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Kvasir's story

27 March 2019

There is no warrior in Praya who has never been to a tavern or a pub. After a good fight, it always feels like having a break, getting some rest, having a word with someone, and that’s why there are plenty of taverns on the long roads of Praya. You can find them in the Castles, within a stone's throw away from the Borderlands and even in backwoods; after all, weary travelers also could use some refreshment.

On the border of a covert and a battlefield, there was a small tavern famous for the talent of its owner, Kvasir, the mead maker. So great was his fame that guests were coming from across the world, and his charisma and smooth temper could stop any fight at its very beginning (though, deep in his bones, Kvasir did love those and got a lot of bumps and bruises when was green as grass). A pint of good mead could fix any problem, heal any wound, cheer up the gloomiest of old-timers; and for many years boredom and mischief had stayed away from Kvasir's life.

There was just one thing that was excruciating his grasping mind, and that weren’t secrets that his guests babbled out accidentally. It was the mead! The mead that, according to a family legend, he, and his father, and father of his father, and twelve generations more had been brewing. Kvasir was actively experimenting with different flavors, wishing to create a drink that would make it into history and crown him with immortality. He was doing his best: adding birch juice, bread, outlandish herbs... But that wasn't it! It seemed like nothing could make his mead unique, special, and memorable.

One day a thought crossed this brave fellow’s mind: what if he added some Prime into a mead barrel? His fellow Dokhts kept saying that Prime was poisonous and should not be swallowed, but Kvasir did know firsthand that sometimes there was no better cure than a couple of drops of poison. He talked a pair of go-getters into joining him in the wildwoods and getting some magic resource. They made their way through the Touched, joking around and shouting so loudly, that their screams were heard in Castles. Once they got back they threw such a feast that it took them several days to come back to life. As soon as the serious state of mind got back to him, Kvasir left his neffy to take care of the guests and descended into his underground laboratory.

For a long while, he was carefully mixing components together, trying to create an unusual flavor. He could not resist and even tasted pure Prime – it seemed fine, and he didn't get poisoned. He was mixing and cooking, boiling and mingling until, finally, he got a barrel of mead.

Kvasir didn’t dare to treat his guests with his new drink. Who had ever heard of such a thing as treating someone without tasting first? So he drank a couple of pints before going to bed, just to sleep soundly. Little did he know that he had overdone it with Prime and his mortal heart was not prepared for that.

It was Yuliy, his neffy, whose scream woke him up. Kvasir felt terribly dizzy; his heart was beating like crazy. To make things worse, Yuliy was making so dreadful noises that ears were buzzing. Apparently, as spring came, Kitton had been wandering around far away from his cave. Kitton was so confused that it started scratching the tavern walls and howling songs. For a short while, tormented Kitton was hugging a neighboring tree, but, damn, he was surely coming back led by the scent of mead!

Things looked black, it was pretty crowded in the tavern that night, but those all were vagabonds, not warriors. Kvasir had to equip with what was close at hand, so he turned a mead barrel into a hammer, rough-and-ready boosting it with the parts of the armor that he used when he was younger. He carefully hid his guests in the basement and cheered them up promising to drive the vicious creature away.

And he would unless he felt so shaky. Kvasir was calling Kitton ridiculous names, trying to drive him off the tavern, but all for nothing. Just to send a message he punched Kitton really hard. And so they got into a fight. Waltzing deftly between paws with sharp claws Kvasir was destructing the cat, but he missed just one blow, which got directly in his back.

"It's over," thought Kvasir, "what an undignified death..." By the claws of a wild cat! To add insult to injury: the creature kept forcing his way into the tavern; the one that Kvasir had been building, settling for so many years… Hadn't he added the damn Prime he would have stood the fight! However, Kvasir should not go off on Prime so hard, as it was eternal life, not the blast injury that Prime got him. Out of the blue felt Kvasir a surge of energy and stood up from the ground. And even the barrel-hummer felt handier in his hands…

Kvasir was giving Kitton a good drubbing when he hit cat’s ear. It was the moment when Kitton gave up, decided to stop following a sweet scent, ran away at the high speed to his lair and since then has been a no-show. He should have listened to his mother who told him not to build a tavern in such a place…

When he returned to the tavern, Kvasir went to check his wounded back, but he could not find a single scratch! He felt no pain, and he had np broken spinal bones, nothing at all. Remembering tales of the Heroes that visited his tavern, he realized that he suffered the same fate. He let people out of the basement and… threw a great feast.

Never again would he add Prime to his mead. Spirits forbid, somebody less healthy would have gotten a stroke! Dangerous it is: drinking Prime. Seriously took Kvasir fate's gift, though celebrated remarkably. A major part of his business he decided to leave to his neffy, loudmouthed yet long-headed fellow. His mead would serve Heroes on a battlefield, especially now, when it's not so scary to get into a battle mess.

This is how Kvasir got into the Borderlands. He easily became friends with his fellow soldiers and stayed, supporting warriors and beautiful ladies (needless to say he was regularly hitting on latter). He opened a new tavern in the Castle, both to treat his Lord or stand his friends a drink, and to keep searching for a perfect mead recipe. Such a fan of battles became Kvasir that the moment he hears a battle-cry, he is the first to take his barrel-hammer!