Kiren felt a buzz as he made his way across the room, the alcohol moving quickly through his body. Spirits went through him like water, always had. It was one of the few curses his Power had bestowed upon him.

There was an unholy clamoring behind him. Kiren glanced back. A Hero in a tattered cloak strode atop the bar, strumming a lute with mismatched strings. He danced as he played a simple, joyful tune that seemed to reverberate through the floor and every person in the room. Apprentices and Heroes alike sang along, to various degrees of success.

Wait, I remember this song. What’s it called? Mug used to sing it after he’d had one too many. It’s…

Blacksmith’s Daughter! That’s the one!

Kiren felt himself humming along, lingering at the edge of the hall. He settled against the wall and took another sip, bobbing his head at the good bits.

Maybe I’ll stick around for a few minutes, after all. Good song and everything, what’s the rush?

The bard was picked up by another, larger Hero, hoisted over the man’s head. He hoisted the musician into the air and he ascended gracefully, floating like a wish on the wind. He continued playing, legs splayed as his fingers danced across the strings.

“Songbird! Songbird! Songbird!” the apprentices hollered, clapping their hands with the music.

Kiren blinked at the stars in his vision and had another drink.

“I-it’s pretty nice, isn’t it?”

Kiren glanced over. Tommyn was standing next to him, a mouse peeking out of his green shock of hair.

“The induction is the one day of the year e-everyone can let loose. Including the Heroes. They work themselves too hard, y-you know?”

“I guess,” Kiren said. He wasn’t in the mood to rebuke the kid.

Sip.

“Where’s your friend? I thought you two were stuck together like glue.”

Tommyn pointed out onto the floor. Kiren followed his finger, squinting.

There he was, the big blond bastard, dancing with Lace. He had a hand in hers, twirling her around like he’d spent half his years practicing. She laughed a sparkling laugh, brown hair whipping around her rosy cheeks.

He’s having far too much fun. About time for someone to ruin it.

“Well, good talk,” Kiren said, raising his bottle. “I have some urgent matters to attend to.” His tongue felt swollen and clumsy.

He staggered over to where Haden and Lace were, pushing his way through the apprentices along the way. A few shot him some none-too-kind words, but he didn’t bother with them.

Haden didn’t see him as he approached. Kiren tapped him on the shoulder and waited patiently, dowsing his throat with another mouthful of firewine.

Haden looked back, still moving his feet.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said, a frown forming. “I’m preoccupied at the moment, as you can tell. We can talk later.”

“Speaking like a proper little lord, aren’t you?” Kiren asked. “You’d have everyone scraping and bowing if you could, wouldn’t you?”

“Guys, seriously,” Lace said. She stared at them both with obvious displeasure. “This is supposed to be a fun, simple night. You’re both good guys—don’t ruin this for yourselves.”

“I’m not picking a fight,” Haden said, putting up his hands. “I don’t know why your friend is all in my face. And for your information, Kiren, I am a Trodvis. Seventeenth child of Lord Astar Trodvis, the White Fang. Nephew of Mara Trodvis, the Siegebreaker. Grandson of late Lord Gunnar Trodvis, the Old Wolf. Inheritor of my family’s will. It would serve you well to address me with a modicum of respect.”

“Ah, of course you are,” Kiren said. He took a wobbly step back, taking another drink. “Seventeenth child, you said? Your mother must have spent half her life with her legs spread.”

Haden’s nostrils flared. Lace gripped his hand tighter, but he pulled away. He stepped close to Kiren, their faces centimeters apart. His blue eyes were wide with rage.

“I have many mothers,” Haden said. “One father. I may be the seventeenth son, but I was the one to inherit the Trodvis family legacy. Do not push your luck, gutter rat. I’ll forgive your indiscretion with Tommyn for the sake of your friend, but if you step over the line one more time…”

“Or what, you’ll pummel me like a mindless brute? That’s what your family are, aren’t they? A collection of brainless, grandstanding snobs, each licking the asshole placed directly above them on the social ladder.”

“Kiren, why—” Lace started.

Haden lifted him up by the front of his doublet, the stiff fabric digging into his shoulders and back. He held him high over the floor with both hands.

“Hitting you will be a start,” Haden said. “I’ll have to come up with something more creative after that. Wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”

“No fighting!” Lace hissed, glancing around. “You’ll get kicked out! Not to mention you’ll get hurt over this nonsense!”

“Only one of us is getting hurt,” Haden said. “I’m sure your friend won’t mind. I hear he heals up quick.”

“Test your might!” someone called. “Challenge your comrades! Drink until you drop!”

Kiren sucked down the last trickle from his bottle and let it fall. He burped in Haden’s face.

“That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea,” he said. “Drinking game. How do you fancy your chances?”

“You think I’m going to play some stupid game with you?” Haden asked.

“Y-you need to get this out-out of your systems,” Tommyn said, walking over at a brisk pace. He put a hand on Haden’s thick forearm. “Let him g-go, okay?”

Haden blinked once, then did as he was asked. Kiren hit the floor and readjusted his doublet. He sighed. The buzz was already starting to fade.

“I think that sounds like a great idea,” Lace said. “Let’s have some fun.”

“How about it?” Kiren asked. He spread his arms. “You a coward? Or do you need your auntie’s permission?”

Haden glanced at the drained bottle of firewine at his feet, jaw set.

“I’m no coward. Let’s do it.”

They went over to where the drinking game was being held. It was a small table with two seats, several dozen mugs placed on one side. It was being announced by a Hero in long, blue robes that trailed on the floor. She had sharp, black nails and frizzy, brown hair that went over her eyes.

