â âSo, the tar produced from coal can also be added for extra character. The casks and tar from the rare Star Oak can give rum a unique and mellow character, but the secret ingredient is time. Time is much, timing is more.â
Dulvarinn smiled and poured three cups of Rumsey Rum Black Label for Kuhuine, Mairead and Sharon who were politely listening. Sharon placed her empty wineglass on the bench, reached for the cup and was about to say something, but ended up giving out a loud hiccup. Kuhuine and Mairead chuckled as Dulvarinn continued:
â âImbibe it too early and the rum is harsh and immature. Imbibe it too late, wellâŚâ
He pulled the sandblasted bottle of Admiralâs Black Rum from his backpack and presented it to the botanists. From the smell it was apparent that it had aged too many years, overpowered by smoky oak and burnt tar flavors.
â âI picked up this bottle from the longing shores of Tiragarde Sound. A place where the waves are in perpetual movement and winds can be unforgiving. Where the wet sand gives in below your feet, the scent of forlorn seaweed challenges your composure and the salty sea air hurls along your brow. That same morning I shared a meal with Lyssa Treewarden and group of fishermen as we gazed towards the sea.â
He closed his eyes and started to sing. The tunes from Kul Tiras were quite different from the Kaldorei hymns, but there was indeed something alluring about the rythm in their jigs and reels.
âââ
'Come up lads, gather around, look what I have found,
a bottled up tale from the Tiragarde Sound.
There was once a man, imagine if you can,
with an alluring and aspiring and ambitious plan.
To invite friends of the coast for a bodacious roast,
and the best black rum in a hearty toast!
An admiral he was, making rum like few,
and admired and desired for his lovely brew.
He wanted no spite, but all to be right,
so hard he worked both day and night.
Then a day passed by, making glee out of glum,
behold he had distilled the best black rum!
Then a week passed by for the casks to soak,
and give the rum a lovely taste of smoky oak.
Then a month passed by for the rum to go far,
and ferment with a fervent, burning hint of tar.
Then a year passed by, but he wanted it stronger,
so he held the invitations to wait a little longer.
Then a decade passed by, but before he took a sip,
he led his fleet to war and went down with his ship.
Then a century passed by and the rum was gone,
truly wasted, never tasted by a friendly tongue.
And so this day, I shall dearly say,
gather your black rum while you may.
Oh, why is the rum always gone?â
