Report #00028: Mostly Sober Observations About Brewfest
Many folks reading these reports may not realize this has been my first celebration of Brewfest. It’s not as if I didn’t know it happens. I may not have been blessed with a proper dwarven upbringing but I have lived all eighty-four years of my life in Dun Morogh. Even being one who rarely set foot on the surface of Gnomeregan, it just doesn’t take a bloody genius to know what’s going on right down the road. And we were all bloody geniuses in Gnomeregan. And I did have myself a few years of living in Ironforge before I finally set out to make something more of myself. Those were rough years, though. Recovering from nearly dying when we lost Gnomeregan, dealing with a fear of technological doohickeys brought on by the trauma, taking care of Greta at the end of her life… it doesn’t leave much time for standing around and listening to some drunk fellow yell, “Here’s lookin’ at me bum!” between Dark Iron attacks. To tell the truth, I didn’t feel safe stepping outside back then. There’s nowhere on Azeroth that could be safer than the heart of Ironforge Mountain.
Aye, it’s my first Brewfest!
I spent the first two days not being able to see straight. Seeing crooked would have even taken some real effort from myself. I’m almost certain I said some unkind things about King Magni’s daughter at one point, but I couldn’t begin to account for exactly what words I used. I’m going to assume she wasn’t there to hear it, anyhow. It’s not as if I’m not used to drinking. I’m the one usually protesting the price of drinks in the Stormwind taverns because they charge folks real brew prices for what’s nothing more than bloody spring water! I’ve just never been one to drink so much at a time… or for so long.
Now that I can pick up a quill and not try to dip the feathery end in the ink, and since most of the wolpertingers seem to have run off for a while, I’ll be writing down some of my observations and reactions to things going on around Ironforge.
I tried to warn folks the bloody Dark Irons would be headed this way! I don’t suppose I’ve got anything to add to that. If yourself wasn’t listening before, then I don’t suppose you’ll be listening now.
Just because it’s the first time I’ve gone out to celebrate Brewfest doesn’t mean I’ve never seen the steins folks brought back. I’m keeping this green one, but I’m not fooled by it. I know this is left over from last year!
Aye, we’re all drunk. Some folks more than others. That doesn’t mean we won’t notice or won’t care if yourself decides to attack Ironforge. We may not notice if we’re accidently shooting and hitting each other, but even that won’t stop us from defending. It’ll just mean the priests have a long night of healing ahead when it’s all done.If I’d stuck with learning to speak Orcish, I’d walk right up to that one Forsaken mage that keeps showing up and tell him, “I’ve studied magecraft. Liked to toss around a magic snowball now and then, myself. You don’t look like you’d know the business end of a gun if it was spitting bullets at yourself, though. You might bounce one or two off that frost shield, but then you also have to look out for the bear here. You can’t even manage to speak bloody Common properly anymore. How are you going to concentrate enough to keep the bear off your back, the bullets off your front, launch snowballs at the auctioneers, and don’t go stepping in a trap?” It’s easier just to shoot him, though. I don’t go looking to start fights with the Horde. Walking into Ironforge and attacking our citizens is just dumping a fight in my lap.
Everybody dances better drunk. Even gnomes.
It’s not exactly true that an elf can only last about ten seconds on a ram before falling off. It’s more like the rams throw them off because they whip the poor beasts so hard! A ram’s an animal, you bloody gits! Yourselves don’t go beating on cats, bears, or whatever else sort of fuzzy critters druids can pretend to be. Don’t whip the rams so hard!
I’m not sure I trust this “Brew of the Month Club”. My brother signed himself up and got some funny drink that left him speaking an obscure gnomish dialect for a bit. I may have to sign myself up just to keep an eye on what he’s drinking for the next year.
The time’s coming after Brewfest that I’ll stop just talking about it and actually head off for Bronzefeather and myself to prove our worth. I’ll come home with a Storm Hammer or… Well, I suppose I’ll come home either way. I’ve worried myself nearly sick over planning the trip. I have to leave little Brann with my brother, and I’ve got no guarantees the Wildhammers won’t just laugh in my face. Come to think of it, whether we get to prove ourselves as a Gryphon Rider team or not, I’m pretty sure they will laugh in my face. I’ll also be writing home to my brother while I’m gone, so I’ll end up worrying over whether or not he’s remembering to put copies of the letters in with these reports. I suppose I can just stick them all in myself when I get back if he doesn’t. For now, though, I’m trying not to concern myself with too much of that. There’s still more drinking to do!