"I say you better take a deep breath." He smiles, and picks up the mug. "My only downside is your gut can physically hold more then mine. Bring it on, Borthric." He smiles, noticing Borthric's reaction to his devilborn traits. "I've never been outdrunken before, and I don't plan to end that score now!" He seems almost fanatic now, his grin lopsided and crazed. His eyes haven't stopped softly glowing, but he doesn't seem to notice. He lifts the mug in a salute, and begins draining it, taking quick, rapid gulps. The more he drinks, the physically brighter his eyes get.

"Bottoms up!" Borthric too begins guzzling from the tankard after filling his enormous lungs to a capacity close to explotion. A few thin streams of gold drizzle down his beard and splatter off his chin as he drinks. He takes gulp after gulp, taking gulps much slower than Brakes, but from the enormous rhythmic bulges in his throat and the loud rumbling sound they make, he seems to be making gulps twice the size of Brakes's. After about ten seconds, though, Borthric's gulps seem to slow down, becoming less immense as he tries to stagger his consumption. His eyes begin to roll back into his head, but they stay there only for an moment. He resteadies himself, still emptying the giant pitcher. About a minute after he recovers, his gulping has slowed down quite a bit, and as his hand begins to shake, he sputters and coughs violently, choking for just an instant. Face red, he downs the rest of the tankard and makes an earsplittinging sound when he finishes the four gallons of ale. It sounds like an animal barking as Borthric strenuously gasps for air.
"What the hell!?" He says through gritted teeth, coughing some more. "There was something solid in my tankard! I think I swallowed it!"

Brakes stands up, concern on his denomic face. "You're not choking, are you?" He sets aside his empty drink, and his tail begins whipping around, sending chairs skidding backwards. "What's happening Borthic?" He kneels next to his drinking partner, and takes off a glove, placing his gray, clawed hand against Borthics chest and throat. "Let's get you outside." He speaks up, addressing the people in front of the door. "Move! We need to get him outside." He begins half dragging, half carrying Borthric out to the door. "Anyone want to help with this, or are you just gonna stand there as he chokes to death?"

"No! I'm fine!" Borthric shouts before anyone can react to the teifling's call for help. Borthric resists any hands that touch him as his heavy body squirms around, not wanting to cooperate. It's hard to even get him out of his chair. "But you shouldn't be!" A smile creeps across Borthric's cheeks in contrast to his sour, reddened face. "This man is a sorcerer!" He points accusingly at Brakes. "You're stomach isn't physically big enough to hold that much fluid. You've been cheating, haven't you, Brakes? Using a spell to aid yourself! That's why you're eyes are glowing, bastard!" Borthric is starting to yell, contradictory to his usual calm demeanor. "Whithout your sorceries, you would be nothing! Without you're spell, you'd be throwing u--"
Borthric begins heaving out chunks of vomit, sending everyone around him backward in disgust. He vomits again and again, gasping for breath in between each expelling of liquor from inside him. Once he's finally finished, still facing the floor, he yells through a groggy mouth, "What the hell!? Asshole! You drugged me too! Didn't you!?" A hint of pain is starting to overtake Borthric's expression. "It wasn't enough to win, was it!? You had to humiliate me, too!" For just a moment, it appears as if borthric's beard is growing; not longer, but taller up his face, growing up to his eyelids before receeding. "Oh shi-" But it was too late. Borthric begins to transform. His hairy arms grow even hairier. His beard stretches across his face, morphing it into a face that resembles a real bear's. His eyes become beady black. The flesh all across his body becomes covered in brown fur. He grows two feet taller, stretching from floor to ceiling of the tavern, ripping his clothes to shreads. Now, standing furious, right in front of Brakes, is a great Grizzly Bear. People all around the tavern begin to scream.
The Bear gives a bellowing roar as it stretches forth a meaty claw, grabbing Brakes, and hoisting him violently into the air. Several of the Bear's claws puncture Brake's stony neck, sending a few spurts of blood flying. This Bear does not look at all as friendly as Borthric was...

