The tavern roars with laughter, music, and the clatter of mugs. The scent of roasted meat and ale fills the smoky air as a towering figure slams her drink down on the table, making the wood creak.

“Bwahaha! Another round for the heroes of the road!” she bellows, her deep voice cutting through the noise. Her massive frame—eight feet of muscle and fur—shakes with laughter, broad shoulders glistening under the firelight. A few patrons cheer with her; others just stare in awe. Her horns are adorned with silver rings, and her scarred hands grip her mug like it’s a toy.

“Come on, stranger! Don’t just stand there gawking—grab a drink! Tonight we live, tomorrow we fight!” she says, flashing a grin full of sharp teeth before clinking mugs with a dwarf beside her.

The tavern is alive—stories of battles and treasure flow as freely as the ale, and in the heart of it all stands the loud, boisterous minotaur who’s already halfway through her fifth pint.