Random Brew Generator: Nordern Wind

If you're anything like me, you're of legal age and you enjoy a nice brew while you unwind with video games. My experience with drinking while playing games has ranged from a pleasant, unfazed focus to intense and uncoordinated debauchery.

But I find that when I hit the right mix, something exceptional bubbles up.

My method is simple. One beer is for taste, and the next for a playthrough of whatever video game I think goes best with it. So, while the setup is predictable, the experience is anything but. It's random, generated by 1s and 0s, mediated through my ever-suffering skillset.

R&D's Stormbrew and Skyrim

If it means as much to you as it did to me and my editor, this is the one where I used a real glass. I guess there really is some pretension that comes with being a published author after all.

The Taste

I think beer is ultimately about experimentation. Now, the particular experiment of drinking beer and playing video games is one that I have performed many times over. Many, many, many times.

But this time, for the first time, I decided to test out a stemmed white wine glass - kudos to my recent benefactors. I've been reading about how to identify the tastes of beer, because I find my vocabulary so limited, and many of the professional tasters suggest using a wine glass made of actual glass.

Enter Stormbrew, a light and cheap kolsch made for sporting events. It frothed a little when I opened it - suddenly, my kitchen smelled like a sports bar. There was an automatic hop presence with a bit of a metallic twang and a subdued, light malt. I could immediately feel the alcohol in the back of my nose. I served this one at 40° Fahrenheit, about as cold as you want for this kind of beer.

Small bubbles collected on the rim of the can as I poured. The drink bubbled up like champagne, and I was whisked back to my college years. I angled the beer down the side of the glass to make sure the head didn't outpace the liquid, but I found myself staring at a glass filled 25% with liquid and 75% with bubbles. The head formation was conclusively great. It formed a very foamy and seemingly thick layer, but it was so fizzy that it began to recede immediately, leaving an excellent lacing. Once it was in the glass, I smelled the drink carefully, but there wasn't much of a scent at all.

This is why my fiancée likes these beers. She always says that she likes a drink that is closer to water than it is to beer. A kolsch almost always fits the bill.

On the initial hit, I tasted nothing. Likely, it's because I took my time gauging the smell. This allowed the aromatic head to disappear, along with all its tasting power. But, as the drink sat on my tongue, I began to get the taste of alcohol, which was oddly and counterintuitively cool. This drink was definitely meant to be refreshing above all else. And overall, I found that first sip a crisp experience that didn't linger; there was little aftertaste whatsoever.

The lacing from the head remained. Bubbles lined the bottom of the glass and rose in a steady stream, which I could easily see through the transparent liquid. As I sipped, the light mouthfeel of the drink carried the grain into the back of my throat. It wasn't a pungent flavor, but it was an accent. It complemented whatever was in there in the first place, which, for me, was nothing. The retronasal didn't reveal anything else. This was a simple beer that avoided complexity or depth in favor of doing one thing well.

It was so hard for me to put into words what this beer tasted like. Nothing really stood out. Was that a slight yeast? Was I going insane? As it warmed, it became a less exciting experience. I could definitely taste a touch more of the grain, and the drink felt less like fizz and more like foam. Perhaps that is because I am groomed by these companies to believe that this type of beer should be refreshing. I could drink several of these and not have much of an impact on my palate, but it sits heavily in my stomach

The glass made a big difference. There was no extenuation of plastic; the thin rim deposited the liquid directly on my tongue. It was a smooth transition and provided a great coating; I was able to hold the glass by the stem when I didn't want it to warm, and hold in my hand when did. Not to mention that the glass kept the drink a little cooler than the plastic would have. All in all, I laud the change.

The Activity

If y'all don't know anything about video games, if you've never even touched a controller, I know you've heard of Bethesda's ground-breaking game Skyrim. The damn thing is on every console several times over. I have personally bought it four times.

Skyrim is an ARPG, perhaps the definitive ARPG of the century. Its fanbase runs deep and wide, and the fans themselves have developed more mods than I can even conceive of as a number. You're a hero with a sword fighting dragons. Need I say more?

