You accept!

Despite your very valid concerns, you decide that you can't let this rogue get away with insulting you and your faith. And you can't give him the satisfaction of you declining a challenge. "Alright, I accept!" You say brazenly, your green eyes blazing with youthful pride. You were a paladin of Lucretia! You could drink this brigand under the table easily! Your acceptance was greeted with a widening of that knife-like grin.

"Good girl. I'll even help you out a bit." He said, nodding slowly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Before you could react, the dark haired male grabbed your tankard and downed the half cider you had sitting there. He offered a sarcastic smile, bursting out laughing at your stormy face. "Barliman! Bring us a round." The rogue ordered, and two drinks were quickly placed in front of you two, with Barliman throwing a concerned look your way before a suspicious look at Dervish. Clearly there had been problems between the two men in the past.

Raising his tankard and bumping it against yours, he looked at you closely over the top of the rim. "Bottom's up, doll." He said, and brought the tankard to his lips. Not wanting to be outdone, you bring your full mug to your lips and drank, wanting to keep pace with the rogue. But, instead of putting the tankard down after a few gulps, Dervish simply holds your gaze and continues to drink, his throat working down gulp after gulp of the sweet liquid, though the taste was quickly becoming acrid to your inexperienced throat as you attempted to match him. But you kept swallowing despite the taste, determined not to be outdone. Even as you felt yourself become lightheaded, the **** really taking its toll. Too much too quickly. Finally you had drained the entire tankard, and quickly pounded it on the bar. Your world started to spin, and you put out a hand to steady yourself, gripping onto the wooden bar. Though you tried to avoid it, the sight of Dervish's smug face was visible through your swimming vision. "Having trouble, missy? Seems like this might not be much of a competition..." You grit your teeth. You can do this... You can wipe the smug grin off his face... "You know you can give up whenever ya like, and I'll be pocketing your pretty gold..." That was it. There was no way you'd give up. You could beat him.

After a few seconds of composing yourself, and shaking the feeling back into your legs, you take the drink that had appeared from an even more concerned looking Barliman. You were going to beat this bastard... Even if it kills you...

The drinking game continued. By your 3rd of the game, 6th and a half overall, your cheeks were a deep shade of rouge, and you swayed obviously in your chair. Bladder filled to bursting, you excused yourself to stumble out of the tavern and to the outhouse. Your stumbling gait was met with a round of applause from the patrons, who had obviously clocked on to the impromptu test of your constitution. Most were staring at your ass of course, but you were too drunk to care. You offered them a simple wave and a lopsided smile on your return, cheeks all the redder from the frigid night air, before stumbling back to your stool. The fresh air had almost made you throw up, but doing your business had lessened the effects somewhat.

Only for you to throw away your progress immediately by matching Dervish as he downed yet another tankard. When that was done, your vision swam yet again, and both hands were needed to keep yourself in your seat. You were granted a merciful reprieve after one of the patrons asked you to regale them with the story of how you rid the town of the orcs, to which you told them in a fabulous, though sometimes slurred, drawl. You changed some of the details of course, to make your order (and yourself) look better. When you were done, your audience all raised a tankard to you and drank, which you copied, much to Dervish's obvious glee. "To the... To the Faith of Lucretia!" You shouted, and that was met by another cheer and another drink, which you of course matched. You almost didn't notice a few men and women spit on the floor instead of matching the toast. That made your heart burn with rage, though you were quickly distracted by more drink.

It was the 5th of the game that finally bested you. Barliman had tried to refuse, but it was you, not Dervish that convinced him. You batted your eyebrows, offered him a sweet, if not lopsided smile, with your head tilted to one side. And he couldn't resist such a pretty face... Since when were there two Barlimans... Or would it be Barlimen? He never told you he had a twin... You saw both men turn and go into the back, muttering something in unison about draining a barrel that was meant to last at least the next two nights. Banishing such unimportant tripe, you brought the tankard to your lips and drank deep. When you put it down however, you swayed in your seat once more, though for some reason your hands thought it prudent to keep hold of the drink, rather than the bar. You fell off the stool with a great clatter, mostly because of your armour, though the noise was quickly drowned out by laughter. The sound seemed... Distant, and you frowned and stared around, trying to get everything to stop being so blurry. But no matter how hard you tried, everything seemed to be blurred, as if staring through the stained glass window in the chapel back home... Home... You miss home...

Suddenly, you felt someone's arms under your triceps, and you are pulled up to about kneeling height, though your feet didn't find the ground. You were swiftly ushered out of the drinking room and up the stairs, your steel boots dragging across the wooden planks, making a horrible noise, forcing you to wince. "Wus..." You murmur, blinking a few times before managing to stare up at whatever was guiding you up here. Finally, your vision focuses to see the bottom of Dervish's scarred chin, the scar all the more pronounced here. "Derv... You..." The words, all jumbled and practically unintelligible, tumble from your lips, where a small amount of cider dribbles down."What are you..." You murmur as you are guided, quite painfully, up the stairs, your greaves banging against each stair.

"I never was one to take gold from a woman... At least not willingly. So I'll be taking something worth just as much from ya. I'm sure you won't mind." The rogue says, though you understand maybe half. "Just being chivalrous. Can't hear any complaints coming from that pretty mouth a'yours." He offers with a smirk, finally reaching upstairs and finding the room you had rented. Using the key, that he must have pickpocketed from you sometime during the night, he unlocks it, and quickly brings you inside. "You know, you remind me of my Ma." Dervish says, shutting the door and locking it after you. Your head feels like it's in the clouds, and you can barely focus on more than one thing at a time, and even then that focus only lasts a few seconds. "All nice and proper. Prim and self righteous." You find yourself rather strangely on a rather comfy bed, though it's comfort is somewhat nullified by the armour you still wear. You stare up at the ceiling, everything is blurred and seems so far away. "Tellin' people how they should be. What they should do." Suddenly, Dervish's face comes into view a few inches from your own. It is in perfect focus. You smell the cider on his breath, and could count each individual hair on his 5 o'clock shadow.

"I hated Ma."