The Althygames, pt 3

Since my money is burning a hole in my pocket, I'm going to be posting a series of games designed to test your mettle as character and writer. Since this is my personal nonsense, all judgments will be completed by me and any complaints can be taken up with John's fists.

But participation is not without its rewards!
Place first, and you have won my eternal love and affection. Also 150gp
Place second, and you get a sweet 75 gold
Place third and I will tell tall tales of your exploits to all the maidens (or gentlemaidens)! also 40 gp

PROMPT: your character has gotten himself into a pickle. The drinking contest you somehow got into is picking up the pace, and it looks like you need to find your resolve to imbibe more than your peers, or be a lightweight and bail. Do you have what it takes to take that next drink? ONLY YOU CAN KNOW!

“Anotha won…” Vince slurred raising his goblet for the umpteenth time. The barkeeper eyed the sloppy scholar over and shook his head.

“Listen man, you drank the other guys under five pints ago. You can stop now.” He growled slamming his hands on the bar. “You’re way to drunk for me to serve you anymore.” The scholar, hunched over on the bar, eyed the man with a deadpan stare.

“So…” he drawled trying to raise his head from the table only to find his limbs not cooperating. “You’re a…” he trailed off and took a moment to find his words. “A fukin…Yahtzee eh?” He slumped forward and waggled his cup threateningly at the man. “My pepl killed you bastuds once, don’t make us get the teddy again…” The barkeeper growled a slew of swears under his breath but withheld from whooping the belligerent man’s ass. He’d watched him go toe to toe with a small army of orcs in an arm wrestling competition and win, he doubted that brute strength was all gone.

“Sorry ‘bout him.” The barkeep looked up from his bothersome customer to see a giant towering over the two of them. “Can’t hold his ale.” The barkeeper nodded and watched as the massive metal goliath of a man scooped his drunk friend onto his shoulder with one arm while dropping a massive pile of coins onto the bar with the other.

“This should cover his tab.”

With that the giant was gone, carrying his boss like a sack of potatoes.

“Jin”…Vince slurred as the left the bar. “I hava poblem.”

The giant rolled his eyes and let out a chuckle. “Sure do.” The scholar squirmed a bit but found no purchase against the vice like grip of the Strength Arcana.

“Not like dat…” The scholar droned on, pausing to hiccup a bit. “I’m…I’m in wuv…” This caused the giant’s eyebrows to rise a bit.

This was news to him.

The scholar seemed to interpret the man’s silence as a que to continue, so he did. “I’ve known her for….” He paused and gagged for a moment, as if he was about to let a torrential flood of vomit loose from his pale lips. Instinctively the giant pulled the scholar away and aimed his vomit launcher away from him. This motion seemed to loosen the scholar’s stomach, and a spray of bile, beer, and half-digested spaghetti flew from his lips at impressive speed, splattering nosily onto the rough cobblestone with a sickening splat, staining it a gnarly red and brown color.

“A wong time…” the scholar managed to sputter out after his stomach was empty. “Probably…as long as I’ve been here…” Satisfied the scholar was empty of any potential vomit, the giant returned Vincent to his shoulders.

“Who is it?” The giant prodded.

“Don’t make me say it…” Vince groaned as he picked out a piece of pasta from his teeth. “You already know her pappah steele.” The giant stopped for a moment at the new absurd nickname, but decided to roll with the punches.

“You can tell me…”

The scholar grunted and pressed his face against the steel armor of the giant and said something muffled.

“Pardon?” The giant asked raising a free hand to his ear. “Didn’t catch that.”

The scholar raised his face from the metal, his hair covering his face as if he was some small child who’d never seen a brush before in his life.

“I said…” he pressed his face into the metal once more, this time a comical farting noise escaped the vacuum between his skin and the metal.

“Vince.” The giant chided.

“Fuckin Rayleigh.” Vince grunted. “Happy?” The giant stopped for a moment and let out a chuckle.

“Yes.”

