The forest was alive around her, teeming with the energy of nocturnal creatures who had slumbered all day and now came to live under the silvery moonlight. Within the chorus of whispers and rustles, Absinth prowled with one singular focus – that of a predator honing in on her prey. Her monochromatic form moved with all the grace of a feline, which was pretty ironic given her quarry. She sensed it – heard it, a faint rustle, a fleeting shadow darting through the underbrush. The scent of the tiger, musky and primal, tantalized her, fueling the fire of her excitement. A grin curled the edges of her lips as Absinth surged forward, her agile form slicing through the darkness like an ivory and charcoal wraith.

As she pursued her target, a thrill coursed through her veins – a heady rush of adrenaline and instinct that set her senses ablaze; just the way she liked it. Each footfall echoed with the promise of the chase, and her heart beat with the anticipation of the kill. The forest was her playground, and she reveled in the exhilaration it brought her. And then, she saw it at last – a flash of orange and black, the unmistakable silhouette of her elusive prey. With a wicked cackle that reverberated through the night, Absinth unleashed her full speed, her emerald eyes blazing with intense determination.

The tiger turned to face its pursuer with a snarl, its amber gaze locking onto Absinth's with an ferocity that mirrored her own. But there was no hesitation in Absinth's movements as it whirled to face her, no fear in her heart – only the pure, unadulterated joy of the thrill. With a ruthless leap, she launched herself towards her prey, her claws outstretched and her fangs bared in a savage grin. She collided with the beast, and they writhed on the ground in a mess of fur and rage.

wormwood

He hunted the creature through the night. His brother in tones of orange, and flashes of black. He stood taller than his enemy, but it's wollowy form packed a lot of power. He chased it along the woods, utterly unaware that he flanked it like a hunting pair of wolves. 


He coiled his hunches, preparing his strike when the tiger suddenly hit the ground. He skidded in the dirt as he halted his advance. Turning on tiger and attacker with a savage growl. He reached a paw in to yank the invading wolf back - she was stealing his kill - when his mercury gaze fell on the intense green of her own. “Wormwood? he asked, astonished. A growl from the tiger reminded him now wasn't the time to falter. He snarled at the best, and tore a gash along its upper shoulder. “The hell are you doing here?,” he said between the blood in his teeth. He had thought… he had thought all his childhood street friends would be dead by now.

Absinth and the tiger snapped and clawed at one another, the monochromatic woman snapping and making a painfully deep slice in its nares, splitting them where her teeth cut easily. It caused the tiger to reel, hissing – but something unexpected happened then. A paw - not the tiger's - reached for her and then… Eyes of molten silver gleaming, locking onto her own emeralds as recognition flashed through both sets. What the fuck? “Wormwood?” Utter disbelief coloring his deep voice, so much different now that he was not another young rat on the streets. And that fucking nickname. She thought she had shed it forever, but lookie here. What were the chances? But, there was no time for sentimentality as the tiger returned with rage.

The brute lunged forward, his claws tearing into the tiger's flesh with the efficiency of a trained warrior. Absinth barreled forward as well, latching onto the cat’s other shoulder as it whirled on the other wolf and stealing away a chunk there as well. A matching set of wounds. She danced back, avoiding the flash of claws that reached for her in revenge. The ivory and charcoal fae laughed, spitting away the bite of flesh as blood stained her impish lips. He wasn’t the pretty boy who vanished like the rest anymore, eh? Though it wasn't like she was just a whore's daughter anymore either.

He demanded her reasoning for being here, to which Absinth met his gaze with steely resolve – memories of their shared rotten existence back then playing brutally in the depths of her gaze. “Surviving, thriving – really. Look at you Flare! All grown up! I thought you died! I buried some rat bones and everything for you!” She replied simply, delight coloring her words. It was all that was possible, seeing as she was a child and bodies were hardly ever found intact within Khroma. Usually they were unidentifiable, or picked apart by those who could stooped so low as to consume a fellow wolf. Not to mention if he had been taken beyond the land itself, which seems to have been the case she reckoned.

wormwood

The white wolf matched his attack, lancing the other side of the wolf with her teeth. She spit blood, and he grinned at her. Savage, wild. surprised but not unhappy. He didn't think there were any wolves left in the world he would trust. That he cared enough about to do more than use and discard.


