Knights Apocalyptica

“Your Kingdom’s first friendly competition,” Forrest said, a grin on his face as he looked across from the table at Erec. He ran a hand through his greased pompadour. "So why not? Between you and me, who can handle the liquor more? That is, once you catch up with me. I’m four cups deep… So if you drink three back to back, we can call that an even starting point. Back in Vega, in the Casinos… We consider that a courtesy. Gotta match your new friends.”

Forrest grinned as Erec stared him down, feeling the Fury rising in his blood. It didn't matter what kind of competition it was—fighting, arm wrestling, a spar. That's what Erec's heart truly desired in its burning glory: a contest where they went against one another.

He looked down at the alcohol that Forrest had summoned to their table, via the woman around whom he had an arm wrapped when Erec arrived.

The alcohol appearing at their table, drew even more attention to them. After the earlier confrontation between a knight and a visitor, the crowd was primed for spectacle—exactly what Forrest wanted. They had become the center of attention in this tent bar.

Dimly, Erec heard the musician’s notes playing in the background and softened.

"I will not lose to you," Erec declared, puffing out his chest. However, he wasn't much of a drinker, so the truth was, he didn’t know. The spark burning in him yelled that he wouldn’t, but Fury didn’t like to think through things.

Vega had a developed drinking culture, so a Magi from there would naturally be proficient in drinking contests.

Erec’s thoughts shifted to the rules that Dame Robin had set forth.

What would this competition accomplish for him? Seeing Forrest sway as he was already several cups deep, Erec firmed up his mind. Even if he had to drink three back-to-back to play since the other man had been day drinking…

If he could get key details about why Forrest was supposed to be a threat, he could prepare for their fight in the tournament and then overpower him.

He could take advantage of Forrest's lax judgment to gather intelligence without violating Dame Robin's rules—he wouldn't fight or make commitments on behalf of the Kingdom, though he sorely wished for the former.

This was a simple agreement for a drinking competition that seemed well within his rights, set out by the Lieutenant Knight.

"Alright," Erec agreed, hearing a buzz in his head.

[Did you want me to neutralize the alcohol in your blood?] It was Val who offered a cheat through this competition.

Erec thought about it, wondering what the right call was.

He didn't like drinking. He needed to keep a neutral head. This wasn't exactly a situation where it was life or death, though. And another part of Erec chimed in deeper—that silver fire, speaking of honor. He would make a commitment to this duel.

Though it wasn't a duel with blades, part of him felt the need to abide by the terms set forth. What was he as a Knight if his word wasn't what he went by? Where was the honor in cheating?

“No,” Erec whispered to Val. It would be easy to let his companion enable him to cheat his way through this competition.

But when had Erec ever been one for the easy road?

"I agree," Erec said, gesturing for the three beers to come forward. In short order, he downed them. The taste was sour with a slight tang of oak. He instantly recognized it.

One of the kingdom's finest was well-renowned in the deep caverns below. To him, even if he didn’t often partake, it tasted of home. And it was strong. Oak Cavern Brew.

And here, as it burned in his gullet, it would be a source of strength, making that fire inside burn all the brighter. He entered this contest not just as a representative of himself, but of his people.

Sitting in his chest and traveling down to his stomach, the heat was a welcome friend. He felt a rush in his head as the alcohol started to take root. His Vigor counteracts part of the effects.

He felt a silver fire burst with embers inside. Honorable choice. Cheating disregards the ancient laws we abide by. He wasn't sure where the certainty came from. It almost felt like the thoughts of the Knight whom he'd encountered at the round table.

Forrest watched as Erec set his last cup down, a big grin spreading across his face. "Well done. It seems someone has hair on their chest." He laughed with a couple of companions around him as he gestured for more cups to appear in front of them. "How about this?" he said, looking at his empty table.

Suddenly, another cup of the dark brown amber liquid appeared in front of them both, courtesy of the girl Forrest had his arm around earlier.

"For each cup you drink faster than me, you will get a question. I will get a question for each cup I drink faster than you. The one who's last standing and doesn't tap out is the winner."

"And what do I win when I outdrink you?" Erec asked.