"You doll face are a train wreck waiting to happen." The large burley man chuckled before downing another shot of perfectly aged scotch. Clicking her tongue at the large brute her head swaying side to side causing her long brown curls to bounce. "Well than just call me the hot mess express you can either jump aboard for a ride or get the fuck outta my way." An innocent giggle rang out before she quickly tilted the shot back slamming the glass down on the table. Another shiver rippled through her curvy frame as the liquor warmed her belly for the fifth time. The giant grunted with displeasure before eyeing her up and down, "where do you put it? Your too small to be able to toss this shit back with out being knocked on your ass."

"Now, now a lady never tells secrets."

A mysterious glint appeared in the fella's eyes as she mentioned the word secret. "Well now how about we play a lovely game of tit for tat. If you can't hang you're just a light weight." His large body was practically vibrating with excitement from this idea. Kara, telling her secrets now that would be interesting. "Fine but rules are you have to drink what's in your shot glass if you can't take any more shots than you have to reveal something about yourself. You choke than you have to answer a question the other person asks. Deal?"

"You're going down honey, I am gonna know all your secrets by the end of the night," the man replied. Pushing off the stool Kara headed towards the bar, "Rashad I need two bottles one for my friend over there and one for me." Winking at the young bar keep he nodded handing her a bottle for the large male and one of her own.

Seating herself at the table she pushed a bottle towards him and uncapped her own. "The names Deacon by the way," thrusting out his large hand it easily swallowed Kara's. "Karina."

~

A half of bottle later and she had learned that Deacon was indeed half giant hence why he looked like a large laundry sack of meat. He was a warrior but after a bloody war and switching sides when his own was losing he fled. He drinks often and stays in the local brothel most nights. The tip of Kara's tongue traced her plush red lips.

Purring with satisfaction that this man was loosing and miserably she might add he sputtered forcing down the liquor which gave her the opportunity to ask a question. "Why did you ask me to have a drink, Deacon" His now cloudy eyes drank in her appearance with hunger, traveling from her curved hips, to her round ass that was seated in the stool, her slender waist yet busty breast that spilled out of her shirt a little to her lovely luscious lips. "Ah I see now.." A sound of laughter erupted from her as she poured herself another shot tossing it back, swallowing it with one gulp as she watched the mountain of a man. Only a matter of time before he is done for.. Deacon wasn't looking so hot, he was swaying heavily trying to lean forward every so often his face getting a little to close to the table.

"Cheacher.." That single word rang out as he fell off his stool on to the floor causing the foundation to shake slightly. Kara choked on her shot spitting it out gasping for air. Her hand pounding down on her chest as she tried to expel the remaining liquid out. "Secerrrt," he demanded as she stood up smoothing her jeans out before standing over top of him peering down with her crystal blue orbs.

"That bottle was full of honey suckle juice, I lied."

The look of bewilderment crossed the poor mate's face as he was so astonished she had done such a thing. "I took shots just not of alcohol like you I cheated to win, I never tell my secrets." Winking she walked off leaving the poor soul staring after her on the floor sprawled out. Glancing over her shoulder grinning she called out, " I may have lost by cheating and am considered a light weight but who's really the winner and walking away with their pride still?" Winking at him she pushed open the door before vanishing off into the street.

Hic.

Drinking wasn’t something Fenn did often, but when he did, he went all out. One never knew when he’d next be able to find an estabishment that didn't soundly boot him out ass-first for not looking of age. A good chunk of his newly obtained gold was already gone, devoted to drinks - and more was about to be spent. Oh well. If he didn’t have enough coin for snacks later, he’d just have to pick a pocket or two. Assuming, of course, he wasn’t too smashed to do so at that point.

He was getting pretty smashed so far. Five empty tankards sat by Fenn, frosted over where he had drank from them. There was an elf nearby who also had five empty tankards next to him, hunched over the bar blearily. There was no formal contest between the two, but each squinted at other out of the corner of their eyes. Hell if Fenn was going to let an elf drink more than him. Likewise, the elf didn’t seem terribly eager to be beaten by a… a child.

