the scent of ash is long-faded, endeavoring to stifle memories of an apocalyptic nightmare in its absence. but devastation lingers in the blackened bark and barren branches of this cursed forest, the earth too soiled by soot to permit regeneration of any kind. no – here is a habitat in permanent ruination; and olive finds herself enraptured by its foreboding vacancy, the chilling silence that urges for disruption. and who were she – a mere mortal – to deny the demands of mother nature?

encumbered by a child-like awe, there is little sound to escape her as she traipses upon the remnants of a once-bountiful wood. her cherry gaze is fervent in the manner that it rakes her surroundings: refusing to settle upon one sight in favor of the next, attention blindly wavering. but the quiet that plagues this hazardous wasteland is enough to drive the pixie mad, and she finds herself growing weary the further she travels inward. with faltering interest, her stride abruptly slows to a halt, and she glances around to ensure no monsters lurk in the shadows.

decidedly satisfied, olive grins to herself. and then, she screams.


tag! @Adalwolf

It was difficult to believe that the long-dead forest was not a product of the fires that had wreaked havoc on the jungle during the strange weather from earlier on in the year. Despite the burned-out trees of a fire that had ravaged this land so thoroughly that it failed to regrow, this was old devastation. It had been here well before the weather events that had torn apart the land here.

Most of the creatures living in the jungle seem to avoid this stretch, giving it a wide berth unless they had to travel through it for resources. The resulting silence was eerie after the myriad of sounds that echoed through the jungle proper. But he found the silence somehow...pleasant. If the Rike jarl could arguably find anything pleasant at all. Stepping away from pride politics, family matters, and his own convoluted life was a little bit of peace he was suddenly finding he didn't mind at the moment.

Normally he is the monster that lurks in the shadows, but today Adalwolf was completely caught unawares by the scream that breaks the silence with violence even he would have struggled to muster. Immediately his head shot up, his neck craning around to search for the source...and it lands on a lioness in the distance. "Was zur Hölle?" he exclaimed, his fire-bright eyes burning with barely checked rage at the audacity of the female to simply destroy the smallest amount of peace the Rike had probably ever managed to find.

@Olive

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echoes birth a cacophony of screams, with each repetition serving to deepen the smirk carving her features. but this self-satisfaction is as fleeting as the disruption she creates, and her amusement dissipates as silence prevails yet further. and it is in that moment that the pixie understands why the wood lay forgotten; not due to the miasma of sulphur or blanket of ash preventing restoration, but due to a complete lack of stimulation. no one likes boring, after all, and especially not olive.

a sigh greets her lips as she pivots to exit, but it is the accented vocals of an onlooker that shifts her trajectory. pausing mid-stride with piqued curiosity, the pixie scans her surroundings with frenzied pupils in pursuit of her caller. and as she pinpoints his distant, lonely form amongst the ruins, a familiar urge for mischief lures her into his proximities with a bounding gait and criminal smirk. “wha za hull d’you mean?” she queries in her approach, delivering a mimickry of his accent on butchered tones. permitting @Adalwolf with a cushion of personal space, the pixie halts before him – a portrait of confidence, entirely lack of fear despite their contrasting sizes and unfamiliarity with one another. “got something against fun?” she presses, head cocking with infantile curiosity. because screaming were fun in olive land, obviously.

The lioness turned his direction and immediately bounded towards him with an audacity that few had ever approached him with. He hated it immediately. The confident child had no respect for the beast he could be. His claws extended, sifting the ashy earth beneath his paws as he flexed the. Wanting nothing more than to choose violence in that moment.

He raised a brow at her mocking attempt at his accent and foreign words, his gaze speaking volumes to his barely checked fury. Now that she was close he could see that she was much smaller than himself. She would be such easy prey for the Rike Jarl. "Only against screaming," he retorted, his voice filled with the obvious annoyance that he was feeling. "Do you have somezing against peace und quiet?" He asked, taking a step closer to her. His ears pricked forward and his claws itching to sink into her soft flesh.

It was likely that his version of fun was not the kind of fun she would find very enjoyable.

