The Dark King sat upon his throne in the deepest part of the mightiest mountainhome in all of Dwarfdom. His eyes, shadowed with the horrors of thousands of deaths yet sharp enough to gleam in the gloomiest of light, flickered over each and every hopeful face standing before him. In his hand was clasped a goblet of fine silver, imported from the loneliest Fortress to the far north. Jewels, hacked from the very earth itself and cut to absolute masterwork perfection, glittered upon the rim. Even the gold leafing on the side was done with absolute precision and care, depicting the slaughter of the invading elves from so many years ago.
Within the goblet sloshed Urist McBrewers newest creation.
Urist stood in the sea of hopeful faces, anxiously awaiting his kings verdict. Years upon years of work had gone into this specific brew. Dozens of herbs were mixed in, each modifying the taste ever so slightly. Some were so minute, their presence so moderated that they could hardly be said to be there at all. Oh, Urist had tasted and tested his brew a hundred times. He'd had others come in, professional alcoholics and brewers, all to taste his creation and provide feedback. He'd debated and deliberated, drawing up schematics and diagrams all over the walls of his bedroom until he arrived at the most perfect, most mathematically sound booze he could possibly create.
And now Cacame was about to take a drink.
The entire crowd held their breath as Cacame lifted the drink to his lips, paused, then tipped it back. The booze had taken Urist years to perfect, and Cacame downed it in less than a few seconds. He set the drink down, his face expressionless. The entire room echoed with the beating of Urists heart as he awaited the verdict.
"Piss."
The words were spoken with a deadly softeness, so quiet it would have escaped the notice of a nervous rat. Urist swallowed, then spoke. "I-I- ah, p-p-pardon, my lord?"
"Piss water. Your drink is less than that brewed by the miserable elves to the south. I say again, Urist. Piss."
The goblet flew from Cacame's hand, smashing against the flagstone floor and dislodging two of the embedded gemstones. Urist fell to his knees, his eyes staring at the broken goblet. He felt strangely hallow inside.
"I'm placing an order for two dozen barrels," Cacame continued on, his eyes burning with an ugly rage. "We'll trade it to the humans. They won't be able to tell the difference."
WWUD if the miner fell down the well?
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Topic: What Would Urist Do? (Read 639091 times)