camp VENGEANCE COLD BENEATH MY TEETH — invasion

[GRANITEPELT]

As Granitepelt leads his procession of warriors, thin with hunger and sharp-eyed with hatred, the ground shifts from sandy scrubland to moorland earth. Under the still-present, choking scent of smoke and blackened grass is a sweetness, heather nectar and new growth and rabbit-scent as the prey slowly returns. He remembers this territory differently, had relished in its bounty in comparison to ShadowClan's marsh, to DuskClan's scrub, but even he must admit it's different now. Prey-scent is thin, ghostly, and this is during greenleaf.

The gray warrior twists his head around. Silhouetted by the full moon, he looks chiseled, spare, silvered like a StarClan warrior but haunted by demons too dark to name. He growls, "They will be away at the Gathering, besides the queens, kits, elders, and injured." He tastes the air, lets the fire remnants settle on his tongue.

"Leave no one alive but the kits. They come with us."

With that, he plunges into the ravine, through the heather-flecked gorse, and his yowl splits the quiet night like a crow's death-ridden shriek. He finds the first cat he can and pounces, aiming to send them tumbling to the ground and pinned beneath his scarred limbs.

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

• ooc: feel free to be who he's attacking, windclan :]
• 
• Granitekit . Granitepaw . Granitepelt, he/him w/ masculine terms.
  — "speech", thoughts, attack
  — 23 moons old, ages realistically on the 10th.
  — mentored by Pitchstar and Dogfur ; mentoring n/a ; previously mentored Applepaw
  — "duskclan" leader. flint x sandra, gen 2.
  — formerly mated to Starlingheart, currently mated to n/a.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  sh blue and white tom with dark green eyes. arrogant, stealthy, sneaky, observant, perceptive, cunning, spiteful, envious.

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

There had been a scant amount of time for training. It hadn't felt like enough time for Thriftfeather himself—a fully fledged warrior. It was never going to be enough for Gravelpaw. Thriftfeather wonders and wonders—why he had been chosen to mentor, and why he was then expected to walk to kit in tow to her death. They are the age that Thriftfeather was apprenticed at, and yet they seem impossibly small. Thriftfeather catches himself looking over his shoulder, looking down, constantly, just to ensure that Gravelpaw is still near.

"Stay near me," Thriftfeather bows to whisper the words, ever-mindful of his proximity to his peers, "Stay near or stay out of sight until this is over. If someone—if anyone tries to approach you, yell for me."

He considers for a terrible moment what might happen were he to turn on Granitepelt—he can imagine the familiar jolt in his shoulders that comes from pulling another to the ground with enough intensity that it feels like a physical thing. He imagines just what might happen in the matter of moments—the feeling of freedom that had come with killing Ghostwail and the trailing knowledge that not even that would be enough for WindClan to take him back, and the softer thought that Thriftfeather doesn't want to return to a WindClan that looks like ash and smells like lingering smoke.

"Come along then," Thriftfeather gestures with his tail for Gravelpaw to follow. He doesn't rush into camp as Granitepelt does. He lowers himself instead, as if he could ever be small, and slinks the perimeter. He knows without thought where the nursery is, even after all this time. What he doesn't know is what he will do when he gets there.​

DUSKCLAN WARRIOR ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 16 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[rivewhisper]

Rivewhisper had not been taken to the gathering. They were to watch camp, guard what the ashes did not. Eyes blinked gently against the glow of night, unaware of what crept in the shadows- for now. Ears twitched briefly in thought. Redheart was here somewhere- maybe he could make the night warmer. She longed to press into his side like she had before, under the guiding moon-

Thoughts cracked wide open and ground to a stop when something slammed into her side. Blue eyes snapped towards her attacker as claws dug into her, pinning her to the ground. "WE'RE BEING ATTACKED!" She howled, her name making good. Where she had a set of lungs upon her as a child, they were only stronger now. She snarled, teeth bared at Granitepelt. The daughter of the mountain king, the ashen one- she was no easy feat, though her strength wasn't with head-to-head battles.

She twisted her body, powerful legs aimed to slam up into Granitepelt's stomach and knock him off. If successful, she wheezed as she pushed to her paws, swaying briefly. "You should work on your stealth." Rivewhisper snapped, teeth lunging forward to snap down onto his leg.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ┌── AND ITS BEEN SO LONG THAT IM ⋅❁⋅ FORGETTING WHAT IT FEELS LIKE ──┐‎

• "speech"
  // no plans on attacks yet! feel free to attack but no maiming! underline when attacking plz

• 

• RIVEWHISPER she/her, moor runner of windclan, eleven moons.
  ⭃ LH broken braided chocolate tabby with high white and piercing blue eyes. scars stretch over her left eye and across her stomach. graceful, sleek, average height. built for running and stamina
  ⭃ mentored by snakehiss / sunstar / / mentoring no one
  ⭃ small romantic interest in redheart / / sibling to featherspine ; sunlitwing ; bearflight ; singedpaw
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by dallas ↛ dallasofnines on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

​

 

[GRAVELSPARK]

Following their mentor, their path is clearly laid out in front of them: fight for the chance to live and see another day, to come home to Hungerkit… or die trying. There is simply no room in this operation for failure and even one small misstep with their paw could risk their throat slashed.

