When will these numbskulls learn that waltzing into creepy, unknown places was a bad idea? In almost every horror film he had seen, the ditsy girl that wanders into a dangerous forest or abandoned house or even just anywhere with a record of murders ends up brutally murdered. Not that he was complaining about an excuse to snatch up another lost creature, Beck just wished they were smarter targets -- this wouldn't be a challenge at all. Scarred lips couldn't resist peeling back into his dangerous grin as he idled not too far behind. A tactic his kind, or something, was perfect for. Weightless and never causing sound unless he wanted to, able to disappear from existence without much warning other than his apparition fading, and obsessed with revenge. He could smell the salt water from miles away, a sharp contrast from the swamp murk and pine needles his nose was used to. So began the slow chase, Beck relentlessly shadowing the ex-crewmate with a spreading twinge of rage in his chest.

    The poltergeist was quick to action by the time Amaranth succumbed to her own fatigue. He ignored the wagon full of plants for the most part; he could steal them later. Sidestepping over cattails so he could circle around and ambush from behind while remaining unseen, there was no hesitation like before when Beck abruptly wrapped his arms around the tree trunk, guessing where Amaranth's muzzle would be and hopefully gripping her mouth shut with a frigid paw. His pearly claws snapped up to hook around her neck, sure to to break skin just yet. To keep her from wrestling away, he yanked her back so she would be pinned against the tree she was leaning against, tightening his grip if she squirmed. "Scream and I'll gut ya like the fish that ya are." the boy hissed from behind the tree, accompanying his promise by digging his claws into her fur and twitching them downwards slightly. He loosened his clammy grasp around her snout, just enough so she could mumble out answers to his onslaught of questions: "Who are ya and what d'ya want -- did he send ya, that bitch -- what exactly are ya planning, huh, where ya gonna try and kill another one of my members?" Beck's voice increased to a demanding shriek, shrilly snarling in her ear as he shook her with every syllable and becoming more violent with every moment he spoke. He wasn't about to let the Typhoon let a rat into their territory and pick off another unsuspecting rogue. Maybe he'll send a message back to Pincher by carving out a warning into her mutilated body; whatever he was planning, it failed to calm him down, setting Beck on the verge of a frenzy as the surrounding atmosphere dropped into a numbing temperature and his lantern-like eyes burned with a vindictive glint.

    No sobbing or sympathizing could restrain him now. Not even something pinching at his ankle -- as if he could register pain with his mind already overwhelmed by his dangerous anger. Anyone could plainly see that the boy was livid, regressing into a state he prided himself on crawling out of so long ago. She's lyin' to us, don't let her lie to you, Becky. Razor-sharp teeth gritted at her mantra of "he didn't care", and he grimaced at her tears slipping down onto his clenched paws. No, of course he didn't care; she was expendable, and being used to gather information. Before he could interrogate any further, a scaly annoyance decided now was a perfect time to make friends. Pinprick pupils could only glower at the water spirit as any movement could mean escape for Amaranth. He was close to snapping at Fish, and by the time Amunet strolled up, he was about ready to add them onto his gutting list, too.

    Frustration was the perfect catalyst for sparking another violent action; and while Amunet's speech was meant to comfort, the poltergeist only increased his crushing grip, no longer provide her room to utter out pleas, and likely bringing beads of blood to the surface from where pearly claws sunk into skin. All of mankind were pigs. Selfish, child-killing pigs. And he intended to be butcher bringing them to the slaughter. At Amunet's prompting question, Beck shifted his paws from her muzzle and neck to both her temples, swinging her head forward and back to bash her skull against the tree bark without little time given to resist. It seemed blunt force trauma was his favorite method of knocking people senseless, and this was no different. When she slumped over into an unconscious heap, Beck would nonchalantly step over her crumpled form and coldly hiss to the larger females, "Get her back to camp." The feral glint in his lantern-like glare was beginning to dull, but there were no other words from his scarred maw as he shouldered aside ferns and disappeared into the undergrowth with an agitated flick of his stubby tail.

▼ — when the weak court death, they find it.

seems he'd missed all the drama but he'd arrived soon enough to see beck knock the trespasser out cold - both his eyebrows raised and he inclined his head to beck as the other disappeard, striding up alongside Amunet with a nod and a small greeting to the dragoness, curious as to the plan for this stranger, assuming there was one, whether an example or a mercy but they all knew how little the leader cared for the typhoon - not that he could blame him.

They had lost a friend after all, even if he hadn't known Vladimir himself, he could relate to that, he'd lost many friends to many wars and conflicts.

He did step forward to shoulder the burden onto his back [member=75]Amaranth[/member] and move to take her back to camp however.

▲ — MALE. TANGLEWOOD. VERY HARD. REF. BIO. — ▲