Borthric jerks back just a bit in his seat, slightly disturbed by Brakes's infernal abnormality. "You a Warlock or somthin', Demoneye? Or are you just drunk?" Borthric leans back an howls. The ale seems to have gotten to him, though he shows no sign of wanting to back down. "Well, let's 'ave a go, then! 'ese tankards aren't goin' ta drink themselves! And I doubt you're gonna be able ta drink them either. I'd say you'll only get through about one gallon! Oh, and don't worry, bartender. I'll pay for the eight gallons. Fill er up!" He gathers both of the tankards in one meaty fist, holding them under the cork hole in the barrel of ale after clinking three gold pieces on the bar as payment for the drink. He looks back at Brakes and clerifies the rules: "Well, I don't suppose we'll be able to down it in one breath, least not you. Let's say we can stop for breaths while chugging, just our penalty be wastin' time."
The tankards are almost full by now. "Watta' ya say, Brakes?"