Firewater… from the Dawn of Magick

“Never mind!” Boton declared and lifted the mug to his lips. He quaffed the thick liquid in a single guzzle. The smoky liquid chilled him as it slid down his throat. When he opened his mouth to speak, little puffs of smoke escaped from Boton’s mouth. The taste was hard to describe and embroiled his taste buds in a mini-battle to determine whether or not the sensation was satisfying. Finally, he said, “On a scale of one to one hundred, where one hundred is the best tasting vintage I’ve tasted, that rates a minus ten!”
“Firewater is not brewed for taste, sorcerer. You’ll wonder at the benefits you have received when you reenter the desert. Would you like a room for the evening? This is, if I say so myself, the most comfortable inn in Low Gap,” FDA bragged.
“It’s the only inn in Low Gap,” the sorcerer answered derisively.
“Be fair now. Our beds have mattresses made of deerfoam, pillows stuffed with Phoenix down, and coverlets stuffed with dream spider webbings. My forefather FBI constructed this inn from timbers gathered in the ruins of Thynna by his son CIA. My father ATF ran the tavern before me. What’s in a name, Sorcerer? Mine serves me well. I prefer some animals to people I know. For example, the wood of the tables comes from the trees of Andalusia, but the lords of the Laurels won’t let us cut them now. If you ask me, the world would be better off with leaders from Koorlost,” FDA rambled.
“Flattery will get you everywhere. I can’t agree with you more. This is the only inn in Low Gap! Nonetheless, I’ll take you up on that room. I’ve not lain on deerfoam since I was a child. I guess you don’t have a Tuscon down pillow. Will you assure that I’m not disturbed?” Boton asked.