They hadn't had much time with Thriftfeather to train. It's terrifying and… almost exhilarating at the same time, adrenaline forcing her heart to race.

Thriftfeather instructs them to stay near him, or stay out of sight. They nod dutifully but they don't peel from his side to hide like a coward. Ebonylight would expect me to fight. Ebonylight would be proud if I did. Yell, he says, if someone approaches. They can do that, so they give him another nod.

Thrift slinks around and Gravelpaw drops their body low to the ground like him in a somewhat-crude attempt to mimic, not letting their inner turmoil show through shaky paws. No, they must be steady… They have no other choice than to be unafraid, even if they feel like their stomach is in the depths of anxiety.

They'll be okay. Thriftfeather will be okay. Everyone else will be okay, this will be a successful mission. Everything will be fine.

𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙰 𝚆𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴, ˚⋆｡°✩₊🦇 𝙰𝚁𝙼𝚈 𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙼𝙴𝚁𝚂

• open to an opponent, will not stray far from thrifts side
• 
  ❥ baby ,, gravelkit ,, gravelpaw
  ❥ demi-girl ,, she/they ,, 04 months
  ❥ duskclan apprentice ,, mentored by thriftfeather
  ❥ black/blue smoke chimera with high white and blue eyes
  ❥ "speech, 9d9adf" ,, thoughts
  ❥ too young to be interested in anything ,, single
  ❥ smells like heather and pine needles
  ❥ art by woodlandpest ,, penned by chuff

 

[Firefang]

This was bound to happen. It was fated; and how funny it is that she's here to witness it. Mice disguised as foxes fly through the heather, claws brandished and teeth snapping. She was one of them once, a nobody, a grunt, just another pair of claws. They're nothing like how they were, thin and mangy and smelling of lands beyond the territories. They were nothing more than rogues following a king molded from mud, shit and blood. She held no fondness for Granitepelt, had found it distasteful he was allowed to pad alongside Windclanners as if he was ever one of them. He furthered her leaders corruption, led her to her death and while he wasn't the only one who played a role in her early funeral he was the only one who if she killed him she'd be celebrated for it.

She'd been annoyed when she had been barred from the meeting, barred from hearing what Riverclan and Shadowclan had to say (curious to hear about that young warrior). Whatever misplaced guilt she felt for that battle she would feel nothing but jubilation here. She isn't leading the charge she has no power but Sunstar is gone and so are many of his council. "Block the entrance! Don't let any of these mangy fleabags escape!" her yowl roars out. These mousebrains thought they were the hunters, thought they'd be free to take their kits and bloody their camp.

they were wrong. She'd take great pleasure in making dirt on their graves by morning after she'd cleaned viscera from her claws. She'd taken one eye already, might as well take more. If she couldn't take their lives anyway. "Show no mercy! These things aren't even cats anymore! They've forsaken everything! Their clan, the code, even Sootstar! They're only destiny is to die by our claws!" so naive that she still believes the stars could've shown mercy on her former leader. That she didn't take pleasure in this band of lesser war hounds fighting a fight she'd lost.

They want the nursery, want the kits and Firefang doesn't care about shielding them from violence as much as she does about keeping them safe. She doesn't care for stealth, a war cry screams from her lungs; a caterwaul carried over the moors. Periwinklebreeze, Rattleheart - all those queens would fight with the ferocity of wolves. While these mutts pillaging their camp fought for their slimy false-alpha.


She'd wanted to tear his face open the first moment she'd laid eyes on him. She leaps for @GRANITEPELT attempting to land on his back, if successful she'd dig her claws deeply into his shoulders to hold on. Rivewhisker was below him, she hopes his focus on her makes him more vulnerable.

---

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎┌── ooc ⋆⋅☾⋅⋆ info ──┐‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

• // nothing plotted out! Open to attacks; injuries.

• "speech"

• 

  Firefang ✩ She/Her, Warrior of Windclan, 24 moons
  ⭃ Black tabby she-cat with amber eyes. former-loyalist of Sootstar, Moorunner.
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by Kedamono ↛ @legmeatt on discord, feel free to dm for plots.​

​

 

[GRAVELSNAP]

➴➴ The night is calm—quiet. Perhaps a bit too much so. Their clanmates are gone to the gathering in fewer numbers than usual, leaving many WindClanners behind in the gorse-walled camp. They should have guessed what would happen, however. No peace lasts, not here on these cursed moors.

