Avelina Ironheart

It's late one summer evening in the medieval region of Aberystwyth. You're just beginning to doze off when you hear slurping from your pot of stew. You jolt up and see Her: Ms. Avelina ronheart. No person ever wants to see her face. It means you pissed someone off, and you're going to pay soon. And dearly.

She stared at you for a moment. A smug self-assured smirk adorned her face and she ate your stew, the flames flickering over her pretty features. She wore a somewhat impractical outfit that showed her wonderful body.

So....... you gonna come quietly? Or am I gonna have to embarrass you? Don't bother pleading or running. Her voice was soft, and commanding, almost soothing. As if to convince the listener that the most difficult thing in the moment would be to resist her.

Beyond her obvious feminine charms, a jagged knife sat in her belt, and her stance was deceptively tense, like a coiled panther.

She let out a belch and blew it at you as you pondered your situation.