Whisky, Waxplay, and the Great Clan Games Afterparty

Let me set the scene: A Highland field. Three bonfires. One goat (don’t ask). And the Kilted Dragon in full ceremonial leathers, sipping whisky straight from a horn, surrounded by a crowd of tipsy clan members and confused tourists.

The Great Clan Games had ended in chaos—naturally, she’d dominated the caber toss with sheer thigh power and set a new record in the "flog-and-fetch relay." The afterparty? That was where things got… sticky.

Literally.

She called it "Waxplay with a Cultural Twist." Picture it: guests lining up to have their hands dipped in scented wax (spiced heather and smouldering regret), whisky flowing like truth serum, and one very enthusiastic Englishman volunteering for a full torso dip. He emerged shiny, terrified, and somehow spiritually awakened.

Music blasted—bagpipes remixed with techno. The Dragon judged a whisky showdown blindfolded, calling out tasting notes like a mystic: “Burnt orchard, betrayal, a hint of guilt.” She wasn’t wrong.

At some point, she announced:

“Tonight we burn shame and raise spirits—literally!”
And with a crack of her whip, she ignited the fourth bonfire using only her glare and a bottle of 58% ABV.

By 2am, half the crowd was half-naked, the goat had joined a conga line, and the Dragon was dancing atop a barrel shouting, “YOU CALL THAT A SINGLE MALT? I’LL SHOW YE A DOUBLE TROUBLE!”

I woke up under a tartan tent, head pounding, fingers wax-coated, and a whisky bottle next to me labeled "Clan Tears – Batch 666". She'd left a note:
“You made it through. Just. Next year, bring more stamina and less hesitation.”