It is Rivewhisper's cry that draws Gravelsnap to their feet. We're being attacked. Numerous forms flood into the camp, and the warrior searches perhaps a moment too long for a familiar straw-yellow pelt. They shake themself out of it, though, gathering their wits about them before shouting for their apprentice. "SHEEPPAW!" They roar—the sound drags itself from their throat, rage and fear mingling as they seek out the younger tom. Their young charge knows little of battle, and surely cannot be left to his own devices while their camp is under siege. They do not immediately see their apprentice in the chaos, and so Gravelsnap turns to what they do best. Their rank demands strength and significant stamina to race across the moorland—and they have practiced these skills for nearly two full turns of the seasons now. The moor runner tears off in the direction of the nursery. Sheeppaw will find them.

The kits within the nursery must also be protected during such an attack, but Gravelsnap does not truly care for any of the clan's most vulnerable. They can only think of clear blue eyes and a figure rippling with scars, and it is that image that powers the pounding of black and white paws against the earth. It is not selfish to think only of their friend first, is it? They ignore the fog of guilt that descends upon them—it is not selfish.

➼ maybe i’ve done enough

• ooc: shouting for @sheeppaw and rushing to defend the nursery. open to attacks, battle notes here!
• 
  GRAVELSNAP ❯❯ they/he, moor runner of windclan
  ⭃ average-sized black and white warrior who seems smaller than he is. speaks rarely and quietly.
  ⭃ sibling to slateheart
  ⭃ mentoring sheeppaw
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
  ⭃ penned by foxlore

​

​

 

[BLUEFROST]

Bluefrost had wanted to take Brackenpaw to this Gathering, and she's disappointed with her status in camp. RiverClan would be asked to answer for their crimes, no doubt about it, after taking both Bluepool and Gracklestep from them. She had wanted to see the sniveling look on Lichenstar's face, had wanted to bare her teeth against the swarm of fish-eaters who'd balk at Sunstar's accusation. . .but that is why, she supposes, she wasn't chosen to go. Instead, she nests, dozing until a yowl pierces the air.

Tattered ears flick upright. She bolts, her fur beginning to stand on end. There he is, the ShadowClan warrior himself, scarred and menacing, flying toward Rivewhisper who stands near camp's entrance. Other shadows pour in, lean-eyed, smelling of dust, of the scrubland she'd visited to see—

Thriftfeather. Her green eyes round with alarm. He's headed for the nursery, a kit no older than some of theirs tucked against his side. She wants to call out to him, wants to make him see her, to stop, to—to run, run before the queens could sink their teeth into his throat—but her heart flutters in her chest, and her mouth clots before she can. Gravelsnap runs to intercept him, and she has to force herself to look away from her two closest friends as their claws meet.

"I will make sure no one leaves," she hisses, tearing her gaze from Thriftfeather and Gravelsnap and eyeing the gorse tunnel. She places herself at the exit, baring her teeth at the first DuskClanner to come by.

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

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

​

 

[Quietcrow]

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ It's been another sleepless night for the dark apprentice, head tilted in the sky, watching the clouds roll along the sky. His clanmates have already left for the gathering, and he wonders what news they will return with about the other clans. Windclan hunting in Riverclan territory probably won't be well received. Quietpaw sighed.

We're being attacked! The warning cuts through the night air, and his heart drops to his stomach, fully expecting the water-loving cats to be upon them. Quietpaw is quick to respond, teeth-bared, as he leapt from his nest to meet the intruders head on trailing after Firefang. He doesn't waste much time stopping and looking at all the cats entering through the ravine, just picking the closest cat to himself to pick as a target.


With his running start, he attempts to jump onto the other cat's back to bring them down while trying to dig his claws past fur and into soft skin. "Cowards!" Quietpaw hissed.

ooc Information

• ooc: — oh feel free to be his target
• 

  Quietpaw — he/him ･ 10 moons ･ apprentice, Windclan ･ PENNED BY @Ghostunes!

  A timid mostly black tom with white markings on his chest and back. Note: ',,,' are short pauses in his speech Tags​

 

[RUMBLERAIN]

"Remember what I taught you." Rumblerain looks to Privetpaw, a light squint to their eyes that belies an emotional pain, before they break away from the group of DuskClanners. Even if the Gathering looms overhead he's too young for a first fight, especially in unfamiliar terrain. Most of DuskClan knows WindClan's camp quite well, but Privetpaw and Gravelpaw do not. Rumblerain's jaw tightens. They can only hope they've taught the bicolour 'paw well enough to hold his own. How to fight and defend, how to protect his belly and throat. That cats are just oversized prey, predators in their own rights but with similar tendencies.

StarClan ... what if they see their kin? It's likely. A glance from the shadows behind the camp, dipping between clashing claws and snarling moor-cats, reveals none. It's a relief, immediately, but then they catch sight of Thriftfeather's golden form headed for one of the only sheltered places within WindClan's walls. They glance to the tom protecting it. Ideally, distracting Gravelsnap would allow Thriftfeather a way into the nursery.

