Garden Of The Abyss

Moving past the blacksmith alley, he found himself in what felt like an entirely different section of Yulimium: the houses were different, and formed of rock and steel, and there were much fewer humans, and much more dwarves walking the streets.

He rarely had the chance to encounter dwarves, but they were as expected; short and stocky, built with muscle and beer bellies, most of which displayed lengthy, bristly beards.

"How's it goin' der'?" One such dwarf asked him, a man who stood at half his height with a red, split beard, "lost?"

He shook his head with a wry laugh, "I'm alright."

"Alright den'," the ginger-bearded dwarf went on his way.

At least they seem pretty nice, actually, he thought.

After stopping for a moment, still attached to that one, enticing smell of good grub, he found that the entirety of the separate sector, seeming to belong to the dwarves, smelled of the unmistakable sweet, overpowering scent of beer. In fact, it was a mixture of the aroma of beer, and flaming metal, as the sounds of craftsmanship could still be heard from various points of the sector.

With how potent the smell of alcohol was, he realized it couldn't simply be by them, but it was likely that they also produced it in that sector as well.

I think I heard somewhere that dwarves are the biggest suppliers of beer in this world. No wonder they all stink of it, he laughed to himself, still…isn't it still barely noon, and they're drinking already? Sheesh.

Still, he continued with trust in his nose as he found himself soon standing before a small, tavern-like establishment that was inhabiting a small strip, tucked away between other establishments.

"Guess this is it," he muttered.

Entering the tavern doors, he found it occupied by ninety-percent dwarves, all of whom didn't even recognize his presence as they were yelling and partying, filling their guts with booze.

It was almost overpowering; the potent, sweet smell of beer and wine, but it was somewhat of a relaxing atmosphere it resulted in as he brought himself to one of the tables near the back that was empty.

A fireplace sat on either side of the tavern, filling the place with a warmth that accompanied the heat one would gain from filling their bellies with mead. Though it wasn't lavish, the simple, wooden structure of the tavern was lightened by the cheerful, partying patrons of the establishment.

"A menu?" He looked at the paper already laid on the table.

Reading over it, the choices were incredibly difficult to come to a decision over with his indecisive, empty stomach.

After being offered a beer from a waitress while eyeing the menu, he hesitantly accepted.

Well, what she doesn't know won't hurt, he thought.

"Here ya' go, sir!" The small, but strongly-built dwarves waitress returned with a large mug of golden, foamy liquid, setting it down on the table.

"Thanks!" He told her.

"Want somethin' to eat with that booze?" The freckled, red-haired waitress asked.

"Yeah, I'll have urr…" He hesitated, scoping the menu quickly, finding the first thing that caught his eye, "The honey-smoked boar sounds good."

The dwarven waitress looked delighted at his choice, "That right ther' is our speciality!"

"I'll have that then," he smiled, setting the menu back down as he was left with his booze to hold him off.

As the energetic waitress left, he watched as a seemingly endless amount of beer was served between the partying dwarves.

I always heard that dwarves knew how to have a good time, but this is something else, he smiled.

Raising his mug, he shook it lightly, watching the rich, gold liquid swish side to side in the tall mug.

Lifting it to his lips, he let the ice-cold alcohol slide down his throat, chugging it down one go before slamming the mug down.

"Phew…!" He gasped out after swallowing the entire cup.

It's been awhile since I've drank, but I'm something of a specialist in this field, if I do say so myself, he thought.

"Hoh! Ya' can handle yer' swig for a skinny one!" A stout dwarf with bristly, blonde hair approached his table, with flushed cheeks.

He's drunk, he thought.

"Yeah? I'm just getting started," he replied, wiping the foam from his upper lip, "what about you? At your limit?"

"Hah! Are ye' looking fer'a challenge, lad?!" The dwarven adventurer asked, sitting across from him at the table before burping.

It seemed he had to sit, as the red-cheeked dwarf was stepping over his own feet just standing still.

"Sure," he accepted, "you've got it!".

As the contest of alcohol was established, a crowd had gathered around the table.

"C'mon! C'mon!"

"One holy coin on the ballsy lad!"

"I've got two on Hanorlig!"

Before long, there wasn't any space around the table as seemingly the entirety of the bar had gathered around, with the scent of alcohol becoming absolute with the roaring, partying dwarves already making bets.

A few human adventurers were mixed into the crowd, but they were just as drunk, howling and carrying their mugs with them with cheers.

He knew it well: dwarves were famous for being able to put down gallons of beer, but he didn't shy away.

I've got my own pride—as a russian! There's no other country in the world that drinks more than us–even in this world, I've got to uphold that status! He thought.

"First set!" A brunette, muscular waitress set down a dozen mugs between the two, beginning the challenge.

It seemed to be something already integrated into the tavern itself, which wasn't surprising to him considering the frequency of such contests.

I'm starting with an advantage. This guy—"Hanorlig" I think, already is swaying and slurring his words, he's had a lot himself. I've got this, he told himself.

It wasn't just a harmless, fun game for him; even a simple contest like this, he took seriously.

"How much ye' betting, lad?" Hanorlig asked, already gripping one mug.

"Hm…" He pondered the question with a smirk before holding all five fingers up, "how does five holy coins sound?"

Hanorlig's expression lit up with laughter, spitting out as his unrestrained laughter came forth as he smacked the poor, defenseless table a few times, "Yer' on, lad! Best of luck to ye'!"

"Same to you," he said with a competitive smile.

As they tapped the glasses of their mugs together to mark the start of the contest, the crowd immediately set into roars as they began their consumption.

With the first mug raised, the golden, potent liquid slid down his throat seamlessly before he slammed it down.

"Roooh!"

"Go! Go! Go!"

The crowd cheered on as they both finished the first serving of sweet-scented beer at the same time, prompting them both to immediately pick up the second glass.

It wasn't a few seconds after gulping it down that he slammed the next mug down, letting out a gasp before wiping his lips.

"Are ya' starting to feel it, lad?!" Hanorlig laughed with red cheeks.

He shook his head, feeling his cheeks become slightly red as he felt the warmth of the alcohol begin to settle in, "I'm just getting started!"

–Three.

–Four.

–...Ten.

With the slam of the tenth, empty mug against the table, being replenished every few minutes by the waitresses, he really began to feel it.