01-23-2020, 02:42 PM
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In all honesty, it seemed as though the ranks were unmatched. Unevenly split between veteran and rookie. Prior few ever succeeded in staying around the old swamp, much less even participated in a vigil. He couldn't help but plant a twinge of guilt in his chest at that. With the first mask of Tanglewood under his ownership, he naturally was expected to hunt and pare down the weak. At least, that was the original purpose of his little game. If it still served as a motive to the wolfhound now following his footsteps, he didn't know. Nor did he necessarily care. He just wanted to have some fun without consequence.
As a runaway denizen of the underworld, the task of stealth was laughably easy. Unfair advantage crossed his mind as he watched the unsuspecting hauntees within the graveyard, unable to be seen, yet he pushed it aside for the sake of fun. Always for fun. Fun, fun, fun. Beck fidgeted nervously in wait, flicking a blade of grass back and forth. The cold permeated the air, typical of a wintry night, meaning his own frigid presence might be assumed as the northern winds rather than a looming poltergeist.
When the signal rang out over the cemetery, he snapped into the mindset of a predator, tensing replicated muscles before slinking among tombstones and epitaphs. Who to choose first? The sound of scuffling broke the silence of the burial grounds, undoubtedly disturbing the rotten, earless bodies six feet below. If he was lucky, perhaps a zombie uprising would begin, their slumber awoken by the yowls of creatures locked in mock strife. From what he could tell, Leroy busied himself with their oh-so glorious proxy. A proxy without a mask at all. What a joke. Sam targeted the arachnid, blind judged by the frequent tapping of the soil, searching for any footfall with trembling hairs. Easy pickings. He scoffed to himself. And Moth... well, she was presumably selecting a mark. As for the hunted, four remained unhindered. Kiira retreated to the outskirts. Three unfamiliar faces, names learned in passing, dotted the overgrown graveyard. One of which resorted to laughing like a fool, the others close to create some sense of teamwork and security. That simply wouldn't do.
The cheetah could scarcely predict what -- who lurked in his very shadow. It was humorous, really. How the savannah descendant hunched close to the ground, allowing instincts to guide his form. Like he was about to spring after some poor gazelle. Beck sneered to himself, despite his prominent lack of a visible apparition. Fighting away the temptation to scare the wannabe war hound out of his wits and dappled pelt, unseen paws quickly set to work unfastening the sash tied around Kaz's waist, gingerly as though to not wake a sleeping bear. Was it fair? No. But since when had the world itself ever treated Beck fairly? Besides, there was nothing in the rules stating people couldn't attempt to earn their cloths back.
[member=4524]K. MILLER[/member]
As a runaway denizen of the underworld, the task of stealth was laughably easy. Unfair advantage crossed his mind as he watched the unsuspecting hauntees within the graveyard, unable to be seen, yet he pushed it aside for the sake of fun. Always for fun. Fun, fun, fun. Beck fidgeted nervously in wait, flicking a blade of grass back and forth. The cold permeated the air, typical of a wintry night, meaning his own frigid presence might be assumed as the northern winds rather than a looming poltergeist.
When the signal rang out over the cemetery, he snapped into the mindset of a predator, tensing replicated muscles before slinking among tombstones and epitaphs. Who to choose first? The sound of scuffling broke the silence of the burial grounds, undoubtedly disturbing the rotten, earless bodies six feet below. If he was lucky, perhaps a zombie uprising would begin, their slumber awoken by the yowls of creatures locked in mock strife. From what he could tell, Leroy busied himself with their oh-so glorious proxy. A proxy without a mask at all. What a joke. Sam targeted the arachnid, blind judged by the frequent tapping of the soil, searching for any footfall with trembling hairs. Easy pickings. He scoffed to himself. And Moth... well, she was presumably selecting a mark. As for the hunted, four remained unhindered. Kiira retreated to the outskirts. Three unfamiliar faces, names learned in passing, dotted the overgrown graveyard. One of which resorted to laughing like a fool, the others close to create some sense of teamwork and security. That simply wouldn't do.
The cheetah could scarcely predict what -- who lurked in his very shadow. It was humorous, really. How the savannah descendant hunched close to the ground, allowing instincts to guide his form. Like he was about to spring after some poor gazelle. Beck sneered to himself, despite his prominent lack of a visible apparition. Fighting away the temptation to scare the wannabe war hound out of his wits and dappled pelt, unseen paws quickly set to work unfastening the sash tied around Kaz's waist, gingerly as though to not wake a sleeping bear. Was it fair? No. But since when had the world itself ever treated Beck fairly? Besides, there was nothing in the rules stating people couldn't attempt to earn their cloths back.
[member=4524]K. MILLER[/member]