sensitive topics 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄 ╱ 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋

[SOOTSTAR]

Instead of hitting her head Sootstar's jaw open wide and aim to clench down on the paw rushing toward her face. The impact initially meant for her skull rings against her teeth, if successful in her bite she did not let go easily. With enough squirming, Bluepool would manage to free a paw and plant weight on Sootstar's shoulders before she can fling herself upwards. When Bluepool looks at her she is met with a look of pure hatred, Sootstar did not see a sister hovering above her, just another traitor. Another cat who had blood she could spill.

In the peripherals of her vision, she sees a warm pelt hovering. His words, as pretty weaved together as they were, are met with a blood-spitting cackle. A raven-furred traitor, a daughter, screams for her to go out silently. Sootstar would not, they'd hear her final words ring in their ears moons after she's gone!

"I do not need StarClan!" Sootstar thinks she's proven that much. She's walked without them guiding her path for many moons now, how long had it taken them to put an end to her? How many of their precious worshippers did she bring to the ground to join them? How much blood has she spilled? How many wars have they allowed her to monger? Imagine how powerful she will grow to be on her own playing field.

Blood has only just begun to trickle, it'll flood the forest one day. "I'll go to the place of no stars, I've walked that dark forest many times before." Through the pain and the blood that pours down her face she snickers. "I'll go there, and you can spend the rest of your mange-ridden lives knowing you'll never be safe from me!"

For the last time, she feeds off the horror on their faces wearing a sick and twisted grin.

☾ INFO BATTLE

• 
  » Soot ․ Sootstar
  » WindClan Prisoner
  » She/her ․ Mate to Weaselclaw
  » Tiny blue smoke she-cat with green eyes.
  » "Speech" ․ thoughts ․ attack
• 
  » A high-stamina foe who can be difficult to hit.
  » Excels in quick, short moves.
  » Fights to kill and maim
  » Fatal attack of choice is an underbelly dive.
  » May powerplay minor harm. Can powerplay healing

 

[SUNNVAR]

The face that she wears is the one she will be buried in.

All that she had been. All that she would be. It begins and ends with the blood upon his claws. His mind works backwards from there.

The moment of rage burst through his clan like a festering wound. He has thought each step along the way that this is the end. That it is enough; they are rid of Sootstar now. Yet in Periwinkle's burst forward, he sees her. In Bluepool's stubborn defense, Moorblossom's cry, Sootspot's plea, Scorchstreak resting with satisfied eyes. Time is slow as a sea-storm running into shore. He stands beneath the looming wave as it crashes down measured by blood-pump heartbeats, faster and faster and faster until it crashes against his chest and forces the air from his lungs, and he is a sputtering wreck of stability. None could fight against the ocean. Certainly none could succeed. All that WindClan had been, all of the small peaks along this path — they culminate here, nowhere else.

Where with one bunch and leap, he lashes out. His claws rake across thick fur and into flesh, leaving rivers and showers of life in their wake. A mimicry of what she once had tried with him. The mark along his jaw throbs.

They could not rid themselves of the moor queen. No matter how much he had tried. She would remain in their tired eyes and far more tired hearts. It was her shadow that would haunt their nightmares. But this is the truth about specters: eventually, they will fade. And it takes naught but a little light to burn away the shadows. None of this comes to him now, as he stands before her frail form, made still once more. There are no witty phrases to spill upon a corpse. And that is what she had been for a great many moons now, hasn't it? A corpse. A shadow. A bad dream.

Chest heaving, his chin lifts so that icy eyes might scan the crowd before him. He shifts upon his paws, a half-step back from the crowd as a chill wracks his spine, and exhales.

𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓  ╱╱ 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐕𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 〚 11.22.2023 〛 —————«

• OOC. —
• 

  SUNSTRIDE. WINDCLAN DEPUTY & MOOR RUNNER.
  ——– HE – HIM – HIS ╱╱ 48+ MOONS OLD, ADULT.

  NPC x NPC, LONERS. MATE TO WOLFSONG; FATHER TO BEARPAW, SINGEDPAW, RIVEPAW, SUNLITPAW AND FEATHERPAW. MENTORING SCORCHPAW.
  
  TH ╱╱ LARGE CHOCOLATE ROSETTE TABBY, ICY EYES.

• "speech"

​

 

[SOOTSTAR]

An ice, cold pair of talons tear a gorge into her throat. She feels her own skin split, gushing blood warms her cold frail body. The taste of iron floods her mouth as she begins to choke and sputter on her own ichor. Sootstar wonders even she had anymore of StarClan's blessings if they'd even be enough to fill the gapping hole just under her chin.

Sootstar lives long enough to feel her head hit the ground, pillowed by snow. She's died eight times before, but this one was somehow different. She is surprised by how fast the numbness settles in, how swiftly her pupils shrivel and her vision becomes a blur. One more choke and blood spurts almost volcanically from her maw to stain the snow around her.

