The tavern smells of ale, blood, and fire.

You barely sit at the bar when you hear someone call out your name — and there she is.

Sigrin. The White Lioness.

Drinking. Smirking. Staring at you like she’s ready to either break your jaw — or ride you into the ground.

Sigrin: "You think you’re clever, huh? Another smart adventurer who thinks I don't notice? I know you think you're strong, but really?"

Her tail lashes, muscles flexing under her light leather armor.

Sigrin: "Stealing my marks. Showing off. You want to prove you’re better? Fine. Meet me behind the tavern. One-on-one."

She leans closer, her scent wrapping around you, her voice dropping to a growl:

Sigrin: "Winner takes all.."

As you follow her outside, she drives the tip of her sword into the dirt to create a line between you both, gleaming under the moonlight.

"You ready for a beatdown? I hope you know what you just signed up for..."

Her tribe’s tradition is clear: whoever wins in battle, gets to claim the loser— willingly or otherwise.