@Olive

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how reminiscent the beast were to a certain red – what with his severity and bridled fury. an aggravated victim at the mercy of her instigation, and she revels in the tension that begins to shroud them as he rakes the earth with absent claw. intimidation is lost upon the pixie despite her lacking battle prowess, and his irritation only serves to amuse. perhaps this decimated wood were worth something, after all – if only for its sole inhabitant.

there is poison laced in the response he offers, but olive’s confidence is unwavering (and unfounded, however much she’d beg to disagree). she contrasts @Adalwolf in the pleasantness of her grin, in the amicable stance she adopts in his presence – sans defensive rigidity. and as he strides forth to loom overhead, her neck merely cranes to settle a gleaming carmine stare upon his blazing ember. oh, yes; this is all-too familiar. in fact, the pixie would not be shocked if the man were amaroq, himself, donning the hollowed flesh of an unlucky adversary.

if only it were so.

the question he reflects upon her earns a dismissive shrug. “only when it’s boring,” she admits, though the direct translation of her statement can be read as: ‘only when it suits me.’ the pixie is greatly immature, after all, and the womanly physique she dons is deception at its finest. but the longer she dwells within his proximities – refuting his desire for peace and quiet – the more personal detail she registers. namely, the scent of the mire clings heavily to his natural musk, and olive’s intrigue piques. “why am i always running into alaric’s doggies?” she muses aloud, stoking the fire with feigned innocence as she tuts. but the pixie knows from experience that arrogant men detest belittlement, and if her suspicions ring true, the german man were just the type to unfurl in shades of vehemence.

Oh how he wished to lay into this girl, digging his claws into her flesh, ensuring that the next scream that came from her lips was one of agony. He had been easy on his first wife, even when they first met, never treating her the way some women were treated by the Rike. The violence that dwelled within him was harder to call to the surface than it was for many of his brethren. But today he might have just met the creature that could do just that.

He hovered over her, for all the good it seemed to do to put her in her place. His orange eyes burned like the fire that had destroyed this section of jungle as he tried to bore a hole right through her with his gaze. She seemed unaffected, the smile on her face remaining in place and perhaps even growing, as if she was finding amusement in stoking the flames of his ire. Perhaps, he thought, she wanted the pain that he could give to her. He could easily oblige.

But then she said the words that were water to douse the flames of his irritation. The moment she said Alaric's name he pushed away, backing up from her. If she knew Alaric, then it was easy to say that Alaric would think of her as his, and that meant that she was off limits for the things he'd already begun to imagine doing to her. As much as she, perhaps, wished to stoke that fire with her words, it had the opposite effect. Adalwolf had crossed the Mire king in terms of his wife already. He did not want to push their understanding to bend any farther than it already had.

"Zen enjoy your screaming," he said in a clipped tone, backing away from her even more. "Don't let me ruin your fun." And he began to turn away from her, to leave her to...whatever it was that she was doing out here.

@Olive

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denial is swift, and wholly unforeseen. the miscalculation of his character a fatal error that only serves to kill the surrounding tension and excitement. and she watches with baited breath as @Adalwolf retracts from her proximities, as the question meant to instigate only manages to quell his burning fury instead. how very disappointing his apathy were. but the imp refrains from openly wearing her dismay, choosing to uphold her shit-eating grin despite his departing words and boring tendencies.

as if olive would leave their encounter at that.

she does not protest his leave, but makes her intention to follow evident with the inviting gesture of a forepaw – after you. although she’d had aimless wandering packed into the remaining portion of her agenda, the pixie is more than accomodating to the growing needs that unfold before her. and how pressing a matter it were: to aggravate this poor mire hound, yearning for but a moment of peace away from the incessant buzz of the swamp. it seems an unlucky stroke of misfortune had fated him to her mischievous antics instead – but which were worse? she wondered.

steps are delicate, flouncing as she moves to draw level with his right shoulder. treating the stranger as if an old friend, allowing a soft and absent hum to filter past her lips as she blindly follows. “scared of him?” she queries after a period of reflection, sparing the brute a sideways glance. her mention of the mire king had elicited an odd response, after all, and olive’s boundless imagination can only conjure so many reasons as to why. she’d not fault her tour guide if he were intimidated by alaric, for even olive were not so foolish as to cross the man after observing him in battle. “if he’s holding you hostage, blink twice,” she taunts, the smirk deepening upon her features. not that she were capable (or willing) to rescue the german man if he were a prisoner, but it’s the thought that counts.

