An Introduction

"Fourty-seven flagons of mead on the wall…" A thick Prussian accent called out into damp echoic halls. A rather large cat-like figure sat in a dark stone prison cell just below the surface of the great kingdom of Gilead, using her claw to chisel into the wall for the hundredth time a small line that would mark yet another sun's passing spent in there. As if she could even tell when the sun had passed. The only things keeping her internal clock somewhat on schedule were daily rations brought in by the weak men who call themselves guards. She could escape any time she wanted, she was sure. But she didn't mind it in there, she never did mind being left alone. She looked around. Well, at least somewhat alone. Solidarity was a peaceful bliss that only ever reached her on rare occasions, and this just so happened to be one of those. Sort of. Besides, fate was better left untouched, resting in the hands of the gods. "Fourty-seven flagons of mead," she continued her song. It was one of her favorites from her time caravanning. "You take one d—"

"Oi! Would you kindly shut the fuck up? I'm tryin' to get me some shuteye, and you're only makin' this hellhole even more of a nightmare!" A high-pitched, raspy voice interrupted her. It sounded Gnomish in nature. She was pretty sure, anyway. Definitely, probably, most likely a gnome.

"Oh dear," she clicked her tongue in sarcastic empathy. "It seems I have lost my place. 'Spose I should start from beginning, no?" An exasperated groan of defeat soon followed.

She loved it- playing mind games. Manipulation tactics. Anything she could do to get inside someone's head, this Tabaxi was willing to do, and she showed no boundaries. Chains were meant to be broken, as were those who would forge them. She knew that. She lived by the code of fate, and let the gods decide the inevitable destiny of each and every interaction.

She pulled a small copper coin from her shirt pocket and rested it on the edge of her finger. Which face it would land on determined what would come next. Ting! The large catperson flipped the coin in the air and watched as it fell; she truly did enjoy watching fate play out so eloquently before her. It never got old, witnessing the power of the gods themselves flow through such a tiny object in those weightless moments of Socratic ecstasy. She caught the copper piece as it neared her midriff and slapped it onto her forearm. She peered through the dim light to discover the decision that had been made before her.

Heads.

"Pity," she smirked, "If you would have asked nicer, I probably would have given it a second thought." She started again, this time a bit louder. "One-hundred flagons of mead on the wall…"