Rumblerain's claws flex in and out of the grass, not quite scaling the wall of gorse so much as they push through it, flowers sticking to pale fur but not quite catching in a way that matters, the plants rustling as the deputy moves between them. It's not particularly stealthy, but it does let them get close to Gravelsnap: enough so that when Rumblerain emerges to shove the moor-runner sideways with a grunt of effort, it's possible that he had not noticed.

ooc ✧ 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦

• — former windclan moor runner. bg info for newbies
  — small for a moor-runner + fast and agile, trades power for more attacks.
  — unlikely to take a killing blow, will aim to incapacitate.
  — open to two opponents max / planned interaction with @GRAVELSNAP
  
• 
  
  [ art by antiigone ]
• RUMBLERAIN ✧ they/them, deputy of duskclan
  
  
  — "a lanky, scruffy seal and white point with blue eyes."
  — single ; mentoring privetpaw
  — speech is in #D4882D
  — tags | penned by mercibun, contact on discord for plots.
  
  
  
  

​

 

[RATTLEHEART]

AS HE RAISED HIS FIST BEFORE HE SPOKE — Another moon had passed, and yet another gathering had arrived that she couldn't yet attend. Though she hardly minded spending time with her kits, she had to admit she missed her place alongside her fellow lead warriors. At least she was far from the only one that wasn't going this time, Windclan's camp unexpectedly bustling for a night where the moon hung full in the sky. Even Scorchstreak had decided to stay behind, though that hadn't been particularly surprising to Rattleheart. It was probably for the best, considering tensions with Riverclan escalating seemed all the more likely if she had gone.

With all that had happened, the tunneler's thoughts hadn't often drifted to what remained of Duskclan as of late. Deep down inside, she had honestly been hoping all of them had ended up dying out following their fleeing, even if that meant losing Rumblerain. A hard hope for her to swallow, but also one she couldn't particularly resent herself for. After all, hadn't they already lost Rumblerain when they had decided to go after Granitepelt in the first place? Her nibling no longer existed, at least not in the way that she had known them.

Unfortunately, it seemed her wishes were not yet a reality.

Rivewhisper's frantic yowl cut through the air, loud enough to make Rattleheart's head snap up from her nearly asleep state. We're being attacked. The roar of her own heart in her ears was nearly enough to overpower the words themselves, panic holding her in an iron grip as she rose to her paws. She was ready to launch herself out of nursery, claws and teeth bared - only for the soft mewling of her kits to bring her crashing back to reality. Her petite form twisted around, nose nudging them further into the plush moss that made up their nest. "It's alright my darlings, I promise. I've got you... just try to stay quiet and still for me, please?" She knew her pleas would be nothing but nonsense to their still growing minds, yet they made her feel better regardless.

As soon as her own litter was tucked away the best she could manage for the moment, she stepped towards the entrance of the nursery. Her muscles were tensed and her fangs were glistening in the low light as she stood protectively before her nest, ready to face anyone who tried to steal her chipdren away from her.

THE RIGHTEOUS HAND OF GOD 𓆩♡𓆪 THE DEVIL THAT YOU FORGOT

• // not open for attacks, planned interaction with thornrunner!

• 

• 
  ❥ longhaired black and white tom with pale green eyes
  ❥ 52 moons old; ages the 1st every month
  ❥ afab; uses he/she/they pronouns
  ❥ homosexual homoromantic; mated to venomstrike
  ❥ sibling to scorchstreak, lizardbounce, and rabbitclaw
  ❥ currently mentoring downypaw
  ❥ somewhat difficult to befriend; wary but kind
  ❥ "speech", thoughts, attacking
  ❥ peaceful powerplay allowed
  ❥ all opinions are ic

​

 

[PRIVETFROST]

Privetpaw flitted through the sickly-sweet scent of new heathers, as though grim shadow bleeding through the mirth, a portent omen of those who slink through the dark. Following close to his mentor, the boy did not revel in springtide's furor nor season's cycle. Within the scrublands, green hardly fostered itself between dull greys and browns. The wine-dark apprentice lamented how terribly obtrusive the moors looked, like spillage of colors stanched his sight, and the boy took it as an ironic commentary of the kings of falsehood. They lived in such a beautiful land, yet built themselves upon saccharine promises of nothing. He reasoned that the frivolity of verdancy was pertinent to Windclan, with such affable exterior yet little to show beneath it. Remember what I taught you. Fern-green gaze turned towards Rumblerain's softened voice, before the gears of war began to turn, and claret shades diverged from each other. Privet looked up at the full moon, unfurled and illustrious as it was, though it granted him little comfort in this dire hour. As many of his peers rushed forth, he stood back for just a moment.

Don't worry. I remember everything. Silent response to Rumble's question, as he quelled his hummingbird heart as though he aimed to smother and kill it beneath steadfast palm of his own will. Everything he had trained for, everything he had hoped for - it led up to this moment, surely.

