Do Beasts Get Drunk on Alcohol Too?
Beasts do get drunk on booze—or at least, that's what every animal in the natural world would tell you in unison. You might wonder how critters without hands or feet could even manage it, but surprisingly, nature has its own booze stashes. Alcohol forms when sugars ferment. Overripe fruits left to rot on trees, sticky tree sap, decaying flowers heavy with nectar—these are nature's homebrews. Of course, this wild stuff doesn't come easy or in big quantities. It's nowhere near enough for a proper bender. But once a beast gets a taste for the hard stuff, it hunts down human liquor and turns into a full-blown lush. Whether it begs, sneaks, or smashes homes to steal it, a booze-savvy beast can guzzle with the best of 'em. Just like the drake right in front of him.
Hah, hahaha! This stuff's great! Booze, they call it? Damn good!
The drake was babbling nonsense, buzzed out of his mind. He'd polished off nearly every barrel on the cart and still stood tall—a legendary drinker, clearly. At first, he'd eyed the pile of booze stacked before him with utter indifference.
A pretty meager gift, ain't it?
True to his beastly nature, the drake griped about the quantity right off the bat. Ian kept his cool.
"Don't the finest things always come in small packages?"
It was obvious flattery, but half-true all the same. The booze the caravan hands had hauled was premium stuff, secretly brewed by the village's master distillers. Tragically, their wives had traded it away for iron pots and such, landing it in merchants' hands. And given the village's hillside spot, mead made from wild honey was especially plentiful. Mead sounds like a sweet drink from the name, but it's actually viciously potent rotgut. Sugars break down into alcohol, after all—the sweeter the source, the higher the proof. In this medieval fantasy world, the everyday tipple was weak beer, thanks to primitive brewing tech that couldn't crank up the kick. If the hands had brought plain old beer, the drake might've squashed Ian flat, snarling something like, "You dare bring me horse piss?"
But what sat before the drake was fine mead.
"Have a taste."
Smells off... but you're not trying to pull some trick, are ya, wizard?
Ian demonstrated by downing a shot first. It burned like fire down his throat—vile, brutal stuff. Once he was fine, the drake flicked out his tongue and lapped some up.
Hmm... tastes as weird as it smells. Looks spoiled to me.
He grumbled about the off taste, called it rotten, but still chugged a whole bottle clean.
"How is it?"
Ian smiled, awaiting the verdict. The drake growled back in clear disappointment, like the gift fell short.
Not exactly a feast. You humans prize this junk?
"That we do."
Well. I see the effort in offering something rare.
The reaction was lukewarm—a grudging +1 point, nothing more. ...Gotta keep at it. Ian trusted the summoner's tip from Demonite (or rather, his level 3 Summoning skill) and pressed on with the drinks.
"Another round. This one's even better."
Hmm. Yeah?
Tempted by the promise, the drake licked his chops. This time, wine. It suited his palate better than mead; he slurped down every pour Ian offered. Three bottles, four, five... The indifferent drake finally started reacting.
Strange... feels damn good...!
Drunk already?
After six bottles, the drake's mood lifted at last.
Hahaha! Wizard! You brought some wild shit! Amazing!
"Like the gift?"
Love it!
Buzzed and beaming, he drained the rest without a drop left. Watching the drunken drake felt oddly surreal. Well, bears get smashed. Elephants too. Why not? Fantasy beast or not, its nerves worked the same as any critter's. Halfway there... The gift had won him over; a little more ego-stroking, and Ian would be free and clear.
"Feeling better, Lord Drake?"
Ha, ha... Better? Yeah... Been through some foul shit lately. Damn it all!
The drake snorted hot breath right in Ian's face. Ian spotted a kindred "dad" vibe in the boozed-up beast. No way... Booze loosens the emotions. One minute you're laughing over nothing; the next, raging or moping over trifles. And when someone's already pissed...
Ha... There's this one female down in the village below?
"You mean a drake female?"
Obviously. Think I'd chase human tail?
Fair enough. Ian nodded.
Her scales sparkle, voice all soft and delicate... Adorable little thing.
"Ah... Got it."
Mating season hit for both of us, so I sidled up for a chat...
Ian stifled his disbelief. The "foul mood" from recently? A goddamn romance sob story? Giant lizard hookup tales thrilled scale-fetishists, not him. But the hammered drake rambled on blissfully self-absorbed.
She seemed into me at first. Showed her my nest, vibe was perfect. Then that bitch...! Starts messing with some scrawny weakling!
"..."
Yikes. Lizard NTR. Heartbreaker.
