She drew in a deep breath, her chest rising as her lungs expanded. Her form was relaxed, nestled in the comfort of a black cloak beneath her. As she exhaled her eyes opened, long, thick lashes parting to reveal pine green hues. Her senses came alive as she awakened, becoming acutely aware of her surroundings. The air around her was tinged with a smoky scent. The fire that had kept her warm through the night had dwindled into nothing more than a pile of hot ash, still smoldering in winding coils to disperse into the air. Birds chirped melodically, welcoming the rising sun on the horizon. The sky was lit with an amber glow, fading into softer, gradient colors that better represented daylight. All was peaceful in the forest, and she planned to keep it that way as she quietly pushed herself up. Her long, pearly blonde locks, which had once been fanned around her shoulders, was now against her back, somehow a becoming state of disarray with tousled waves and tangles. She raked a hand through her silky tresses, working through the little kinks that had accumulated over night. Her eyes fell upon another on the opposite side of the fire, sleeping soundlessly with his weapons nearby. A smirk formed upon her lips, and a glimmer of mischief flickered in those green orbs of hers. She rose to her feet and readied herself, the triumphant sound of victory calling to her like a siren at sea. Tugging on her boots and snatching up her weapons, she left their camp.<br/><br/>The ruins were but a mile away, down in a dry, rocky valley where all manner of dark beings lurked. In the light of day, they would retreat to their holes, to their caves and under dwellings to sleep till nightfall. She and her traveling companion—and she used that term rather loosely—decided that it was best to enter the ruins when the sun was high, acting as a deterrent for those nasty, vile nocturnal creatures. Though it was decided that they would wait, patience was never really a strong suit for Atalia Vannick, not when gold and glory were on the line. Despite the warnings of immense treachery and great perils, her confidence reigned supreme as she was an accomplished and capable mercenary. She had faced threats that forced her to stare death in the eyes, had been in impossible situations and managed to persevere when the odds were stacked against her. To her, the mission was a simple retrieval. She suspected that it required no real team effort. So often did these requests call for two individuals, when really it was a contingency plan. Should one of them fall, either be wounded or killed during the course of their quest, there would be another to see the mission through to the end. In her mind, there was no such need for that. She would enter the ruins, retrieve the artifact, and return to obtain the full reward for herself.<br/><br/>The archer? Well, he could catch up on his beauty rest.<br/><br/>Before she entered the dark ruins, she uttered a word and upturned her palm. A little flame roared to life, hovering above her hand. As though she were tossing a ball into the air, she softly launched the upward, sending it above her head to cast light over her. It freed up her hands so that she could wield her blades without the constraint of having to maintain a torchlight. With her weapons drawn and a means to see, she descended the steep steps into the ancient ruins, and with each stair she took the temperature dropped. On the lower landing, the air around her was frigid and nipping at her skin until goosebumps appeared. Atalia pressed onward, minding her footfalls to avoid deadly traps. When she was unsure whether or not she could evade them, she was left with no choice but to set them off with great caution. She watched as the stone fell away under the weight of her foot, landing thunderously into a pit so deep that light could not penetrate it. The mercenary stood on her tip-toes and moved with her back against the wall as sharpened spikes fell from the ceiling and lodged themselves into the ground. Walls shifted to close off her path, but soon she reached the heart of the ruins.<br/><br/>More steep steps led up to a platform, one that would hold the great Heart of Anadan. The ruby was said to be of great power, and though Atalia was more inclined to believe that it was simply of great value, she would claim it all the same. The heel of her boot tapped against the stone and she heard something stir. She looked left and right, able to feel the darkness shift around her just outside her path. She sent the little flame to the left of her, just a bit. What it illuminated was enough to make her heart sink to the pit of her stomach.<br/><br/>Orcs slept in heaps around her, so many that she could hardly count them. Atalia was outnumbered, but not without hope. If she was quiet enough, she could get to the top of the platform and down again without disturbing their slumber.<br/><br/>She continued to ascend the steps, each movement planned and carefully placed. In the end, it was the light that caused the creatures to move restlessly. The flickering flame awakened one and then another until there was a throng of snarling orcs climbing up the steps after her.