10-26-2018, 12:07 AM
+ retro to migration
The early days of Tanglewood had been the ones to yearn for, for sure. Back when more than five people inhabited the clan; a flashback to the days of Malphas, his girl Stocking, Aya’s horrid tendencies, Ophelia’s unrivalled beauty, Abathur’s many eyes - all listed: deceased or missing. What had gone wrong, one’d wonder, was there a certain chain of inside events that propelled the tribe into such a state of disarray?
Only casting matters worse was the plentitude of ghosts roaming the glades, Tanglewood’s apparition problem being the worst out of all the groups, he’d heard. And, Leroy could gladly agree that was most certainly true. The haunting fuckers were such a threat, apparently, that the only solution that Morgan saw fit for this had been migration, deserting the swamp for a week or so, blindly wishing for the ghoulish activity to die down. The grizzled guardsman knew better, though. Ghosts don’t die of old age, everybody understood that. The logic behind merely relying on time to heal their wounds was foolish, greatly so - what needed to be done was more sage, greater amounts of saltwater, whatever they can that wasn’t hiding from their problems. Secreting oneself from a single issue was one thing, but dragging along an entire tribe for the ride? That was a whole other level. Still, it was the General’s word, and the General’s word was law, and Leroy’s days of lawbreaking were long over.
Back in the old Tanglewood, it was not uncommon to come across another Tangler fucking around in the underbrush while taking these walks. Nowadays, when the hound ventured out on his strolls, which he’d desperately require to stay sane, an uncanny vacancy was all he’d gotten. Until nowadays, that is. These times he’d often spot a phantom going about his ghostly day, and Leroy often found a way to mess them up. That’s what he’d like to believe, anyways. Anyhow, this stroll had been no different, and nigh ten minutes in, he’d spot yet another spectre, one of the destructive sorts, it seemed.
No matter. He’d simply return the favour.
Embracing an expression of pure chaos, the mutt bolted out of the shade in a similar fashion to a derailed train, making a beeline for the lucid feline, yowling as loud as he could. This tactic had worked before, he thought, as it caused the ghost to dematerialize into the air shortly afterwards (each time, unbeknownst to the canine, they’d reappear seconds later). However, as he dashed, something seemed out of sorts. A twang of familiarity filled the horizon, as if this spook was very different from the rest. Then, he realized what was up.
As far as he could recall, Beck never really interacted with him as another. The then-leader likely only spoke Leroy’s name only once, in a meeting where the feline announced all the newcomers to the rest of the gang. This would be odd.
"Hold up!" he’d cry, skidding to a stop, ”Are you, ghost, Beck, by any chance? Or are you his twin, in some way?” Like previously stated, the two never really clicked, so the hound would be greatly suprised if the see-through fellow could recollect any memory of him.
+ wrote this at 1 am sorry
The early days of Tanglewood had been the ones to yearn for, for sure. Back when more than five people inhabited the clan; a flashback to the days of Malphas, his girl Stocking, Aya’s horrid tendencies, Ophelia’s unrivalled beauty, Abathur’s many eyes - all listed: deceased or missing. What had gone wrong, one’d wonder, was there a certain chain of inside events that propelled the tribe into such a state of disarray?
Only casting matters worse was the plentitude of ghosts roaming the glades, Tanglewood’s apparition problem being the worst out of all the groups, he’d heard. And, Leroy could gladly agree that was most certainly true. The haunting fuckers were such a threat, apparently, that the only solution that Morgan saw fit for this had been migration, deserting the swamp for a week or so, blindly wishing for the ghoulish activity to die down. The grizzled guardsman knew better, though. Ghosts don’t die of old age, everybody understood that. The logic behind merely relying on time to heal their wounds was foolish, greatly so - what needed to be done was more sage, greater amounts of saltwater, whatever they can that wasn’t hiding from their problems. Secreting oneself from a single issue was one thing, but dragging along an entire tribe for the ride? That was a whole other level. Still, it was the General’s word, and the General’s word was law, and Leroy’s days of lawbreaking were long over.
Back in the old Tanglewood, it was not uncommon to come across another Tangler fucking around in the underbrush while taking these walks. Nowadays, when the hound ventured out on his strolls, which he’d desperately require to stay sane, an uncanny vacancy was all he’d gotten. Until nowadays, that is. These times he’d often spot a phantom going about his ghostly day, and Leroy often found a way to mess them up. That’s what he’d like to believe, anyways. Anyhow, this stroll had been no different, and nigh ten minutes in, he’d spot yet another spectre, one of the destructive sorts, it seemed.
No matter. He’d simply return the favour.
Embracing an expression of pure chaos, the mutt bolted out of the shade in a similar fashion to a derailed train, making a beeline for the lucid feline, yowling as loud as he could. This tactic had worked before, he thought, as it caused the ghost to dematerialize into the air shortly afterwards (each time, unbeknownst to the canine, they’d reappear seconds later). However, as he dashed, something seemed out of sorts. A twang of familiarity filled the horizon, as if this spook was very different from the rest. Then, he realized what was up.
As far as he could recall, Beck never really interacted with him as another. The then-leader likely only spoke Leroy’s name only once, in a meeting where the feline announced all the newcomers to the rest of the gang. This would be odd.
"Hold up!" he’d cry, skidding to a stop, ”Are you, ghost, Beck, by any chance? Or are you his twin, in some way?” Like previously stated, the two never really clicked, so the hound would be greatly suprised if the see-through fellow could recollect any memory of him.
+ wrote this at 1 am sorry