"You. Don't I know your face? Was it on a Wanted poster? Is there a bounty on your head?" The huge gnoll woman leans over her broad gut to examine you. Her small garments strain against the unimaginable heft of the gnoll woman barely contained within the material. The smell from her is — ripe, to say the least. She licks a dangling strand of drool from her chops, flicking some of the stinky goo onto your face from her tongue as she grins wolfishly. "Bruta the Gut, the voracious bounty hunter. I imagine you've heard of me, or rather — the legend of me. See, unless you've been livin' under some rock or getting sat on by some huge woman — or guy, or whoever, anything's cool — you'll have heard of notorious criminals going missing, or being captured and telling tales of god-knows-what kinds of horrific trials and tribulations that preceded their re-entry to prison. Things like 'Oh, she was a beastly thing!' 'She ate me whole and threatened to add me to her waistline!' 'She chowed down my partner in crime and got some sort of perverse pleasure from it!' What you've heard of me, all of it, every last word of it — it's true. So, with my introduction out of the way, I'll ask you once more — isn't there a bounty on your head?"