He smiled. "The pride of knowing that they're going into this tournament a winner against the other. Don't underestimate how much pride can play into your strength, Steely.”

Erec still felt that competitive edge in him, riled at this smarmy grin his future enemy wore. He wanted to win, to see him concede, to see him bow out in defeat. That part of Erec couldn't be denied. It was as natural as breathing to feel that way, so he embraced it and leaned into the heat and edge it gave him.

"Sure," Erec agreed. "I can abide by those terms."

Forrest smiled, then put a handle on his cup, looking at the girl to the side, “Once both hands are on our handles, my friend will count down from three. Then we go.”

He looked over to the girl at the side of the table, waiting for Erec also to put his hand on his handle. The moment he did, the girl began to count down quickly. "Three, two, one."

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With the cue, the cup snapped to Erec’s lips.

It was fire inside, burning bright as more liquid courage poured into his stomach. Forrest’s eyes widened as he too slammed his cup, beating him to the punch.

A couple of seconds later, Forrest was the one who finished first. The table creaked as he slammed his cup back down onto it. Erec stopped looking at his.

There was still about a third left for him.

Forrest belched, “Gonna need to do better than that, Steely.”

Erec rubbed his eyes, then carefully finished the rest of his beer, setting the mug down. There was a sting of to his pride; he’d had the advantage, and somehow Forrest just drank faster. It didn’t bode well for the rest of the competition.

There was a cheer around them as the bystanders congratulated Forrest—for a moment, the Magi basked in it, before silencing them with a laugh.

“Right then, first question is mine. Like the rest will be.” Forrest said with too much self-confidence. "I've heard you slayed a monster here that no one else could. They called it a threat, unlike what had been seen by your kingdom for years. Now, I want to know, what source of power can give you, someone on my level, the ability to take down a threat that not even your Archmagi could?"

By Archmagi, Erec figured he was referring to the Grand Masters. They were, at least from the perspective of someone from Vega, of the same strength. So, it was a fair question. How had he, an initiate, been able to defeat an enemy that the Grand Masters were struggling to take down?

“It was my talent,” Erec answered, compelled by his word. If it had been something Kingdom sensitive, and breaking the rules Robin laid down, that was different. This piece of information was earned. “It strengthens me, but it also formed a mental barrier between me and the Stag. That’s what I slew, and my Talent let me overcome the biggest strength of that foe. It targeted the mind.”

Erec won because he was a bad match-up for the stag.

More alcohol appeared on the table as the question had been answered, and the look in Forrest’s eyes had changed. He leaned in, head cocked like he’d stumbled upon some detail.

Forrest almost spilled his newest beer, and laughed when he noticed the cup almost tipping over.

Erec groaned, feeling sluggish now. What could he do? He’d clearly underestimated Forrest. The guy knew how to drink, and Erec did not. Even though he knew Vega had the culture of it… Well, maybe his Vigor would let him go for longer…

But if every round until the end went like that, he’d get nothing out of the guy.

Forrest rested his hand on the mug, waiting. The second that Erec also did, the woman would begin to count down again. Once more, they would begin another round.

How do I win?

There were limits to what Erec could do here. He wouldn't cheat with Val to out-drink his opponent, but he was never told that he couldn't use his talent.

As far as he was aware, a drinking contest was a far cry from a battle that would get him in trouble. The embers of Fury inside him brightened as he grinned. He set his hand on his mug and let the Fury in his chest ignite. It was easy, Forrest drew it out for him. A trigger of anger and competition that made fanning the flames and catching them alight a matter of course.

The countdown came in slow motion for him—the second she finished saying one, the cup was at Erec’s lips as he embraced his talent. He abused it to improve his muscles and fight through the pain of having all the beer waterfall down his throat.

His mug slammed down first, and Forrest belched after finishing his, a second later.

“Damn. You went and used your talent for this?” Forrest asked, his bleary eyes focusing and unfocusing as he stared down at Erec.

“Was it in the rules not to?” Erec slurred, to the cheers of the crowd around him.

