((A little peeved about not going to ZA yesterday. Don’t want to start any guild drama, despite the fact that I’m 100% sure that nobody there reads my blog anyways, but as I looked at the list of names in Vent on the 10-man channel, there were a few that I didn’t recognize. Some were alts (ALTS!), some were new recruits. Made me wonder a little bit about where I stood in the guild. I’m going to hold my tongue here, because it’s useless to QQ about content that will be irrelevant in a few months anyways. So instead of being on standby alongside other regulars, I bowed out of the raid politely and logged onto Wimzig for a little RP action.))
Scientific fact, dear readership: Drinking water does not increase the rate of sobriety if you have already become drunk.
Yesterday, I took an oppotunity to rest at an inn in Goldshire, in hopes that I could leave for Westfall in the morning. It was early in the evening when I arrived, but it certainly seemed that the “festivities” had been in full swing for goodness knows how long.
Night Elves dancing naked on the tabletops. An overemotional Dranei (whose hooves immediately reminded me of a term that I picked up on the internether, “Drama Llama”) skulking in front of the fireplace after a lengthy argument with a Paladin of her race, in their native tongue. A pregnant human rogue, possibly in her teens, begging for the Dranei’s attention, without avail or any hint of success. And quite possibly the worst quality drinking water this side of the Eastern kingdoms. I’ve seen Crystal Lake, located behind the tavern; I don’t doubt for one second that the Murlocs are peeing into the river that feeds it.
Yes, I concluded that there was not much to be optomistic about in this place. Even the ale that inebriated me for the time being convincingly tasted like urine, and rightfully so. I had an endless supply of waterskins that I could consume to not only wash out the taste, but hopefully lessen the effects of inebriation.
Quick science lesson: the state of drunkenness is dependant on the relative amount of alcohol in the body in relation to the body’s total water volume. Let’s call this the Blood-alcohol content level. By breathing into certain goblin-designed devices, it is possible to measure such levels of alcohol and water vapor, and extrapolate that into liquid form, and approximate a ratio statistic based on the user’s race’s average total body water volume. For gnomes, I had initially thought that our tiny frames meant that it would take less water added to our system via external consumption to lower the BAC. According to calculations that I would made the next day, this volume added by drink was negligible, and I had paid the price for my naivety with gnomish bastardness at its finest.
I wandered around with my tiny self as the bar swirled and spun around me. I had found the outside, but contrarty to popular belief, the pink elekks had not come. I sat down and leaned against a pole somewhere, possibly near the blacksmith; I could smell the singe of embers against cold hard steel as I blanked out.
Somehow, when I had woken, it was late, but only reasonably so. Sobriety had returned quickly, despite the amount of liquor I had ingested, and thanks to the horridly large amounts of water that I myself consumed.
Another scientific finding: Drinking excess amounts of water upsets the body’s water balance. If not under the effects of alcohol, the body’s natural system adjusts accordingly by removing fluids from the system to restore normal volumes. Fortunately, this process also results in the removal of remaining traces of alcohol as a waste product, whether it be in the form of urine or (more commonly) vapor, which is expelled via exahaltion.
When I regained awareness of my surroundings, I realized I was back at the nightmarish inn at Goldshire. I couldn’t get to sleep, for I still felt quite hungover. I reached into my bag, and took out a book, one that I constantly doodle and write in, with anything that comes to my mind at the moment.
Wimzig’s Whimsy, it was labelled. Inside was filled with everything, from water filtration schematics, to maps of Westfall and Stormwind, to amateur sketches of dancing female Night Elves. I scribbled in it constantly, whenever I found moments of reprieve.
A Dwarf and his pet sat across from me, and yelled out, perhaps to the entire bar, “Let’s play a game of The Floor is Made out of Lava!“
I replied, muttering to myself, “I’ve played that before back in Gnomeregan, except that instead of Lava there’s radiation, and that it wasn’t a game.”
I don’t know if I was serious or not, but somehow it evoked some laughs. Especially from one in particular, a human priestess. She whispered to me about my amusing joke, and asked if I was being serious or humorous. In my defence, I did not know, but we did get into some talking. Turns out this girl is quite young, and a failure of a priest, according to the other patrons with whom she served the Light. She was chastised frequently for her conflicting views about religion. She felt that there needed to be faith more placed on each other’s strengths and values rather than some ideal.
A natural gnome, if I ever saw one.
We made our formal introductions, and I mentioned my business. Trying to take the vending enterprise on the road, I revealed to her. I even voiced out my lack of satisfaction for the water quality around these parts, even to the point of escorting her to Crystal Lake, and using my self-engineered, self-develloped hydromatic qualitificationator on its contents. Not great at all. I offered a waterskin, free of charge, and convinced her of its finer tastes. I had made a friend and client as well!
I escorted her back to the inn, where we made our farewells, and I had assured her that someday we would meet again, hopefully not within the confines of a house with such debauchery.
And with that regard, I made my way to bed, looking forward to when I would wake up and enlist myself in an expedition that would send me deep into Defias territory. The Deadmines.