Wow, that snapped things into perspective.

If Fenn could eat three meals in one sitting, then he damn well could outdrink this elf. He slammed his palm down on the table, summoning the bartender. She was a young woman sporting looping lavender locks, whose very way of walking spoke of someone numbed to bullshit. “Yes?” she said skeptically to Fenn. “What now?”

Frost spread across the table top at a light touch of his fingers and began scribbling in it. MORE DRINK. SOMETHING GOOD, Fenn demanded in loopy, wobbly writing. Another hiccup burst from his mouth, sounding more like a strangled squeak than anything else.

She poured him some scotch with an uncertain hand. He downed it with much gusto.

“See here kid,” the barmaid said, setting down the pitcher. “I didn't question ya at first ‘cause I thought it was some kinda crazy joke, but I’m havin’ my second thoughts now. How old are ya anyway?”

ALL OF THE YEARS, Fenn wrote with slurring hands. There was a cheeky Cheshire grin on his flushed face. Hic. He made a wide, sweeping gesture with his hands, almost splashing the elf with his drink. ALL OF THEM.

“That ain't the answer I was lookin’ for, kid.”

THIRTY? LOST THE COUNT MAYBE, NOT SURE.

Now she was intrigued. The maid leaned over the bar, a hand on her hips as she poured him yet another drink, after he gestured towards his cup. “Yer joshin’ me.”

Fenn downed the scotch and shook his head up at her rapidly, a wide grin spread across his face. Unnaturally wide, in fact. AM FAE. HUMANS AGE STUPID.

Surprise flickered across her pretty face. “That'd explain it. Are all Fae as baby-faced as ya?”

Without asking, Fenn reached across to grab an unattended pitcher of wine - possibly for the elf? - and poured himself some. WHO KNOWS, NEED MEET MORE, he replied. His drink sloshed as he shrugged up at her, almost falling off his chair.
To his doozy delight, a glance over at the drunken elf revealed that he still was nursing his sixth drink. Fenn was now on his seventh. Score!

“LITTLE ELF BOY, WHERE ARE YOU? OWES KRUNCK A REMATCH!” a distinctly orcish voice shouted across the bar. The Fae jolted and slammed his keg onto the table in surprise. Even as drunk as he was, Fenn knew how much trouble he was in. Shit! With all due haste he shoved his pouch of money towards the bewildered barmaid, tipped a hat he didn't have at her, and grabbed two random bottles of booze that didn't belong to him from the counter. With that, he scurried staggeringly off towards the bar door, but not without first smacking into a window and leaving a frost imprint behind.

The barmaid watched in stoic silence as he left. She had served many patrons over the years, but never had she seen anything quite like that.

“ELF BOY! YOU OWE KRUNCK STIIIIIIIIIILL!”

((Urmmm.. Okay.))

The bells rang one final time, the last stage in the drinking tournament was ready for its competitors and Elite prepared himself for his entrance. The roaring cheers for the local champion shook the tent like thunder shook the skies, and the stage was set for his entrance to the last table of alcohol and drunken cries.

Knocking the flapping tent curtains aside he marched into the designated open path, his giant skeletal frame gleamed in the afternoon sun as his large six-foot legs strode towards certain victory. His lifeless and more importantly, organ-less body was as impressive as it was mighty. He stood twelve foot tall, his fists the size of a man's skull, his feet too large for any boot, and his fiery eyes burned with a relentless warmth that could never be extinguished. The crowd cheered in amusement, laughing and giggling like children as the behemoth approached.

Surrounded by a circle of inebriated flesh, a single table with two mismatched chairs awaited him. A very confused champion sat waiting and staring in complete bewilderment, unable to comprehend why such a creature, which couldn't even drink liquid anyway, was making its way to the oversized seat beside him. He looked around at the surrounding drunks, cheering and mocking the champion as Elite arrived and waved to his supporters - his hand wriggling back and forth like that of a flirting princess.

