No rest for the wicked

Absinth waited patiently as the man set to work on her limb, wrapping the cloth he had produced tightly around the cut. She took the time to study his face, memorizing it and the overall battle-worn appearance of his aging body. Still a force to be reckoned with, most definitely. Nothing like the near perfect and pristine form of her father. But then again, his forte was the psychological sort of warfare after all. She hoped she would be a mix of both, if she lived that long.

As Sirius finished up the first aid, he would put some space between them and advise her on when to remove the binding. Easy enough. It wasn’t like she knew of any healers in the first place. But rather than ridicule her, the brute offered real advice. Absinth met his gaze with focus, calculating all of his words and beginning to cobble together a new style for battle. Multiple attacks. Balance. Toes. Thus far the woman had operated off of instinct, with the only real help she’d ever gotten being from her elder sister; about going for the throat or the genitals… so helpful right? Toes was new to her, and she could only imagine if the dire man had cut her there… how excruciating that would have been. She’d have to try that out on someone, to test it.

Aresenn had mentioned the marketplace of the Armada, but Absinth hadn’t heard the specifics of the dealings there. So it was a tried and true trading system, what might it look like… Her curiosity was at its peak as he brought up weapons and armor. She glanced at his bracers, at the knife holster there and could easily see how that would benefit her… but she had nothing to trade; and what if he discovered she was affiliated with Sephiran? Bringing her emerald orbs back to his blue ones she would respond in earnest. “I only have what I can hunt down to offer for trade.” She’d have to tread carefully here, thankful for the week-long scouting she’d been doing that had left her pelt with only her own sage scent.
wormwood