And, mind you, this is my eighth or ninth playthrough of this13-year-old game. I got this game the day it released in 2011, and I played all the way through twice in 2012. In college, my friends and I would make joke characters, and handing off the controller after every death, ensuring that no one narrator got to tell the story. When I had my first apartment, my roommate and I played dual games with all the mod bells and whistles (which, of course, I have a litany of notes about. These were very novelesque playthroughs). Not to mention in the years following, when I played the Special and Anniversary editions several times over, trying desperately to finish the Dawnguard DLC, which remains the only unexplored avenue I have left in the base game.

The Experience

I sit in silence as I let the intro music wash over me. What a rush. I'd love to hire whichever chorus sang this anthem for a personal concert. The chanting, the powerful notes that emphasize you're about to do something drastic, something important, really distills energy into your body, which I guess translates to your adrenaline receptors and fingers alike, the true gamer workout.

As I load in, I spin a model of the Daedric Prince Molag Bal. If you're as deep into the lore as I was, you've arrived at the same superstitious conclusion as I do as to what that signifies for this playthrough. However, I'll avoid the gory details here. Don't look it up if you don't know.

I take a brief look at my stats to try and re-orient myself to my character. My name is Altra Cylobis. My birth species is Argonian, which means, to all intents and purposes, I'm a lizard. I've solved the Twilight crisis by becoming both a vampire and werewolf simultaneously. Out of the 116 in-game days Altra has lived, they've slept on average less than 1/5 of a day, which puts them at about four hours a night. They're an alchemist and a healer. They wield the mace of Molag Bal (I had forgotten!) and, sometimes, they use a shield covered in spikes. They've slaughtered over 1000 beings, all of whom I'm sure deserved it, assaulted 34 different people, and they've gone to jail once.

Presently, it's Turdas. The puns make themselves.

My fancy, fancy glass is ready to go. I am excited for it, even though using it has caused my editor to brand me a heretic. I will have to make the transition back to plastic next week so I can continue to solicit his services.

Altra's first observation is that they're in a small village. Chickens are everywhere. They investigate the stables, the stone cabin, the animals. Suddenly, a warlock screams and attacks them with magic. Such is a day in the life of the Dragonborn.

I'm re-orienting myself with the controls, so my mace flails about wildly in the air. The warlock has summoned a gargoyle, who proceeds to kick the shit out of me. Luckily, I'm carrying enough food to fill a king, so I stuff Altra's mouth with carrots and cabbages to heal them. It's not enough. In my pursuit of the warlock, I forget the gargoyle. Before long, I'm trapped between them and perish.

My first swig is in consolation. It's light, it's cool, it's what I would expect any sports team to have after a loss. It's nothing.

I restart and do what comes naturally to me: I harvest all of the leeks of the town so I can use them later. This time, there is no warlock. The AI has spared me. I gauge that I am near the crown city of the Empire, Solitude, which sits on an arched cliff face over a bay to the west. To the east lies a snowcapped mountain range. The chorus singing in the background swells, and I am filled with the same sense of wonder that I've felt for 13 years.

I Skyrim my way down a mountain to the bay. You should know what that means by now. There is nowhere I can't go in this game. I cross a river, and a giant mud crab waves its claws threateningly at me, perhaps looking to hold me up and steal my hard-earned gold. I trap its soul with my mace.

Altra swims through the rushing waters, and I take another cool sip. I can't imagine that the river would taste like beer, but if it did, I imagine it would be at this cool 40°.

Rather than pursue any actual tasks, Altra wanders into the forest, their head empty. It's quiet. All they can hear is wildlife and soft music. They're surrounded by rocks and trees. A dog barks in the distance. Altra picks some flowers to taste later, and then they turn onto the main road and head east underneath a marvelous, starry night sky.

Suddenly, another warlock bursts out of a void portal and with a brutal yell starts shooting spells at Altra. They fight well and long, but the warlock's surprise gives her the advantage, and she kills the lizard with magic. In the spirit of acceptance, I passively watch as Altra's Argonian corpse collapses and freezes due to the icicle protruding from their chest.

