Dwarven Boozehound's Backpack (Patreon)

Wondrous item, rare (requires attunement)

This large, silver tank is nearly 3 feet tall and produces its own magical ale. It has several knobs alongside it and a tapered hose attached to the bottom. The tank holds 8 gallons of ale and completely refills daily at dawn. When you attune to the tank for the first time, it immediately fills with the magical ale. The tank is supported with several leather straps, allowing it to be easily carried. Regardless of how much ale is inside the tank, it always weighs 10 pounds.

You can dispense the magical ale as you would a normal keg, with the exception that this alcohol affects a creature twice as much as normal due to its magical nature. Alternatively, you can spend 10 minutes focusing on the tank and adjusting its various knobs to produce up to 4 special elixirs, expending 1 gallon of ale for each elixir you make. If you are a dwarf or are proficient with brewer's supplies, you can produce this elixir over the course of 1 minute instead. Each elixir contains one ounce of concentrated liquid. A creature can drink the elixir using an action, granting it advantage on saving throws against poison and resistance to poison damage for 8 hours. If the creature is a dwarf, it gains 10 temporary hit points instead. If an elixir isn't consumed before the next dawn, it becomes a nonmagical, albeit strongly alcoholic, beverage.

While carrying the tank, you can use an action to point its hose at a target you can see within 30 feet of you, provided you have a free hand. When you do, the tank expels 1 gallon of the ale in a powerful blast at the target. If the target is an object that isn't being worn or carried and weighs no more than 300 pounds, it is either knocked over or pushed up to 15 feet away from you. If the target is a creature, make a ranged spell attack against it, using an attack bonus of +7. On a hit, the creature takes 1d8 bludgeoning damage, is pushed 5 feet away from you, and must succeed on a DC 15 Constitution saving throw or be poisoned until the start of your next turn.

"Drinks're on me, laddies!"

The rakish dwarf chuckled to himself before smiling and pointing to the small metal keg strapped to his back. The young tiefling beside him groaned audibly and rubbed her temples out of obviously tried patience.

"Renwick, if you make one more pun about that stupid tankard, I'll light it, the ale inside, and you all on fire."

"Well it won't do much. S'a magic keg."

"Well, you'll still burn at least. That's enough for me."

The dwarf continued to smile and reached for a cup in his pack with one hand and the hose on the keg with the other. He filled a well-worn tankard with aromatic ale and passed it to the tiefling. After a moment, she took it without a word.

"Ya know, Yara, one o' these days you'll realize that puns aren't the real danger: it's us. If we start comin' apart a' the seams, any ol' band o' brigands'll be able to wipe us out on the side o' the road. We gotta stick together."

Yara swirled the ale around, looking at her reflection on its surface, and took a drink. It warmed her from within, and put her mind somewhat at ease. She looked over the dwarf for the first time and said, "You're right. I'm sorry I get on your case about the puns. It's obvious they're important to you, and they really are simple and good-natured fun. I'll be better."

The dwarf's smile widened. "That's the spirit, lass. And if ye still wanna light me on fire, we'll have this tankard to cure whatever ales me."*

The tiefling buried her head in her hands as Renwick laughed once more.