03-25-2020, 11:30 PM
Echoes of self-doubt and dismay reverberated off of the walls that enclosed the hound's mind. He perfectly understood how his underlings perceived him in the light of his recent decisions, and frankly, it had gotten under his skin. Being seen as a party bag of poor choices and irresponsible judgments by his friends and family was not how he envisioned his reign as general, yet lo and behold, that's the route he had apparently sent himself on. Absolutely no pointers or tips in regards to leading were shared by Crow, his predecessor, so the mongrel lamentably found himself being thrown off of the deep end. And it wasn't as though the other Tanglers were making it any easier, either. For some inexplicable reason, a fair majority of his comrades possessed little to no faith in their fresh leader, despite him dubbing the region as his home for nearly two years now.
So why the lack of faith?
It was completely beyond him, and the stupor he experienced while pondering on the subject left him rather upset.
The flow of complaints hadn't began until Leroy made the controversial decision to grant Pittian defectors permission to find a home in Tanglewood. By all means, the resolution came as deplorable to the canine as well - but he noticed an opportunity to weaken his tribe's loathsome enemy, and he pursued it. "From this moment forth, all Pittian deserters will be allowed into Tanglewood". From the moment those damned words left his conceited maw, the air in the atmosphere tasted different, shifting from clean and credible to precarious and problematic. In fact, it'd gotten so problematic, two of the general's most favoured confidants felt the need to depart from the territory; the one he'd considered to be a close friend, and the one he saw potential bubbling within. Their takeoffs catapulted a metaphorical boulder of monstrous proportions towards his confidence, which sustained massive damage from the impact.
At times like these, Leroy found comfort in moonlit jaunts through Tanglewood's claimed land. Call it cheesy or cliché, but it worked. When the commotion of everyday died down in the evening, he found that the negativity in the air did as well. Thenceforth, the night soon became the his preferred time of day. The shoreline existed as his location of choice when it came to his lucent strolls, for the nighttime serenity paired perfectly with the calming noise of ocean waves. The ocean spray also relaxed him, but sometimes that shit got in his mouth, which birthed an unpleasant experience for his taste buds.
Tonight didn't initially deviate from the others; at dusk, he vanished from the home that both him and Crow shared, and made for his routine nighttime hiking trail. All went typically until he arrived at the shoreline, where another figure could be spotted off yonder. They could have been doing quite an assortment of things, really - sulking about relationship problems, brooding about how tough life was, griping about their regrets, or anything of that sort. What they weren't doing, however, was subsisting with ill intent... Leroy was ninety-nine percent sure on that. Upon closer inspection, the realization that this individual was the one he'd met near the border soon came to him. This alleviated the male to a considerable degree, because in the case of this person being of, say, the Snarl sort, then the hound would have nope-d the fuck out of there.
Instead, curiosity brewed within him. Over these recent weeks, the backgrounds of newcomers developed as an interest for him. History was life's greatest teacher, and by peering into someone's past, one can uncover a wide variety of influential knowledge. If there was any way to strike a nerve within this fellow that caused both him and Leroy to relate with one another, then by all things holy, that'd be a victory and a half.
The wolfhound does not announce his presence from a distance. Rather, he discreetly encroaches on Alaric's position, and only speaks once within immediate earshot. "Hey," he greets softly, stopping his movement so that he stood a good metre or two away from the newcomer's flank, "how's it goin' for ya on this particular night?" Speaking kindly to another person wasn't by any means his forte, so he dearly hoped that the tabby saw through his crude wording. After all, Leroy was doing his damn best.
So why the lack of faith?
It was completely beyond him, and the stupor he experienced while pondering on the subject left him rather upset.
The flow of complaints hadn't began until Leroy made the controversial decision to grant Pittian defectors permission to find a home in Tanglewood. By all means, the resolution came as deplorable to the canine as well - but he noticed an opportunity to weaken his tribe's loathsome enemy, and he pursued it. "From this moment forth, all Pittian deserters will be allowed into Tanglewood". From the moment those damned words left his conceited maw, the air in the atmosphere tasted different, shifting from clean and credible to precarious and problematic. In fact, it'd gotten so problematic, two of the general's most favoured confidants felt the need to depart from the territory; the one he'd considered to be a close friend, and the one he saw potential bubbling within. Their takeoffs catapulted a metaphorical boulder of monstrous proportions towards his confidence, which sustained massive damage from the impact.
At times like these, Leroy found comfort in moonlit jaunts through Tanglewood's claimed land. Call it cheesy or cliché, but it worked. When the commotion of everyday died down in the evening, he found that the negativity in the air did as well. Thenceforth, the night soon became the his preferred time of day. The shoreline existed as his location of choice when it came to his lucent strolls, for the nighttime serenity paired perfectly with the calming noise of ocean waves. The ocean spray also relaxed him, but sometimes that shit got in his mouth, which birthed an unpleasant experience for his taste buds.
Tonight didn't initially deviate from the others; at dusk, he vanished from the home that both him and Crow shared, and made for his routine nighttime hiking trail. All went typically until he arrived at the shoreline, where another figure could be spotted off yonder. They could have been doing quite an assortment of things, really - sulking about relationship problems, brooding about how tough life was, griping about their regrets, or anything of that sort. What they weren't doing, however, was subsisting with ill intent... Leroy was ninety-nine percent sure on that. Upon closer inspection, the realization that this individual was the one he'd met near the border soon came to him. This alleviated the male to a considerable degree, because in the case of this person being of, say, the Snarl sort, then the hound would have nope-d the fuck out of there.
Instead, curiosity brewed within him. Over these recent weeks, the backgrounds of newcomers developed as an interest for him. History was life's greatest teacher, and by peering into someone's past, one can uncover a wide variety of influential knowledge. If there was any way to strike a nerve within this fellow that caused both him and Leroy to relate with one another, then by all things holy, that'd be a victory and a half.
The wolfhound does not announce his presence from a distance. Rather, he discreetly encroaches on Alaric's position, and only speaks once within immediate earshot. "Hey," he greets softly, stopping his movement so that he stood a good metre or two away from the newcomer's flank, "how's it goin' for ya on this particular night?" Speaking kindly to another person wasn't by any means his forte, so he dearly hoped that the tabby saw through his crude wording. After all, Leroy was doing his damn best.