The physical test, this was where people were quick to jump to conclusions. Amalay may have been unsure about the mental test until the questions were asked, but this was the challenge she had been through and failed before. Some would test on physical ability, thinking that strength, speed, and agility were the only factors to create a skilled warrior. These often came in an obstacle course, and she scored very well on. Others would target sheer lethal accuracy and the number of killing blows. They would grade on a curve usually in a series of sparring duels. These she almost always failed. Not that she was so easily defeated, but rarely did these tests accept climbing into the rafters and waiting for the opponent to got so bored that they quit to count as a victory. Most duel tests were timed and had imaginary boundaries that made it almost impossible for Amalay to shine.

One thing was for sure, this test was not about to be the classic guessing game of most recruiters. For one thing very few recruiters included a life lesson with much of anything. They were silent as to the success, failure, or true intent of the testing that they applied. The other reason was the fact that there were no arch mages screening applicants to protect merchant caravans (for some strange reason.) While a nervous knot began to well up, these unknowns were strangely comforting to Amalay, and the churning bowels settled down into peace. They did things differently here, and she was most certainly different.

Glancing around she sized up the opponents. A number of those who signed up the previous day were nowhere to be seen. Either they chickened out, were horridly late (by like half of a day) or were only doing it for some other reason than to join the Hunters. She really didn't understand the sort. Nevertheless, it was a rather large number of faces that could likely all be opponents. The memories of a fox-hunt ran through her mind... or at least that is what she called it when 200 raiders were frantically chasing only her through the forest. The memory brought a smile to her lips as she recalled the frustrated growls of anger as they boiled over in a foolhardy murderous rage. Good times.

Then a face stood out, well not exactly. It was a face connected to a head to a body with arms and legs and such, and it didn't really stand out, it blended in behind the others. However, it was familiar as the ground. Grol. Though muscular and tall, he could go unnoticed in a tavern full of children. He had a way of using chaos, architecture, and shadow to make your eye pass right past him. He had been doing so for so long that it was habit. Amalay had apparently had a habit too to search those places for the Etlock's familiar face, usually to make small talk with him. She raced over, her garments (normally earth tones) flipped and fluttered turning brilliant violets and purple that drew attention as they billowed in the wind and her movement. It captured the attention of all but the most introspective or least observant. No, it wasn't magic, simply the underside of the many layers that had been stitched together. As soon as she stopped, they flopped back to sedate.

[color=9900ff]"Grol, you old rug, looks like I've tripped over you again,"[/color] she smiled, [color=9900ff]"I thought we agreed to go our separate ways?"[/color]

She scratched her wrist without a thought, but it was visible the shackle scars on her wrists were still healing.

[i][center][color=9900ff]Good, I can help him out.[/color][/center][/i]