08-09-2015, 12:43 AM
[spoiler]Despite the fact that just weeks before Darkspawn ravaged the woodlands, you could not escape the serene, peaceful aura of the Tangled Green. Wherever a person went, they could hear birds chirping; see the waters of the Animus River raging with no care as to the rest of the forest; feel the gaze of Mokugakare’s ninja warriors shifting silently through the shadows. To some inhabitants, it seemed nothing could ever break the verse’s calming spell.
Well, never say never.
CRUNCH.
Mr. Clayton clambered through a small patch of bamboo, not bothering to gingerly lean the plant life out of his way. Rather, he snapped it apart as he made his way out of the forest, slicing any stalks he couldn’t overpower with his rather large, intimidating machete.
“Hello?” he called out, sheathing his blade, his civilized accent ringing out through the forest in false friendship, “Little girl? Are you still out there?” The phantom he’d been pursuing had disappeared; perhaps she’d caught wind of his plans to somehow entrap her. How, exactly, did he plan on capturing a ghost? Well, that part the hunter had yet to figure out—but he had dealt with more ferocious creatures than she before, and he always trusted his instincts. His instincts told him to follow this girl and so he did, and now his instincts told him that her ectoplasm would look good nailed to his trophy wall.
Quick glances behind him revealed what he had already known—Miss Porter and the Professor had long since separated from him, stunned with disbelief at his ramblings about the transparent child that had called out to him. He remembered their gestures, simultaneously caring and condescending. A gentle hand placed on his forehead; Miss Porter’s sing-song voice asking, “are you feeling alright, Mr. Clayton?” in that annoying way she did.
Oh well, he supposed. They’d gotten in his way more than they’d helped anyhow.
Suddenly, a flash of white caught his attention in the trees above him, and he quickly slung the shotgun off his shoulder and aimed it at the disturbance in the otherwise motionless canopy. The figure flitted from one branch to another, and Clayton let off a shot.
A resounding bang scattered the nearby songbirds, and the phantom girl, knowing that he’d have to take time to reload, hovered down to the floor of the forest, finally looking him in the eye again since the first time they’d spoken. “I am not your target, Mr. Clayton,” the ghost spoke, her voice eerie in a way the hunter couldn’t describe, “you are destined to hunt greater prey than I.”
He loaded two more shells. “Perhaps,” he mused, “but a man must take what is presented to him in the moment, don’t you think?”
The shotgun raised again, sights set on the ghost girl, but she spun around and began to race away. Mr. Clayton struggled to get a good shot, but within seconds she had escaped the range of his weapon and so he lowered the barrel and sprinted after her. The chase went on for several minutes until finally the ghost girl flew into a clearing, currently inhabited by nothing other than a large ruin and a rundown-looking vehicle. She turned around to face Clayton; he raised the shotgun again.
“We’re here,” she whispered, placing a hand on the end of his weapon’s barrel. He squeezed the trigger, planning to blow apart the ectoplasm that made up her hand, but she simply smirked as the weapon failed to fire. He squeezed again. Nothing.
A scowl crept onto his face.
“Your prey awaits you,” she smiled, disintegrating into the wind as if she’d never been there at all. Mr. Clayton harrumphed, and decided that in the lack of anything to actively hunt—contrary to what the ghost girl had said—he would simply explore his surroundings. He approached the ruins, but as he got closer, his attention was drawn to a commotion just around the corner of the stony structure.[/spoiler]
Peeking around the ruins, he spotted a group of people and other strange-looking creatures that might very well serve as fine specimen on his trophy wall. The numbers, though—they worried him. Already there seemed to be five or six people at least, perhaps more, gathered around; certainly they wouldn’t take kindly to a single man trying to hunt them all. Besides, it seemed like some woman had already started a commotion. She had a gun pointed in the face of a very… interesting-looking fellow. His type of woman, yes, but perhaps a rash decision given the reaction of some of the crowd. Yes, his own violent tendencies would certainly be looked down upon at the moment.
He would play the part, then.