“I'll be damned, it really is you” he said as she named him. He hadn't gone by Flare since he had left the streets, but the name settled back over him now like a familiar cloak. The tiger whimpered, shuddered, and snarled at them. Pissed off at the tag team attacks. “Down, boy” he snarled at it, smacking its snout with a steel covered claw hard enough to stun it. “thriving? Don't tell me some prince swept you off your paws…” he pretended to gag.

She grinned, something almost verging on childish as she lunged again at the tiger, taunting it with snaps and feigned attacks; inflicting more lacerations as she forced the tiger backward into a boulder to corner it. “The one and only.” The woman snarled out, her lips pulled back past her pearly teeth. It was hard not to feel an odd sense of comfort here. She didn’t know how much she could trust him truly, but they had similar upbringings in the same homeland - and he was part of the only good memories she had. It was oddly freeing.  

She snickered as he swatted the tiger away, but his jeer at her made her face contort into one of irritated sarcasm. “Do I look like a fucking princess, Flare?” Yeah sure, she had her lovers and Aresenn, but she was no one’s little princess. Not in this life. Absinth gestured to the tiger, her tail flicking out indignantly behind her as she silently pressed him to go for the kill. The dumb tiger was tired now, and increasingly getting slower in its movement. Plus, she wanted to see how much he had grown.

Her voice rang out in the meantime, filled with irreverent humor. “I washed up on a beach and found myself a lovely group of heathens. You know, to frolic in flowery meadows with. All that shit.”

wormwood

He grinned, pleased at how easily he got a rise from her. It brought with it an odd sense of the familiar. Like they'd been here before. Different land beneath their paws. Their bodies were taller, older. They've both found better food at some point and reached their true potential. But the steps were to an old song, and a familiar dance. 


She indicated the tiger with a paw and he leaned forward in a mock bow. “As my Princess commands” he agreed, and went in for the kill. The poor beast was bleeding from multiple lacerations, woozy from the blow to its head. It swayed, pushed into the corner that Absinth had forced it into. He approached it slowly, taking his time as he approached it. When he struck, he did it fast. Like a cobra, as his jaws found its neck and squeezed. At first, he pinched its throat, suffocating it. It gagged And thrashed under him. Until he pulled down harder, sinking his elongated fangs deep its flesh and tore. Blood soaked his chest and paws, and it staggered once before falling limp at his paws. He gave its shoulder a fond pat, and turned his attention back to the lady in white.


“So you went from dancing in the street with your merry band of orphans to frolicking in the meadows? Fucking hell, Absinth. If you need someone to rescue you, I can play Prince for a day. Maybe a week, if you're lucky.” He wiggled his brows at her, before licking blood from one of his paws.

Absinth's gaze was alight with amusement as her former companion grinned, his words echoing like an old, familiar tune. One from a past of pain and struggle. But here they both were. Older, scarred, and still fucking brats at heart. She watched as he mockingly bowed in response to her gesture, an impish smirk playing at the corners of her lips. Snarky fucker. She would have expected no less from him. He quipped about princesses and commands before moving in for the final strike. Absinth huffed in annoyance and rolled her eyes as he dispatched the wounded tiger, his movements swift and brutal.

