"As most of the Champions of the Gods were shrouded in mystery, few examples could be named, not counting the Champions of Wind, who are usually not that hard to find.

Because of this mystique surrounding them, many had taken these mythical figures as some sort of heroes from legends, or as demigods, and often tall tales are told about them and their exploits. Whether any of these come close to the truth or not, probably only the Champions themselves know." - Farrel Edmund, head of Theological Studies department in the Levain Institute for Higher Learning, FP 649.

"Right, miss Ambervale, that barely clothed sleepyhead there is Nimvee At'ruugh, the current Champion of Rot," said Nate as he covered his face with one hand and pointed at the female merfolk with the other.

"The loud one is Gerhard Donnerkeil, Champion of Lightning," he continued to a loud "Oy, I'm not that loud!" from the dwarven man, and another pained wince from the goblin. "And the one nursing a bad hangover there is Roban Mugglefoot, the Champion of Magma."

"Oh, you're the one from the conclave last time, huh?" asked the goblin woman lazily as she finally raised her head and looked at Cal and the rest. "About time, I guess. Old Radoth doesn't really have it in him to stay up there much longer."

"I'd get up and greet you better, but not with my head trying to split like this, so just help yourself," added Roban with a wave of her hand, pointing to a stack of bottles on a side table, filled with all sorts of liquor. Cal recognized some as expensive ones from memory. "We still got tons of leftovers from the party."

Over by his table, Gerhard just nodded in agreement. Cal noticed that he had a half-empty bottle of liquor near him which he took gulps from, but dwarves and their penchant for liquor were legendary anyway. Meanwhile, the sleepy merfolk just walked blearily over, grabbed a bottle on her way, and returned to her room, shutting the door loudly without a word.

"Sorry, that's just how she is," said Nate with a sigh and with both hands facing up, a clear indication of someone who had long given up. "But yeah, do help yourself if you like liquor. Would be a shame to have them go to waste since we already opened them up."

"Don't mind if I do, then," said Cal. By then Kino was already over by the bottles and picking out good ones, tossing a bottle to Kyara which the therian woman caught and opened. After a tentative sniff a smile bloomed on the black-furred therian woman's face. Martha and Vernon were already filling their glasses, even.

She herself browsed the many bottles for a bit, before her eyes homed on an unusual bottle, one made of crystal rather than glass. The liquor within was a light green color, clear and see through, with a light, refreshing aroma that reminded one of the morning dew.

It was an elvish liquor that her late father had loved. He had a single bottle left with him after the shipwreck, and had carefully nursed that bottle over many decades, often only drinking a thimble full of the liquor every few years.

Cal was given a taste of the liquor shortly before her father passed on, a thimble's worth, half of what remained in the bottle, while her father drank the other half. It was a taste she had never forgotten in her life ever since.

Carefully, she tipped the bottle - it was still four-fifths full - and poured out a measure of the liquor into a clear glass cup. Then she raised the cup and looked through the clear liquor, took a sniff of its refreshing fragrance, and finally tipped the cup's contents into her mouth.

The clean, refreshing flavor that flooded her palate almost made her cry. It was the same flavor as what her father shared with her all those years ago, back then it was a last thimble full of his prized liquor, and had been quite an impact to her younger self. After all these years, she finally found it again.

"Oh, you like the emerald dewdrop?" asked Martha from the side. She and Vernon were partaking in some deep brown liquor that smelled of wood and smoke. "Those aren't easy to find, pretty much only really buyable here in Égørisvænovãēnæl, really. I know the owner of the distillery that makes the best one though."

"Please introduce me later then," said Cal with a melancholic smile on her face. The elven liquor had brought out many memories of her past, of her father especially, and she filled her cup once more, as she imbibed more of the liquor. "This was something my father loved."

"Consider it done," replied the chubby elven woman with a chuckle. "Better have your wallet ready though, those are pretty expensive. Though it's mostly just us elves who like it, so they should have plenty in stock."

"It's too light, I say," chimed in the monocle-wearing dwarf from his table. Unlike the other two, he had not looked like someone who just went through a five-day booze and liquor soaked party, but Cal attributed that to the famous dwarven tolerance for alcohol. "Proper booze gotta have enough kick to grow hair on your chest!"

As if to punctuate his point, he grabbed the bottle near him and popped the cork that kept it sealed, before he took a long drink out of the bottle, easily draining half the bottle's remaining content. Just a whiff of the liquor within nearly made most of the others cough, and Kyara, who had a more sensitive nose, outright sneezed, as it stank very strongly of hard alcohol.

"Only you and your hairy ilk call that swill drinkable, you old dotard!" yelled the resting goblin woman, clearly annoyed by Gerhard's words. "You could clean paint with that thing, or poison a bloody bear!"