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"I claimed to be that perfect because your man was in my church it seemed so grand that he's uncertain with this champ across my poor kit-" the crimson bride spoke to this other female as if she was nothing but poor street trash that found it's way inside. As to why she spoke lyrically and symbolically was none of Clamore's concern and totally beyond her, however if this banter was to go on for much longer, she would have to step in. Three days had passed since Clamore finally had a rest from all the travel she was doing with her caravan and she certainly wasn't going to let a whorish little tart in the tattered crimson dress ruin her night of drinking, gambling and most certainly peace of mind.
But the most positive thoughts have always brought forth the most negative consequences. A brawl broke out between the two bickering women in the pub filled with old men that hadn't showered in months and girls that were a little to young to partake in such crude festivities. The pub was dim, people were encouraging the fight and Clamore was trying to take a sip of her Ale before anything else seemed to burst from the wood work. But ironically her chest was pushing into her drink, spilling it all over her loose blouse, her convenient garments. She turned her head around, eyes frigid and cheeks puffy. One thing about Clamore, those gauntlets never came off and she had a temper to match a cyclops. She pushed herself away from the table, eyes leering at the fighting whores. The men in the pub looked at Clamore, not even willing to stand against her with the brute fist she wore on her hands, and to make it better she was in a dress.
She marched, both feet slamming into the wood floors and aura exuding a strong smell of pissed off and willing to kill. Her arms extended out gripping both women, pulling them by their hair and lifting them off the floor. Silence was in the room, the barkeep wiping down the counter like nothing was happening and the two women's eyes were wider then the disk in the night sky. "If you harlots disturb me...I will destroy you..."
But now the story was different, she was dressed in her wear to destroy any competitors her way. Her hair down, black trousers, armored foot pieces and the large sword on her that was fastened to her by some odd looking strap that wrapped around her shoulder. The woods were thick, and no man could deny that not even the one wielding magic Mathras.
A clamor came from deep in the woods, strong enough to send the horses into a tumultuous frenzy. It was evident that it even had the ability to make Clamore feel a shortness in her breath. Was that fear? She certainly wasn't afraid of anything but as to why she had loss of breathing was beyond any knowledge she claimed to have about herself. The horses darted off, trembling from the fear they held within their animal souls, taking the driver and supplies with them. Clamore watched as he tried to subdue them but when horses felt fear, they relied on their god given instinct. She even noticed Mathras wanted to try and stop them, but running wouldn't do any good. They had already been through a lot in such a small amount of time, two companions lost and two more to go...if they managed to get themselves killed.
"Backpacks or not, whatever is in those woods certainly wants more than what we have." Clamore heard the roar of the beast within the woods. "And it sounds like they're near".