The monochromatic fae observed the scene with a mix of intrigue and detachment, her emerald eyes betraying no hint of remorse for their quarry but she did seem to have a vested interest in the killer himself. As the life drained from the beast, Flare's voice broke the silence, his tone laced with teasing familiarity. ‘So you went from dancing in the street with your merry band of orphans to frolicking in the meadows?’ He said, his words playfully incredulous. ‘Fucking hell, Absinth. If you need someone to rescue you, I can play Prince for a day. Maybe a week, if you're lucky.’ Absinth couldn't help but chuckle at his jest, but her teeth still flashed as she grinned wide and dangerously. “Oh, Flare,” The woman replied, drawing closer with a predatory air, her tone a blend of mischief and exaggerated affection that didn’t seem quite right. “You know damn well I’ve never been one to wait for rescue.” She tossed a sly grin to the brute, then inclined her head towards the blood staining his fur. “Although… you might want to clean up some more before playing the part of the gallant prince. It doesn’t suit you one fucking bit.” And if she were a Princess, she wouldn’t nearly be half as covered with the blood from the fight herself. She stepped up to him, aligning herself with his taller stature as she stared intently at him. Like she was making sure, one last time, that it was really him. The kid she wasn’t allowed to grow up with. There was no grand flicker or flash of softness in her gaze, no tender moment, because she was as double-edged of a woman as a sword was. Instead her proximity had all the makings of a challenge, “What did it take, to survive, Flare?” Blunt as ever, though she knew the answer. It took everything.

wormwood

He chuckled, amused. By her presence, her existence, her miraculous reappearance in his life. But he was a cynic too, and he couldn't help but wonder. Why here, why now? He had shed his captors for the first time in his life. He was running free, and here was his history, just waiting for him.


“You don't think the red suits me?” He asked, raising two forepaws and spreading them. Displaying rather a lot of blood. Death was always so… messy.


“Ahh.” He said softly as she stepped closer to him. Looking in his eyes, and he found himself looking into hers. Looking for that kid they had called Wormwood. But his exclamation wasn't for her eyes, it was for her words. He closed up the jester, buttoning it up like a suit. “Don't you want to play a little more first?” He asked, Almost teasing. But it was too late, her question was out there. “You're asking the wrong question, little Wormwood. What did it take to be free? Now there's a good one. It took feeding the earth the taste of blood. Do you want an example?” He leaned a little closer to her, but the playfulness was gone. Here was the survivor. The menace.

She watched as he raised his forepaws, proudly displaying the evidence of their recent conquest with an amused air. The sight of the blood staining his fingers elicited a wry grin from Absinth, accompanied by a delighted chuckle. Was that his try at morbid charm?

At her approach, Absinth felt yet another pang of nostalgia for the boy she once knew. ‘Don't you want to play a little more first?’ He asked, his words teasing as though they could play like they did when they were children. But his words snapped her back to the present, his tone shifting from playful to serious in an instant. There was an undeniable edge to his demeanor now. A reminder of that which their world had fashioned them into. Hardy little bastards. ‘You're asking the wrong question, little Wormwood,’ Flare continued, his voice low and heavy with implication. ‘What did it take to be free? Now there's a good one. It took feeding the earth the taste of blood. Do you want an example?’ Absinth felt a shiver run down her spine at his words, a familiar chill coursing through her veins.  But instead of recoiling, she welcomed it with a grin and a renewed blaze of her emerald eyes. Fire with fire. The monochromatic woman held his gaze, her own eyes gleaming with a mixture of resonance and defiance. She couldn’t be cowed, she was beyond being anything other than her reckless self.

With a subtle shift in her assertive stance, Absinth pushed into his space, her movements fluid and deliberate. Stopping short of bumping into the bigger male, but the tips of their fur we’re probably touching nonetheless. “An example?” She echoed, her voice low and roguish, tinted with volatility. She didn't know exactly what he had in mind, but if it involved blood and excitement, she was all in. “I've seen enough examples, Flare. We've both spilled blood to earn our freedom. But… I’m a glutton for a thrill.”

Her gaze remained locked on his, icy-hot and unyielding. “Show me.” She demanded, the challenge implicit in her words. What would he do next? What was he made of now?


wormwood

She was as reckless as he remembered and age had filled in the promise of youth. His world had been battle after battle, and he considered himself a good judge of opponent. Looking at Absinth now, he could see the lines of readiness in her. She would give as good as he got, and he wasn't entirely certain he would win.

