Brewguard Jeroboam

Swiftcreek Brewery, located in the heart of Kaerok and known to create the finest brews in the world, has been safeguarded by Ogryn since its founding some five centuries ago. None loom so large in presence and prowess as Jeroboam, the jovial hulk whose good cheer turns to cold, stern, implacable anger any moment the legendary brewery is threatened. Swiftcreek is named for its water source which was discovered to be rich in a dizzying array of minerals that make its wondrous draughts possible. Not only is this water used as the base of the brewery’s creations, it irrigates many hundreds of hectares of fertile land downstream, all owned by the brewery and yielding bountiful harvests of an eclectic array of fruit, grains, and hops. Timber for barrels is sourced from its own woodland, and horses and oxen for plowing graze in Swiftcreek’s fields – the brewery is as self—sufficient as the largest noble estates, and much wealthier and better armed than most. Jeroboam was born at Swiftcreek, grew up at Swiftcreek, and has vowed to die at Swiftcreek. He is a third generation brewmaster, and leaves the premises only rarely to attend festivals or guard especially valuable shipments. Otherwise, he spends his every waking moment walking the brewery’s halls, inspecting guardhouses and interviewing sentries, receiving reports as he goes from far-flung patrols around the estate. He offers knowledge, feedback, and amusement for the hard-working employees, but maintains a constant, deadly serious vigil behind his smiles and jokes. He is right to be constantly on guard. Swiftcreek’s brews are sometimes literally worth their weight in gold, due in part to the tireless work of Jeroboam and his staff. It is the official brewer for the royal crown of Kaerok, who commission special, limited batches to commemorate weddings, deaths, and ascensions to the throne, with the few undrunk portions quickly becoming priceless. Swiftcreek also maintains several business partnerships that span the breadth of Teleria. Diamant Coppercoin, kingpin of Velyzar and fellow Ogryn, secured Swiftcreek a monopoly on beer sales in the city’s famous Arenas. Maulie Tankard, toughest barkeep in Port Wretched, swears by the brewery. Even the Dwarves acknowledge the legendary freshness and taste of Swiftcreek’s beer. When nobility of the Skyiron Dominion were offered a blind taste-test between their own porter and Swiftcreek’s, they unanimously chose the brew of the surface-dwellers, much to their chagrin. With this worldwide fame comes worldwide envy and, all too often, threats. Jeroboam has thwarted countless, underhanded attacks on Swiftcreek. Business rivals often seek to break the brewing equipment or foul the grains. lf sabotage is not their aim, then they infiltrate the premises in search of the production secrets that make Swiftcreek so superior — few know that the mineral water of the Creek is the key, and cannot be duplicated elsewhere. Any who discover this secret are desperate for samples of that water, and access to the portion of the Creek that feeds the brewery is tightly controlled by numerous well-paid, incorruptible watchmen. With so many important clients destined to quaff their drinks, Swiftcreek must be constantly alert for poisoners. When Dark Elf spies tried to drip deadly noxbloom extract into a fresh batch of sparkling glitter-ale bound for Aravian nobility, Jeroboam spotted them in the shadows. He grabbed them both at once, one head in each massive mitt, and clapped them together into unconsciousness. All the while he carefully ensured no droplets of deadly vitriol splashed brews or employees. Swiftcreek’s guards have been highly successful, but no mortal can be perfect. Jeroboam’s greatest regret is his failure to protect the Centennial Stout, an extremely rare draught of which only two hogsheads’ worth was ever produced. While the precious liquid was awaiting transport, the brewery was attacked by a gang of Orc bandits. They had no intent to steal cumbersome barrels of beer; they were simply out to plunder Swiftcreek’s coffers. But when Jeroboam and his Ogryn reached the warehouse and began tossing the robbers around like ragdolls, the Orcs smashed kegs and casks out of spite before they were forced to flee. Despite a furious, bellowing charge, Jeroboam could not stop the raiders from tapping the Centennial Stout barrels and pouring the precious fluid onto the cold ground. Jeroboam’s shame was immense. He stuck his meaty fists into the twin barrels and vowed to wear them like manacles for the rest of his days. The stout barrels, acting like makeshift gauntlets, have made Jeroboam’s sledgehammer blows even more devastating. Despite this emotional burden, Jeroboam remains a jocular soul. He is always the life of the party at Swiftcreek’s legendary gatherings held for Lozrayn, the Festival of Creation, and Yuletide, and is the only being that the famous wanderer Yoshi the Drunkard has acknowledged as his equal in the pastime of tippling.