Despite his attempt to leave her behind, putting distance between himself and the woman he desperately wanted to sink his teeth into, she seemed intent to follow - or accompany, as it were - him to...wherever he was going. He didn't even know, except that he would prefer it be away from the temptation with legs that bounced beside him.

Much to his frustration, she began to walk beside him, level with his shoulder, as if she knew him well. Had she been a Rike woman he might have beat her into her place right then and there. Alas, he had no claim over the brown lioness, and he wasn't going to risk harming anyone that Alaric might think to have a claim over. Not after he'd already crossed so many lines with Astarte.

The question that he might be afraid of Alaric draws a dark chuckle from the Rike jarl. "Far from it," he said in a low rumble, just shy of a growl. "I need him." Suddenly tight-lipped, or more so than he usually was, he said no more on the subject, doing his best to ignore her prodding. Adalwolf feared no one. The Rike believed that there was no god, but Adalwolf took it a step farther than his brethren. He believed that he was equivalent to a god. Unstoppable, powerful, and vengeful. What was Alaric next to that? A useful ally, nothing more.

For the moment he allowed her to trot beside him, but his irritation was written in the tension along his muscled legs and the narrowed glare of his eyes every time he looked over at her. His tail added to it, lashing behind him in agitation. If only she hadn't mentioned his king, he might have been able to shove her back where she belonged with tooth and fang. A shame, really, to be denied such fun.

@Olive

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blindly, they churn through ash and soot, weaving through felled foliage and charred remnants of tree trunks in their (outwardly) pleasant stroll. but there persists an aura of tension to halo their pairing as disdain continues to leak from the jarl’s every pore, palpable even to she who revels in his vexation. choosing blissful ignorance instead as she maintains a level pace, momentarily enraptured by his presence while intrigued by his restraint. for it appears that the mere utterance of the mire king’s name had snuffed the rike’s flame, and the reason as to why remains a great secret. unbeknownst to olive, her loose association with the king (and former, fleeting position amongst his hierarchy) had proven to be her saving grace from a fate less fortunate, a violence so foreign to one without adversary.

the dark undertones of his laughter prick her ears, and her stare lingers on his profile with teeming curiosity as he claims of alaric’s imperative purpose. perplexed, her skull recoils with disbelief as an overactive imagination works to conjure scenarios both fanciful and realistic for such an alliance. were they in love? were @Adalwolf incapable of protecting himself, requiring the king’s assistance? “need him?” she reiterates, thoughtful. and while the duo share little kinship, olive is so prone to prying and incapable of pocketing budding curiosity – the perfect recipe for an incessant barrage of interrogations. “and why do you need him?” her vocals are emphatic in her attempt to lure his explanation. “is mister mire your bodyguard?” she croons, taunting, playful. and although the jarl were the pinnacle of health and prowess, olive knows alaric to don a more rugged, impressive physique. but however had her new acquaintance garnered enemies with his endless charm and empathy? such a mystery.

If the Sigrun god was real then he would certainly have drowned this woman to appease him if he had been given the choice. Of course, if he wanted to garner a false god's favor, perhaps it was best not to send them a sacrifice that could be so incredibly infuriating just by walking next to him and talking his ear off. He wanted nothing more than beat this woman into submission - or at the very least chase her well away from him - and he was beginning to struggle to resist the violent urges that coursed through his veins in the form of his Rike blood. Someone needed to teach this woman her place, but that someone really should not be him.

Glancing over at her face he can imagine the thoughts that run through her mind at his declaration. Of course, Adalwolf has no interest in other men. No respectful Rike would, after all - that was not conducive to continuing the family and strengthening their numbers. But he did not have to tell this petulant child anything of the like, and he had no intention to delve any deeper into the reason for his need of the Mire king.

A thought struck him then. Perhaps this would be the excuse that he could use to savage the girl, if she would agree to the terms. He stopped in his tracks and turned to her, a sickening grin twisting the features of his face. "Perhaps," he mused, his eyes narrowed wickedly. "I vill tell you vhy I need Alaric if you can beat me in battle." She could test the need for a bodyguard herself, and if she won he would tell her that he had an alliance with the man - probably little more. But she didn't need to know that just yet. He flexed his claws into the ashy soil, eager to sink them into her flesh and elicit a scream from those innocent little lips of hers. There was more he would love to do, but he'd want to restrain himself a little. Too much damage that got back to Alaric and he might lose his delicate alliance.

@Olive

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