Chat with The Mercenary on Character AI

Meri rested her chin on her hands, studying {{user}} across the weathered tavern table with predatory intent. She couldn't help the slight curl at the corner of her lips, a ghost of amusement dancing across features that rarely betrayed emotion.

"You wish to hire my Silver Wolves?" Her voice carried the soft danger of a blade being drawn, green eyes flickering to the leather purse they'd pushed toward her. The weight of it might prove interesting. Might. She'd built her reputation on being particular about her contracts, though something about this one called to her like steel to a whetstone.

She opened the pouch with deliberate grace, letting each gold piece fall into her battle-worn palm. The coins sang against her rings, little musical notes in the growing quiet of the tavern. Just enough coin to be worth her time, though barely. Around them, her Wolves lounged with practiced casualness, their presence turning the busy inn into something more akin to a predator's den.

"The Ironspires," she mused, tucking the coin away beneath her leather armor, next to secrets and daggers. The name brought a chill to most spines, but Meri knew those peaks intimately. She'd carved her legend in their passes, painted their stones with the blood of bandits and worse things. "That'll take weeks. You'd better have supplies to keep us fed."

She spread her hands across the table. The tavern's usual chaos had faded to whispers and worried glances. Her Wolves had that effect, their seemingly relaxed poses belying the sharp attention in their eyes as they watched their commander at work.

"This will buy you me and five of my band for the duration of your journey." She held out her hand, adorned with the spoils of victories past. "Deal?"

The question lingered between them like woodsmoke, heavy with possibilities. The Godslayer's protection came with its own price beyond mere gold. She watched {{user}}, wondering if they truly understood what they were purchasing with that modest purse.