Couldn't stand it, so I confronted her. What makes that punk better than me?!
Blunt as a hammer. Ian nearly swooned at the drake's raw alpha energy. Damn, bro!
But what she says...! Sob!
"Easy now. What'd she say? That wicked vixen?"
My nest! My nest is too cramped and bumpy—she don't wanna live there!
Kwooooo! The drake wailed mournfully. Startled Rik and the hands huddled, trembling in each other's arms. Their eyes screamed: We're dead, right, wizard?
Ian shot back with a glare: Like hell. He's just boozed and bitching.
"Tough break."
She's evil, right?! Toys with my pure heart, then runs off to some dude with a fat pad!
Ian sighed deeply—half pity, half relief. Pitiful that he'd nearly died to a drake soured by a girl; relieving that he got the heartbreak all too well.
"I can see her side too."
...What? You siding with that bitch?!
Grrrrr! The drake snarled; the hands spasmed in unison again. Ian, clued in, stayed chill, but to normals, it felt like dancing on death's knife-edge. Whatever. He pressed on calmly.
"Humans are the same. Young love's all sparks from a glance. But when it's time for kids and hearth? Reality bites."
That's...
"Put yourself in her claws. You want your hatchlings in a sprawling field-sized manor? Or a dingy 150-gold-a-month hole-in-the-wall?"
Urk... Sob...
The drake shed fat tears like a chick. He blanked on "50 pyeong" or "150k rent," but the gist hit—thanks to Ian's level 3 Summoning bridging the gap.
But...! My nest is the best around! Clean, quiet, dry! Barely any humans—perfect!
His final plea was a desperate howl. The hands shook like aspens. Ian pondered. As a modern guy, he pitied the NTR'd lizard a bit. Imagine your girlfriend dumping for a nicer pad: 'Sorryyy! Babe! Your basement rental's just... meh! I can't live without a Gangnam penthouse nowwww!!!' Chills. He nodded. Extreme analogy, but housing woes were universal—Korean or drake.
"No crying, Lord Drake."
...?
"That dump? Slap on an extension. Crappy pads turn viral stunners with remodels and decor."
Lotsa weird words... but you mean fix up my nest? That it?
"Exactly."
The drake sounded incredulous.
Can... can that even work?
Ian snapped his fingers. In that instant, the drake saw it: a colossal mystery bonded to this young wizard.
"Turning impossible to possible—that's what wizards do."
A swell of wordless emotion surged in the drake's chest.
Fix my home, and I'll never forget the debt!
Ian grinned.
"Let's head to your nest then."
"...So you lot can head out first."
Ian wrapped up his nest-fixing promise, then led the caravan and travelers down the path. At the wagons, they all collapsed like the dead—despite doing zilch, mere proximity to the drake had frayed their nerves raw. No sooner said than a soft, squishy hug smothered him.
"Kyaaah! Wizard! Wizard!"
"What fresh bullshit is this?"
"Waaah~ I really thought we were goners! No, we did die inside!"
Emily bawled into his chest. Normally he'd boot her off with a "quit your crap," but her pure survival joy softened him. Sure, her constant "save me" clinging annoyed him—but this hug? Not bad.
"Wizard!"
Emily's sobs kicked off a chain reaction. Caravan master Rik led the charge.
"The wizard is our hero!"
"Right! Our lifesaver!"
The hands babbled how badass Ian was, how they'd nearly shit themselves watching. Summary: 'From today, no master-servant crap—we're one with Ian Eredis Raven. Harm him, you harm us. End transmission.'
...Fucking hell...
All Ian had done was hear out a pathetic drake's woes and promise minor help. But to normals? Epic wizardry.
'Archmage Ian Eredis Raven communes deeply with the drake via mystic powers—over drinks!'
'Drake roars in fury; Ian rebukes him sternly!'
'Tamed by the mage's words, drake weeps in remorse!'
A monster that'd shrug off an army, cowed by chit-chat? Pure awe.
"Wizard! Hooray! Ian forever!"
"Ugh, cut the crap! Job ain't done!"
Ian still had work; everyone else was cleared to go. So they were thrilled.
"Classic wizard! Such a grump!"
"Grumpy as his skills! Hahaha!"
"..."
Psychos? The rumor that great mages were crotchety meant his snaps fell on deaf ears.
"Rik, check on the mercs—drag 'em back alive. Rest, prep to roll. Don't leave without me; it'd suck."
"Yes, wizard!"
Ian headed back to finish at the nest. The rest scattered to hunt missing mercs. In the bustle, no one noticed the hooded female traveler trailing him.