He screeches in pain, a unholy sound that cuts to the soul. His skin briefly bursts into gray/black flames, and the wounds burn themselves closed. The strange, black blood covering Borthric's claws burns like acid. He desperately tugs off one glove, his hand wreathed in the same blackish grey flames, and he grabs Borthric's fur, which fills the air with the smell of burning fur and flesh. His eyes are blazing like bloody red suns. He curses the bear in his fowl demonic tongue, the harsh rasping language grating to hear. He twists in the bear's claws, opening new gashes on his skin, but he punches Borthic in the eye, his hand still blazing with his strange fire.

Gall and the Innkeeper

Cracked Tankard

---

The Innkeeper
The Innkeeper had watched in fear as the first few tankards of ale went down the monstrous throats of the two creatures until he realized he was making a handsome profit on the two. It didn't take long for the old man to start pre-pouring drinks with a grin on his dusty face. If the two kept going he would have enough money to retire, sell the inn, and move to a house near the river going through Anvil.

Gall
The old plainsman seemed to be beaten down by the words of Tristan. He had once again failed his people because he did not know how to act in the presence of civilized people. Gall slowly lowered his gaze from Tristan and held it on the ground for a moment. He brought it back up to the Paladin, giving the young man a sad smile. A moment later he was waving what was left of his people out the door, leaving the inn and the warning he had brought behind.

Cowl

Anvil Bridge

---

Cowl studied Amicus for a moment, his face in thought. "A local hero. I can appreciate that, Elf." His thoughts raced back through time to when he became a hero of a town for simply leading a handful of guards to rout a group of highwaymen. There was a certain beauty to the simple acts a hero did in their lives. The saddest, most redundant part of a hero is that there ever had to be more than one hero in history. Selfless, brave acts done over and over for the same result every time.

Cowl brought his eyes to look on Sifa, the woman of many travels and stories. "I would like a story as well. I think a story can teach something to everyone, whether the story is true or not."

Unknown

Anvil

---

From every entrance into Anvil came a squad of six men and women dressed in black leathers and metals. On their right breast was the insignia of an obsidian mountain peak with a purple background. They carried crossbows in their hands and shortswords on their hips. Their skinned was dark grey and they had silver hair. Their eyes all seemed to be black, but in the correct lighting appeared to be a midnight purple.

Some of those squads met resistance, and fell, while some pushed past the Anvil guards and further into the town. The foreign soldiers usually would have torn such a town apart with ease, but a long battle on the plains had worn them.

Snorting, Orchid didn't like how the innkeeper had ignored her completely in favor of serving two drunks. She had half a mind to get involved herself, but thought against it. She'll just have to take her business elsewhere. Besides, surely this town would have more than two taverns in it. Incidentally, she left just as one of the patrons transformed into a bear, but Orchid simply thought it was a petty brawl. As much as she'd have fun in one of those she was hungry right now, and was more concerned about getting some food than a fight. Going back to her vargr and unchaining him, Orchid was about to head out when she spotted something in the distance. Crowds weren't anything unusual, but she spotted what appeared to be black uniforms. She's seen the town's guards and they don't dress like that. Was this a company of caravans? Or perhaps something more?

This got Orchid's attention, certainly. She smirked as she put the sacks away onto her vargr and mounted onto the saddle. "Looks like fun, eh lad? Let's find a nice bit of high ground to watch the festivities from." Unsure of where these newcomers were going or what they wanted Orchid planned to observe them a bit from afar, and ideally from somewhere high. So she and her vargr would run into the Anvil alleyways, climbing up buildings until they could reach a rooftop. Some people might complain about the noise or having the two-hundred pound beast ruining their homes, but their complaints would go ignored. Once she had some high ground Orchid would dismount and lay low, seeing what may unfold with a bow in hand.

The ravenous Bear jerks back in pain, clearly confused as to what is happening. It covers it's eyes and face with it's behemoth claws. After stumbling backward into a table were a Kobald and a couple of halflings and gnomes are seated, causing the table to snap and mugs of ale to fly everywhere, the Bear stands back up, furious and frustrated. It charges forward and sweeps broadly with it's claws, slashing not just the teifling, but also shredding a barrel of liquor. His claws continue in an ark headed right toward Hark and Beth.

