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The breweries and alehouses of the Older Empire produce some of the finest ales and lager in Firmel. From the robust ales of the Stone Horse in Cessnock to the smooth lager of Fife Lake, these excellent brews are sent far abroad and are in high demand in the markets of Anchor Head and Leirfjall. But to declare the malts and pilsners brewed in these quality establishments are the finest the Empire has to offer, would be a shameful falsehood.

The position of royal food taster and procurer allows one to travel extensively and evaluate many a tavern. People have often asked me whose brewery is the preeminent in the Empire? This is a difficult question and demands much deliberation. Indisputably the dwarf Crow clan of the Empty Hills produce ale and lager of unsurpassed quality. Unfortunately, the cost of these brews is beyond the majority. So we shall explore other options, for those of us with shorter purse strings.

If we travel to the northernmost city of the empire held by the Clawed Lakes, under the spine of the world, one finds Drys Bluff and the precious and semiprecious stones to be had in its deep mountain mines. These mountains are indeed a source of wealth for Drys Bluff for they allow ice to be had year round, essential for the brew masters and their craft. It's true you could go to the Jester's Crook or the Flawed Rock for a pilsner or double bock and walk away, albeit with care, a happy man. But for a true connoisseur of malt beverages, naught but Cormick's "Barracks" will do.

After traveling a fortnight through some of the most desolate and dry country with our meager supply of Brown Brook Ale (gotten from a trader in Elder) running dangerously low, we entered Drys Bluff weary and parched. The garrison in the pass was happy to hear our news but sorry to see us go, for theirs is a dry and thankless task. The city itself is a sight for new comers. The bluffs in the cliff from which the city gets its name provide the foundation for most of the dwellings. Roads running without seeming pattern wind up and around the buildings. A number of roads become stairs with some of the smaller, poorer dwellings having ladders at their entrance. At the base of the bluffs sits an abandoned imperial outpost with a guardhouse, armory and stable. In these buildings Cormick Ordfjall has set up a brewery and beer hall. The beers are brewed in the armory to the left of the stable and are on sale in an adjoining "Barracks". A sign outside the premises reads "Cormick's. Master Brewer and Malster. Drunkards supplied with 3 1/2, 6, 9, 18 and 36-gallon kegs. Horses stabled daily and long term". He does supply people with smaller quantities.

Cormick's is what you would expect from an old barracks gone beer hall, it's a short, squat building with thick stonewalls and a reinforced oak door. Entering the "Barracks" for the first time one is greeted by the overwhelming smoke and the stench of too many people in one room for too long. The wooden floor is splintered from the tread of countless hobnailed boots and covered in thrush not swept since the last imperial procession. The haze comes from the old miners in the corner smoking their pipes and playing Tef-ten. Not helping the state of affairs is an open grill in the center of the room, with spits of geese and pigs roasting in the flames. Tables and benches are arranged in rows and bolted to the floor for good measure. A large, sturdy oak bar runs the length of the room, scarred and chipped from many a bar fights. Behind the bar are Cormick and one or two old hands and behind them is the true wealth of Drys Bluff. Four beautiful glorious kegs, Drys Night, and Nell's Knock both excellent pilsners. Next we have DB bitter and just the "Stout" if that's your thing. Wines and spirits include Colbinabbin Brandy fifteen years old and "Grimmer Holt" whisky.
The clientele of Cormick does tend to the rougher male sort. A ratio of five men for every woman in town doesn't help and brawls are common. Cormick in his mail-shirt wading into a brawl, adeptly thrashing alcohol fogged combatants with a cudgel. Then throwing the unfortunate into the street is considered the evening's entertainment. Watching Cormick perform behind or in front of the bar is truly a work of art and worth the trip alone. With all this going on, drink up, have Cormick pour you one or two while the lads stack the kegs in the wagon.

To find the finest milds and stouts one does not have to travel to the ends of the Empire. A little closer to home can be found the Brass Wheel, contained within the crowded walls of Renmark in the center of the wool district. Nestled between the houses and shops sits the Brass Wheel. It's not a large affair, only a single floor with the structures on either side rising over it. A dark wooden door stained partly green by a brass wheel hanging above is the only signpost.
The interior of the Brass Wheel is a long, wide corridor with a small bar at the far end. Behind this is a hatch to the taproom. The lower walls are constructed of stone, about waist high. The upper part is dark stained wood with a counter running the length of the hall. Walls and ceiling are covered in dark soot, from the smoke of the elaborate pipes so favored by the people of Renmark. To the right of the entrance is a room filled with a few worn chairs and tables pushed to the side. Hanging on the wall is an old dwarf-made water clock. That for as long as anyone can remember has chimed irregularly throughout the day. On another wall hangs a rusted breastplate with a large hole in it. The hole was caused by a monstrous crossbow called a Bessie Mauler, the wearer supposedly survived. In the center of the room is the traditional tavern game of Renmark. A-demon-amongst-the-tailors - it involves throwing a ball into a square pen to knock down a dozen ivory pins. A larger room near the far end contains several worn but well scrubbed tables and a score of chairs with benches lining the wall. In this room throughout the day can be found wool merchants quietly conducting commerce and forming trading companies. At night the crowd is more local with friends meeting to talk about the day; who is selling what, how the market for lace was doing and other topics of home and hearth. Many a night the Brass Wheel is a quiet place with stories and drinking, while sweetmeats are roasted on a small hearth. Others a traveling minstrel of some note may perform, packing the tavern to its fullest. All this makes for a pleasant background for you to enjoy your milds and stouts. For the owner of the Brass Wheel, Rolid Weargen, sells his wears by the pint only.

Hidden in the tap room and cellar below are the stouts, porters, and milds the Brass Wheel is known for. The tavern is built atop an old city well, allowing Weargen to be his own Brew Master. The beers are brewed in casks made from oaks of the Shattered Forrest, for he feels wood from Resemar is of inferior quality and taints the flavor. Whichever the case may be, his selection is truly impressive. There is Teller Ale, Brown Brook Ale, Silver Porter, XX Mild. For robust flavor, try the Brass Stout or Pills Secret. For a true taste experience one should try what the locals term an "arf en arf" or half and half. Start with half a pint of Dwarf ale and slowly top it off with Brass Stout. They do make Brass Label Pilsner, a good lager in its own right but it is far outshined by the others. Wine and spirits are also to be had. With a menu that includes a brandy that will, "clear your head and numb your senses", along with a good selection of local wines and cider. All this ale makes finding the Brass Wheel well worth your time. Just be sure to take a lantern. The constricted streets of Renmark at night are as dark as Oleta's heart and the city watch may be hard to find.

So the question of who is the Master Brewer of the Oldern Empire remains unresolved, but the choices have narrowed. For a selection of outstanding milds and porters with a comfortable atmosphere, one should try the Brass Wheel. If the desire is for less picturesque surroundings but excellent pilsners and stouts a stop at the "Barracks" is in order. Whichever road you choose to follow, a golden keg of beer and alcoholic haze awaits you at the end.

Pelnor Grey
His Imperial Majesty's Royal Food Taster and Procurer