Category:Prologue - Festival of Lacysnows

It is late into the Brewfest, the elven month of Lacysnows or Sunsebb as the common folk call it. Fallcrest has not seen such celebration in the old tavern or tasted from the Lucky Gnome's great brewmaster Farrell's wares in many, many years.

"You surly-lot have seen a great deal of action, and although your deeds are mighty, your clothes stink of the foul belly of the sewers. Grab a room and draw a bath, you'll need to be of heaven's scent before I share with you my golden nectar." Farrell decends into the cellar, softly singing....

"Deep in the Downs where the Foefern grows, You’ll dream of a brew that tickles your nose. It warms your belly and drowns your woes, At the Lucky Gnome where the Goodbarley flows."

As the party returns, shite and blood cleansed from their hands, clothing changed and freshly bathed, Farrell prepares to tap the musty, dust covered oak cask.

"Sit, sit my friends. It has been years since true Goodbarley Ale crossed these walnut counters. I have had this batch secreted away in the cellar downstairs and you shall be the first to taste it's godly goodness!"

With a crack of the tap, the troubadours start up and the Goodbarley flows into its first of many flagons...