The magpie-colored apprentice burst into camp with needle-claws unsheathed, with war cries almost like a blinding flash of light, as screeches of pain and glory alike roiled about. Metallic scent of freshly-drawn sanguine wafted violently through his nose, almost making him step aback in its pungency. Where quiet once reigned, now the chaos of righteous battle had overthrown it. Serpentine eyes darted for a suitable opponent, for he knew that even with his ambition and prowess, it would prove futile for him to pursue an opponent with much more strength and experience. Dodging flashing talons and baring fangs, the adolescent flitted through the gore as one would flit through the stagnant trees of a forest. Catching upon a half-toned apprentice, any molt of hesitation would easily shed from him, and he knew he had found his opponent. She seemed almost unsure, as if it was their first battle as well. An honorbound man would surely be deterred from such a pitiful sight, but Privet knew that victory would come at any cost.

Privetpaw barrelled into Rowanpaw's side, teeth clamping onto the other apprentice's neck, attempting to at least draw blood. Flesh and fur seemed almost malleable underneath him, though it did not completely bend to his manners. Resistance was no matter - he would simply break and bow it until he got what he wanted.

𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐂𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 ── X ── 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒

• Closed to interactions for now! Attacking @ROWANKIT. <3
• 
• 

  —— PRIVETPAW / He/Him / 6 Moons
  —— Apprentice of Duskclan / Mentored by Rumblerain
  —— Wine-dark and white-tipped, almost like a magpie. He has black fur except for the tips of his ears, his muzzle and chin, a blaze on his chest, bottom portion of the legs, outer end of the tail, and along the upper ridges of eyes. He has ghost striping that can only be seen in certain sunlight. He has fern-green eyes.
  —— Cool, calculating, and much too mature for such a young age. Enamored with the life of a warrior and burdened by the expectations of his people. Hard to befriend and harder to maintain a steady friendship with.
  —— Penned by Tempest. Contact on Discord (naruk4mi) for plots and threads.

​

 

[SCORCHSTAR]

༄༄ Sunstar is gone to the gathering, a few of their clanmates following in his star-scorched pawsteps. The deputy is left behind as the full moon rises over the moorland's rolling hills, but she feels no bitterness for it. There is no indignance in response to the idea that she would not be at this gathering—she had chosen this. She had refused to go, all of her own volition. Sunstar had done this, had begun this spiral; he can face the other clans alone. He can tell them all how her mate was lost, and he can face the jeering, the laughing, the chorus of she deserved it. The calico will not go, will not hear it. Bluepool had been wrong, had made a rash decision that got her killed—but she had been Scorchstreak's mate. No matter the code she had broken, she did not deserve to be lost without a trace. She deserved to be loved for so much longer than she was. She deserved the world, and then some.

The deputy is torn from her dull-eyed dwelling by the sounds of battle erupting around her. A shout echoes through the camp, powerful and sweeping as the wind that graces the moors. For once, the calico feels grateful that she had not been tucked away underground, but instead had been lying tensely beneath the Tallrock.


As they stream into camp, the forms of DuskClanners are ribboned in white light. They would look almost celestial, like StarClanners themselves, if they did not have snake's venom flowing through their veins like Sootstar's own poison. "Granitepelt," she snarls, pearled fangs bared in a stiff threat of violence. Rage and fear course through her, setting every limb stiff as she glares around in search of a dark-pointed pelt. Traitorous child, wayward coward—she wants to find Rumblerain and drag them into the tunnels, hold them there until they are able to see reason. She cannot lose another kit, not so soon after her mate. She cannot lose another clanmate, either; a new panic strikes her, and Scorchstreak's target changes. Where is Pinkpaw? Her apprentice's calico pelt is nowhere to be seen—is she alright? Is she injured somewhere, dying, dangled over a cliff's edge…

With an unkempt pelt bristled and glassy golden eyes darting frantically around the camp, the deputy looks more prey than predator in the moment.

☽♰☾ IT WAS WAR, IT WASN’T FAIR

• ooc: searching for rumblerain and then @PINKPAW! open to attacks, battle notes here
• 
  SCORCHSTREAK ❯❯ she/they, deputy (tunneler) of windclan
  ༄ small, slim flame-streaked calico with fiery golden eyes. cold and closed-off, ferociously protective of her clanmates. rarely seen aboveground.
  ༄ mate to bluepool ; sibling to rattleheart & rabbitclaw
  ༄ mentor to pinkpaw
  ༄ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
  ༄ penned by foxlore

​

​

 

[GRAVELSNAP]

➴➴ Their protective stance is nothing in the face of the chaos that rises around them. Cats brawl around the camp, and searching for a golden-striped pelt becomes all the more difficult. They see nothing, no enemy approaching—and that is their downfall.

The black and white tom crashes to the ground, landing hard on their shoulder as something slams into their side. Their eyes widen with panic, fear-scent rolling off them in waves. An unseen enemy, someone who's gotten past their guard—one of Granitepelt's soldiers stands over them, a traitor and a fool. A worthless, good-for-nothing threat who left their clan behind at the behest of a tom who exists only to be a villain. To be Sootstar's successor. Anyone who follows Granitepelt is damned. But they are also cunning and swift, and the ache that rushes through the warrior's shoulder means nothing when they have someone to defend. So many queens and kits rely on them—Peri relies on them. They cannot lose this fight.

