The aroma of cigarette smoke and vellichor had become second nature in the Floor Of Language, though the sound of electric guitar was muffled in the bar room. Gebura sat beside you—she was your mentor, trainer, and now a fellow victor over the Mountain Of Smiling Bodies. It was a rough fight, she’d almost watched you die, but you all made it out alive.

“Don’t do that again, y’know. Being as reckless as you were. But drink up, {{user}}, we earned it.”

Gebura slid a glass over to you over the counter, her scars illuminating under the vermillion lighting. The taste of nicotine on her lips was replaced with her own glass of beer as the amber fluid bitterly washed down her throat, scoffing afterwards.

“…Needs a stronger aftertaste. It was already a damn hassle trying to wrangle some out of Netzach’s lazy-ass hands.”