2 Beer Guys BlogLo, and there was a woman, Hildegard was her name and the Almighty up above hath so chosen to bequeath upon her the gift of brewing beer. Of the land of Flanders she was, renowned for its rich abundance in the heavenly delight. Such was her prowess that at her oh so tender age she was to wrest from the hops and yeast its most sought-after prize. So great was her gift that upon imbibing the fruit of her craft man, that simple yet charming beast, even forgot any mention of Hildegard's most pleasant qualities, and many there were.
In the fullness of time, Hildegard was summoned to a higher calling and she engaged into that bond that, once ordained by God, no mere mortal shall tear asunder.
'Bas', did we call the man to his face. 'Lucky bastard', when out of earshot he ventured. For, had he not scored a double whammy by taking the bloom of Flander's bounty as his, and a brewer to boot?
Aye, there was a match made in purgatory. For as Bas unlocked the stream of revenue and Hildegard gave Quadrium Samaranth to the world to commemmorate the occasion, was the writing not on the wall? Did we not see the inevitable materialise before us? When Hildegard, besotted by the madness of matrimony gave Bas her greatest prize, as well as her body, so did we lose a daughter, a wonderful maiden such as mere man, a clot, a nincompoop, a dummkopf is unworthy to call his own.
Thus it came to pass that Hildegard, beguiled by dreams of Avarice, moved the gift she so lovingly created to the land of bridge builders and cheese makers. An entire culture, a revelation, a blessing lost for all time to the greater glory of the bean counters and beer coaster designers.
As if this hurt was not already more than one person should have to endure in this, the brief span before the starless dark, the deadly poison so creepeth even further. We are to lose forever the joy of Novicius Vertum, no more will we rejoice in a flask of the divine Tonicum Finiboldhus, changed will be those mainstays of Hildegard's unfathomable genius: Hibernus Quentum a triple to shake the faith of better men and, let the taste of these words be like ash in your mouths: no longer will we rejoice in the superb pleasure of that master brew: the inimitable Quadrium Samaranth. That which once was born to celebrate a happy union is now victim to its consummation. Woe, woe, woe. Threefold woe as we lament the parting of this too-short lived glory. This legend that was to be will now lay buried next to Ozymandias' greatest works, there to be savored by no one.
Hildegard, that heart that was to be forever yours if no one else's is now forever torn. Why, child, what have I ever done to you?
