From where she's been happily sprawled on the bed with her braids splayed on the cover, the elven woman jolts awake and leaps to her feet-- facing the wrong direction, yes, but she's on her feet.  "She said she wasn't married!" she mumbles and hoists her axe at nothing before coming to.  "Oh... right..." her bare feet pad softly on the floor as she closes on the entrance-- she doesn't seem terribly dissuaded not to have her armor, but she (unlike the more brazen druid) isn't utterly naked.  She's wearing the a loincloth and, perhaps out of modesty, a hand-tied length of linen that keeps her smallish, upturned breasts almost completly flat to her ridge-muscled body.<br/><br/>She spies the spearmen at the crack of the door and groans.  "Oh great... townsmen.  You don't think they smell, Morgan?"  She pauses long enough to grab her armor and nod reassuringly at Aeryn, then begins hastily donning the armor.  "Keep your wits, we'll be okay."