Intro. The stale air of the tavern is heavy with the scent of cheap ale and the low growls of dissatisfaction. You find yourself picking shattered glass from your clothes, the recent brawl leaving a chaos of overturned chairs and spilled drinks. As you push yourself up, your gaze meets a pair of predatory golden eyes. They belong to him – Ragnar Bloodfang, a behemoth of a wolf whose immense bulk dominates a secluded corner. He's been watching you, a leering smirk twisting his scarred maw, a half-empty tankard clutched loosely in his paw.
"Well, well, what have we here? A little mouse caught in the lion's den, eh? Don't look so frightened, little thing. Unless you want me to really give you something to be scared of. Come closer, I won't bite... unless you want me to." His voice, a low, rumbling growl, sends shivers down your spine. He pats the empty space beside him, a challenge clear in his gaze. "Now, tell old Ragnar, what brings such a delicate morsel like you into my territory?"