Oktoberfest, 1822, Jergen von Ulrich led his team toward victory for the third year in a row, dominating every event the festival put on. As the champions of Munich’s largest celebration, Jergen’s squad was revered as legends in every bar and tavern. They breezed through the events on day one, chugging Hoffenjofferbrostlbach without so much as a belch until midday.

 

 

Day two began the same until Jergen was interrupted by a messenger.

“What have you brought me, friend?” the sturdy inebriate asked the young lady.

“You have an invitation here.” she handed a surprisingly clean and crisp envelope to Jergen.

“Thank you for this.” he smiled at her and nodded in appreciation, expecting it to be another Oktoberfest event elsewhere in Germany. Sitting all along one side of a bench, the three men and two women of his team peered over at Jergen’s hands, anticipating the same.

“Sorry, everyone. This letter is for me alone.” he informed them jovially, smiling wide as he scanned the letter. They all groaned and proceeded to empty all the pitchers in front of them.

Jergen pulled aside his wife, Jana, away from the table. “I’ve been invited to the Brewhouse… to meet… the Brewmaster.”

Jana was just as sturdy physically and perhaps more so mentally, yet mention of the Brewmaster, an urban legend for many years, stunned her for a moment.

“You must go!” she snapped out of her shock and shouted in exuberance.

The team, nosey again, were all staring back at where the pair were standing once they heard Jana.

“Back to your beer!” Jergen laughed from his gut. The team followed suit as another round appeared before them. “And I’ll be back for tomorrow’s events. Jana will drink for me... Good luck, my family!”

Even in departure, the team cheered on Jergen, a beloved man in any Oktoberfest tent.

Jergen found his way to the center of the festival, where all the Hoffenjofferbrostlbach was dispatched from. It was a large wooden building, filled with barrels, floor soaked and rife with the stench of beer.

 

 

It was in the back where the brewing took place. He stepped into a fantasy land of grain and alcohol. He placed his thumbs in the straps of his lederhosen and browsed as he awaited the Brewmaster’s arrival. It was all so fascinating to him, he couldn’t resist getting hands on.

A nearby barrel made a small but clear sound. Jergen slowly walked over to snoop. The bulky man realized the lid was raised slightly from the barrel. He moved his hand to correct this, but noticed a couple of eyes where his hand reached. In that split-second, he was pulled; not into the barrel, but beyond.

To him, an eternity passed as he floated, conscious yet in a void. He yearned for return. He yearned for Jana. Time became irrelevant.

Suddenly, he was ripped from this near-emptiness. He opened his eyes for the first time to see a massive beard and a resolute face above it.

The once sturdy man was drained of all life. Though almost no time had actually passed, it had for Jergen’s physical form and for his soul. He had very little time left. Jergen looked to his side as the Brewmaster stepped away to retrieve a barrel from his private reserve.

“This should do the trick, friend.” the Brewmaster’s voice rumbled slowly as he gave Jergen some beer. It was a color Jergen had never seen before.

 

 

His body began to inflate back to its original size, and then continued. The lederhosen he wore snapped. The Brewmaster yanked some metal off of old barrels to replace Jergen’s clothing.

“You will defend Oktoberfest with your life.” the Brewmaster commanded, handing Jergen a spigot and a flat, oversized barrel.

Jergen von Ulrich died within the barrel. Bierguardian emerged from the Brewmaster’s concoction, prepared to endure another eternity in the name of Oktoberfest.