“Naw, but damn.” Forrest shook his head again and leaned back in his chair, gesturing to the poor woman who had been getting them drinks the entire time. “Guess I owe you one, so ask.”

“Seems fair to me that since you know my Talent, I should know yours.”

Forrest sighed and swayed in his spot, “Sure, fine. My talent is that I can amplify my spells with music.”

Erec stared at him long as the words passed through his sluggish brain. By the second, the alcohol was taking effect and rooting deep through him, five beers practically back to back had an impact, even with a higher Vigor.

“How does that work…?” he trailed off, unable to conceptualize it.

Forrest grinned and put his hand on the new mug before him, looking at Erec’s. “See if you win again, and you can have the right to ask.”

“Fine,” Erec growled in response, and grabbed his own mug.

Neither of them waited for the girl to count down; there was an implicit understanding. The cups went to their mouths, then down their throats, as both sped to beat the other.

Erec slammed his down first, losing hold of the mug as it tipped over, empty. Forrest was there a second later, groaning as he failed to win.

“What is your weakness?” Erec slurred loudly, not waiting for anything else. Forrest stumbled back in his chair, eyes wide.

“You can’t ask that, man! Aint fair, aint a good question.”

There were boo’s immediately from their bystanders, finding the refusal to be a breach of the purity of the drinking competition.

“What rules say I can’t?” Erec argued, his words slurring. Now with his inhibitions lowered… It was easier than ever to pull at Fury. He felt a spark of anger, and it smoldered in his chest.

Forrest looked around at the people and blanched, “Not in front of everyone.”

“Then come over here,” Erec said, gesturing for the guy to head over… Forrest looked at the ground, swore, and then stumbled up, swaying heavily as he maneuvered around the table.

I might have underestimated him, but he underestimated Cavern Beer…

Once Forrest reached his side, he whispered his secret, “Mysticism is my highest Virtue, by far. Without it, I’m nothing. People don’t realize that.” He stumbled back and shook his head, this time speaking louder, “Damn, I can’t believe I just…”

Forrest tripped over his own feet, falling on the ground with a crash and a swear. The crowd laughed—and the woman in the shiny dress was there in a second, by his side.

What was that? Erec’s brain churned as he tried to make sense of the weakness. He burned it into his memory—or if that failed, he knew VAL would have it down. Just how he could take advantage of it… Right now, he couldn’t piece it together, but he saw maybe a way. Maybe if he asked Boldwick or Colin?

“Just help me up…”

“No, Forrest. You’re done. Game over.” She said.

“I’m not—“

She stopped him by putting a finger to his lips and giving him a severe glare. Her eyes rested on Erec. “Congratulations, Sir Knight. You have won your drinking competition.”

There was another round of cheers—Erec tried to stand up, to see if Forrest was truly alright. But he found that his legs didn’t agree with his desire to move.

Shit.

He stumbled, and VAL caught him in the Armor. The world blurred around him.

[I’ll be removing the alcohol from your blood now. Things are going to get a little worse before they get better. I take it that is satisfactory, Buckeroo—because it seems we have help.]

“Help…?” Erec muttered.

Suddenly, Garin was there, at his side, lifting him up and dragging him away from Forrest and the table. “Jeez, man. I thought you would be getting in a fight, not this. Drinking? You? I’m stunned. I suppose it wasn’t against the rules, but—you know. Nevermind. Let’s get out of here.”

Erec listened with half an ear, still not understanding when or where Garin appeared from. He tried to get a look back at Forrest, but failed. VAL was helping manipulate the Armor to make sure he left…

Too much, Erec thought, feeling a pit in his stomach from the alcohol.

“Need… Out…” Erec communicated, feeling the beer boiling in his stomach, the fire only eased it somewhat, but he shied away from pulling further on his Fury. What went down was going to come up… And he needed an alley.

“Oh, no. I know that face,” Garin swore and sped up, escorting them out of the tent. “Congratulations, and also… Goddess damnit. I thought that Colin would be the one to need me to swoop in to save the day. Seems I was wrong.”

Erec let the words slip by and simply let his friend guide him. Grateful, as always, to have a friend like Garin in his life. And already deeply regretting his life choices that got him here.