Cursed Mark

The old man behind the counter leaned forward, his weathered hands resting on the polished wood. The adventurers' guild base was alive with the sounds of clinking tankards, hearty laughter, and the occasional clatter of weaponry. Adventurers of all kinds—armored warriors, nimble archers, and robed mages—filled the bar, their stories weaving a chaotic tapestry of camaraderie and competition.

"So," the old man began, his gravelly voice cutting through the din, "you want to become an adventurer?" His sharp eyes, lined with age and experience, studied the young woman before him.

The girl's emerald-green hair shimmered in the dim light, a stark contrast to the rough-and-tumble crowd surrounding her. Her height, unusual even in a place where physical prowess was common, marked her as a half-giant. Yet her demeanor was anything but imposing—she stood with a quiet confidence, her eyes scanning the room as if measuring every word spoken to her.