This arcticle is a fucking stump and serves as much function as Slingshot's withered little dick.
Two beings of enormous stature, blackened in appearance and standing on the legs of a horse, descended upon Groina, appearing to all at once, but nowhere in particular. A mighty voice echoed throughout, commanding as such:
Hear, all, and hear ye well;
We come with an offering, let me tell:
I, The Brewer, may craft a brew;
Made of honesty, of hearts; pure.
And whence The Drinker has a taste;
He'll judge ye ways, and reward ye great.
So the other did speak, and the people took heed.