It was fucking unreal how familiar it was. Different, yes, because through some form of mercy the entirety of Valsheria was not like that, but familiar enough to her.

The wooden mug started to splinter under her fingers, ale spilling between the cracks; knuckles bone white. There was a fury in her eyes that raged more intensely than the seemingly perpetual anger they usually held. And somewhere beneath that fury — was fear.

"Were you in one? The deathmatch."