"Bring that barrel over here, Gorn... aye, aye.. easy now, boy. These barrels be worth more than we make in a year." Trimble watched as the lad moved the heavy barrels of stouts and whiskeys around the warehouse floor. "A good lad," he thought to himself. "Let's rest a few moments before tackling the next group." Trimble said, wiping the beads of sweat off his forehead.
Sitting down on one of the large casks, Trimble sighed wearily. How glad he was that Gorn was working with him now. He wasn't getting any younger after all. It was an added bonus that Gorn was a relative. Looking over at the strong young dwarf, he sent a word to his sister and her mate on the winds...You would be proud of your boy. He is fine and strong and honourable.
For the millionth time, Trimble cursed the plague that had taken Gorn's parents from him at such a young age. Well...he had done the best he could and the boy never went hungry or had nothing to wear. In time he grew to the love the lad as his own even.
"Father? Why are these worth so much more than any other ale or whiskey?" Gorn asked. Chuckling to himself, Trimble pats the cask next to him and says, "Let me tell you about these brews, son of my heart."
"Our people, since time before time, loved a good brew. It is said that a Dwarf will starve before giving away a single pint of whiskey or ale for a loaf of bread. And it is not far from the truth. Many years ago, there was a young man named Brander Burrocks. There was nothing he loved more than whiskey and brewing it himself. Always he was on the lookout for new things to add to the malts...new flavours...new levels of potency to reach. In search of these things he travelled far and wide talking to peoples and gathering supplies to take home with him. As he was passing through a region, he was attacked by a Firebolg and injured badly.
He was found by a ranger who lived nearby and happened to be out hunting in the area. The ranger took him back to his cabin and tended his wounds and set the broken bones. Brander and the ranger became friends and Brander stayed there through the winter with the ranger.
During those first days though, Brander was about crazed for something besides spring water and the root wines that the ranger favoured. So he set himself up and began brewing some ale for himself. He wasna sure how good it would be though. The water in the area was of a brown color. The ranger told him it was because of the high level of peat in the soil, but that it was perfectly safe, and in fact, rather healthy.
So using the brown water, Brander began a batch of ale. When the ale was finished, Brander looked at what he'd made. He rolled it around in a glass and looked at it dubiously. It was dark brown like the soil itself and was thick and foamy in the glass.
Shrugging, Brander took a big swig. Suddenly he jumped up and with eyes wild he ran out to the ranger making him take a mouthful as well. Never had he tasted anything like this ale. It was nectar in his mouth! Rich, thick, robust...like the earth's very blood.
Throughout that long winter, Brander made many variations of the ale and even began a batch of whiskey. When the winter was over and the snows melted, Brander left the rangers cabin and returned home. But it was never the same. He longed for the taste of the ales he had come to love so much. So, with his neighbours telling him he was crazy, he packed all he owned and moved back to the vale where he had wintered.
The ranger, who had missed his friend and hunting companion, helped him build his cabin in a small glade nearby. It was from this cabin in this very vale that Brander created "Brander's Bliss."
Trimble patted the cask he was sitting on. Soon word spread about the wondrous brews that came from Brander's cabin. Eventually he expanded and people came from all over to buy the ales and whiskey's that Brander made.
Brander married a couple of years later and it was his sons that continued the tradition of brewing that their father had started. The sons married, had sons of their own... other people soon moved into the area as well. Barrelwrights, carpenters, farmers, until we are as you see now. We used the river nearby to float the casks downstream to neighbouring towns and villages and became known as Kegvale.
Now... we are known for the finest ales, stouts, and whiskeys in Cosrin. We at Brander's Brewery supply kings, princes, diplomats and ambassadors. Nothing is more prized than a keg of brew from Brander's. Remembering our humble beginnings though, we make sure that the town of Kegvale always has a ready supply of drink at low prices."
Gorn, listening intently, glanced down at the stamp on the side of the cask. "Brander's Brewery.... I will never forget your words, my father. I will work hard and well and be an honor to you and mother." Gorn promised.
"I have no doubt of that, Gorn" smiled Trimble. "Well...enuff rest. These must be moved and made ready for shipment to the Temple of Ica. The Immortal of War has a prodigious thirst for good ale and is one of our most prized customers." With that the two set to work with new energy and pride.