He collapses into the ruined table, screaming in pain as the claws tear into him. He stands up, shaking, and tosses half of the broken, now flaming, table at the werebear to draw him away from the others. "Oi! Over here you overgrown dog! I'm right here, you great ugly mountain of fur!" He draws a sword, and snarls at the bear, waving everyone else back. "Let's take this outside!"

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@Shadow Dragon@Tuxxle 77@HokumPocus@Mataus

Tristan looked to the serving girl as the plainsmen and his crew simply left the inn. "That solves that. I'd better turn in. It's getting late. I suppose I'll see you tomor-" And, of course, there was already another fight breaking out between...was that a bear? And the tiefling who had entered earlier. The bear quickly moved towards the serving girl, but before it could reach her, the tiefling tried to distract it. Tristan cursed, looking towards the holy warrior. "Looks like another fight breaks out just as one is defused. I'm Tristan. It appears our skills our needed once more." Tristan realized with a sense of realization and disappointment that tonight would not be a night of much sleep. He could only look forward to the morning and the tour of Anvil.

---

Norton was at a loss for words at the sheer amount of violence that had erupted around the tavern in the short time that he had been present. He was no stranger to conflict, but was certainly taken aback at the bold words of a very rude tiefling. The tiefling had insulted his goddess, his muse, his holy idol. Norton´s kind features hardened at having been so boldly defiled. That man may have gotten into a brawl and acted as if no serious harm had been done, but to Norton this was nothing short of a declaration of war.

He looked to Tristan, doing nothing to hide the rage in his eyes. "Norton Stahlder, of the order of Lumen. I agree." Norton´s gaze shifted to the tiefling. "Your words are less than nothing in the face of my goddess, and you will disrespect her no longer, demon!" he shouted. He drew his weapon and assumed a combative stance. The anger in his tone was indicative that he had taken it far more personally than needed.

He laughs, a crazed, demonic cackle. "I never insulted your precious goddess. I insulted you, you unworthy, crawling, pathetic scrap of a man." He draws two long knifes, almost big enough to double as swords. "Shame on your goddess. Shame that she must rely on one such as you. She deserves something more than a fanatic." His weapons glow red hot, matching the color of his eyes. "You want to fight a demonborn? Then fight me!" His tail secretly draws a dagger, and slides under the table, hiding the third blade.

Hark had watched the drinking game go from bad to worse as the big bearded man was being dragged out by the tiefling as he choked on whatever was in his drink. Pretty soon he started to transform growing more and more hair over his body till he resembled a huge bear. The bear started going crazy breaking tables and knocking over people as it went. Soon the bear found it’s way on a destructive path towards Hark and Beth. “Oh crap watch out!” Hark exclaimed as he and Beth hopped over the bar onto the other side where her father was already taking cover.

“Is this the kind of fun you find out in the world?” Beth asked Hark with a wild grin on her face. Hark have her a shocked look, “This is definitely not my definition of fun.” He replied. As he sat against the bar counter he looked behind him to the small cabinets and started rummaging around and finally found 3 decent sized knifes. He looked over at the white faced inkeeper who seamed to be preying, “Can I borrow these?” Hark didn’t wait for a reply and he knew he wouldn’t get one and jumped up on the bar. The bear like creature was heading towards the tiefling who had drawn his sword and was trying to distract the big bear. He took one of the knives and threw it expertly right into the back of the bears leg. The bear gave a small roar of pain before scratching at the back of his leg to dislodge the weapon. While Hark knew to the bear the knife wound was a mere honey sting it would at least distract the bear and slow it down.