"Good, Lord! What kind of a competitor is this?" He scratched his bold bushy beard and bald beer-stained head simultaneously. His eyes switching from side to side as he inspected this giant and awaited some punch line from the referee.

"Calm down victim!" Elite mocked with an emotionless grin that only an expressionless skull could give. "It'll all be over soon."

"Bring forth the beer!" The ref sounded as he gestured towards the oncoming wheeled cart that they used to carry the two jugs of alcohol. The large cart contained two differently sized jugs, however, one five litre flagon of a brown dirty beer, and then one giant-sized beer keg of the same juice.

The Champion sat confused, unsure of what exactly they expected him to do against this creature - was he really going to lose his unbeaten crown to something that was incapable of getting drunk, or was this all just a dream that he just needed to awake from. "But... I've never lost this in ma' life..." His words uttered like a gasp of disbelief as they cart stopped before them with a light rattle of the glass.

"Neither have I," replied Elite as he took a seat beside the champion drinker. His knees almost the height of the man's head at sitting position. "Though, if we're being honest, this is my first tournament."

"Okay!" The referee stepped forward and looked them both in the eyes. "Same rules as always, keep to your own jug, no touching each other and when you finish, you will automatically be given another. If you can't handle anymore, you're out!"

"Wait... You are completely serious?" The bearded hero awaited for some hopeful intervention.

"Very serious!" He replied, "is that it?"

"But he's a bloody skeleton for crying out loud!"

"You racist!" Elite furious, leapt up from his chair. "Just because I'm a skeleton I can't compete?"

"What?!" He had no idea how to respond to such a stupid statement. This was all getting way too much.

Elite stepped over the table and grabbed the large wooden keg. He ripped the cork out and raised it overhead, tilting the keg to pour the vast amount of wheaty brown liquid down his gullet. Yet, Elite had no throat, and the waterfall of dirty alcohol poured and splashed out all over his bones. Spraying and soaking everything around him with a fountain of beer. The champion stepped back as the beer showered Elite like a naked maid under a waterfall until it ran no more - leaving the muddy floor a soaking pool of foul-smelling beer that no man wished to stand in.

"What in the absolute fuck do you expect me to do 'ere?"

CLOSED!

judging soon

(Youtube intro)

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWHHHHHHATSupyouguysit'sREDFORD here with another ALTHYGAMES judgment session!

This week we've got FOUR posts to judge so let's not keep you waiting and dive RIGHT in.

Number one: The armbender in a bind
First place goes to my boy Fennik (shoutout) for writing a tale with actual backstory, and tossing it in a sequence with another of his posts! Just, where DOES he put all that drink? I dunnomaybewe'llfindout on the next althygames, but right now he's got a sweet 150 gp for winning.

Nombre deux: The hot mess express
Second place belongs to Karina, who along with Fennik were the only two people who actually followed the prompt by actually drinking someone under and becoming intoxicated. Mechanics issues aside it was a fun story and we'll see where the next stop is, on the HOT. MESS. EXPRESS.

*youtube host laughter*
Ahem!

Episode III: Revenge of the sick:
Vincent Cain earns a few gold pieces for a story that doesn't quite meet the prompt, but gets a few points across anyways. He also nearly vomits all over John, which is a NONO anyways. But STILL! An excellent tale of a man who has to get shitfaced to admit that he's got a crush, very true to life indeed! You hold a mirror up to all of us friend.

HONORABLE MENTION: Skeletons in the Tavern. Err closet. Whatever.
A most honorable mention to Elite Optic, who though scary and mean, had to contend with a drinking contest in which he could not become intoxicated. Though not exactly following the prompt, posts by elite are always just that.
ELITE!

Althygames are CLOSED people, you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here!

Outro cinematic:

Thanks for watching guys and don'tforgetto pin that like button to the wall like it owes you money and beat the shit out of it until I get out of my parent's basement. Please it's so lonely.

But anyway be sure to subscribe to my channel and have a great week!