08-02-2018, 01:01 PM
//not gonna lie, haven’t roleplayed in about 6 months. i know the quality is bad, but it will improve, i promise.
The defilement in this niche’s environment was indescribable, and the disappointment that followed was overwhelming.
In his entire life, he had never seen anything so savage. He had been a part of a rotten empire spanning businesses and communities, he had observed the fools attempting to live a normal life in valleys and buildings, and he had even seen the hoodlums surviving in rank alleyways. For all that, none of those added up to the level of depravity of this place. The mutt knew that a group, nay, a “clan” lived inside of this swamp, though he somewhat expected it to not be as harrowing. The marshes’ stench alone was enough to drive someone to madness, as well as its’ appearance resembling that out of a horror flick.
In the case that he was given a choice to stay or leave, Leroy would instantaneously choose the latter. He would gladly return to his elaborate loft, continuing a longevity of infamy and luxury.
That was not option anymore.
Now a household joke instead of a household name, the wolfhound was in dire need of a place to where he could start over, somewhere where his antics were unheard of. A while back, someone told him that he knew a guy who knew a guy that knew a guy living in some clan, a group of cave-people living in these archaic territories, who followed weird traditions and shit. It sounded like it was fiction. Why, in an age of skyscrapers and condominiums, would you prefer staying in an out-of-the-way forest instead? However, that information was all he had presently, and to his reluctance, Tanglewood was in fact a real place.
The his shaggy coat blew alongside the wind, as Leroy sighed. This was kinda poetic, actually, everything leading up to this; climbing up the stages of society using any means necessary until superiority, holding an iron fist over everyone else, until some random-ass guy comes in and steals your spot. Furthermore, it was all going to happen again, (excluding that last bit about being beaten).
Tanglewood was the soil, and Leroy was the seed, the seed which would grow into the hound’s own playground. That is, if all were to go to plan.
Standing uneasily on the brim of the mire, thoughts about how futile this was started stirring up in his mind. In no way was he going in there! The vicinity was probably filled from bottom to top in traps. The fact that he wasn’t seeing a lot of activity was also a playing factor in this surge of pessimism. Was a clan actually living here? It didn’t seem like it. Had he travelled all the way over here for nothing? Oh, he could really use a couple heads to knock together right now.
The impatient mongrel loudly cleared his throat in a last attempt to gain attention, to which, if it were to fail, he’d turn tail and try the next-best sounding group.
The defilement in this niche’s environment was indescribable, and the disappointment that followed was overwhelming.
In his entire life, he had never seen anything so savage. He had been a part of a rotten empire spanning businesses and communities, he had observed the fools attempting to live a normal life in valleys and buildings, and he had even seen the hoodlums surviving in rank alleyways. For all that, none of those added up to the level of depravity of this place. The mutt knew that a group, nay, a “clan” lived inside of this swamp, though he somewhat expected it to not be as harrowing. The marshes’ stench alone was enough to drive someone to madness, as well as its’ appearance resembling that out of a horror flick.
In the case that he was given a choice to stay or leave, Leroy would instantaneously choose the latter. He would gladly return to his elaborate loft, continuing a longevity of infamy and luxury.
That was not option anymore.
Now a household joke instead of a household name, the wolfhound was in dire need of a place to where he could start over, somewhere where his antics were unheard of. A while back, someone told him that he knew a guy who knew a guy that knew a guy living in some clan, a group of cave-people living in these archaic territories, who followed weird traditions and shit. It sounded like it was fiction. Why, in an age of skyscrapers and condominiums, would you prefer staying in an out-of-the-way forest instead? However, that information was all he had presently, and to his reluctance, Tanglewood was in fact a real place.
The his shaggy coat blew alongside the wind, as Leroy sighed. This was kinda poetic, actually, everything leading up to this; climbing up the stages of society using any means necessary until superiority, holding an iron fist over everyone else, until some random-ass guy comes in and steals your spot. Furthermore, it was all going to happen again, (excluding that last bit about being beaten).
Tanglewood was the soil, and Leroy was the seed, the seed which would grow into the hound’s own playground. That is, if all were to go to plan.
Standing uneasily on the brim of the mire, thoughts about how futile this was started stirring up in his mind. In no way was he going in there! The vicinity was probably filled from bottom to top in traps. The fact that he wasn’t seeing a lot of activity was also a playing factor in this surge of pessimism. Was a clan actually living here? It didn’t seem like it. Had he travelled all the way over here for nothing? Oh, he could really use a couple heads to knock together right now.
The impatient mongrel loudly cleared his throat in a last attempt to gain attention, to which, if it were to fail, he’d turn tail and try the next-best sounding group.