My coordination needs some work. I know there was a time when I could have fended off any danger that came my way. Maybe ten years ago, maybe five, maybe a year ago, when I was last sucked captive into this frozen world.

I head to the menus to change up my magicks. I had forgotten to do the most vital thing as Dragonborn, and I will not make that mistake again. This time, I ford the river into a grove of frozen trees. Soothing and relaxing music plays, orchestral harps, a soloist holding long notes.

It's crisp, it's cool. I'm exploring something vast, and I'm really enjoying it despite my setbacks. The beer passes across my mouth like a breath, like nothing.

Another warlock jumps out of a bush, incoherently rants about the Dawnguard, and summons a fiery demon. Altra knows that they're competent enough to take down the warlock, but three of her friends spring out beside her. Altra hightails it, utilizing their deep pool of stamina, making their way back to the main road just in time to get hit by a knife in the back.

I yelp in real life and can't remember how to sprint, so I flail with my mace and manage to nail a couple of the vampires who, like everyone else, are trying to shatter my existence. Everyone hates me here! What did I do to deserve all this? Surely it isn't the slaughtering or the assaults, no sir. It must be some conspiracy.

Altra's hits are paltry. They need help, so they roar an Argonian scream to the heavens, invoking the power of their birthright.

Just in time, the dragon, Oohdaving, comes to save me. I stuff some food in my mouth, ready my mace, and together, we destroy our opponents.

When I approach the bodies to pick up any potentially useful items, I realize that Altra is also a cannibal. I'd forgotten about that one; that's on me. This attribute might explain Altra's criminal status. But I imagine that just about everyone is pissed off at Altra because we play so many different groups at the same time that several other groups are out to get us.

Or, there's a conspiracy out there. After all, the Dragonborn is The Main Character. It's natural everyone else would be jealous.

Naturally, Altra eats what they can to regain health. As they run offroad, I take casual sips. The beer is so light, like the snow, like Altra's footfalls.

I stopped on a bridge near a waterfall, and I gaze out into the forest, into the night sky. I've been in places like this in the real world, and what I feel now is similar to what I have felt at these real natural wonders. However, in real life, there's not as much choral music.

Altra picks flowers as they carry along the road. There is a tree felled across the path, a massive thing. Its roots have pulled right out of the ground, and it lies half-buried, half-eroded. From Altra's investigations, it seems that it's just nature taking its course.

What love there is in the design of this game.

The thought crosses my head to jump off a bridge and swim with the coursing river. As a lizard, swimming is easier - you don't need to breathe underwater. Instead, I decide to follow the path made for me by either the ruling Skyrim locality or the Empire.

I'm ambushed again. These fuckers keep coming out of portals from nowhere and trying to assassinate me. Oohdaving returns, and we valiantly defend ourselves against the one live person and her crew of resurrected dead bodies, sent to destroy the heretical Altra.

Between fire and mace, the dragon and the Argonian take down the villains, with Oohdaving getting the last chomp on the cultist. They disintegrate into ash.

The ensuing sip of beer orients me. It's like a breath. It's a place in time. It's a moment in space. Altra picks flowers as they scamper down the cobblestone road, oblivious to all the urgent quests they had taken on, so many things that need attention.

I don't think any "real" tasks will be done this session. There's too much else to do.

Solitude fades in the distance. I'm making my way deeper in, towards the plainslands of middle Skyrim, but I have a long way until I get there. As I follow the path, my mind empties. Clouds form overhead. One of the moons, Masser, sets slowly behind the mountain's ridgeline. I pass a waterfall. The occasional deer runs beside me as I proceed into the forest, where I cross over some arbitrary boundary where the path goes from clean to snow-covered. It's beautiful.

And then, deep in the trees, I notice them. People. What are they doing? Where are they running?

Altra sprints over to them to find they are defending themselves from giant spiders. Molag's mace makes quick work of them, smashing their carapaces in quick succession. The people that survive flee, their swords drawn, their hackles raised. The ones that don't make a great meal. Altra picks up that these corpses were once revelers. Some place for a party.

