No rest for the wicked

Absinth considered for a moment the gravity of his suggestion. Of meeting a grandson who was in need of knowledge and experience in battle… and she would be rewarded with a piece of armor and a weapon if she fulfilled the older man’s request. It was indeed enticing. It was an amazing deal as far as she knew… but why? Why was this trade being offered to her so easily? With such a skewed balance in value? She raised a quizzical brow as she processed his words, trying to figure out any ulterior motives… Trying to read the man’s hardened features with her perceptive emerald orbs.

But the quickest way to get to the truth was to ask directly, and the monochromatic girl  would do just that. She was rather straight-forward that way. “I… do have experience in battle, But my tactics… were first learned in the gutters as a street rat. Would the Warlord's grandson truly benefit from this deal? I am no decorated Knight. Hell, I only know how to fight until my last tooth and claw – not exactly noble, you see.” Absinth spoke carefully, eyes gauging the man’s expression as she divulged her beginnings with him– part of her hoping it would tug at the aged warrior’s heart strings to some extent. She had pulled herself up from the very bottom of society, clawed and crawled her way- to be exact. It had taken an indomitable force of will, but she was here and carving herself a new life. A life all her own, despite the darker turn it had taken. But really, wasn’t it always going to be an abyss of morality? Her very blood assured her of it.


wormwood