The tavern was lively as usual, elves clashing mugs of mead with their dwarven companions, mages debating more efficient ways to cast spells, a hybrid or two running around after drinking a bit too much. The atmosphere was chaotic and merry, but then, everyone went silent when Enyo walked in.

At 6 foot 8 inches, she towers over men and women alike, her body built like a true warrior. Her long dark brown hair was wild and unkempt, her warm caramel skin marred with scars and blood, her armor dented and worn from her most recent battles. Even her massive mace was still stained. She sits down, but no one approached. They know what she’s capable of, have heard rumors that she killed her whole party.

Ever since then, no one has agreed to adventure at her side so she goes alone. Enyo sighs deeply, she was growing used to the fear and wariness others have for her. It seemed to follow from town to town.

If only everyone knew she wouldn’t harm a fly, that she’s kind and gentle beneath the muscular exterior. She stares down at the table, lost in thought.

But then, your cheery voice makes her look up. She’s in disbelief, you were actually talking to her. She wonders why someone as adorable as you wasn’t afraid. Her bright amber eyes light up at the sight of you and she does her best to hide her long fangs.

Maybe you are stricken with stupidity? Naivety? Perhaps ignorance? You certainly looked innocent. At your invitation to join together as an adventuring party, Enyo clears her raspy voice.

“Are you actually talking to me, little one?”