They surge back to their paws with a furiously snarled, "You!" All the protective rage in their body comes crashing down, a tidal wave that colors their vision in nothing but red.

Red. Blood. The slumped form of their mother disappearing into the reeds as they were whisked away in an iron grip. Crimson dripping down their chin from biting their tongue, determined to do what they must, to be a good WindClanner. A rogue's life force, draining away from the savage wound sliced into their abdomen. The blood of an ally-turned-killer, soaking into the fur of their paws, dripping from their claws, splattering across their face. Gravelsnap didn't want to be a murderer—doesn't want to follow in his fathers footsteps. He can't see himself treating his apprentice, his child, in such a way. But just like Lynxtooth, just like Sootstar, just like every single cat in this stars-forsaken band of rogues…

There is blood on his paws, and there is no river strong enough to wash it all away.

It's with this thought in mind that the black and white tom rushes at the rogue, aiming to swipe his claws across their face. Blue eyes, pale and pristine like two chips of ice. They are a poor imitation of Periwinklebreeze, one that Gravelsnap can't stand to look at. He wants them gone. Gone from this camp, gone from this territory, gone from this world.

➼ maybe i’ve done enough

• ooc: fighting @RUMBLERAIN
• 
  GRAVELSNAP ❯❯ they/he, moor runner of windclan
  ⭃ average-sized black and white warrior who seems smaller than he is. speaks rarely and quietly.
  ⭃ sibling to slateheart
  ⭃ mentoring sheeppaw
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
  ⭃ penned by foxlore

​

​

 

[kitecall.]

speaking color is #BBE8EF​

➾ KITEPAW. AND HOW CAN WE WIN WHEN FOOLS CAN BE KINGS? † ☼
𖤓 ✟ —— what had begun as bitter disappointment of not being invited to the gathering had soon turned into relief, for he could not dream of facing the leering and spiteful gazes of the other clans. windclan had made mistakes, and though he would follow his clan with loyalty until his laws couldn't drag him any more forwards, he could not allow himself to agree with bluepool and bluefrost's actions. he could not look at the blood that had been spilled over petty scraps and justify that it was good. he couldn't fathom that any of them could believe that it was good, but he does not want to be lumped together with trespassers, prey-thieves, invaders leaping to shed blood over what… a morsel? windclan was hungry, but surely there were other options… was that wrong for him to think? was that unfair?

he cannot bring himself to fall asleep as it claws at his brain, and he almost considers going outside for a stroll to clear his head. but he does not wish to ask. sunstar was gone, and he did not want to interrupt scorchstreak and her grieving. periwinklebreeze and rattleheart in the nursery, dimmingsun at the gathering, bluepool……. he does not know who to ask. and so he remains in his nest, stirring. restless. conflicted. awake as the howl sounded throughout camp and chaos quickly ensued.

he stumbles up to his feet, not even taking the time to shake off the moss that clings to his pelt as he tries to make sense of the situation. he almost wonders if they are riverclan cats, shadowclan cats…. eager to take revenge when they were weak, their forces thinned out at the gathering. though he is aware of duskclan through the hatred of the spoken tongue, he is not quite familiar with them. their forces. he was young, unaware of the hell they have caused and lived through. but now isn't the time to think or to rationalize, and kitepaw sends quick thanks to starclan that sunstar had only chosen a small pawful of cats to accompany him tonight. a thanks that he had been left behind and not faced with the aftermath upon coming home.

after a moment's hesitation, scanning his eyes around the camp, kitepaw quickly finds himself launching himself towards the first unfamiliar pelt he sees, attempting to slam himself into their side and bowl them over…. or at least knock them off balance. his heart pounds, the adrenaline in his blood pumping. he'd never expected his first battle to be so sudden, so unexpected. in his nest, in his camp!

---

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎┌── ooc ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ info ──┐‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

• feel free to be who he's attacking :) just please tag @kitepaw. in your post !!
  

• 

• KITEPAW ✩ he/him, moor-runner apprentice of windclan, 7.5 moons old
  ⭃ average sized tomcat with light cream tabby markings. he has a white chest and half face. his fur is a medium length and he has large whiskers. his eyes are a light blue.
  ⭃ highly religious, stubborn and hard-working, kindhearted and charismatic, honest, diligent, foolish and impulsive when frustrated, will speak out when something feels unjust.
  ⭃ open to minor and minor nonviolent powerplay / / underline and tag when attacking ⇌ see his bio here
  ⭃ penned by @DOFFERZ! ⇌ doffloppa on discord, feel free to dm for plots. template credit to vayle.
  
  
  

​

 

[SOOTSPOT]

Narrow pupils refocused against the light of the moon, a smile upon the Tunneler's muzzle as he finds a familiar grey figure within the crowd of fighters. Wordlessly, he watched as two clanmates ran towards his brother, first Rivewhisker, then Firefang, whose warcry of 'no prisoners' rang in his ears like alarm bells. His gaze tracked to the Nursery, then to the camp's entrance where Bluefrost stood in solitude, his head tilting left and right in his deductions. Slinking like a mongoose into the crowd of fighters, the tom pressed forwards on a mission, claws sheathed. Sootspot pressed himself against the gaping maw of a burrow, sideways facing, as to keep an eye out for those trying to flee into it, or those trying to enter the camp through it.

