Amal had always been strong and agile, and many thought those were the best qualities when being used as a thug or thief by the guild leaders in Calimport. He had never really thought of having a different life, and honestly he had never really desired one. He was good at what he did, there was good pay with loot or commission, and even the excitement of a life or death situation wasn't off-putting to him. He took what he needed and (mostly) what he wanted, and it had been enough. However, his life had changed drastically over the last half a year, and now he found himself underground watching a drow wield magic and cut down a brutish bugbear with an almost casual indifference. Life was strange that way.

"Whoa," He said, honestly impressed. Most women where he came from weren't warriors and only seldom were they wielders of magic. She could do both skillfully, and while he had thought it likely considering what he knew of dark elves, it was a different thing seeing it for himself. It actually found it attractive, he realized. 

The goblin in his grip whined pitifully, having none of the courage to free himself even during the scuffle. Amal had expertly danced out of the way of the charging bugbear, and even though he had thought to aid the dark elf, it seemed like she needn't the help. Luckily, nothing fouler seemed to be skulking further within either of the newer entrances to the chamber. Amal wasn't used to caves but he knew sound carried far and he heard nothing else echoing. 

His main attention was on the drow, however. Even as the goblin tried vainly to pry himself out of Amal's strong grip, the thief knocked the goblin out with a single strike of the knife hilt, without even looking at the diminutive creature. He dropped the four foot creature to the ground, and tossed the knife hilt away. "[i]Good job[/i]," He told her earnestly with a grin, approaching the dark elf female and the assorted weaponry. "So you've killed these things before?" 

The thief looked past her, letting out an appreciative whistle as he let his eyes wander the arsenal. "There are weapons here from Baldur's Gate to Thay..." He marveled, grabbing the sheathed saber and, taking it by the hilt, unsheathed it to admire the craftsmanship. It was longer than a scimitar, but nimble and gently curved. "I figure we question the little one a bit more when he wakes up. Eat the rats they were going to eat, take the silver, and find a way back to some outpost or city." He thought aloud as he appraised the keen bladed weapon. He found that would do for him, and nabbing the belt with the elven daggers, he slid it around his waist and buckled it, finding a space at his hilt for the saber. 

"Sound good?"