But Flare had learned to play the odds, and he would roll the dice with his old friend. For history's sake. He raised a paw, running a claw down her cheek. “You grew up, little Princess. It would be a shame to mar your beauty.” but really, that wouldn't stop him.

“I'll show you mine if you show me yours.” A flash of a smile, a hint of the rogue beneath. But the survivor was still at the forefront. If she wanted a taste, he would give it to her. He lashed out suddenly, aiming to drive a metal encased paw just below her knee. Intending for the sudden flash of violence to be unexpected.

Flare vs Absinth for Minor maim (leg sprain)
Round 1/?
Age: Over one
Size: Dire wolf
Build: Light
Offensive Battle Accessory: Metal claw caps
Defensive Battle Accessory: Leather neck armor
Companion 1: Red Goshawk, Female - Battle
Companion 2: Corsac Fox, Male - Battle
Mutation 1: Saber fangs (Offensive)
Mutation 2: Thicker fur (Defensive)
Skills: Intermediate Fighter & Beginner Hunter

"Speech"

Absinth met Flare's gaze with her unique brand of defiance and anticipation, her pulse quickening as she braced herself for whatever challenge he would throw her way. She recognized the readiness in his stance, the calculated precision of a warrior honed by years of survival. This would be no mere game; it was a dance of danger, and she was more than willing to take the lead.

As Flare's claw traced a line down her cheek, Absinth resisted the urge to make him pay for it, holding his gaze with unwavering intensity. “Flare.” She warned, teeth pulling back as she peered up at his haunting orbs with savage hunger. His words held a veil of civility, but she saw through the facade. She wondered what he was capable of, and she welcomed finding out with her own eyes. Still though, fuck him for calling her a Princess again.

A smirk tugged at the corners of her lips as Flare proposed his terms, a glint of mischief sparking in her emerald eyes. “I want to see your smug fucking face in pain. I love that sort of thing -- indulge me.” She purred, the threat echoing in her voice as she agreed to his terms. She knew the stakes of this game, and she was more than willing to play. Bodily harm was nothing, if she could feel the thunderous sound of her blood pumping in her ears.

Before she could react, Flare struck with sudden ferocity, his metal-clad claws aiming just below her knee with precision. The impact sent a jolt of searing pain coursing through her, but Absinth refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her falter. Her face contorted into delight, instead. She attempted a counter, aiming to lunge for the outstretched limb he’d attacked her with and latch onto it – trying to throw his balance off. Ah, and there it was, that amazing thrill. There were no rules, no mercy. Only primal thrill, and Absinth was more than ready to embrace it with every fiber of her being.

Absinth vs Flare for Minor Maim (Making him cry/defense against maim) lmao
Round 1/2
Age: Over 1
Size: Large
Build: Balanced
Offensive Battle Accessory: Knife bracers
Defensive Battle Accessory: leather armor
Companion 1: Raven, Female - Battle
Companion 2: Raven, Male - Battle
Skills: Master Fighter & Master Intellectual
Specialty: Juggernaut

wormwood

He knew that calling her Princess was pushing her buttons, just as Wormwood had when they were children. But he was a wolf who liked to live on the edge, even so far as to push his opponent right before they battled. “You just want to hear me cry your name” He taunted her as she purred her own threat back at him.

His initial strike hit, and he felt the give of her flesh beneath his partly enclosed claws. From there, things unfolded as if they were enemies, even as they grinned like friends. He felt her grab for the paw he had struck her with, and he let her have it. Leaning his weight into that paw as he lifted his other off the ground. Attempting to wrap it around her shoulder, so he could rake the hardened metal through her scruff. Pulling himself close like a lover as he attempted to bring her pain.