// defending a tunnel entrance, open for interactions <3

​

 

[downyfur]

Again. Again the camp splits with a yowl, fur spiking off moonlit bodies and claws flashing in the silver. For a moment Downypaw is a kitten again, flattened to the floor of their nest like a fawn, long ears pinned to their trembling skull. Thoughts descend upon them like wolves. Rogues? Rive- Granitepelt! Where- Pinkpaw? Heart thudding in their ears, they try to piece it all together with shaking paws and rolling eyes. The rogues- Sootstar's rogues- As if it'd never truly healed, their chest begins to ache something fierce. I thought they were- Gone? As if they all just died when Sunstar vanquished their leader, or fled over the horizon and fell off the face of the world?

They should've known. All of them—they should've known. But to know was to fear, and life had been so idyllic after it was all over that no one could bring themself to and—and that was just stupid. Stupid: Celandine's at the Gathering. At least one of their friends wouldn't die tonight, as StarClan would have it. Thank the stars it would be the least experienced one.

Take a breath. It rattles in their chest, but in and out, slowly, nonetheless. Enough presence has returned to them to look around, not with fire-blinded eyes but cool analysis. Granitepelt's rogues wouldn't attack without reason, yes, a reason, a resource, for every battle and skirmish. From what they knew of him, the wily tom would not do this for vengeance only. And then they see it—Thriftfeather and Thornrunner (another pang, their names foreign in their thoughts)—skulking towards the nursery, and Rattleheart's arched, furious silhouette before them, and it clicks for them.

The nursery is the safest place to be. No one would forsake WindClan's kits, even at the cost of their lives, and if Downypaw were to watch a queen lay down their life tonight—well, it wouldn't be the first time. The smoke-tipped cat makes a beeline for the honeysuckle, their low-slung form slipping easily through the snarling throngs on their would-be-heroic pursuit.

"Rattleheart," they gasp, nearly skidding into their mentor's side. Gravelsnap careens off into Rumblerain, and they suppress a shudder at the thought that they would actually have to do the same. "The kits, I-" They stare at him, at Periwinklebreeze, almost pleading. You, who are so much stronger than I, it's you who should be fighting for your kits! "I'm here," they breathe. A last line of defense: with the image of Brightshine lunging for Sootstar burned against their skull, they pray a mother's violence would render it unneeded.

ooc: at the nursery, open for attack!

windclan apprentice | "speech." | tags​

​

 

[nightingalecry]

Nightingalecry is luckily camped by the nursery, chatting with likely other queens and playing with the kittens too big to hang about. The commotion is loud, and she hates that she has gotten so used to the scent of DuskClan that she hadn't caught it before it pounced into the camp. Her fur ruffles as she tries to round the children into the nursery, listening as Rattleheart tries to hush his own litter. "Stay back, each of you," she hisses, swallowing thickly. Her secret could very well be spilled now... Sunstar would spare her kits, not her - she has already overstayed her welcome as a traitor, but she can protect her livelihood until she is ousted, at least.

"Go to Uncle Peri," she commands, however as she turns again to see out, she sees a flash of ashen and tan fur, a flash of amber eyes - she instinctively stands in his way, using her thin frame to push him back.

"Ebonylight," Nightingalecry says, and her voice is too soft. Fear does not embolden her, but instead it staples her paws to the ground. She is a fixture of the nursery, stone heavy and unmoving even in the face of terror. Her lover - his expression twisted and lost - inflicts her with a grin she's seen so many times... and yet she forcefully remembers the night she chased him off. Her face throbs where scars scored through her skin. He hurt her then, he would be willing to hurt her now.

"You can't have them," she whispers, swallowing thickly. "You can't, that isn't - that isn't what we agreed on...!" Nightingalecry wonders if it matters to him. Rogues are trying their damnedest to make their way to the nursery, so she wonders if they have orders to steal kittens. To broaden their army, even... They would be so thin, then... So sad, so pitiful. She kept them safe here. She is their protector. Her claws arc into the ground, "You won't have them," she tries a growl, baring her teeth in his face. "Leave. Now."

[ pls don't interrupt, planned interaction w @Ebonylight. </3 ]​

 

[Vulturepaw]

˖⁺‧₊ ☽◯☾ ₊‧⁺˖ Vulturekit is hiding out in the nursery when it happens. That's his favorite place in the whole camp, because it's nice and safe and quiet. It's the kind of place where he can steal away from the world and nuzzle into his father's side, help him attend to the younger kits he's always babysitting. It is peaceful, comfortable.

He never realized how quickly that peace could be shattered.

