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No. 29502
So mostly Nish just stood outside in the swamp, sweating, and thought about beer. Nish thought about dark beer, light beer, frothy beer, flat beer, ale, lager, porter, and stout. He thought about beer mugs, beer steins, beer taps, kegs of beer, a beer mug, tall glasses filled with beer, coasters that you could fling at people after you’d drunk enough beer from that stone beer mug, and a table for putting the beer mug on, except there needs to be a little bit of something on the bottom of the mug to make sure it doesn’t scratch the table. A bit of turtle shell would be perfect. He thought about drinking beer on cold days, nice days, rainy days, hot and sticky days, when your hand slips on the beer mug and you drop it, spilling your beer, which is bad, so you’d want to have a good grip. Maybe you could nurl the handle? No, no, too boring. You want something textured. Something you can really feel. Bones. You could wrap the handle in small bones. But you’d have to position the handle so as not to obscure the carving on the mug, the carving depicting the founding of the first Fortress.
It was around this time that Nish dropped his crossbow and began slowly walking towards the nearby outdoor workshop, like he was in a trance. “Hey, get back to your post!” said his captain, Momuz. “Fuck you,” said Nish. He walked inside to the workshop, elbowed the master stonecrafter in the face, picked him up by his breeches, and threw him out of the building. Momuz put his head in his hands, and moaned, as the realization hit him. “He’s touched. This is going to end in blood.”
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