One Beard War

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Flagon.jpg

You open a door at the end of a hallway and walk into what appears to be some pined of cub--kind of pub. A few gloomy souls sit along a bar, dripping at their sinks. Er, sipping at their drinks. Bemused, you walk up to the bartender, trying to figure out what this place is doing here. The man smiles broadly and hands you a large ceramic mug, decorated with a winged insect. "Here, mate. Have a sip on the house."

You shake your head. "No thanks. I'm kinda working right now--I don't need a drink."

But the bartender says, "Nar, it ain't alcoholic. It's just a nip o' boot rear."

"Boot rear?"

"Yar, you know. Sassafrass tea with a bit o' bubbles. Only this here's got some kick. Get it? Boot rear?"

"Yeah, I get it," you say. You tilt back the mug and drain the dragonfly flagon dry. It tastes pretty good, though there's a strange butty night--um, nutty bite--to the aftertaste. Then the kick sets in, and the room swirls around you. For brief moments you swear you can see light streaming from between all the atoms of your body, and deep into the recesses of the universe a the same time. Then things bow knack to gormal .... well they go back to normal-ish. Except the gar is bone--the bar is gone--and you're standing alone in the hallway. Still, you feel you've gained from the experience.

You gain 30 experience.

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