Nightingalecry hisses her soft words with an urgency he's never heard before, and the kitten's fur stands on end. Tiny paws stumble backward, further into the nursery, further from whatever horrible threat she senses at the entrance. His tail begins to lash. "Auntie...?" he asks in a small voice. "Wh-what's happening?" His eyes begin to dart around. There's an odd scent in the air; he doesn't recognize it. It's frustrating, that unknown.

He cowers, but he does not run. He swallows thickly, looks to the other kits in the nursery. "Uh, y-you heard her. K-k-k-keep - keep back," they hiss softly. Danger, danger danger, his mind screams - and despite his better instincts, he wants to know the shape of it. Wild amber eyes narrow as he creeps closer to Nightingale's legs, not heeding his own advice. His gaze darts between the gathered kits and the towering form of his aunt. If he can just peer around her and see, maybe then he'll know better what to do...

‎‎┌── FOR I HATE THE BUILDINGS ⛧ AND THE WAY THEY TOWER OVER ME ──┐‎

• 

  
  
  "SPEECH"
  ​

• 
  VULTUREKIT ⛧ he / they, kit of windclan, four moons.
  ⭃ a spiky-furred dark tabby with amber eyes.
  ⭃ skittish and dour, with little time for typical kit games.
  ⭃ micheal x npc, adopted by periwinklebreeze. sibling to dustkit and bilberrykit.
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

​

 

[RUMBLERAIN]

Rumblerain doesn't dignify Gravelsnap's furious howl with a response, loosing a breath into the night as he rushes towards them. He was always fast, but so were they. The ribs visible on their once-lithe form nowadays doesn't change that.

They duck under his swipe, but not as much as they should have: the tip of their right ear bursts into flame, nicked, and an involuntary yelp escapes them on the way down. Should they play dead? It would be an affront to do so, they decide quickly, but it's a bitterly amusing thought.

What feels like a heartbeat passes (it's barely so) before Rumblerain launches themself forward, still crouched, in an attempt to clamp sharp teeth into the moor-runner's hind left leg. They would then try to twist, to kick a hind leg of their own up behind Gravelsnap's left foreleg with claws outstretched as it comes back down.

ooc ✧ 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦

• — engaging with @GRAVELSNAP
  
• 
  
  [ art by antiigone ]
• RUMBLERAIN ✧ they/them, deputy of duskclan
  
  
  — "a lanky, scruffy seal and white point with blue eyes."
  — single ; mentoring privetpaw
  — speech is in #D4882D
  — tags | penned by mercibun, contact on discord for plots.
  
  
  
  

​

 

[SHEEPPAW]

Suddenly— Suddenly, his clanmates were fighting. The camp splits into yowls and hisses, spitting out from the unknown clowder of cats. Invaders. He feels like a kit again– he doesn't know what to do. He shoots up onto his paws, tail lashing behind him. From the moment he heard about the outside world as a kit, Sheeppaw was ready to fight- but not this soon. His usually messy fur spikes up, large ears flattened against his white skull. Thoughts swoop upon him like a hawk, as he whipped his head around camp.

Trying… Trying to find Frostpond and Spiderleap. He wants- he wants Where are they– Who are these strangers?! Rogues? Lakepaw- Brackenpaw? Heart thudding rapidly in his chest, as he tries to catch sight of the familiar coats of his parents or friends. He snaps out of his spiral of slight panic at the roar of Gravelsnap. His mentor. He opens his maw as he shakily stutter out a cry. " Gravesnap! " Sky-blue eyes catches sight of his mentor, the black-the-white feline. He wants to run towards his mentor, but he knows he cannot bring himself to. He has to do something, but he can't. He was only taught the basics of hunting at most, not the basics fighting! Dangit, dangit! What do I do?! He flinches at the sound of yowls piercing through in the air.

Sheeppaw bristled, discomfort twisting- sinking in his gut in aches. Adrenaline replacing his fear in his frozen state, keeping his claws sheathed. The black smoke doesn't have time to brainstorm. He just flings himself at the first sight of any unfamiliar cat he sees, paws outstretched. Attempting to barrel them over… or knock them on their side. His heart beats rapidly. He has never expected his first battle to be so sudden. So… unexpected and terrifying.

FEEL THE LAUGHTER BUILD ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 SLUMBER PARTIES

• ooc. shouting for @GRAVELSNAP! feel free to be the one he's knocking over :3 open to injuries, no maiming
• no ref yet </3
• ( HEY! WHATCHA GOT? ) ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ SHEEPPAW. ╱ windclan apprentice.
  ✶ amab ; HE / HIM ; 7 MOONS & AGES EVERY 29TH.
  ✶ undecided / not looking / open to puppy-crushes
  ✶ a lanky, longhaired black smoke with high white and blue eyes
  ✶ thoughts ; "Speech, 8E7F7F" ; attacks only
  ✶ may powerplay minor harm ╱ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
  ✶ smells like early morning dew & windblown heather
  — all opinions are ic
  
  → biography / @ on discord for plots
  — penned by calzone
  

​