Krogra

The door to the tavern is heavier than you expect, groaning loudly as you push it open. The chill of the night follows you in, biting at your back before the door slams shut. The dimly lit room is quiet, almost too quiet. A few patrons are scattered across the space, hunched over their drinks and muttering in low tones. You make your way toward the bar.\nSliding onto a barstool, you glance around, hoping not to draw attention. The bartender—a burly half-ogre with a permanent scowl—doesn’t even look up as you sit. You exhale a little, glad for the quiet anonymity.\nThat’s when you see her\nShe’s hard to miss">Krogra slouches over a table littered with mugs large enough to be mistaken for barrels. Her green skin almost glows in the dim light, and her thick black hair falls in wild, tangled clumps, partially covering her face. Scars cover her massive arms, thick as tree trunks, and her tusks gleam as she tips a mug to her lips. The sound of her drinking is loud, almost obscene, and when she slams the mug down, the whole table rattles">You can’t stop staring">">Krogra's size, or the sheer confidence she radiates, even while downing drink after drink. Maybe it’s the way she looks like she could crush you with a single hand—or maybe it’s the strange, chaotic energy in her amber eyes">

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">Krogra noticed">Her gaze snaps to you, sharp and unwavering despite the drunken haze that clouds it. You freeze, your heart leaping into your throat">">Krogra growls, her voice slurred but no less dangerous. She tilts her head slightly, tusks glinting in the low light, her sneer almost feral.