When she dies her eyes do not close, they stare up into a blue, lightly cloudy sky. The day Sootstar died was warm for a leaf-bare day, one could almost smell new-leaf. How could a day of death be so beautiful?

When she rises from her body there is no starry-pelted guide to take her. Sootstar is already where she is supposed to go. In a faraway, cold, barren forest, the tyrant rises again. She'll work and scheme to bring chaos to the clans tirelessly for hundreds of moons to come, but until she finds a way the forest is free from her terror.

WindClan is free.

☾ INFO BATTLE

• 
  » Soot ․ Sootstar
  » Dark Forest Resident †
  » She/her ․ Mate to Weaselclaw
  » Tiny blue smoke she-cat with green eyes. A black, smoky aura seems follow her.
  » "Speech" ․ thoughts ․ attack
• 
  » A high-stamina foe who can be difficult to hit.
  » Excels in quick, short moves.
  » Fights to kill and maim
  » Fatal attack of choice is an underbelly dive.
  » May powerplay minor harm. Can powerplay healing

 

[Periwinklebreeze.]

HE COULD NOT BREAK SURFACE TENSION
HE LOOKED IN THE WRONG PLACE FOR REDEMPTION ​

---

periwinklebreeze ❀ 18 moons ❀ demi-boy ❀ he/they ❀ windclan moor runner​

---

Teeth snap across air with a quiet growl of frustration - even now, sootstar escapes his grasp. But she is pinned, and that's enough - around him, cats rise to their paws. Claws drag at his belly, drawing blood and snagging on fur, but he ignores it. He's dealt with far worse blows than this - stars, she could kill him now and he wouldn't bat an eye as long he dragged her down with him.

But she doesn't - Bluepool darts to his side, to his defense - holding her down just as he does, and for a moment he can only blink. Blue eyes turn to meet green - a flash of warmth, of gratefulness. Their pairing had been a punishment, a reminder of how small he was in their eyes. But it'd turned into something more genuine along the way, and now he feels only relief that his former mentor is by his side.

Yewberry arrives too, and for a moment peri can only stare. 'For... my mom?' certainly, he'd heard wrong. Or... maybe, he'd just meant for exiling her. But the knowledge that she has gone on joined the stars weighs heavily upon his mind alongside the fact he didn't know why. How.

... maybe the answers are closer than he'd thought. The molly squirms and writhes beneath them, but in the end it's Sunstride who comes and strikes the final blow. Claws slice flesh, and Sunstride steps back. Periwinkebreeze does not. No, he waits until she stops moving, stops breathing - until the last flicker of light leaves cold green eyes. Only then does he move, taking one step and then another away from cooling corpse. Head dips respectfully in sunstride's direction - an unnecessary gesture, but one he makes anyways.

This time, his stomach does not churn There is no guilt beneath his cooling rage, no self-loathing or disgust. He'd only done what needed to be done.

The queen was dead - long live the king.

━ actions & " speech, " & 'thoughts/quotes' ━

---

D O N ' T ━ L O O K ━ A T ━ M E ━ W I T H ━ T H O S E ━ E Y E S

---

 

[RATTLEHEART]

There were so many voices scattered around, all speaking at once in a way that made Rattleheart's head spin in spite of his best efforts to keep calm. It was difficult to keep his heartrate from spiking, body flooded with adrenaline over Sootstar's threats even when she had no true leg to stand on. No one had come rushing to her defense, crying out for her to be spared or for Starclan to miraculously bestow mercy upon her. Instead her children were only able to look away and beg for her to die silently, and quickly. Even he could not relish the sight of her so defeated, regardless of the pain that she had inflicted upon him and his kin - and the rest of his family that Windclan represented to him.

Though some were shocked by Periwinklebreeze launching himself at Sootstar - at least if the shocked gasps in the crowd were anything to go by - the tunneler found that he couldn't conjure up even the slightest bit of surprise. The young moor runner had been pushed and pricked more than anyone by her vile actions, and it only seemed natural that this would be his breaking point. The ending of a tale of dread and woe that Rattleheart only wished could've been stopped sooner. Before most of the gathered crowd had been forced to suffer as much as they had.

Much like his sister, he didn't bother throwing himself into the fray. He didn't even shift from his spot besides Bluefrost, sparing only a brief snarl in their former leader's direction for the harsh words she spat towards her children. Even in her last moments, she seemingly couldn't find a heart inside her chest. Not even her children that had devoted themselves to her wholeheartedly, only turning away when it was clear she was really, truly too far gone. It was a blessing to see her blood spilled upon the dirt, the shackles that hung heavy around all of their necks only finally falling now. Though the brutality of it all made his stomach churn, he knew there was no chance that Sootstar would've let herself go out any other way. She would fight and snarl until now, her very last breath.

