what you want me to be || MURDER OF ROYALRIDDLER

[Stryker]

[div style="width: 60%; text-align: justify; font-size: 10.2pt; font-family: arial;"][align=center][img width=690]https://i.imgur.com/3KAkSGO.png[/img]

[glow=#000,2,300]☣ —[/glow] Continuation...

Salt filled the air and overlaid the usual rotten stench at the edge of the marsh's territory, signaling there had been a change. The Pittian scent too wandered the area. Upon closer inspect laid a borzoi. Chunks of skin were ripped out of their chest, exposing their internal (now external) organs that laid upon the soft grass. The male was no longer excreting any air. Obviously, he was dead as a doorknob. Any lousy shithead could tell. After all, who lived after... well... that?

//simple and short for y'all

[guts]

[glow=#000,1,400]YOU PUT UP YOUR DEFENSES WHEN YOU LEAVE, YOU LEAVE BECAUSE YOU'RE CERTAIN — ｡+ﾟ.[/glow]

The smell of death and blood was not unfamiliar to the female. The bitter metallic smell hit her nose forcefully, stopping her in her tracks, large head whipping around in it's direction. Her former thoughts of irritation at the mud sticking to her fur forgotten, she lumbers over, large steps quickly bringing her to the scene of the crime.

The scent only got stronger, the remnants of the body coming into view. It was a gruesome scene, blood seeping into the ground and staining it red, decay hanging in the air. But she did not recognize the victim, her face remaining placid. Their leader would probably want to hear about this, though. Morgan, was it? She couldn't remember.

Letting out a small huff, Feverdream casts a glance around, hoping someone would come along and help. She wasn't sure where to go from here, especially considering the unfamiliar scent.

[arcy]

[div style="margin: 0 auto; width: 65%; font-family: timesnewroman; font-size: 10pt; text-align: justify;"]Jim is ... used to blood and death. A lot more used to it than most people should be. It pervaded his childhood, loomed over his entire life. ... He's seen plenty of gruesome deaths, more so than this. It doesn't mean that it wasn't a shock, the blood and gore. The canine comes to a halt next to Feverdream, and a grimace pulls his expression.
.. He's not sure who this is. Jim has to, cautiously, approach the body to sniff it, and fights not to recoil against the death stench. .. A Tanglewooder, just under the blood and another group's scent. That he can recognize. He backtracks to Feverdream's side, ears flattening back as he frowns.
".. Someone will probably recognize them," He decides to Feverdream. His chest feels heavy. He remains composed, but there's a sort of .. sadness, upset, on his face. This was gruesome. Who the hell would do something like this? Because Jim has a thing to say to them. This was just .. cruel.
"Hey, over here!" Jim turns on his paws to shout. The blood scent would probably be covered by the mud after a certain point that his voice could, in fact, reach.

[glow=black,2,300]— ✰ —[/glow]

[Morgan]

"That's Royalriddler,"

Morgan whispered.

"That... that was Royal... riddler."

His mind first turned to the Rosebloods, but the distinctly familiar scent negated that idea.

"Stryker,"

he uttered, gritting his teeth.

"This was the Pitt."

The attack seemed completely out of nowhere to the samoyed, who then asked,

"Did either of you see what happened?"

Shaking his head, Morgan asked,

"Have they got nothing better to do than attack the rest of us?"

Though it was a rhetorical question, part of him truly did want an answer. It was so needless, and so... unjust.

"We've gotta do something about this. We've gotta. And Royalriddler needs a proper burial." As they appeared, the remains seemed almost impossible to handle carefully; the General shook his head and added, [div style="text-shadow: 0 0 1px black; display: inline"][color=#FFE499][b]"This isn't going to go unnoticed. I'll have to talk to the Guardsmen to figure something out."

[arcy]

[div style="margin: 0 auto; width: 65%; font-family: timesnewroman; font-size: 10pt; text-align: justify;"].. Royalriddler, huh? Jim's ears press flatter against his head still. There's something dizzying about knowing the name of the deceased. Knowing who the person lying at their feet was.
Jim may be desensitized to it, but that doesn't mean he won't be distressed when it happens to clanmates.
Jim sighs, softly.
"No. I came here after Feverdream, he was already dead." He tells Morgan, shaking his head softly. The Pitt? .. Morgan seems very familiar with them. Jim's unease is spiking, his claws digging into the soil. He needs to remind himself he does not actually has any physical power here. No ship or crew, he is just a fucking dog.
Doesn't mean he can't be pissed, though.
"I'll help .. clean him up," Jim offers. Not right now, immediately, of course. They'd still need something to put the guy and his organs onto. Jim hasn't quite gotten a grasp in the disparities between their cultures, so he's not sure how delicately they handle this stuff(not that it mattered to Jim), but regardless they can't just stuff his organs back into his body like a fucking deboweled teddy bear. "Here's to hoping this can be prevented from happening again," Jim huffs. His ears would flatten more, if possible. As it was, they'd basically vanished into his skull. He's not a guardsman, but he'll be damned if he doesn't end up glowering protectively regardless.

[glow=black,2,300]— ✰ —[/glow]