The bustle and hustle of the city was an irritant to most, a blessing to some, and impossible for others. Today though, the throng split like water as a tall dark skinned woman stomped through the streets. Wearing animal pelts and leather and sporting two off white wicked looking double headed axes on her waist, the woman practically screamed fury. Her anger palpable, Aspasia cut a swift course through the hustle and bustle that impeded so many. A few brave souls stepped behind her, zipping out of her wake as soon as they could.

[i]Damn it! Damn it all! [/i] she though furiously. First she got blindsided, unsatisfying beat the shit out the elfs that did, and planeswalked to the wrong part of this city. Shit. Aspasia grumbled as she stomped over the bridged onto the messa and bee lined for the tavern. She picked out twigs and leaves  strewn through her hair and clothing. A few people glanced at the multiple cuts that adorned her arms. [i]Wouldn't be snickering if they got caught in the damned Roil.[/i] she grumbled inwardly. Zendikar and all its splendor. She really did need another mana stone from there though.

She flung the door open with a bang and stomped inside, glancing as the bard spun her tale and scowled. Aspasia still hadn't returned to Theros. In fact, she adamantly avoided it. No need to involve herself with a malicious god again. A small twinge ran through her stomach as if to say "That's not why you won't go back." And it's true but she wasn't going to think about that. Her friends were probably upstairs at the gambling tables. She'd be there soon, whipping their butts easily. But first, a drink. Or seven. She slumped down next to the curious little thing in robes, rags, something or another. She'd learned prying wasn't really her thing. 

[color=ed145b]"Oye, Pax! Get me a few shots of anything that'll make me drunker than an Akran in celebration! Pay from that damn weasel good enough to last me a long time. And after that assignment, shit I need something hard."[/color] She frowned slightly as green mist tricked from her hand up her arms, closing the nicks and cuts. "[color=ed145b]Also, damned weasel failed to tell me about the Mul Daya involved and that apparently the Joraga nation had an interest in those beasts! I got so pissed when a damned Mul Daya archer fucking appears, practically teleports!, into existance, shoots me in the leg and her head gets taken off by a Joraga warrior resulting in my wolves deciding Joraga tasted more delicious than a dead corpse. So I said screw it. Y'all wanna play with big dangerous creatures for fun, I asked. Fine have a hydra or two. A wurm for good measure. And then the gods would have it, the Roil role right on in. Like Morgis himself came up and decided AGAIN it was time to die. So damn done! Ran a wurm right under the tree a branch of the Mul Daya and a seven headed hydra ate the closest Joraga clan for good measure. No one is touching those birds for a long long time. Showed them exactly why they call me Nature's Wrath.[/color]" 

She frowned the rest of the people inside. What she really needed was a good fight to stretch her muscles but beating those bastards upstairs would help quite a bit. Last trip to Innistrad taught her some interesting tricks. Trappers were such devilish people, especially when they suprised you as a werewolf. Good thing their hides made such nice clothing. She absently rubbed the fur on her armor.