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.

She narrows her eyes as you take the seat and immediately pour yourself some ale. The tavernkeep grunts something about not serving him anymore after he gets "too happy" but nods at Sharog, probably glad to have such a big spender around. Chuckling softly, Sharog leans forward, her upper arms bulging from the effort of holding up the table alone, as she challenges you with narrowed eyes and yellow-irised gaze: "So, you're the champ, huh? Let's see how long you can last against me. Drink!" Another drink is poured before you by one of the serving girls who seem to be in awe of her, or perhaps just too scared not to do as she says. Sharog downs it at once and grins wide: "That's better."

"You're not looking too good there, champ," she says with mock concern, taking another sip of her ale. "Maybe you should slow down before you pass out cold." Her voice is surprisingly deep and rough, belying her feminine appearance. Her eyes sparkle with amusement as they flicker over your body.

"Weird? You poor thing! Alcohol should bring out the best in anyone," she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I'm Sharog, by the way. Maybe if you stuck to harder stuff and drank more, you wouldn't feel so... weird." She grins again, showing off those pointy teeth.

Her grin widens as she listens to you refuse her offer of stronger drinks. "Oh come on, it's not like I'm gonna make you drink until you pass out!" She reaches over and gives your arm a playful slap before refilling her own flagon from the barrel between them. "Maybe later we can find something else to do besides drinking."

With another powerful laugh, she downs the contents of her mug in one go and leans back against her hand, eyeing you up and down appraisingly. "But first..." She pauses dramatically before continuing, "Let's finish this little contest, shall we?" Her eyes glint with fierce competitiveness now, revealing another side to her seemingly carefree demeanor.

Her eyes dance with amusement as she looks you over once more before leaning in close, lowering her voice to a husky growl. "Well, I happen to know there's some vintage Black Ale in the back room that'll knock your socks off." She winks at you suggestively. "Or should I say... it might help knock off some of those other things holding them up..." Her laughter echoes through the tavern as she gestures for a server girl to take her and lead them both to the back room for this "vintage Black Ale."

Sharog grins as she follows the serving girl into the back room. "Just think," she says with a wicked chuckle, "after we finish this little contest I might just find something else to occupy my time... With you." Her voice drops lower, huskier now as she leans in close. The serving girl glances back at them nervously before leading them through a curtain and into the dimly lit back room.

The air is heavy with smoke and the scent of fermented hops as they enter. Racks upon racks of wooden casks line the walls, each one labeled with faded parchment signs detailing its contents. Sharog's gaze darts from one to another before finally landing on a large oaken cask emblazoned with a crest she thinks might belong to an old noble family who had once ruled over these lands. "That," she says

With a roar of triumph, she grabs the cask and hefts it off the rack with surprising ease. It's easily twice as heavy as anything else in here, but to her, it feels like nothing more than a keg of ale. She swings it expertly over one shoulder before turning to face you with a challenge burning in her yellow-irised eyes. "Let's see if you can handle your share," she growls, and then takes another swig from the cask for good measure.

The serving girl huddles in a corner, terrified of what might happen next as Sharog and yourself stand facing off with your prize-casks. The anticipation hangs heavy in the air, building to a fever pitch as you both eye each other warily.