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Post by Sugarphix on Jul 23, 2015 5:30:33 GMT -5
Tsunami looks at the jug bearing the XX warily. She knows this isn't going to end well. She has something to prove, she's a pirate after all, but she's paid five golden nixes, and that's an aweful lot of alcohol to waste...or at least that's what she might have thought if she had any kind of sense left.
She gustily grabs the shot, throws it back, wipes her mouth off on her sleeve and smiles. The firey buzz of the alcohol hits her tummy.
The feeling of warmth within her lifts like a tidal wave. Her smile faulters. She drops the shot glass.
She runs, staggering, falling twice, to the latrine.
(16+2=18 not quite high enough = out)
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Post by Kosga on Jul 23, 2015 6:22:33 GMT -5
"To Lyle!!" I semi shout as I raise my glass. With one small gulp it goes down.
"Now that's the good stuff!" I say while trying not to let on that I too am feeling my drinks.
1d20+7
11+7 = 18 (fail-tipsy)
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Post by DM-Delfon on Jul 23, 2015 9:13:04 GMT -5
DM: Old Borris pulls out a third jug, this one is marked with a XXX, "We have another drop out, and it looks like she's in for a terrible evening." He shakes his head sadly, "Her loss could be your gain. Here comes the next round." New shot glasses are set out and the staff fill them with liquid that smells like the stuff they thin paint with.
Round 7: Con save DC 22 please... Knuckles (Tipsy), Bragah (Tipsy), and Mac (Drunk), Smith (Drunk), Tsunami (Out), Lyle (Out)
Smith: Smith is past the point of caring, his belly is too full of liquid regardless of alcohol content. He knocks the shot back with a scowl, burps, and silent tears roll down his cheeks as the back-burn of the burp incinerates his throat and sinuses.
Con save 11+2=13 (Pass - Drunk, Still not a mistake)
Mac: Mac tosses back the shot, and holds back a single cough, "I do be guessss da first shot burndid out my throat, or I'm drunkeryer than I thinked, maybe both. I do barely felt that one."
Con save 19+3=22 (Pass - Drunk - Mac is out next round, he simply can't pass the DC.)
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Post by DM-Boneyard Ben on Jul 23, 2015 12:21:44 GMT -5
"Bahah! Another one down" Bragah laughs, still swishing in his seat. He stares intently at the glass being filled before him with wide eyed wonder, like a child at a sweets shop. He hums happily and scoops up his glass and takes a deep whiff of the contents. He adopts a British accent. "Mmm! An excellent speciemen of liquor, Master Borris, simply delightful" His trademark shit-eating grin and downs the contents, like a boss!
(Nat 20!+7=27, Pass, Tipsy)
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Post by Kosga on Jul 23, 2015 15:53:03 GMT -5
Knocks back his drink with a sly smile. "Whoo that was a good one. They be a dropping like cheap......"
1d20+7
18+7 = 25(pass-Tipsy)
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Post by DM-Delfon on Jul 24, 2015 8:25:12 GMT -5
DM: Old Borris pulls on thick leather gloves, and replaces his pristine white apron with a thick leather apron that looks like it belongs on a forge worker. Ruby hands him a wooden fullhelm, with glass fitted so he can see. The servers back away as Borris pours a steaming liquid into shot glasses from a thick clay coated glass bottle tightly wrapped in twine. Any droplets that land on the table smoke immediately. When the drinks are set in front of each of you, Borris asks that you don't drink until you all have one. When each man has a drink, Borris announces, "I don't have anything stronger than this stuff. It is not for the faint of heart, and people have died from drinking too much of it."
(from here just keep rolling until you're out, whom ever lasts longest wins. List it in paragraph, con save, paragraph con save form until you fail and are out. Beside the con saves write which round it is for please.)
Round 8+: Con save DC 24 please...
Smith: Smith knocks back his shot, and keeps on falling backwards. He lands flat on his back, and is completely unconscious.
Con save 1(nat)+2=3 (Fail - Out)
Mac: Mac Holds up his hands, "Nope, no, no ways." He stands, swaying, "One o' me mates died drinkin' dis stufff." He takes a step back, staggering badly. "I is out."
Con save N/A (Fail - Out)
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Post by Kosga on Jul 24, 2015 11:52:54 GMT -5
"Umm Boris are you sure this stuff is fit for anyone but the heartiest of the hearty?' Knocks back the first drink. "Whoaaaaaa, that is some strong ****!!!" Inadvertently slams down his glass. Shakes my head to clear the cobwebs a bit before looking over at Bragah. "Your turn."
Round 8 1d20+7
17+7 = 24
Round 9 1d20+7
20+7 = 27
Round 10 1d20+7
10+7 = 17 (fail--Drunk)
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Post by DM-Boneyard Ben on Jul 24, 2015 12:30:09 GMT -5
"Bahaha! This is nothin'" Bragah says and downs two glasses at once. His head then smacks down on the bar with a loud thud. Ol' Boris checks his Bouncer and he's fiiiiine. Just unconscious.
Round 8 (5+7=14, fail, Drunk.)
Round 9 (17+7=24, fail, Out. No, thats not a mistake)
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Post by DM-Delfon on Jul 24, 2015 20:48:32 GMT -5
Old Borris slides Knuckles his tenth drink, "If you can manage to stay alive through this drink, you will the pot, twenty five gold phoenixs and the title of the Wayfarer's Rest Master of Booze." You knock it back, swaying and cursing as you feel your insides rebelling against this foul substance that's near enough to literally burning it's way through you, but you manage it. Old Borris laughs, "Well done my Dwarven friend. Here you go!" The gathered crowd cheers as you take your purse containing twenty five gold phoenixs.
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Post by Kosga on Jul 26, 2015 6:20:32 GMT -5
"I would like to take a very brief moment to thank everyone for donating there hard earned gold to my worthy hiccccc cause. I will take my leave of this intoxicating evening now."
Scoops up every one the the 25 golden coins and heads up to his room for the evening.
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