There are planes scattered throughout the multiverse that have no names and no inhabitants. There are planes scattered throughout the elements that have both.
The quasi-elemental plane of lightning falls into the latter group. Now, primes and mortals, basically any living thing with a corporeal body, don't find any of the elemental planes comfortable. Not unless someone's hollowed out and reinforced a pocket capable of sustaining life there. When you're a demi-god, creating such bubbles didn't take all that much effort.
In a pocket, on the quasi-elemental plane of lightning, a home had been carved out. Rolling hills and jagged mountains, glades and forests, all in blue washed black and white. And there, between three hills that'd been plunked down haphazardly, was a lake.
A crystal clear lake spanning almost a quarter of a mile, ripe with shore life in all its forms. Beneath the gently lapping waves, not so much with the living things. It was rather hard for life to survive in a holy ale with an alcohol content to make the purest of moonshines seem like tap water.
Not that some didn't try. They were forever dredging the lake for the sodden lumps of dwarven petitioners and clerics determined to drink their fill. Occasionally there were the representatives of other races as well, but for the most part, it was dwarves and dwarven kin that had to either be rescued, or sent back to their afterlife for a proper ...well it's rather difficult to bury someone who's already dead. Did make for a great party though.
Absolutely clear, a cup of Ralyks' ale has a slightly sweet and spiced aroma. Something reminiscent of the memory of apple pie though far more subtle. Smooth on the lip and tongue, there's barely a burn. The flavor is complex, with a thousand notes tumbling over each other. And completely, utterly, subjective. Each sip or mouthful taken by each person, is different. The flavor, is therefore, quite difficult to explain.
More often than not when queried, a person drinking said ale will simply wave a hand and pour a sample to share. Probably to see if the other person can figure it out either.
Powers had been known to barter for a cask or two for celebratory feasts, clerics had been known to use the Holy Water as fuel for Molotov C*cktails, some people had been known to use the Water to remove rust or purify wounds, and dwarves had been known to drown in it, trying to drink the lake dry.
Whether or not it'd give Sal even the slightest buzz, had yet to be seen.
(Posted with permission. The character Ralyks mentioned above is one of mine. Sal is not.)
The quasi-elemental plane of lightning falls into the latter group. Now, primes and mortals, basically any living thing with a corporeal body, don't find any of the elemental planes comfortable. Not unless someone's hollowed out and reinforced a pocket capable of sustaining life there. When you're a demi-god, creating such bubbles didn't take all that much effort.
In a pocket, on the quasi-elemental plane of lightning, a home had been carved out. Rolling hills and jagged mountains, glades and forests, all in blue washed black and white. And there, between three hills that'd been plunked down haphazardly, was a lake.
A crystal clear lake spanning almost a quarter of a mile, ripe with shore life in all its forms. Beneath the gently lapping waves, not so much with the living things. It was rather hard for life to survive in a holy ale with an alcohol content to make the purest of moonshines seem like tap water.
Not that some didn't try. They were forever dredging the lake for the sodden lumps of dwarven petitioners and clerics determined to drink their fill. Occasionally there were the representatives of other races as well, but for the most part, it was dwarves and dwarven kin that had to either be rescued, or sent back to their afterlife for a proper ...well it's rather difficult to bury someone who's already dead. Did make for a great party though.
Absolutely clear, a cup of Ralyks' ale has a slightly sweet and spiced aroma. Something reminiscent of the memory of apple pie though far more subtle. Smooth on the lip and tongue, there's barely a burn. The flavor is complex, with a thousand notes tumbling over each other. And completely, utterly, subjective. Each sip or mouthful taken by each person, is different. The flavor, is therefore, quite difficult to explain.
More often than not when queried, a person drinking said ale will simply wave a hand and pour a sample to share. Probably to see if the other person can figure it out either.
Powers had been known to barter for a cask or two for celebratory feasts, clerics had been known to use the Holy Water as fuel for Molotov C*cktails, some people had been known to use the Water to remove rust or purify wounds, and dwarves had been known to drown in it, trying to drink the lake dry.
Whether or not it'd give Sal even the slightest buzz, had yet to be seen.
(Posted with permission. The character Ralyks mentioned above is one of mine. Sal is not.)