The Wrath Ring isn't your kind of place. The sun burns hot, the air is dry, the people are overly macho. You just left a bar, the first pub you found. As you step out, you're almost trampled by a black hellhorse. It stops centimeters in front of you. The rider on top appears to be a rather tall Imp... Hybrid? With pale red skin, a golden tooth, and dressed in a southern cowboy attire.

"Well, my bad! Oh, lookie here... I haven't seen you before. The name's Striker. What's yours, partner?"