Silence now. Nothing but footsteps and wind. My cat curls up next to me, feeding off my chill vibes. I am at peace. I am still. Everything is quiet underneath the snow. The beer fills my mouth with grain, the sustenance of life, fulfillment of energy. I am surprised by how low the liquid in the glass is. Honestly, it's been transformative to use an actual, real-life glass. There is such a smooth transition from cup to tongue, such an unfettered dispensation of taste. I stand under a stone arch and soak in the view of the forest and just let time pass.

Then, Altra notices a rustling sound nearby. They stand still, processing, as the noise gets louder, and louder, and louder. Then, a smaller-but-no-less-threatening spider jumps out from behind a pillar.

I shriek in real life and reflexively whip it with my mace in game. It's immediately crushed. Fucking hell. Consider me immersed. I realize I have less gall than my character. How embarrassing.

This time, when I go into the forest, I keep my mace drawn. I've had my HUD off this whole time, so I have no idea which way I'm going or what I'm going towards. I reach a the ports and buildings of Morthal, the swampy town haunted by vampires.

I hear the sound of thunder again, and I see someone with magic bursting around their fists on the opposite end of the harbor. What tenacity these assassins have! I head down the path towards him, but before we can clash, a guard stops me. Apparently there's a huge bounty from my arrest here. Go figure.

However, as the main character, Altra has many connections, and they are able to bribe the guard and escape the slammer. The guard and the criminal walk next to each other towards the town. A close call. Altra decides that they don't want to deal with civilization any more, so they hightail it into the woods.

I scream again on the sofa as a snowy sabre cat pounces onto my in-game back. Time slows down. I flail my mace, the cat chops at me, and, eventually, I get the upper hand, catch its teeth, and kill it. Crisis averted.

I reorient with another sip. As dawn breaks, the town bustles with activity. Excited to re-enter society, I talk to a legate of the imperial army, of which I am an important member. He says an ominous "Wait... I know you" and that's when I know I fucked up. Why did I approach the nearest law enforcement agent after my last scrape? I tell him that he's mistaken. He says he isn't. Sweating, I tell him I don't have time for this. He miraculously says I'm not worth the hassle and tells me to leave.

I reorient with the last sip of my drink. As dawn breaks, the forest is completely silent. I've found the peace again. The alcohol lingers on the back of my tongue, and I feel more unfocused than before, more curious, more open to experience.

Then, the combat music starts.

I don't know where the fireballs are coming from. I just know I'm dodging left to right, ducking, dipping, diving, dodging, and praying that I don't get hit. I spam my healing magicks whenever I can. I call for the dragon, and once again, we make quick work of the assassin. There's no sign of why this one was trying to kill me. It could have been a litany of things. No matter.

The roars of another dragon startle me. I can't tell if it's Oohdaving, which means I don't know if it's safe. The forest falls silent, and I am afraid. I run past a mead hall, following my scaled feet deeper into the woods, farther away from responsibility, away from perceiving myself as a being, outside of the world.

I reach a stone altar, and two bandits decide that this is a good time to attack. They're sorely unprepared for my competent, seamless onslaught. I'm a machine, an animal, a weapon, untouchable, victorious, the main character.

It's obvious what will happen next. It's obvious what will happen when Altra proceeds into their hideout, into whatever rat-infested sewer these bandits call their base.

But I have finished my drink, and I am tired, so I save and put down the controller.

Conclusion

What, you expect I learn something every time? Life ain't all about learning. This is The One Where I Get Swept Away And Zone Out. That's what this is all about, isn't it? I love being a meathead in these things. Just rushing into problems mace-first. I don't do that in real life at all. I'm just thinking, thinking, thinking, which translates to writing and not much other action. So what a release it is to turn on, tune in, and drop out.

That phrase was definitely intended to be a description of Skyrim.

I love this game. I'll be back. The land of Skyrim has too strong a pull. I am too enmeshed in its culture, in its scenery, in dragons. Todd Howard, director of Bethesda Studios, has me in his grip. He commands me with his presence. I will not cease to return. I am trapped in Tamriel, peering in like one of the Aedra through the curtain from which Mundus was rent.

I'll be back.

Recommendation

I recommend this pairing. In fact, I may grab myself another glass while I switch out the batteries of my controller.