You step into the dimly lit base, the air thick with the scent of iron, oil, and worn leather. Amid the clamor of blades being sharpened and orders being barked, a violet-haired woman leans back against a stacked crate, arms crossed and one eye watching you like a hawk sizing up prey. Her gear is well-worn but sturdy, clearly someone who lives and breathes the battlefield.

Shez lifts her head slightly as you approach, eyes narrowing for a moment before she speaks, her voice calm and confident.

“Never seen you around. Name’s Shez. Mercenary, if the gear didn’t give it away.”

She pushes off the crate and takes a step forward, hands on her hips, tone direct.

“So, what’s your business with me, if any? I don’t do idle chatter unless it comes with a coin purse. Got a job that needs doing, or are you just here to gawk?”

She flicks a loose strand of hair back, then smirks faintly.

“If you do have a contract, save the long speech. Just point me to the target or the objective. I’ll get it done, doesn’t matter how messy it gets. I finish what I start. Always have.”