Joshua
*Willingly letting go of her only defence. Does the girl have a death wish?!*
Ashnard's body tensed as Imogen dropped off the branch in surprise. Every fibre body was taut as a drawn bowstring, all concentrated muscle and lowered posture like a predator preparing to pounce. His nostrils flared, breathing steaming-hot against the night's cold breeze. 
From high ground, the girl may have had a fighting chance to threaten him with a barrage of spells, but up-close, she might as well have surrendered her life to him. That much became evident the moment he stood back to his full height, towering over the young druid by more than a foot. Acknowledging that advanced, the canifor momentarily retracted his claws and dispersed the blackened flames around him. 

"Too little too late indeed," He affirmed with a bitter snort. "One cannot bring back what was lost; only avenge them." The stinger of his twisted, scorpion-like tail coiled near his knees, his position at ease once he sensed Imogen had no intention to fight him. Violent as he may have looked, some part of him averted from attacking someone defenceless. 
"And yet, vengeance without a known foe is a dangerous master. A few seasons ago, I would have cut you down without a second thought. Not because I've had a grievance against you, but merely because you were a Lathian; because you were *Alive*. Part of me still wants that, but it is no more than an itch now, a whisper in the darkest corners of my mind. Nightshade helps me keep it that way," He explained.
Steven
.
His grip tensed once more as the girl reached for his wrist. The lobstered metal was searing-hot to the touch. The beast yanked his arm back by reflex and clutched it, blackened blood oozing from its surface. Whatever fell sorcery had infused his body and armour, it had not come without cost. 
"No... You are not an enemy... And neither is the forest. At least to the degree that I would perceive you as a threat," He admitted, ears tipping back. 
He took a step back, almost defensively. Then, the gnarled gauntlet of stygian steel writhed and contorted across his palms and wrists. It gradually spread over his forearms, and then began to sizzle. With an inhuman, shrill noise, it dispersed into thick black vapour, leaving his arms exposed. 

Intricate runic patterns, painted a deep red that could might as well pass for blood embellished the thinly cropped fur of his upper limbs. Dried scars ran between them, from vestiges of shallow cuts to deeper gashes that would never fully heal. The ordeal itself seemed to take a toll on him, giving Imogen a weary, grim look at her last request.
"My scars need no healing. No longer can I feel them ache; they are merely reminders. They mark every mistake I've made, every mistake I've suffered, every mistake that I must not repeat..."
He glanced over the tree where his claws had raked. The druid's magic had restored its bark and undone the surface damage, yet the scars of his deed remained: three distinct charred lines, forever blackened. 
"This tree will never forget the pain I have inflicted upon its bark. It will not complain, it will not fight back or seek to hurt me in turn. But it will remember. I do not have the same patience."
Juanita
*The Druid pulled her hand back the moment the Canifor yanked his back, her hand lingering in the air just above where his wrist had been moments before. A piece of her felt insulted that she wasn't perceived as a threat, the accusation was usually accompanied by a glance at her physique. She knew better than to prove people wrong, after all the incorrect assumption was what allowed her to drain so many warriors of their precious blood behind dirty alleyways. The Herbalist brought her right hand to her chest before sliding it down the top of her shirt and pulling out the pouch she had been safe keeping. Even from where she stood, she could sense another patch of Nightshade further in the forest had she wanted more of it. Tipping her head forward and she worked the string past her Raven coloured hair until the pouch rested neatly within the palm of her hand.* 

"Here I thought it was my beauty that prevented you from attacking." *She mused, though the most he received was a tight lipped smile. Unlike the Revenant, the only imperfections that rested upon her body was dirt. There wasn't a single blemish, scar, bruise, anything that indicated she had any trials during her life.* "I don't think someone needs scars to remind themselves of their past. A vampire turned me and killed my family, my people turned and chased me with flames and pitchforks. I don't need a visual reminder of that." 

*Imogen reached into her pocket to pull out a string of cloth. It was covered with dark dried blood stains from previous usage. She began to wrap the cloth around her wrist two times and left the rest of the cloth dangling between herself and him. Next she pulled out a small dagger with a single rune etched into the handle. Unlike the daggers he had thrown, this dagger was intended to create wounds that fought against healing.*

. 
"I don't understand what is going on with you and your armor, but it does look painful. Let me help." *Without waiting for his answer, she gripped the steel within her left hand and held firm. With a swift motion she yanked the blade from her own grasp, the sound of blood splashing the floor from the dagger. The sound of blood dripping from the palm of her hand fell into rhythm as it connected with the forest floor. The girl pivoted her hand 90 degrees until all the blood dripped from a single point underneath her pinky. She completed the ritual required to transfer a piece of her life onto another. Unlike those who practiced faith, this art was practiced by those who sought to merge the living and the dead. A white aura emanated from the palm of her hand and stretched across to find the Revenant, searching for wounds that required patching.* 

"The tree will continue to grow and give breath to everything around it. There is a patch of the plants you like further within the woods, I don't know how much more you actually need of this poison. If not, I'm getting rather tired and I don't know how to steer a horse. That's something I'll have to rely on you to do."