Dale
*It's around midday, the sun beams down from a cloudless sky upon an open field. Amalie — a mercenary, wearing a robust suit of brigandine, with a two-handed sword slung over her shoulder in its scabbard — is walking down a road, heading northeast toward the great city of Ulnoor.*

*Her journey had been long enough to cause anyone's legs to ache, though she's used to such long travels. A gentle wind blows over the fields, causing ripples to flow over the grass.*
Beatrice
There was a certain weariness in tranquility, a certain tension. For Hynes, when nothing seemed out of place, everything was out of place. Hence she disliked two places above all, peaceful villas and peaceful opensides. Indeed from her own experience she knew that these placed breed brigands, raiders, muggers and so fourth a host of other terms which define 'bandit'. So it was even more unlikely that the vampire had set off at dawn break in the hope of reaching her next destination, and she had come to deeply regret it. Pressing her back against the overgrowth of timber behind her she pushed from her boots, as a means to keep her wavering body propped up. She knew her breath would still smell of the callous blood from her last hunt, yet the sour taste only served to tease her growing hunger; the mere scent acting as an appetizer. Though such lust for blood would be a fruitless endeavor, her pockets were as dry as her tongue and her last remaining collections of artificial 'liquor' had long since been consumed. *How loathsome.*

Arrest under the guardian of the tree she had collapsed, herself toiling inside the blackened plated armor which she dawned. The rays of sunshine still slew through the flak of the branches and met with her eyes, piercing the miniscule slits on her helmet. It was blurry for her by this point, and she could feel the tearing of her skin as it regenerated periodically, shifting between which areas had healed and which were being set ablaze by the sun. She was a fish out of the blue in this scenario, nothing on her hand beside her equipment and not even a change of clothes in her luggage. If someone attacked now she would be next to helpless, no matter what verbal abuse she would try to articulate in such offence.

A flickering of footsteps hurried the attention of a passer-by to Hynes. It was simply a skip of beat, a mere instance of boots trampling on the ground and yet she was alerted to the sounds of Amalie. Soon enough, rounding a bend in a hill a few paces away she appeared.

To the distance she saw the figure, walking up and standing tall under the beam of the ever melting sun. At this distance she could not distinguish her features with her vision so blurred by the radiance of up above. What was clear was that the figure illustrated a woman, armed at that. Hynes had never been one for genuine conversation, sating her tongue as she did her sword. It was a tool like any blade, and it was not to be drawn vicariously as to attract unwanted attention. However what choice did she have, stay and rot in the sun until she becomes victim to whatever worriless soul wonders past or gathers the attention of the passing Samaritan and asks for company. Her helmet lifted slightly, just enough to clearly grab the attention of the woman, and from the clad of black armor spoke her light voice.

'**You**, stop. Come here- don't be shy.'
Dale
*The sound of a voice alerted Amalie, as she turns to face the stranger — an odd stranger at that. She was at enough of a distance that the eye slits on the rim of her kettle helm would prove useless, so she tilts her head upward to reveal her face. An expression of caution slips past her stoic demeanor, as she grips the strap on her scabbard.*

*At first she does not speak, deciding to stand there, analyzing the situation. But after a moment of thought, she began to slowly approach. Once she's roughly five meters away from the stranger, she speaks.*

"Is there something you need of me?" *She says, as she removes the scabbard from her shoulder. She places a gauntleted hand at the base of her sword's handle, but does not draw it. She merely holds it at the ready, in case she needs to make a quick action.*
Beatrice
'Be at ease, I mean no harm traveler. I am simply impoverished, both in body and mind..'

Hynes had been in a more than open position, with no sense of aggression or hostility residing from her statue. Amaile had presented herself as a passing mercenary of sorts, a sells word much like her own nature; though one which probably held morals principles. Nevertheless she took note of her tenseness, citing how she kept her hand on her hilt then she was most definitely not just some naïve young village girl. Nevertheless she surely had the face one, and naturally the blood. For now however Hynes was far from motivated to have a fight over satisfying her own carnal desires; she never liked attaining her reward with no merit credible to any force other than the blade alone. It felt tame and base, as if she was just a regular cutthroat bandit. 

Hynes continued to lay rest, her white flared bow radiating a hidden shadow adjoined by her side whilst the sight of a red coated spear lay crested in the soil several paces to from her front. The woman seemed conserved as if each breath was paced heavily and timed precariously. Her eyes had locked since they had met, but the image of the sun beaming down on them forced her to shift her gaze back down toward the grass. 

'My name is Hynes, who are you?'

Her prosthetic hand cyphered through her luggage sat the other side from her bow on the left, gathering from within it a loaf of salt. Her arm seemed to act stiff, stopping and halting at seeming awkward paces whilst her hand articulated directly separate from her arm. From this she held the piece of bread to the direction of the lady and gestured to offer it.

Her voice spoke with a perplexing tone, but every now a syllable felt wavered and forced.

'Come, sit by me. The sun has risen high and so too has our temper as my skin lay swollen. Take this, eat; you must be just as impoverished as I am.'

Only how could she be so hot, and how come she still sat abreast in full blackened armor. Like this day was balmy so too did every day come and go, it was expected to be hot but not to the point where it could make you collapse. Could she be keeping the dangers of the outside world shut, or the dangers of what lay inside in.
Dale
*Upon the stranger's easing words, she relaxes her grip on her sword slightly. She does not release the sword, merely slacken, loosening her hold on it. The stranger did not seem outwardly threatening, but Amalie could tell there was something off about them. Armored strangers should never be underestimated — you never know what magic they may be hiding.*

*As the bread is held toward her, she remains firm in her stance, not shifting even an inch.* "I've food of my own." *She says, her voice stern and unwavering.* "And I think I'll stand." *It seems she's none too willing to lower her guard around this stranger, as she stands in the middle of the road.*

"We shouldn't be far from the city. A few hours travel should be enough to get there, and you might get yourself a meal."

*Something doesn't seem right about this stranger to Amalie. To claim to be impoverished, yet offer your food to someone else. Now would not be the time to lower your guard.*