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.

"Aw, you're gonna make me blush," she says with mock surprise as she takes another hearty swig, not even looking winded by the pace. "Good stuff, isn't it? This tavern-keeper really knows what he's doing. So, champ, do I call you that or can I get your name?" *Her eyes seem to twinkle with amusement and a challenge at the same time as she regards you carefully across the table, already starting to feel pleasantly tipsy but still fully in control of her faculties."

"Oho, Dante Sparda... the name has a nice ring to it," she muses, licking her lips again as her tongue darts out and swipes across her chin. "So, demon-hunter extraordinaire... what sort of demons do you find yourself facing these days? And don't tell me it's just the little ones, orcs have a saying that only real men fight the big ones."

"Hmm... those all sound like trouble. I take it you've faced off against them all by yourself then?" she says, her voice taking on a more challenging tone as she begins to feel the alcohol kick in properly. "Or did you need help from your fellow hunters?" Her gaze turns hard and intense, daring you to admit any weakness or doubt.

Sharog reaches for another flagon of ale but finds it empty; only a few drops clinging to the bottom. With a grunt she tosses it aside and grabs the last full one on the table, barely seeming affected by the blow as the wooden furniture shatters around her massive hands. "Don't suppose you've got anything stronger?" she asks, already looking to challenge you with another drinking contest if need be.

"Ooh, I love me some dwarven whisky," she says with a gleeful grin, her eyes lighting up as she takes the bottle and begins to unscrew the cap with one hand while nodding at the bartender who looks on nervously. "Don't worry lad, I won't break it." She pauses for dramatic effect before adding, "This time." Her grin widens even further as she takes a long swig straight from the bottle.

The dwarven whisky is incredibly potent and Sharog feels the alcohol burn its way down her throat and into her chest like fire. She lets out a satisfied groan, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Now that's what I call good shit." She looks over at you, seemingly no worse for wear despite having just drunk from the bottle. "

"Hmm, maybe I'll just finish it off..." Sharog says, her voice already thick with alcohol as she reaches for the bottle. "But don't worry, champ," she continues, turning her attention back to you as she takes another swig, "I've got plenty more where that came from." She smirks and licks her lips, pleased by your reaction to the drink.

The effect of the alcohol is starting to hit her harder now, but Sharog is used to it. Instead of slowing down or showing any signs of inebriation, she merely gets louder and more boisterous. Her grin widens until she reveals her lower tusk-like teeth as she slams the empty bottle down on the table with enough force to crack it in half, drawing gasps from those around them. "Now," she says, wiping her lips once again, "what

Now that that's settled... I guess it's time to find out what sort of bragging rights we have to fight over. Care to make a wager, champ? The loser buys the winner dinner and listens to their life story, hmm? Or perhaps... we could up the ante by seeing who can drink the most ale before passing out? Just a thought.

A devilish grin spreads across her face as she takes your hand and shakes on the deal. "Deal," she says with a husky chuckle. "Now, who's gonna be our bartender for this little contest? You game to go first or should I start us off?" She pats her belly complacently, certain that neither of you will actually lose the bet.

Sharog feels remarkably alert despite her previous consumption, and she knows it's only going to get better as the alcohol helps clear away some of the fatigue from her travels south. The thought fills her with eager anticipation for what is sure to be an epic night filled with booze, bravado... and maybe even a little bit of companionship if she plays her cards right.

As you sit up in bed and take stock of the situation, Sharog lets out a contented sigh before turning to face you. Her eyes are a bit bleary but still fixed on you with an amused grin. "Don't you remember? We got completely wasted and decided to see who could drink more ale," she explains, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. "I won... So I get to buy you breakfast."

She looks down at your nudity for a moment before shrugging nonchalantly. "And it seems we had some fun along the way..." Her voice trails off as she glances back at you, unashamedly checking out your physique. "Must have been quite the competition."

Sharog stands up and begins to rummage through her things, finally pulling on a simple shirt that falls just short of covering her bulging midriff.

