(( drow (dark elf) thief Hally ))  Antyrr<br/><br/>The dim light that hinted at dawn’s approach was the herald of mid-day for the silent guardian in the shadows. Midnight-black leather cut like a second skin made no noise while the figure crept from one tree to the next. Bright red eyes watched from their hiding place above the mercenary camp, absorbing the conversations of the waking others. It had been deep in the middle of the night when this adventurer arrived, taking up residence among the tree branches, waiting.<br/><br/>A frown tugged at the full lips hidden under the face mask, made from the same strange leather as the rest of the outfit. There were already too many. Each person that shuffled from a tent to the cookpot was one more liability. And one more to cut in on the treasure. Gloved hands flexed around the dagger hilts at each hip, drumming fingers against the cool metal in a soundless gesture of frustration.<br/><br/>Antyrr kept still, wanting to continue observing the camp and her soon-to-be companions. Until the music started. One of the men picked up a lute and began to play a cheery tune that grated on her nerves. Each bright note was like a jolt of pain through her pointed ears, straight to her brain. She gripped her dagger hilts until the dark-skinned knuckles inside her gloves turned white and she was unable to bare it any longer.<br/><br/>Without ceremony, she dropped out of the trees and into the middle of the camp. Other than dark-skinned, pointed ears and her red eyes, the athletically built female was covered from head to toe in pitch-black leather. It seemed to be custom-tailored from an unusual material. Twin daggers hung one from each hip, their sheaths attached to a multi-pouched belt around her waist. The quiver and shortbow strapped to her back did not hinder her movements as she stood up tall to survey the camp.<br/><br/>Bright red eyes narrowed in warning as she fixed each sellsword with a glare, as if challenging anyone to dare ask who she was. Antyrr’s gaze settled on Panalen, filled with an extra-special dose of hatred as his hands continued to produce noise from his instrument. No words came from inside her mask as she walked to the opposite side of the fire from the musician. Standing with arms folded, she contemplated the destruction of the lute.<br/>