BFNT: Bastor
Sorry for the delayed article, readers, but the boat from Shelter Lake to Bastor took forever. Still, it was faster than walking here.
Ah, Bastor: two ancient broken watchtowers sit there like shattered teeth, half-looming over an architect’s nightmare, all at the edge of a river delta swamp. A guy can only fall in love so many times, but this place is certainly on my shortlist.
Yeah, it’s a rickety, crime-ridden, disaster-prone, easily-flooded homeless encampment masquerading as a crabbing and fishing port town. Sure, it’s riddled with bugs, and there are tiny lizards all over the place. Of course, there are structures built on top of older rebuilt structures, which are in turn built on older, also-rebuilt structures. But, it’s also the sticky kind of hot!
What’s not to love? I might retire here, if I’m being honest.
Also, if one of those bug-chefs up in Rastein could figure out a way to make a giant mosquito palatable, they could make a fortune. Just throwing that idea out there for whoever wants it.
And, if you’re of the moneyed sort, thank you very much for reading, please donate to the Crammin Chronicler, and for you, there’s the Mi'r Oenya resort nearby. It somehow managed to avoid all of the myriad catastrophes that have smashed their way through the area. Some folks are just lucky, I guess. At least they’re trying to help the area out a bit.
Fortunately, I made it here at the perfect time, readers, because it’s dippleberry season! Now, some of you might know ‘em as bogberries (or maybe you’re one of those “saltberry” weirdos), but by any name, they’ll still be little bits of salty-sweet paradise, and possibly the single best cocktail ingredient out there. I swear, they mix well with everything, bringing together spirits that wouldn't normally mix well at all. If you see a half-full glass of Dipples behind a bar, know that you're in good hands. Walking down the roads near the wide dippleberry salt bogs they grow in, you can see the bush jigglers (don’t laugh, that’s a title with esteem around here) setting up the final and most important part of the harvest: walking through hip-deep bog water, gently shaking the massive collection of shrubberies to dislodge the berries so they can fully ripen in the brackish water. And if that wasn’t bad enough, those bushes are absolutely covered in spiders, intentionally placed colonies, there to keep insects from destroying the crops. This is why I am telling you: Do NOT laugh at the bush jigglers. They are tougher than coffin nails. This time of year also nicely coincides with the finishing of last year’s batch of wines, a tasting of which I have been lucky enough to be invited to. Their mistake: I’m getting TRASHED tonight, for free! (It’s hard to convey a fist pump of victory through text, so know that an attempt was made.)
The Storm's Rest Inn doesn't look like much at first. It's not some tall, ostentatiously presented place. In fact, the squat, wide block it's on is built more like a bunker than an alehouse; built to last. Once you get inside, you can see old, study timber, a host of old local art, a warm, welcoming vibe, and as of right now, tonight's host, Gunther Levenworth, getting this shindig started. There isn't much in the way of “Nobles or Notables” in Bastor, but the Estuary twins are both here, standing right next to each other, looking fantastically gothic, pale, and so elegantly bored and sick of it all. Makes me feel young again. Otherwise, the finest crop of Bastor bogfolk are here, the Dipplewine is flowing, and I'm going to go be in the moment.
I have told myself this a hundred times this morning, and eventually it might become true. Never know. Also, apparently, someone snuck into my room last night and put the whole ocean (and also an old boot) in my mouth while I was asleep. At least they didn't wreck up the place too badly. Alright, readers, I'm gonna go wolf down a 20-rack of butter-drenched crab legs and hope the pounding in my skull stops soon. Keep your eyes sharp, your ears sharper.
Fortunately, I made it here at the perfect time, readers, because it’s dippleberry season! Now, some of you might know ‘em as bogberries (or maybe you’re one of those “saltberry” weirdos), but by any name, they’ll still be little bits of salty-sweet paradise, and possibly the single best cocktail ingredient out there. I swear, they mix well with everything, bringing together spirits that wouldn't normally mix well at all. If you see a half-full glass of Dipples behind a bar, know that you're in good hands. Walking down the roads near the wide dippleberry salt bogs they grow in, you can see the bush jigglers (don’t laugh, that’s a title with esteem around here) setting up the final and most important part of the harvest: walking through hip-deep bog water, gently shaking the massive collection of shrubberies to dislodge the berries so they can fully ripen in the brackish water. And if that wasn’t bad enough, those bushes are absolutely covered in spiders, intentionally placed colonies, there to keep insects from destroying the crops. This is why I am telling you: Do NOT laugh at the bush jigglers. They are tougher than coffin nails. This time of year also nicely coincides with the finishing of last year’s batch of wines, a tasting of which I have been lucky enough to be invited to. Their mistake: I’m getting TRASHED tonight, for free! (It’s hard to convey a fist pump of victory through text, so know that an attempt was made.)
The Storm's Rest Inn doesn't look like much at first. It's not some tall, ostentatiously presented place. In fact, the squat, wide block it's on is built more like a bunker than an alehouse; built to last. Once you get inside, you can see old, study timber, a host of old local art, a warm, welcoming vibe, and as of right now, tonight's host, Gunther Levenworth, getting this shindig started. There isn't much in the way of “Nobles or Notables” in Bastor, but the Estuary twins are both here, standing right next to each other, looking fantastically gothic, pale, and so elegantly bored and sick of it all. Makes me feel young again. Otherwise, the finest crop of Bastor bogfolk are here, the Dipplewine is flowing, and I'm going to go be in the moment.
“The taste is worth the hangover.”
I have told myself this a hundred times this morning, and eventually it might become true. Never know. Also, apparently, someone snuck into my room last night and put the whole ocean (and also an old boot) in my mouth while I was asleep. At least they didn't wreck up the place too badly. Alright, readers, I'm gonna go wolf down a 20-rack of butter-drenched crab legs and hope the pounding in my skull stops soon. Keep your eyes sharp, your ears sharper.
And hopefully, better food next time,
Bok Globule
Bok Globule
Next Article
(Coming Soon)
(Coming Soon)
14th of Opal, 5 UE
Alma and Aeirn Estuary - Twin Portrait
Dippleberry Plant and Berry
Bush Jiggler Crest