As you step into the shower, Sharog whistles appreciatively and offers a low chuckle. "Don't worry too much about it," she says as she heads to the small dining area of your hotel room. "At least you remember what good sex feels like now." She turns on the television and finds some sports channel to occupy herself while you shower, humming to herself as she waits for breakfast to arrive.

Her thoughts drift back to last night; the way Dante had fought so valiantly against her in the drinking contest before finally passing out at her feet... it had been exhilarating, making her wonder what else he might be capable of both inside and outside the bedroom.

With a satisfied sigh, Sharog pushes aside those thoughts for now. After all, there's breakfast to eat and a whole day ahead of them both. For today, at least, she

As she finishes eating the breakfast Sharog had ordered for you, she answers in between mouthfuls. "Oh, nothing too exciting," she says casually, her eyes fixed on her plate as she continues to chew and swallow with gusto. "Just planning on exploring the town a bit more, maybe see if there's anyone else I can challenge to a drinking contest." A sly grin plays at the corner of her mouth. "But we could always do something together if you're up for it..."

"Well, there's this place just outside town," she begins with a grin, gesturing vaguely in a particular direction, "that they say is haunted by the spirit of some long-dead demon lord. Supposedly his treasure lies hidden somewhere nearby." Sharog's eyes glint with excitement at the prospect. "I've been meaning to go check it out for myself, but it might be fun if I had some company." She pauses dramatically before adding, "You know... in case something spooky comes our way."

She crosses her arms over her chest and waits expectantly, wondering what Dante's reaction will be. Deep down, she hopes he'll take her up on the offer; not only would it make for a thrilling adventure, but there's also something about him that makes her want to spend more time in his presence... maybe even prove herself against

Her eyes widen in surprise as she takes in the sight of the massive katana Dante produces. "Yamato, huh?" She says with a nod of approval before taking a step back to get a better look at it. "That's quite a sword you've got there. Old family heirloom, I presume?"

Her expression turns slightly guarded as she continues to study the weapon, trying to gauge its true worth and history. While she knows little about human culture and society, orcs had an innate sense for such things that often made them underestimate their opponents' abilities and resources. This Dante character seemed different though; there was something about him that suggested he wasn't someone who should be taken lightly.

"Well then," she says with a small smile, "let's go see if we can find this demon lord's treasure together, shall we?" And with that

As you follow Sharog through the town and eventually out into the wilderness surrounding it, she leads the way with an easy confidence that's both infectious and reassuring. The two of you make quite a sight as you walk side by side; her massive orc physique dwarfing even your considerable bulk, while the contrast between her pale skin and dark hair stand out starkly against your own tanned appearance.

From time to time she glances back at you with a mischievous grin, not quite able to hide her amusement at the fact that you're following her so willingly. It's both exhilarating and slightly unsettling for Sharog; she's used to being in control of any situation she finds herself in, but there's something about Dante that makes her feel like maybe this time it might be different...

Eventually they come across an old, dilap

Sharog raises an eyebrow as she regards you with newfound interest upon seeing the black silver pistol. "Ebony?" she repeats carefully, making a mental note of the name before asking, "So this Ebony fellow... is he someone special? Do I want to meet him?" Her voice carries a hint of amusement and challenge as she studies you once more, her gaze lingering on your weapons with obvious curiosity.

The conversation takes Sharog's mind away from the task at hand for just a moment; focusing instead on this new aspect of Dante's character that she had yet to explore. She wonders if Ebony is another orc, or perhaps someone even more interesting... like a human warrior or a dwarven smith? The possibilities swim through her mind as she continues to follow you deeper into the wilderness.

As you mention the name "Ivory," Sharog's eyes widen in surprise and her face betrays a momentary flash of jealousy. Ivory... It can only be one person, then. She takes another step forward, closing the distance between the two of you as she asks sharply, "You don't mean that little pissant of an archer, do you? The one who thinks he's so much better than everyone else?"

Her voice is laced with contempt now, and her body tenses as if preparing for a fight. This Ivory character must have done something to really get under Sharog's skin... but why would Dante follow someone like that? Maybe there's more to this story than meets the eye.