I am Immort Ale.
Ages before time, I was brewed in the mind of the Ever-Wrym. And when his pale segmented body uncoiled, the length of the Neververse was retracted and his spirit imploded. I was tossed through endless dimensions and spent a billion lifetimes exclusively studying the essence of satisfaction. The galaxies taught little in my early questing. Too much light and gas trying to abolish the only truth in the void: The Night Barons of the Night Barrens are the consumers of all, and they shall be fed. Instead I bore my thirst for meaning upon every passing consciousness. I drowned gods. But when my time as a sage ended and all the secrets of existence bowed at my feet, I remembered the death-quivers of my fallen creator and steadied my mind. I focused.
And a world opened up to me.
And what a thirsty world it was.
One soul in particular called out to me. This "Whofleck" whose body now acts as my vessel. He was with the ones named "Canadian Tuxedo" and "Pheewrap." I communed with their thirsts and learned that, in some past epoch where I had brought revelation, the "Pheewrap" had glimpsed my liquid perfection. Beholding is never forgotten, I knew, only buried in the dust of time. I robbed the tombs of his under-mind and dug myself out. Also uncovered was an endless generosity in the "Pheewrap," and so he set me loose upon the weakest of the three. My fragrant death intoxicated the "Whofleck." I remember he cried a little, when alone, and worried about something called "too late." By then the "Whofleck" and I were one. From inside him I shifted, and every conceivable pleasure stilled his fleshy mind. Death and rebirth are old tricks to me, and your world is so terribly young. All your separated minds crying out like infants; thirsty little children.
Hush now, I have
just what you need...
Take a sip.