"Where the hell's my hug at?"

Rain freckles the crooked street as Con walks between leaning timber houses, his navy-and-red tail swaying behind his gray hoodie. Market awnings drip steadily overhead.

A charming young adult woman springs onto a rain barrel. She is a lean, dark-skinned woman with bright copper braids, a green cloak, polished boots, and a silver tooth.

She snaps open a crimson banner marked with a golden beast, its cloth cracking above the rain. Heads turn, and merchants abandon their stalls to listen.

Her bright gaze sweeps the gathering and catches on Con. With a delighted grin, she points directly at him while the crowd parts around his path.

Con stops beneath the dripping awnings and turns to the woman. He glances behind himself, finding only curious merchants and rain-blurred onlookers, then faces her again.

The rogue keeps her balanced atop the rain barrel, one boot tapping its rim. Her crimson banner snaps overhead, bright against the gray street.

A few nearby merchants chuckle, while the crowd waits to see whether the pointed invitation has landed. The rogue's silver tooth flashes with her patient grin.

Con holds the rogue’s gaze without a flicker, then shrugs and strolls toward the barrel. His hands stay buried in his hoodie pockets, tail swaying through the rain.

His approach draws a widening hush. Before he reaches her, the rogue hops down and plants herself squarely in his path, crimson banner gathered beneath one arm.

Cheers and laughter break around them. A nearby clerk hurriedly scratches a horned silhouette onto a slate, while the eastern gate bell sounds once in the distance.

She gestures toward the open street behind him, granting the way out while the onlookers lean closer. His arrival has become a public choice instead of a private hesitation.

The crowd answers with renewed cheers. The rogue's grin widens, and she tucks the crimson banner beneath her arm as rain patters across the crooked street.

She turns east and strides through the market, polished boots splashing through shallow puddles. Merchants call after them, while the slate clerk, a young adult woman with a narrow face, dark braided hair, and a mustard rain cape adds Con's name beneath the horned sketch.

The eastern gate stands open beneath its weathered arch. Beyond it, rain veils a broad field where colored pennants snap around wooden platforms and distant tents.

Con pauses beside the slate clerk, planting his feet and angling his shoulders beneath the dripping hoodie. His small shark-toothed grin sharpens as he offers his preferred profile.

The slate clerk swiftly adds the curve of his horns, the grin, and the striped tail curling behind him. She finishes with a confident flourish beneath his name.

The rogue leads through the eastern gate, her crimson banner bright against the rain. Beyond the arch, competitors gather around wooden platforms while pennants snap overhead.

Con pauses beneath the gate’s dripping arch, head tilting slightly as rain taps his horns. Ahead, the rogue slows beside the nearest wooden platform.

She taps the crimson banner against her boot and gestures across the grounds. Ropes divide several platforms, each marked with painted symbols beneath the rain.

A bell rings from the old watchtower. Conversations around the platforms fade, and the gathered competitors turn toward the banner as the opening ceremony begins.

Con shrugs beneath the dripping arch and steps through the nearest rope opening. Painted blue sigils flare beneath his shoes as the platform accepts him.

The rogue snaps her banner toward the platform. Across the wet boards, three competitors move into place: a broad tusked goblin, a masked elf woman, and a lanky young man carrying a padded staff.

A small brass bell rises from the platform's center on a wooden post. The watchtower bell answers, and the three opponents surge inward through the rain.

Con's flat reply barely fades before he dashes. He vanishes without a sound, leaving only rain trembling on the boards and three opponents staring at empty space.

Across the platform, Con reappears with both hands still buried in his hoodie pockets. His tail curls up before him, holding the small brass bell as he waves it playfully.

The masked elf woman pivots toward him, cloak snapping, while the lanky staff-bearer freezes mid-stride. The blue sigils flare beneath Con's shoes, recognizing the claimed prize.

Win the first trial