“We’re speaking of sipping whiskey,” said Demos.
“Or approximately sipping,” said Logon, taking a particularly long draught.
“Right,” Sharine said. “We’re not simply trying to drink Goblin fire until we fall over.”
Each was a well-respected Dwarf. Each was well in their cups. Each was surrounded by friends and underlings. This would be epic.
“I like a lot of ice,” said Demos. “I prefer to blunt the initial bite, even if it’s a very fine whiskey.”
“Oh, do you, now?” said Logon. “Well, when I think it won’t inconvenience the bartender, I ask them to freeze cubes of soda, so I gradually get an increasingly-cold whiskey and soda.”
“Is that right?” asked Sharine. “I drink mine straight.”
Logon nodded.
“I like whiskey,” Demos observed.
* * *
And so it has been traditional, from time immemorial, when commemorating a special occasion or simply reinforcing the camaraderies which last and build throughout our lifetimes, to purchase the Dwarf in question a great deal of Whiskey.
We’re not saying that it’s an insult to purchase too LITTLE whiskey, but your level of friendship and loyalty are–hahaha!–laughingly sometimes suggested to be commensurate with the size of the glass you–
but we digress.
This has been another bit of Dwarven Lore brought to you by the Dwarven Tourism Board. Yes, there is a Dwarven Tourism Board, and BOTH of us are very passionate about our jobs, thank you very much.
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