“Master Wordsmith!” Haden said. “I didn’t expect to see you up here–if you don’t mind me saying!”

The woman smirked through thin, cracked lips. “Yes, I planned to spend the evening organizing the books on Prophet’s premonitions, but Bloodhound stopped by and told me to take a break. I thought ‘why not?’. It’s been an eternity since I ventured beyond my usual confines. So here I am! Will you be the first ones up to the challenge?”

“Yes,” Kiren and Haden said at the same time. He had a seat, and the blond man sat opposite.

“Fantastic! We will keep this simple. When I make the call, start drinking. I will give you an hour. The one who finishes the most mugs in that time before they cannot continue is the winner! Each mug must be fully drained before you move onto the next, and any form of vomiting will result in disqualification.” She brought out a dark grey slate of flat stone and wrote down their names with a piece of chalk.

Tommyn and Lace watched from the sidelines.

“Are you both ready?” Wordsmith asked.

“Sure,” Kiren said.

“Yup,” Haden said.

She placed a mug of ale before each of them. “Then begin!”

Kiren started chugging the first mug of bittersweet liquid. Haden swept his in a single go and reached for the next.

He certainly doesn’t lack for capacity.

Kiren kept drinking, slowly and steadily, as he stacked cups on top of each other. He felt nothing. Haden was similarly knocking them back, assembling a small tower of cups.

They stopped drinking at the same time and shared a look.

“Stronger,” Kiren said.

Haden nodded.

“Why, I never…” Wordsmith said, drawing another tally on her slate. “We have a pair of real lead bellies. Very well, then.”

With one of her black nails, she drew words on the remaining mugs. Kiren took one of them and read the word scratched in black ink on its side.

‘STRONG’ it read.

“Uh, I’m not sure that’s good enough,” Kiren said with a frown.

“Just have a taste,” Haden said with a smirk.

Kiren chugged the ale and immediately coughed it back into the mug. His mouth filled with the pungent taste of alcohol, crawling all the way back into his throat, making his face heat up. Somehow, the ale had gotten almost as intense as the firewine.

“I take it you’re not familiar with my Power,” Wordsmith said. “Whatever characteristic I write upon an object is made real. The rest of the refreshments will be similarly imbued. Resume drinking at your leisure.”

Kiren kept drinking, not taking his eyes off Haden. Mugs stacked up around them, and Tommyn and Lace were forced to fetch them more from the bar for Wordsmith to enhance, including a couple for themselves.

They sipped on their ale off to the side, chatting amicably.

Kiren was starting to feel the buzz, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Haden had a far larger number of mugs arrayed on his side of the table. He would have to catch up somehow.

“You startin’ to slow down over there?” Haden asked, slurring his words.

Kiren just grinned and grabbed another cup.

I’ve got this. He might be a big guy, but the alcohol goes out of me as quick as I can cram it in. It’s just a matter of time before he keels over.

Kiren’s stomach gurgled. A wet burp came back up when he chugged another mug of ale. He had no choice but to slow his pace. His gut was getting painfully tight.

Maybe I don’t have this after all. I’ve got the tolerance on him, but he’s just so damn big. He’s got the capacity. I can only hope he decks out before I reach my limit.

Between them, they had finished over two dozen mugs.

“I’ve gotta say, you’re keepin’ up pretty good,” Haden said.

“Hard not to, when you’re that slow,” Kiren muttered into a mug, another one ready in the other hand.

Haden drained one of the last remaining mugs and burped so loud that the table vibrated. Swaying in his chair, he reached for another. He grabbed only air and tilted too far to the side. He fell off his seat and hit the floor with a thump that rattled the mugs on the table.

“Haden Trodvis is down for the count!” Wordsmith announced. “However, he still has four cups on you, Kiren. You have one minute to even the tide!”

Kiren let out a noxious burp. He sipped at a mug and struggled to keep it down as the strong liquid went down his throat.

I can do this. I can…

He felt a warm surge in his stomach. He leaned to the side and vomited ale mixed with bile out of his mouth and nose, making a foul-smelling puddle on the floor.

“Disqualified!” Wordsmith announced. “Haden is the winner!”

“Yay…” Haden muttered half-heartedly, still on the floor.

Kiren threw up again, spat, and wiped his mouth. “Motherfucker.”

“Have you got that out of your system now?” Lace asked, putting a hand on his head. “Or do you want to go again?”

Kiren got up, swaying on wobbly legs.

Tommyn went over to pick up his comrade, but the scrawny young man only struggled feebly with one of Haden’s thick arms.

Kiren rounded the table, bent down with a hand on his knee to steady himself, and offered Haden a hand. The blond man took it, and with both him and Tommyn helping they managed to get him back on his feet.

“Thanks,” Haden said. He burped and patted his significantly rounder stomach. “You know, you’re not as bad when you’re too drunk to talk.”

“Just keep your hands off Lace, and I won’t have to bust your nose the next time I see you.”

Haden’s eyebrows shot up. “Lace? What do you…? Oh! Oh… Trust me, it’s not like that.”

“Mmhmm,” Kiren said. “I’m sure.”

There was a clanking of metal against metal, accompanied by heavy footsteps. Kiren looked up. One of those armored knights was coming towards them, a hand on the pommel of his sword. He was dark-skinned, with a severe expression on his angular face. Apprentices moved out of his way, seemingly on instinct. Eager whispers rose in his wake.

The man stopped in front of them. “You four will come with me.”