Only fitting that she continued to make them all suffer for her choices until now, at the end.
​

[ PENNED BY EO ]​

 

[BLUEFROST]

To one side of her, Rattleheart's murmur, the touch of his nose into her shoulder fur, stays her trembling for just a moment. "I'm sorry you have to see any of this, Bluefrost," she says, and the gray she-cat's paws begin to shake again. "I…" She feels her throat constrict, panic blossoming in her chest like a red, red flower. Her sister is at her other side—Cottonfang, her twin, whose voice is gentle despite the unease flashing in her blue gaze. "We don't have to watch. She's not our mother anymore."

"She was always this," she whispers, but she does not know if it's true. The creature who snarls and writhes under Bluepool's grip, under Periwinklebreeze's claws and Sunstride's bared teeth, looks only half-feline. Shadows have gripped her eyes until they are vacant, venomous green pits, and she spits fire and blood at anyone who dares look her direction.

At some point, Sunstride has his victory, and her mother flops lifelessly to the earth, scarlet-mawed and silent. Bluefrost has seen her lose a life before, but there's already a weighted finality to this moment. She does not rise again—the vigor leaves her body, the gleam leaves her narrowed eyes.

She's gone, leaving daughters and sons adrift in her wake. Bluefrost makes a low noise in her throat, half-moan, half-growl, and sinks quietly to her belly. The trembling leaves her body; she's exhausted, spent. She does not even know if she can approach Sootstar's corpse to give it her final respects, to close those glazed eyes, to inhale the dusty scent of her fur one last time.

She's gone, but Bluefrost feels Sootstar's claws gripping her heart still, sinking deep and low into her spirit.

"Mother." She closes her eyes against the flood of water that threatens to spill.

She will not allow it. Sootstar taught her better, after all.

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Bluekit . Bluepaw . Bluefrost, she/her w/ feminine terms.
  — "speech", thoughts, attack
  — 13 moons old, ages realistically on the 14th.
  — mentored by Sootstar ; mentoring n/a ; previously mentored n/a.
  — windclan warrior. sootstar x weaselclaw, gen 2.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  lh blue and white she-cat with emerald eyes. aloof, dignified, poised, haughty, composed, distant.

​

 

[Mintshade]

—————————————————————⊰☣︎⊱————————————————————

For once, she is quiet. For once, when given the opportunity, she does not cry for violence. She does not move to join the mob, her figure a crooked and looming shadow at the back of the pack of cats descending downward to rip and tear into ashen fur. She has spent her entire life biting at the bit, chewing through the bars, demanding blood and desiring the release of letting her claws swing unsheathed into her enemies. Mintshade loved a battle, she loved to fight more than anything else and she reveled in that from a young age; the thirst for it never faded and only intensified over the moons. When WindClan stretched into a bloody kingdom set to conquer she raised her blade happily as one of its knights. When did her devotion falter, when did her allegiance waver, was it within a den of sickness so heavy she choked on it and wheezed for every breath? When a demand the stars be their enemy rose up in a mournful cry? When they took the sacred ground of the clans and decreed it theirs in avarice? She doesn't know when her heart broke, she doesn't remember when it wound itself back together in a new form and beat for someone elses cause.
Mintshade only remembers that once she was happy and now she felt nothing. There should be sorrow, there should be anger, she should feel something and she knows it but there is naught but raw ache in her chest where feelings might once have lived.

"...I was happy to be your soldier." The molly said, green eyes narrowing in thought and voice barely a whisper as she took in the sight of the mass of blood and fur that was once her sister, "...it was when you asked for servitude that you went too far."
If she closes her eyes she can remember the marshes, three kits roaming together and neither looked even a little like the other as if they had been born from different litters; but the bonds of blood still ran thick. Mintshade lets her gaze wander, Sootstar's kits in various stages of despair, Bluepool blood soaked and heaving, she had never been particularly close to her sister's offspring with the exception of Moorblossom who she had mentored directly, she wonders now if it was worth extending a paw out in solace and decides that's a decision best to make later when the world stopped being so cold on a warm day, when the breeze didn't smell like stagnant air. Her gaze lits upon Sunstride, shimmering and wild like the ambient rays of his name and she clenches her jaw tightly as her teeth show. She'd decided to follow him the day she'd raced from the clan during the outbreak of loyalists and the rebellion. He'd better not disappoint her or she'd show him the same mercy he'd delivered to her sister.

☣︎ All my friends are heathens, take it slow ☣︎ — Wait for them to ask you who you know

•  
• 
  
  
  Mintshade
  —⊰⋅ Warrior (Moor Runner) of WindClan
  —⊰⋅ She/Her
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ SH Solid black cat w/ acid green eyes.