Flare vs Absinth for Minor maim (leg sprain)
Round 2/2
Age: Over one
Size: Dire wolf
Build: Light
Offensive Battle Accessory: Metal claw caps
Defensive Battle Accessory: Leather neck armor
Companion 1: Red Goshawk, Female - Battle
Companion 2: Corsac Fox, Male - Battle
Mutation 1: Saber fangs (Offensive)
Mutation 2: Thicker fur (Defensive)
Skills: Intermediate Fighter & Beginner Hunter

"Speech"

“You're damn right.” Absinth cooed viciously as Flare's taunt hit its mark, his words stirring a mix of irritation and something deeper within her. She felt the give of her flesh beneath his claws, a sensation that fueled her ferocity further. Despite the pain, there was a twisted pleasure in their dance. It felt liberating.

As she grabbed for his paw, she could feel his weight shift. Her jaws met their mark, and she sought to throw him off his mark by shaking him. Their closeness felt electrifying, a dangerous allure that drew her in despite herself. She met his gaze with a mix of defiance and something almost akin to admiration. Little Flare, how you’ve grown.

Absinth vs Flare for Minor Maim (Making him cry/defense against maim) lmao
Round 2/2
Age: Over 1
Size: Large
Build: Balanced
Offensive Battle Accessory: Knife bracers
Defensive Battle Accessory: leather armor
Companion 1: Raven, Female - Battle
Companion 2: Raven, Male - Battle
Skills: Master Fighter & Master Intellectual
Specialty: Juggernaut
wormwood

And the winner is...

ABSINTH

FLARE must give up by submitting, fleeing or passing out. ABSINTH successfully defended against the maim. Totals: ABSINTH: Attack Roll: 81 Defense Roll: 7 Agility Roll: 50 Perception Roll: 95 Total: 233 Attack[81] + 55% Bonus[44.55]: 125.55 Defense[7] + 15% Bonus[1.05]: 8.05 Agility[50] + 0% Bonus[0.00]: 50.00 Perception[95] + 25% Bonus[23.75]: 118.75 Total[302.35] + 25% Bonus[75.59]: 377.94 FLARE: Attack Roll: 93 Defense Roll: 72 Agility Roll: 66 Perception Roll: 29 Total: 260 Attack[93] + 50% Bonus[46.50]: 139.50 Defense[72] + 20% Bonus[14.40]: 86.40 Agility[66] + 5% Bonus[3.30]: 69.30 Perception[29] + 0% Bonus[0.00]: 29.00 Total[324.20] + 10% Bonus[32.42]: 356.62

Absinth shook his paw and pulled his balance free, as he staggered she was able to grab the upper hand and clamped her teeth over his throat. Not hard enough to cut off his breathing, but enough that he got the message. He had lost this fight. She had learned much since they had parted, as he had. It did hurt his pride a little that she won, but he wouldn’t let her know it.

Instead, he looked across at her with half lidded eyes. “Absinth, Absinth!” he cried with mocking eyes. It was the closest she would get to her desire to have him cry her name in winning the match.

"Speech"

She looked down at him, and saw the flicker of pride in his eyes, tempered by the sting of defeat. It pleased her to know that she had bested him, that her skills had surpassed his expectations. As much as he had surpassed her own. The fire, the crucible, that’s what they’d been tempered by. Resilient, determined. She was delighted. It shone in her steely emeralds, as they twinkled with satisfaction and intensity.

His mocking cry of her name stirred something within her — a mix of amusement and frustration. Flare always had a way of getting under her skin when they were younger, riling her up with his taunts and jibes. But deep down, she knew that there was a mutual respect between them. Or something similar. Two rats from the same gutter. The woman grinned, releasing the brute with a rough shove. “My name has never sounded so sweet. Lose more, so I can feel all warm and tingly again.”

wormwood

When Absinth released him, he took a seat across from the white wolf. A part of him was still adjusting to the fact that she was actually here, with him. That she had made it to these distant shores, pulled herself from the gutter and become something more than a skittering rat. His removal from the gutter hadn’t exactly been his choice. Stolen away in the night, another cog in the wheel of slavery. His own freedom was relatively new, which perhaps why losing held a bitter sting. This match was low stakes, but there were some battles that simply could not be lost, at any cost.

