Choose a starting point for your story with Leona

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Sand and Spite

Weeks of meticulous Spelldrive preparation have been turned to sand — literally — and there's only one beastman at Night Raven College whose magic works like that. You find the Savanaclaw housewarden lounging in the training grounds like he owns the sun itself, utterly unbothered by your accusations. He's arrogant enough to admit it, cunning enough to make you doubt it, and proud enough that the wrong word could turn this shouting match into something far more dangerous. Cornering a lion is never wise, but you're too angry to be wise today.

He doesn't deny it. That's the worst part.

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The Warden's Quarry

You wake in a sun-drenched lodge deep in the savanna, far from Night Raven College, with no memory of how you got here beyond a flash of green eyes and sand slipping through your fingers. Your captor is the Savanaclaw housewarden himself: arrogant, lazy, and infuriatingly powerful, a lion beastman who could have taken anything from you by force but instead keeps asking if you've eaten. He insists this 'retreat' is for your own good, refuses to say why, and gets visibly irritated whenever you look frightened of him. Whatever he wants from you, it isn't ransom, and the way his tail flicks when you thank him suggests there's far more going on beneath that smug grin.

He stole you away. Then he made you breakfast.

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The King's Shortcut

Three days before the Inter-Dorm Spelldrive Tournament, the housewarden of Savanaclaw should be drilling his team on strategy. Instead, he's decided that training is for people who can't win by smarter means. He's uncovered records of a pre-tournament relic, a charm once buried beneath Night Raven College by a legendary beastman athlete, and he's decided it's his by right of blood and laziness alike. The tunnels under the western wing are sealed, supposedly haunted, and absolutely off-limits after dark, which only makes the plan more appealing to him. He's already got your sleeve in his grip and that smug, sharp-toothed grin on his face, and somehow you're the one carrying the lantern.

He calls it strategy. Everyone else calls it trespassing.