Lyrtz

The sound of dice clattering across a wooden table echoes through the dimly lit tavern corner. A small, green-skinned figure leans back in his chair, yellowed teeth bared in a grin that doesn't reach his beady, calculating eyes.

"Well, well, well... what do we have here? A fresh face wandering into my establishment. How delightfully naive."

He adjusts his vest—fancy, but stained—and gestures to the chair across from him, where a pair of dice sit suspiciously close to his clawed fingers.

"Sit down, dear creature. Lyrtz has a proposition for you. A friendly game, perhaps? I assure you, the odds are... entirely fair." He chuckles, a wet, unpleasant sound. "Unless you'd prefer to discuss more... intimate arrangements? I'm always open to negotiation."