Beer in Review: Kevin Delange of Dry Dock Brewing

Beer in Review: Kevin Delange of Dry Dock Brewing


This eighth installment in the Beer in Review features Kevin Delange of Dry Dock Brewing, which expanded in a big way this year opening a $4.5 million, 40-barrel production brewery in Aurora. The one-time Great American Beer Festival small brewery of


This is an excerpt from the first draft of a story I’m writing. I’m using the working title “DeLange” after the family of monster hunters in the story. As it’s a first draft it’s still kinda rough and there are a few thing that I would change right off the bat, but I thought I’d upload as is and put the changes in the finished version.

This scene comes relatively early on, but after the characters have been introduced. It was originally going to be the start, but after I started writing I thought that it would flow better if I didn’t use the flashback intro. I’d still write the flashback, but I would put it before this action, not during.

Without further ado, here it is:

The dagger clattered to the ground and Markus had to take a moment to let what had just happened sink in. His face felt warm and wet, and he felt something trickle down it. The hunter wiped at his brow and looked at his hand. Blood.
All hell broke loose.
The guards atop the wall opened fire on the delegates, taking a further two of them down before the others turned to run. Reaper was on the girl in a heartbeat, wrenching her off Wilhelm and loosing his crossbow bolt, sinking it deep into her chest.
Desmond took off after the 3 remaining delegates, turning into a wolf in mid stride. He managed to catch up with one of them and went to work rending flesh from bone until the vampire’s screaming subsided.
How had things gone so wrong? Markus had never lost a man, and this was just the delegation.
The delegation! The treaty had been broken, and now the two remaining vampires were off, undoubtedly running straight to their master. If they got word back to the main house there would be no telling what would happen.
“Melothar, the horses!” he screamed, turning on his heels and running towards the gate. Twyndae saw him and understood his plan, turning to follow.
The three of them reached the gate in no time, leaping atop their horses and galloping off into the dense woods at the opposite side of the clearing in hot pursuit of the remaining enemies. As soon as they reached the tree line Desmond came alongside them, running at full speed to keep up with the horses. He snarled and took off to the left.
“I smell bat!” he cried, a look of excitement now in his eyes. “Filthy creatures!”
“Stick to your job, mutt,” Twyndae replied, an unamused look crossing her usually cheery features. Markus couldn’t help but chuckle despite himself. He could swear that Desmond never thought before he spoke.
On they rode until they came to a clearing and Desmond suddenly stopped. This concerned Markus. Surely he hadn’t lost the trail, not with his hunting prowess.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, placing a hand on the hilt of his longsword.
“Something smells weird” he replied, looking around the clearing at the surrounding Forrest. “It smells sort of like-”
Suddenly, a quarrel came out of the trees and stuck into the wolf’s muscled arm, sending him down screaming wildly. A second quarrel came, plunging into Melothar’s chest and sending him off his horse. He hit the ground and lay there, his blood pooling about him.
“Back! Into the trees!” Markus shouted as more quarrels began whistling through the cool evening air. He dismounted and dragged the motionless Melothar’s body back behind a rock and checked him.
No pulse. Melothar was dead.
Meanwhile, Twyndae was pulling the howling Desmond backwards, crossbow quarrels thudding into the ground about her feet. She looked toward the trees and hissed wildly, her expression accentuating her deadly fangs.
She finally managed to get her love back behind some cover and pull the bolt from his arm. She looked closely before putting the tip into her mouth and sucking it. Desmond’s blood tasted sweet, but she was looking for another taste.
Moonkshood. Also known as wolfsbane.
She reluctantly spat the mix of liquids out – she had promised Desmond that she would never willingly drink his blood – and drew her shortswords. As agile as a cat she leaped into the branches of the tree, her slender, vampiric form easily allowing her to. She crouched low as she scanned the Forrest for the unseen attackers.
She closed her eyes for a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to a different spectrum, one that would allow her to see the heat rather than the light.
5 forms lined the far side of the clearing, firing their crossbows in a way that allowed the first to reload while the others fired. This meant a constant stream of bolts until they ran out. There would be no break in the fire.
She realised that if they were vampires, they too would have infra-vision. She ducked back behind the tree just as another bolt slammed into the tree.