The Bear that once was Borthric roars in agony as a knife lodges into his lower calf. He touches it for a moment, but quickly refocusses on evading the flaming table hurtling toward his face. He stoops down to dodge it, the knife in his leg twisting in an akward angle making the Bear roar again. He recovers quickly, though, and as swiftly as he ducked, he pulls the knife out, and heads in a straight, four-legged, aerodynamic sprint toward the teifling who is distracted by another social conflic, and that the Bear believes wronged him. The Bear rushes up, swiping away rubble. Both of his arms raise directly above the devilman's head, in a perfect trajectory to slam Brakes's face into the hard, stony floor of the tavern, about to bash it straight in. The Bear is clearly not in the mood to end this fight easily...

A lovely, lighthearted song filled the air around the wandering, dark-haired woman as her delicate fingers expertly danced across the strings of the wooden lyre in her hands. She strolled along, unsure if she missed her home as she took in the delightful ambiance which the night brought to the town of Anvil - a cozy little settlement she had come across on her travels, and where she had decided to stop for a rest for a couple of days. She had seen few people on the streets at such a time the night before, for many of the inhabitants were either in their homes or at the taverns. It was therefore rather apparent that the three individuals whom she then spotted on the bridge up ahead would pique her interest, even if only slightly.

The group would hear her approaching from the music coming from the instrument she held. She could make out more of the three as she stepped onto the bridge and drew nearer to them. From appearances alone, they did not look as if they were travelling together. Could it be that they were new acquaintances? In which case, there should be no harm in interacting with them, should there? She stopped playing her lyre when she was close enough, before addressing them.

"Dear lady," she greeted the tanned, petite woman with a nod, before turning to the elf and the heavily-armored man. "Gentlemen."

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@Shadow Dragon@Tuxxle 77@HokumPocus@Mataus

Tristan cursed. "I did not mean to fight the tiefling, dammit!" As the devilman and the paladin bickered, each drawing their blades, the werebear began an unexpected attack on the tiefling. Tristan gripped his greatsword in both of his hands and roared, swinging it upwards to attempt to intercept the werebear's attack. "Whatever problems or misconceptions you fools have with each other can wait! We need to stop this beast!" Tristan looked towards the serving girl. He began to wink, before realizing he still had his helmet on and quickly stopped himself, instead calling out, "I look forward to the tour!" Tristan sighed as he continued to do battle with the werebear, nervously aware of his somewhat rough skills with his greatsword.

Brakes rolls backwards, flipping onto the nearest table. "You wanna dance, bear boy? Come get me, fur ball!" He jumps onto the nearest table, twirling backwards. "Borthric! I know you're in there. And what a laugh we'll have over this later!" He cackles, twirling his sword, the blade glowing with a pale gray fire.

@Shadow Dragon@YeetMeister@Elevation@HokumPocus@Mataus
The Bear looks around, and stops fighting. Confusion and concern both squander his beady eyes as if he hadn't been taking in information until just now. All of a sudden, his pupils shrink slightly, although his eyes remain black, but his fur shrinks slightly shorter on his torso, and human flesh is visible under it in some parts. His face and build turn slightly more humanoid as Borthric enters his human-bear hybrid state. "No," spews from the lip of the hybrid, although his prior form did not have the capability of speech. "No ones laughing. Oh... I've hurt people again it all just happened so fast..."
The fur on Borthric shrinks back to only body hair, and Borthric shrinks by about a foot. Now, standing before Brakes, Tristan, and Hark is the woozy, human form of Borthric. He staggers for a moment, then leans forward, obviously drunk, (although his hybrid form showed no drunkenness.) and attempts to plant a kiss on Brakes's cheek multiple times, although he doesn't succeed in any of the attempts. "Wasn't that amazing, Avrrin?" Borthric stumbles around a bit more before finally falling over on the floor, his clothes in shreds around him. The bigger they are, the harder they fall - And this brute likely has the worlds biggest hangover.

Brakes sighs, sheathing his blade. He jumps off the table, cracking his knuckles. "Welp, anyone want to help me carry him out to his cart?" He lifts Bortric's arm, and begins dragging Borthic's incoherent body out of the tavern. "Man, what does this guy eat?" He keeps dragging him with surprising strength, pulling his body towards the door.