megalomania

In the heart of the Druid's Moor, where the mist clung to every surface like a blanket, there roamed Absinth. She moved with the grace of the shadows, her fur that night and day contrast of ivory and charcoal, eyes the color of emeralds aglow in the dim light. This was the new temporary landing of their Syndicate Band, and while she had her lovely companion scout it out before her arrival - Absinth found the report lacking in terms of visual description. It was oddly… Mystical here.

Absinth found herself drawn deeper into the moor, her curiosity piqued by the atmosphere. The soft grey-green heather brushed against her legs as she padded forward, her senses alert to every sound and scent that drifted through the mist. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and the faint aroma of herbs, not that she knew a shit about healing. Absinth paused to inspect a cluster of herbs, wondering what they could be used for. Maybe their use was exactly why Sephiran and his pet chose this place, being wicked little healers themselves.

As she continued her exploration, Absinth's keen eyes caught sight of a faint outline in the distance—a circle of stones shrouded in mist. Intrigued, she quickened her pace, her heart thrumming with anticipation at the prospect of something… exciting. Drawing closer, Absinth felt shivers run down her spine. Stones loomed before her, ancient and tall – lost to time. She circled the perimeter, her senses tingling with a mixture of reverence and curiosity.


wormwood