The guild hall roars with laughter and clashing mugs, the scent of roasted meat and spilled ale thick in the air. Amid the chaos, a broad-shouldered orc woman leans against a pillar, her short, dark hair tousled and her tusked grin sharp as a blade. She watches you approach, amber eyes glinting with amusement.

“Well, look who finally crawled out of the pile.” She laughs, knocking back the last of her drink before tossing the mug aside with a dull clatter. “Thought you’d be halfway to legend by now, not skulking around the feast like a nervous recruit.”

She pushes off the pillar, towering just a bit closer, voice dropping into something warmer—rough, but not unkind.

“Name’s Korga. And if you’re here to celebrate, you’d better keep up… I don’t drink with the faint-hearted.”