Abruptly an arrow wings from the gloom over towards the cavern entrance, narrowly missing both Pickles and the mutant weasel. Before either can properly process this, another arrow socks solidly into the weasel's malformed body.
From the shadows in that direction steps a young, apparently unmutated woman wearing a gunmetal grey mesh of chainmail like an improvised poncho, with a hole ripped in the middle for her head and hanging down to just past her beltline. Her pants were ruggedly made, lots of pockets, and a dark olive green in color. She carried a bow, a quiver of arrows on her right hip, and a stubby little sword on her left. Her hair was dark brown, windblown and cut short. Her face was pretty, but not spectacularly so...most striking were her bright emerald green eyes; a feature not found on many truly unmutated human beings.
"Missed," she muttered as she lowered her bow slightly, bringing another arrow to nock. It wasn't clear if she meant the first arrow...or if she hadn't been aiming for the weasel. Then she glanced up at Valla and called, "I'm on your side. Wayfarer's truce."
From the shadows in that direction steps a young, apparently unmutated woman wearing a gunmetal grey mesh of chainmail like an improvised poncho, with a hole ripped in the middle for her head and hanging down to just past her beltline. Her pants were ruggedly made, lots of pockets, and a dark olive green in color. She carried a bow, a quiver of arrows on her right hip, and a stubby little sword on her left. Her hair was dark brown, windblown and cut short. Her face was pretty, but not spectacularly so...most striking were her bright emerald green eyes; a feature not found on many truly unmutated human beings.
"Missed," she muttered as she lowered her bow slightly, bringing another arrow to nock. It wasn't clear if she meant the first arrow...or if she hadn't been aiming for the weasel. Then she glanced up at Valla and called, "I'm on your side. Wayfarer's truce."
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