Later, he promised himself, and he slunk out of his hiding spot and crossed his arms, immediately inserting himself into the commotion. “Young woman, don’t you know how dangerous that little toy is? You can’t be waving it around wherever.”
Well, never say never.
CRUNCH.
Mr. Clayton clambered through a small patch of bamboo, not bothering to gingerly lean the plant life out of his way. Rather, he snapped it apart as he made his way out of the forest, slicing any stalks he couldn’t overpower with his rather large, intimidating machete.
“Hello?” he called out, sheathing his blade, his civilized accent ringing out through the forest in false friendship, “Little girl? Are you still out there?” The phantom he’d been pursuing had disappeared; perhaps she’d caught wind of his plans to somehow entrap her. How, exactly, did he plan on capturing a ghost? Well, that part the hunter had yet to figure out—but he had dealt with more ferocious creatures than she before, and he always trusted his instincts. His instincts told him to follow this girl and so he did, and now his instincts told him that her ectoplasm would look good nailed to his trophy wall.
Quick glances behind him revealed what he had already known—Miss Porter and the Professor had long since separated from him, stunned with disbelief at his ramblings about the transparent child that had called out to him. He remembered their gestures, simultaneously caring and condescending. A gentle hand placed on his forehead; Miss Porter’s sing-song voice asking, “are you feeling alright, Mr. Clayton?” in that annoying way she did.
Oh well, he supposed. They’d gotten in his way more than they’d helped anyhow.
Suddenly, a flash of white caught his attention in the trees above him, and he quickly slung the shotgun off his shoulder and aimed it at the disturbance in the otherwise motionless canopy. The figure flitted from one branch to another, and Clayton let off a shot.
A resounding bang scattered the nearby songbirds, and the phantom girl, knowing that he’d have to take time to reload, hovered down to the floor of the forest, finally looking him in the eye again since the first time they’d spoken. “I am not your target, Mr. Clayton,” the ghost spoke, her voice eerie in a way the hunter couldn’t describe, “you are destined to hunt greater prey than I.”
He loaded two more shells. “Perhaps,” he mused, “but a man must take what is presented to him in the moment, don’t you think?”
The shotgun raised again, sights set on the ghost girl, but she spun around and began to race away. Mr. Clayton struggled to get a good shot, but within seconds she had escaped the range of his weapon and so he lowered the barrel and sprinted after her. The chase went on for several minutes until finally the ghost girl flew into a clearing, currently inhabited by nothing other than a large ruin and a rundown-looking vehicle. She turned around to face Clayton; he raised the shotgun again.
“We’re here,” she whispered, placing a hand on the end of his weapon’s barrel. He squeezed the trigger, planning to blow apart the ectoplasm that made up her hand, but she simply smirked as the weapon failed to fire. He squeezed again. Nothing.
A scowl crept onto his face.
“Your prey awaits you,” she smiled, disintegrating into the wind as if she’d never been there at all. Mr. Clayton harrumphed, and decided that in the lack of anything to actively hunt—contrary to what the ghost girl had said—he would simply explore his surroundings. He approached the ruins, but as he got closer, his attention was drawn to a commotion just around the corner of the stony structure.[/spoiler]
Peeking around the ruins, he spotted a group of people and other strange-looking creatures that might very well serve as fine specimen on his trophy wall. The numbers, though—they worried him. Already there seemed to be five or six people at least, perhaps more, gathered around; certainly they wouldn’t take kindly to a single man trying to hunt them all. Besides, it seemed like some woman had already started a commotion. She had a gun pointed in the face of a very… interesting-looking fellow. His type of woman, yes, but perhaps a rash decision given the reaction of some of the crowd. Yes, his own violent tendencies would certainly be looked down upon at the moment.
He would play the part, then.
Later, he promised himself, and he slunk out of his hiding spot and crossed his arms, immediately inserting himself into the commotion. “Young woman, don’t you know how dangerous that little toy is? You can’t be waving it around wherever.”
![[Image: 2agonyw.png]](http://i68.tinypic.com/2agonyw.png)