03-15-2018, 09:16 PM
Isolation was all he had known. A disease that had claimed his mind and what little was left of his soul, and one that refused any offer of a cure. He existed in his own bubble suspended in his own limbo, mourning no-one but himself, and that was his afterlife. It had been oddly fun at first, cheating death and seeking revenge, but not even centuries of cruel pranks and blood staining ashen hands couldn't drive away existential crisis. He was nothing, stripped of his humanity and exiled to his disassociated state. All he wanted was another being to commune with, excepting the wretched voice dwelling in venomous thoughts. Then a bizarre creature began to follow after the miserable spirit, a vibrant lizard with fearsome wings and a glowing neck. After failing to scare the unfamiliar creature away, the remnants of a boy accepted his new and rather lousy stalker. Over time, it could be said they became awkward friends. The relation was painfully unknown to him after decades of no passive contact with living creatures, and he began to crave it. Like a suffering animal given a dose of medicine to numb the pain, and demanding more so the tranquil numbness would never abandon him.
So he began the hunt. With what he learned was a dragon trailing close behind, the poltergeist only had to adopt a form closer to creature than man to carry out his goal, materializing as scrawny little pest of a feline in order to blend in. Besides, he hadn't seen another person in years, not since the disaster. Not to mention humans were the worst, their society staining the earth and committing mass genocide daily. So the only logical reason to remedy his longing ache in a pulseless heart was to reach out to the elusive wildlife roaming the land. It took a while, much too long for the impatient entity, but with the help of the prior friend, Beck had successfully dragged creatures through the muck and brambles, and wrangled a crowd into a desolate ghost town, ironically his decision purely because of the secluded area and proximity to a shelter forest in case of attack. If he was honest, he would admit he had no idea what he was doing, or even why. But delusions of grandeur flooded his vision at the prospect of followers, hallucinations of a vicious group functioning under his command, a group that would force the world to regret ever deciding that he was to be put to death.
Despite his own warnings, the stubborn poltergeist lured the crowd into the center of town, and after a moment of settling, he finally scrambled to a suitable perch in order to speak: the ledge of a statue-turned-rubble by a forgotten blast. The suspicious feline paused for a moment, owlishly blinking over the gathered animals in shock, nearsighted vision hopelessly trying to register their blurred features. Dipping his lantern-like glare downwards, he leaned forward off his ledge to blankly stare at an engraved place directly beneath his frigid paws. Quickly swiping away the thick layer of dust and grime obscuring the words, the lone surviving word Tanglewood could be deciphered, assumedly the name of the obliterated town. Lifting his narrowed eyes back up to the crowd, he finally spoke after years of silence, although he wished he had wheezed out sometime wise or witty instead of merely, "Uh, hi -- I betcha y'all are wonderin' why I brought everyone here." To manipulate you and eventually dispose of you when we get bored? "No! Not that, erm." He had forgotten how difficult speaking was, especially with his now ashamedly missing cheek displaying half a set of sharkish teeth, all clenched in anxiety as he fumbled on his syllables. Ignoring the confusion of him abruptly refusing himself, Beck started again, stub of a tail thumping against the mossy marble of the statue's base. "I reckoned, maybe, that y'all would help me -- and yourselves -- by startin' one of those group-thingies. Ya know, the 'clans' popping up all over now. Dunno their names yet, but they'll probably be out for ya since you're loners now. So if we all made our own 'clan' then y'all won't have t' avoid 'em, or somethin'." A cold flush was spreading its way across his freckled features, yet the wiry cat made a point to ruffle out his grimy pelt, as if denying his own public bashfulness. Where was he going with this? He just needed to convince them, right? What do they look like, idiots? They don't believe you, and they don't trust you. A rasping sigh escaped his damaged lungs, rattling in the tense and humid air before the poltergeist quit gnawing on the inside of his intact cheek and added, "It can't be that hard to form a group. We would all fight for each other, and get food for each other, and all that sappy shit. I can help y'all, if ya just trust me. It makes sense, right?" He angled his ears forward, as if warily expecting an answer, but recoiled away, offering an uncertain grimace instead. The poltergeist had been watching some of the clans trying to gain their footing in their own territory, and he could somewhat wrap his brain around the concept. There were ranks, and traditions, and multitudes of other things, but he could totally handle it. All he needed was their compliance.
[align=center]»――▸So he began the hunt. With what he learned was a dragon trailing close behind, the poltergeist only had to adopt a form closer to creature than man to carry out his goal, materializing as scrawny little pest of a feline in order to blend in. Besides, he hadn't seen another person in years, not since the disaster. Not to mention humans were the worst, their society staining the earth and committing mass genocide daily. So the only logical reason to remedy his longing ache in a pulseless heart was to reach out to the elusive wildlife roaming the land. It took a while, much too long for the impatient entity, but with the help of the prior friend, Beck had successfully dragged creatures through the muck and brambles, and wrangled a crowd into a desolate ghost town, ironically his decision purely because of the secluded area and proximity to a shelter forest in case of attack. If he was honest, he would admit he had no idea what he was doing, or even why. But delusions of grandeur flooded his vision at the prospect of followers, hallucinations of a vicious group functioning under his command, a group that would force the world to regret ever deciding that he was to be put to death.
Despite his own warnings, the stubborn poltergeist lured the crowd into the center of town, and after a moment of settling, he finally scrambled to a suitable perch in order to speak: the ledge of a statue-turned-rubble by a forgotten blast. The suspicious feline paused for a moment, owlishly blinking over the gathered animals in shock, nearsighted vision hopelessly trying to register their blurred features. Dipping his lantern-like glare downwards, he leaned forward off his ledge to blankly stare at an engraved place directly beneath his frigid paws. Quickly swiping away the thick layer of dust and grime obscuring the words, the lone surviving word Tanglewood could be deciphered, assumedly the name of the obliterated town. Lifting his narrowed eyes back up to the crowd, he finally spoke after years of silence, although he wished he had wheezed out sometime wise or witty instead of merely, "Uh, hi -- I betcha y'all are wonderin' why I brought everyone here." To manipulate you and eventually dispose of you when we get bored? "No! Not that, erm." He had forgotten how difficult speaking was, especially with his now ashamedly missing cheek displaying half a set of sharkish teeth, all clenched in anxiety as he fumbled on his syllables. Ignoring the confusion of him abruptly refusing himself, Beck started again, stub of a tail thumping against the mossy marble of the statue's base. "I reckoned, maybe, that y'all would help me -- and yourselves -- by startin' one of those group-thingies. Ya know, the 'clans' popping up all over now. Dunno their names yet, but they'll probably be out for ya since you're loners now. So if we all made our own 'clan' then y'all won't have t' avoid 'em, or somethin'." A cold flush was spreading its way across his freckled features, yet the wiry cat made a point to ruffle out his grimy pelt, as if denying his own public bashfulness. Where was he going with this? He just needed to convince them, right? What do they look like, idiots? They don't believe you, and they don't trust you. A rasping sigh escaped his damaged lungs, rattling in the tense and humid air before the poltergeist quit gnawing on the inside of his intact cheek and added, "It can't be that hard to form a group. We would all fight for each other, and get food for each other, and all that sappy shit. I can help y'all, if ya just trust me. It makes sense, right?" He angled his ears forward, as if warily expecting an answer, but recoiled away, offering an uncertain grimace instead. The poltergeist had been watching some of the clans trying to gain their footing in their own territory, and he could somewhat wrap his brain around the concept. There were ranks, and traditions, and multitudes of other things, but he could totally handle it. All he needed was their compliance.
![[Image: squawk.gif]](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/405754444454559756/423199229599547418/squawk.gif)