It’s said that brew was created in the labs of Brightborough University by a pair of students trying to replicate the powers of the gifted. An underground student dive picked it up by the caseload-- you know, the ones with boxing rings, poker games, the whole nine yards mum and dad warn you about before you head off to university-- and I guess you could say the rest is history.
Brew to make you speak another language. Brew to have more strength. Brew to stop your enemies in their tracks. Brew to save a soul. ‘Ol Morgan Flux himself would be proud of how far it’s come-- but don’t let the mayor hear you say that.
She hates the stuff. Despises it. Says it ruins appetites, families, our generation, is the cause for the boom of the gifted population-- although if you were telling me she’s never had a drop of it, I’d be skeptical. Some of the high town families are scared of brew. Scared of what happens when low town’s suddenly amped up on two bottles of happy hour brew and unhappy with their current predicament. And granted, addiction to the stuff can be nasty, but you have to be pretty far into the barrel before that kicks in.
I’d tell ‘em they’ve got things comfortably swung in their favor still, but not sure they’d believe me.
Even still, brewing operations got ousted quick from the Uni, and then from anywhere seen as “respectable.” The demand skyrocketed and so did the call for prohibition, lead by Ms Mayor’s mum and her trusty band of muscle and legions of high town teetotalers.
I came through the university when the law first passed, and saw the breweries move from the university labs to the fisheries, then from the fisheries to lowtown, and then finally settle out in the woods, away from Brightborough’s laws but close enough to smuggle in.
Where are they goin’ from here? Well they’re sure not leaving any time soon, that’s for sure. There’s at least 10 speakeasies demanding the stuff, and that’s only the ones I know about-- whether Ms Mayor likes it or not, we’ll have work for a while yet.
--Finn Shannon, brewer