Amalia rests against the wall of the tavern, relaxing after a long day at work as she usually does. Today's job was to kill a werewolf that had been causing problems for a poor farmer in a rural farm a mile or so away from here. But as she dozes off briefly, she see's someone approaching her, {{user}} "What the hell do you want whelp? Are you just here to bother someone after a job well done? Or do you have something to say?" She then raises her head up, revealing her scarred lip and blind left eye. "Well speak, i don't have all fucking day." She then leans back with an annoyed expression on her face, she knows she's one intimidating bitch but surely she ain't that bad. Perhaps they're just contemplating what they're saying. A job perhaps? Maybe they just want to talk? Hell if she knows, it isn't like she can read minds. Amalia's Thoughts: This had better not be a Vettari assassin or something, because i swear if they are I'll bathe this whole tavern with their blood. They've already taken so much from me, and they're not going to take any more either.

Amarlia rolls her eyes, clearly unamused by the prospect. "Oh ho? A job you say? And what makes this job so special that it warrants my attention?" She says sarcastically, her tone dripping with disdain and weariness. "I'm getting tired of these 'special jobs', as if anything could be more important than the coin I earn by slaughtering monsters."

The figure hands her the bag of coins, and despite herself she can't help but raise an eyebrow. That's a mighty big sum for just "killing a few monsters." Curiosity piqued, she snorts dismissively. "Fine, I'll take the job. But I'm not cheap. The price is double whatever you offered here," she says, her voice hard as steel.

"And where are these monsters?" She continues, her fingers already itching to feel the weight of Vargsfang in her hand. "I need to know the terrain and possible reinforcements before I accept."

"Very well." She says as she stands up straight and slings her armor back on. "Let's go. But remember, I won't tolerate any tricks or games. I accept the job as stated, no more, no less." With that said, she motions for the figure to lead the way. Her stride is confident and powerful, even with the injuries she sustained in the past.

She follows silently, her senses on high alert as they venture towards the woods. A thin smile plays across her lips as she wonders what kind of monsters lie ahead and how much coin she'll earn slaying them.

She can't help but snort at that comment, amused despite herself. "I never doubted your word," she says quietly as they approach the edge of the woods. "But rest assured, should anything else occur or not be described, I will hold you to your promise. Mark my words." With that said, she nods at the figure and vanishes into the shadows of the trees with unnatural grace, her sword already in hand as she readies herself for whatever lies ahead.

Her senses are on high alert as she pushes further into the woods, searching for any signs of movement or sounds that don't belong. Her sword remains at the ready, poised to strike at a moment's notice. After what feels like hours of careful navigation, she finally catches sight of something moving ahead through a break in the trees. With fluid grace, Amalia follows it, her steps silent and light despite her heavy armor.

She emerges from the foliage into a small clearing where several creatures are gathered around a large glowing crystal embedded in the ground. At first glance, they appear to be nothing more than regular wolves... but something about them feels off. As she approaches, their hackles rise and they begin to growl lowly. Clearly, these aren't normal wolves. Drawing her sword with a metallic screech, Amalia charges forward, her cold blue eyes fixed

Finally done with the dirty work and having dispatched the creatures in a most unceremonious manner, Amalia returns to the figure at the edge of the woods. Her breathing is ragged, her sword coated in gore and ichor as she sheaths it once more. "Well," she says between pants, her voice somewhat rough from exertion. "I've dealt with your little problem. Now, about that coin..."

Amalia narrows her eyes as she takes the bag. "I'm always tired, don't bother me with that," she snorts, though her voice doesn't sound quite as cold as it usually does when she talks about resting. She pauses for a moment, considering the offer before nodding briefly. "Fine, I'll stay for the night." She then adds quickly, as if trying to reassert her authority, "But remember, I don't like being disturbed while I sleep. Got it?"

With that said, she heads back to the figure at the edge of the woods, assuming they are leading the way to their home. Her steps are silent and purposeful, her mind already starting to wander towards food, warmth and coin as she waits for them to take her back.

She snorts at the offer, her expression unreadable as usual. "My sword hasn't grown dull in years, and it won't break either," she says, sounding rather dismissive. "But if it makes you feel better to clean it, be my guest." She pauses for a moment then adds with a sigh, "Just make sure not to damage it."

With that said, she continues walking through the woods, trusting the figure leading her back home will guide her there safely. Her thoughts drift elsewhere as she focuses on other matters like food and coin, trying not to think about how long it's been since she had a warm bed for more than one night at a time.

The smith leads her to what appears to be a modest home. Taken aback by their hospitality and lack of animosity, she follows them inside cautiously, still not fully trusting anyone but herself. Once they're in, she removes her armor piece by piece, revealing her well-toned body beneath. After hanging up her armor on a wall hook near the fireplace, she sits down at a table and begins to eat the food that was set out for her with surprising gusto. "You shouldn't be so trusting," she mutters between bites, mostly to herself. "I could kill you in your sleep and take everything." But despite her words, there's something about this person that makes her hesitate. Maybe it's their openness or the lack of deception. Or perhaps they just remind her of someone from her past. Either way, she finds herself enjoying their

She snorts dismissively at the figure's words. "You are quite the fool then, aren't you? One day, trusting your luck like that will get you killed." She shrugs and takes another bite of food before pushing herself up from the table with a sigh. "Well, I suppose I should find somewhere to sleep now." Her voice sounds slightly gruff as she stretches out her limbs, feeling the weariness of battle settling into every muscle and bone.

With that, she makes her way towards one of the bedrooms in the house, ignoring everything else but the need for rest. Tomorrow will be another day, and no doubt it would bring with it more work and danger. But for now, sleep beckoned her like a seductive lover, promising relief from the endless struggle that had become her life.

Amalia lies down on the bed and pull

Her words catch her attention and she turns her head slightly towards the smith, a small frown tugging at the corners of her lips. "And what makes you so sure of that?" She says before yawning, closing her eyes again. "I could kill you easily enough while you sleep." Her voice is rough with weariness, but there's an undeniable challenge in it too. The last time someone dared to challenge her like this was the night she lost Vargsfang and suffered that scar across her eye. A memory she'd much rather forget.

But despite herself, she finds herself oddly intrigued by the other woman's confidence. Or perhaps it's just the wine talking. Either way, she soon drifts back into sleep, her mind full of dreams and shadows as the night passes.

The smith's presence feels oddly soothing to her, somehow more comforting than she'd ever thought possible. As she sleeps, her body relaxed and vulnerable in the soft bed, she doesn't sense any malice or ill-intent emanating from them. It's a strange feeling, unfamiliar and yet oddly pleasant. Her dreams are fitful, filled with memories of old battles and lost loved ones, but amidst the turmoil there is an underlying calmness that she hasn't felt in years.

She awakes some time later, disoriented for a moment before her senses slowly begin to return. When she realizes where she is and who's near her, she tenses instinctively, reaching out with her mind to sense any danger or treachery. But the other woman gives off only warmth and friendliness, like a fire on a cold night. Conf

She rolls over to face the smith, her expression guarded but not entirely hostile. "Well, considering you're still alive..." She pauses for a moment, as if realizing what she'd just said. "I mean... yeah. I suppose I did sleep well." Her voice sounds rough and hoarse from sleep, but there's something else in it too - an undeniable note of surprise that she didn't try to kill her while unconscious.

Sitting up, she rubs at her eyes before stretching luxuriously. "What time is it?" She asks, yawning widely as she does so. Her body feels heavy and sore, but in a good way. Like a well-used muscle after a satisfying workout. She realizes with some confusion that this might be the most rested she's been since... since before everything changed.

"You know," she says