad. Then an awful crick in her neck, and her head. Oh, spirits, her head. She went back to considering the odd prickling pain on her back. No idea what that was from.

"Heeeey there, girlie."

She groaned, rolling away from the voice. Not now. The source of the voice simply moved around her, though, its presence hovering in front of her face. She glared out at it from under heavy eyelids, lashes serving to keep out most of the sun. It was still painfully bright, though.

Reggie unlocked the door to the apartment he shared with his wife, expecting the lights to be off and the place to be empty like he left it. When he opened the door and stepped inside, however, this was not the case. The front room was lit by the warm glow of the lit hearth, the coyote, fox, and cat all curled up in front of it like they didn’t hate each other. Cerwis was sprawled across the couch, her boots neatly lined up on the floor, her pants and top unlaced nearly enough to be considered indecent, gloves and cloak nowhere to be found. 

She smiled at him as she took a lazy drag off her cigarette, “Hey… I’m home. Didn’t know where you got off to else I would’ve had dinner ready.”
“I thought you were staying out until Friday?” He took his shoulder armor and robe off, leaving them on the armor rack by the door before making his way over to the couch and picking her feet up so that he could have a seat. He began working his thumbs into the arch of her right foot as she took another drag off her cigarette before leaning forward to pass it to him.

Tonight (Friday) at 7:00 server time, the <Kingdom of Quel'Thalas> is hosting a "Farewell to Brewfest" Crawl, starting at Brewfest proper in Orgrimmar and continuing on to the Brewfest stations in Undercity and Silvermoon. Festivites will continue until the crowd disperses, the booze is gone, or all the revellers pass out.

This is meant to be a casual, fun event - get your friends, show up, get smashed! Feel free to contact Elexandre/Aedran if you have any questions.

Dear journal,

I know, I don't usually write in the morning, and I'm sorry I haven't written in a couple of days. So much has gone on, I just really haven't found the time to jot anything down! So, well, I'll see if I can't start where I left off the last time and see if I can remember everything.

((Please note, as this is the journal of a 15 year old girl, all typos are in character!))

Dear journal,

Today. Was. Crazy! My whole life was turned up side down and inside out in the most awesome way possible!

Dear Journal,

So that guy that caught me yesterday? Yeah, he has friends milling about. Stopped me while I was walking around, minding my own business. ...... Okay, okay! I was scoping them out. But I scope everyone out! Wasn't going to do it, though. Three of them sitting on the wall together. Too hard with groups of people like that, even harder when they are sitting. What am I going to lift at my hand level, a hair tie? But, Light, the man who stopped me. He was all decked out in some sort of glow-y armor, and had this really big sword or axe, well, some sort of crazy large weapon that looked like it would have been overkill if he decided to take my head off. One of his other friends jumped off the wall and started coming up behind me and I made a break for it. Thankfully I was able to make it away again.

Another slap in the face from Blizzard if you're not 70 and like running boss raids.

Like moth to the flame I am.  I cannot simply leave it at what it is.  No amount of walking through the marble-floored museum of admiration will slake this thirst.  No…what I need is a trip across the smoky, crowded, sweat-slicked dance floor, with our bodies grinding together, our breaths as one as we slither to the sounds, swaying and thrusting against one another, desperate to be as one, with only the watching eyes of dozens of others keeping us dressed and separate. 

No…actually I wouldn’t.

And I have been drunk now for over two weeks
I passed out and I rallied and I sprung a few leaks
But I got stop wishin', got to go fishin'
Down to rock bottom again
With just a few friends…just a few friends*

Dear, Sweet Sara,

Some things never change.  The simple farmer, after all the strenuous work of bringing in the harvest, having laid in his supplies, and eyeing the bleak, cold winter slowly advancing across the land, takes a day or two to rest and enjoy the mead that he’s been fermenting in the root cellar.

Brewfest is like that...but the simple farmer becomes the entire population of the world and the mead from the root cellar is thousands of gallons of beer brewed up by the mega-giants of their trades!  It may be the best holiday ever.  But then, isn’t every holiday?

I groaned.

I think something kicked me in the head.

Dark Templar Kardnal Zu’pala peered out from his black hood at the troll before him.  He narrowed his eyes, gripped his belt tighter, took a deep breath and spoke:

“C’mon brudda,” a slight whine worked the edges of his melodic voice “Ah be workin’ fo’ T’chali’s now fo’ two weeks.  Ah done everyting joo said…ah hauled de barrels up from Razor Hill, ah done whored fa joo, pimpin’ yo’ beer t’roughout Orgrimma’, I even cleaned up de vomit and took out de trash jus’ now.  Gimme some mo’ tickets…look how many ah gots!”  Kardnal pulled out wads of wrinkled and mildly damp tickets.

Pain. Hot.

Stabbing, bright, hurtful, Owies.

I got a new dress.