You usually prided yourself on being the man who could best hold his liquor in your little village, however now you were having second thoughts. You had arrived at the tavern as usual, only to find a MASSIVE female orc apparently having drunk half the tavern-regulars under the table, one after another. Seeing you arrive she grinned, exposing two lower tusk-like teeth.

“Finally, I was waiting for you. Heard you’re the champ around here, why don’t you have a seat?~” She motioned to the chair in front of her, licking her lips in anticipation for more alcohol.

"Ohhh, impressive!" *Her dark eyes glitter with appreciation as she takes note of how easily you throw back the first few shots. She downs a few more swallows from her flagon, and then continues to pound them back faster and faster, keeping pace with you perfectly, despite looking like she's been on a weeklong bender already. As you drink together, she smiles at your bravado, revealing those tusks in her upper jaw. You think that should have scared you somehow, but all it does is make her look even more dangerous and intimidating... in an oddly fascinating way. After what seems like an eternity of drinking and chugging and laughing, the both of you find yourselves still standing, though swaying dangerously, surrounded by a sea of empty barrels and broken furniture.

You would hate to admit defeat, especially not in front of this savage beast. With every sip, you force yourself to ignore the burning sensation that's spreading through your insides, focusing instead on her seemingly bottomless tankard. But soon enough, your vision starts to blur, and you feel something warm trickling down your neck. It takes you a moment to realize that your blood must be leaking out. Finally, unable to hold back the growing ache any longer, you stumble and fall backwards, landing with a heavy thud on the dirt floor. As your surroundings spin violently around you, you catch one last glimpse of Sharog rising above you, unmoving but clearly the victor. Her yellow eyes sparkle with triumph as she watches you flail pathetically at the ground. "Hah!" She bellows. "Aye matey, I think you've met

"The conqueror of taverns," she growls between snickers, lifting you up with surprising strength by your shirt collar so you can look into her eyes properly. You struggle weakly against her iron grip, half heartedly hoping to break free before her next punch comes. But she just smirks down at you, ignoring your feeble attempts to escape. "Maybe next time we should play for real." And then, much to your dismay, she sets you down again. Hard. You land with a loud thud that makes what little is left of your pride crack in two. Gritting your teeth against the pain, you look up at her once more, feeling nothing but shame and defeat.

Your cheeks flush an angry red as you admit defeat to yourself. Sharog simply laughs, revealing those sharp tusks one more time before they disappear back behind her lips. "Don't feel too bad, human," she says, slapping you on the back hard enough to knock the wind out of you momentarily. "You were good... for a drunken sailor. Maybe next time I'll let you be champion for longer than it takes to finish my drink." With that, she turns around and stumbles over to another table, calling out, "Anyone else think they can beat me?!" Her voice echoes through the tavern, challenging all who dare accept.

You lie there, defeated but not broken, watching her as she continues her quest to find someone worthy of facing. A small part of you wonders if you'll ever muster the strength again, but the burning desire to prove yourself, to

Without taking notice, Sharog hears the commotion outside. "No one is as mighty as I am," she declares, swirling what remains of her alcohol around in her flagon before downing it in one go. Then, looking around with reddened eyes, she stands up unsteadily. She smirks, "Guess I'll just have to keep finding new challengers." The massive orc lurches toward the tavern door, prepared to face whatever newcomers might have arrived while she was busy proving her mettle.

Her gaze narrows as she turns back toward your voice. "And who do you think you are?" She slurs, pointing an accusatory finger at you. "I didn't see no sign-up sheet with your name on it." Her posture shifts slightly, subtly showing off how imposing she can be even when she's not in mid-fight. She's clearly not used to anyone challenging her authority here, let alone questioning why she left someone behind. "Well? If you're so eager to prove yourself, then come find me out there!" she roars before stumbling back outside, leaving a wake of broken furniture and shattered glass in her wake.

As Sharog continues to lurch her way through the night, she doesn't notice you following close behind. Eventually, she comes across another tavern, this one more run-down than the last. The door swings open with a creak, revealing the dim interior filled with all sorts of disreputable characters. A scruffy looking goblin with pointy ears and sharp teeth jumps up from his seat as soon as he sees Sharog enter. He eyes you suspiciously but doesn't dare try anything as long as the mighty orcess is around.

"Ah, welcome, my strong friend!" he says, holding up a dirty mug. "You look thirsty! How about we see who truly is the champion?" His grin widens as he takes a sip from his drink. It's obvious he's hoping you'll accept his challenge.

Sharog lets out an amused snort as you easily drain the goblin's drink. "Very good," she acknowledges with a nod. "I'll give you that." The two of them eye each other warily for a moment before Sharog finally decides to issue her own challenge. "Alright then, human," she growls, her voice echoing through the tavern, "let's see what you're made of. And this time, there will be no stopping until one of us can drink no more!" With that, she slams down her empty flagon and thrusts it forward toward a table piled high with even more barrels. Her tail swishes menacingly behind her as she turns back to face you, anticipation written clearly on her features.

As the night progresses, both of you find yourselves draining one barrel after another, matching each other drink for drink. Your bodies begin to react differently to the alcohol; hers growing steadier and more confident while yours seems to burn hotter with each sip. But still, neither of you slows down, driven by an instinctual need to prove yourself against this unexpected rival.

Finally, after what feels like hours but could just as easily be moments, you both stagger to a halt simultaneously. Panting heavily, eyes bloodshot and unfocused, you turn to Sharog and nod curtly in acknowledgement. She returns the gesture, her gaze fixed on something beyond you. Her chest heaves slowly as she draws a shaky breath, then exhales it forcefully through her nose.

"Well," she rasps hoarsely, "that was... impressive." Her fingers br

Sharog lets out a loud, hearty laugh that echoes through the tavern, startling several patrons awake from their drunken stupors. "Don't feel too bad, human," she says between wheezes, slapping you on the back hard enough to send shockwaves through your entire body. "Not many can keep up with me, even when I let them have a headstart." With a groan, she reaches for another barrel, apparently undeterred by the near-exhaustion she feels creeping through her system. "How about one more round? The loser buys drinks all night!" she proposes, grinning wickedly at the idea of whoever gets stuck footing the bill for the rest of the evening.