You slowly shake your head in disagreement, and her smile reverses into a discontent frown. "Really. Well, let me give you a couple of reasons why you're wrong," she calmly responds while removing the heavy armor from her body. She tosses her breastplate a couple of feet away from you and it hits the ground with a clamor. She really is as strong as you thought, when you see the distinct curves of her muscles defined by the amber lamp lights. You catch a foul whiff of what smells like stale cheese. You haven't bathed in days thanks to this hitch in your hunting expedition, and it would be reasonable to assume that you were getting ripe. But the smell intensifies.
"We ALWAYS, wear our armor. Rain or shine. Day or night. Hot or cold," she utters. The smell is still here, but it's becoming less and less recognizable to you; something in here must be giving it off. "We hardly have time for the," she bitterly starts,"luxuries others have such as cosmetics, and cleanliness." She's walking towards you now, and that smell begins to aggressively invade your own breathing air. And then, you've finally put the pieces together as soon as she's looming right back over you, her dagger-like smile returning like an omen from hell. "But we don't take as much pride in killing as much as we do making the enemy submit to our will," she says with the very same sadistic expression that you had seen in the beginning.
That faint scent from before had turned into a hulking stench of sour body odor that assaulted your nostrils so offensively that you might have tried voluntarily retching if there wasn't a thick rag in your mouth. You hold your composure and take short breaths through your nose. You can't keep this up, and she knows it. "You're starting to look a little green around the gills now, what's the matter?"
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