The Quest for Brumagem: The Eve of the Quest- Part I

This was taken on the way to the pub. I'm the rather dramatic, heroic pretty boy in the middle.
Alphonse, pass the mirror... 

It was the eve of Flaxen’s 18 summer. He sat with his two bestest and only friends in the local tavern, ‘The Frolicking Friesian.’ Leofric ‘The Larruper’ and Alphonse ‘The ArchItect’ (surely some mistake?) sat solemnly, soporifically, sighing sadly, sipping steadily, stoically supporting steadfast Saxon.

It was time for Flaxen to embark on his quest to discover the mystical, mythical, magical, magisterial, munificent, municipal (enough) Brumagem. They all quaffed mead mightily from their drinking horns.

Leofric spake.

Leofric (for it is he): “They say the streets of Brumagem are bestrewn with the tears of Valkyries. They say the tears are the size of groats and glisten in the noon day sun like silver."

Alphonse: "I hear tell of a more prosaic explanation for these mucilaginous artifacts. It is whispered on the wind that they be due to the local whores a clearing their throats after a particularly heavy night and are known locally as cock oysters."

Flaxen: “I prefer Leofric’s story, it has the tinge of romantic truth.”

Leofric: “Mayhap Flaxen you could test our respective theories? For surely Valkyries’ tears will taste as sweet as honey and be as intoxicating as the finest mead.”

Flaxen: "Some things are best left known only unto the gods and certain rock musicians.”

To be continued…