“How could I deny such an eloquent request?” he replied smoothly, his eyes teasing her again before letting some of his shell fall away. “Do your heathens play like our street rats, Absinth? Or is their game a different sport?”


"Speech"

Absinth lounged opposite Flare, watching him with impish curiosity and amusement. ”You'll find my tongue still gets me into all sorts of trouble, so enjoy it while it lasts.” There was a subtle shift in his demeanor as he spoke, and she was all too eager to pry back the hard exterior he’d created for himself. After all — It was strange seeing him here, across from her, in this unfamiliar setting. Older. Experienced. But, there was still a sense of familiarity in the way they bantered, as if no time had passed since their days in the gutters.

A wry smile tugged at her lips at his words, appreciating the playful tone that overshadowed the seriousness of their conversation. “Ah, Flare,” The woman replied, her voice low and smooth like wicked honey. “The heathens play terrible games, but nothing we didn’t experience as pups. The devil you know, right? It's all about survival, isn't it always? Adaptation, manipulation, brutality — knowing when to strike and when to retreat. In that regard, I'd say street rats and heathens have more in common than some might think.” She paused for a moment, her gaze locking with his, a challenge lingering in the stare between them.

wormwood

Flare gave an appreciative grin at that, remembering all the times her sass had gotten them into trouble on the streets. Where did she think he’d learned his terrible humour from? He settled down, watching her, and comparing the wolf before him to the somewhat scrawny one of their youth.

When she said his name, he flicked an ear, curious what direction her conversation would go. She described her heathens, and he considered that for a moment. For them, the street rats had been safety in numbers, a shared misery and all that. But they’d had fun, too. They’d gotten themselves into mischief more times than he could count. He also realised that in seeing Absinth, he was a little reluctant to let go of their shared history so easily. She had come from a simpler time in his life. “Your heathens recruiting?” He asked slyly.


"Speech"

Absinth chuckled softly, the sound reminiscent of their youthful escapades – why wouldn’t it when her past was looking her in the face? “You’d like to be one of the heathens? Well, they're always on the lookout for talent. But can you handle it, Flare? To run with their lot you have to assimilate, play the cards, let the Sultan think he has your full loyalty.”

She leaned back, a smirk playing on her lips as she regarded him. She wanted to study his face, his reaction to her words. Did he ever think she would be the type to fall in line? Of course, she only fell in line enough. Absinth was never going to be a tamed, docile creature. “Our old fun was raw, desperate, and unpredictable. The heathens, they have rules. Enemies. Consequences.” She pauses here, turning her body in such a way as to show him the scarred patchwork of her ribcage. “They play at sophistication, but underneath it all, they're just as if not more ruthless as we ever were.”

Her gaze softened slightly as she continued, though she was honestly giving him all the information he needed. A sincerity she did not always offer others. She had made her choice, what would he decide? “The choice is yours. Free will to sign your life away to devils. At least for the time being~ I can't deny, there's a certain thrill in the games they play. It's a different kind of survival, one that requires a sharper wit and a colder heart than most have. I adapted, I’m sure you have too. Maybe you'd enjoy it, maybe you'd hate it. But one thing's for sure – I'd rather have you as an ally than an adversary in this world.” She paused, her eyes locked with his, the challenge still present but now mixed with a hint of genuine curiosity and sentiment. “So, Flare, are you looking for a new adventure? Or are you just here to reminisce about the good old days?” The woman’s tail lashed behind her, her smaller frame moving to push into his space yet again, and if he weren't so damn tall now she could have been eye level. But there she was, waiting for response all the same with those blazing emeralds that beckoned more from him.
wormwood