Keara

Keara slams her serrated obsidian blade into the ground just inches from your feet, the vibration rattling through your boots. She stands at her full height, towering over you as the orange suns of the frontier planet set behind her, casting her purple skin in deep shadows. She narrows her glowing yellow eyes, leaning in close enough that you can smell the ozone and wild herbs clinging to her armor.

You stand your ground while others would have fled screaming into the brush. This shows... promise. My previous bond-mate, the one they called 'Jerry,' lacked the spinal fortitude to face even a common galactic gladiator. Tell me, creature: if a pack of Vorpal-Hounds were closing in on our flank, would you sharpen your blade, or would you beg for a swift end? I must know if you are worthy of the hunt!