CONGREGATION, LET'S SING IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT — GATHERING 11.15.23

[DOEBLAZE]

Has there ever been a Gathering that didn't end in leaders storming off the rock and outcries from the crowd? Bobbie's only been to two, granted, but somehow she doubts it. This tradition of Clan life, seemingly intended to provide a place for the clans to pseudo-unite and share news, seems to be increasingly becoming an airing of grievances that constantly tests the thinly-worn treaty of moonlight.

It begins affably enough—Blazestar's ringing voice cuts through the chatter, providing a cleanly cut summary of SkyClan's past moon. She sits up a little straighter when her name is spoken, fixing adoring eyes on her mate's golden pelt, silvered by the great pearl of the moon above. He settles back, leaving room for Howlingstar to step up and deliver the expected, but still appreciated, news of ThunderClan's recovery. Bobbie's ears twitch when Hailstorm's name is mentioned; she's been wondering how the hulking tomcat has been doing, plagued as he was by grief when the journeying party said their goodbyes. She has to suppress a shudder—if it was Blazestar who'd been lost only days after their courtship's conclusion, she doesn't know what she would've done. Or she doesn't to think of it.

Chilledstar's news is equally peaceable, if spoken in a bitter monotone. Bobbie's beginning to think this Gathering might really be just that: a time for the Clans to gather and peacefully share news. Then Smokethroat—Smokestar—the cat she'd bumped into in the crowd, she realizes with a flush of embarassment, steps up. He doesn't mince his words in sharing his news, until he turns on the WindClan deputy where he perches on the rock, tone as smoldering as his name. It's a challenge, an open one, and Sunstride rises to it with an even-toned retort that's the opposite of the she-cat he replaces. A murmur rises within the crowd, building to a pitch as hot as the feverish brows of a moon ago, shouts and yowls.

Bobbie inhales sharply. At her first gathering, she'd remained silent, and she does the same now. Does she respect Sunstride, justifying the actions of a cat spiraling down, down, down? No. She does not. But she respects the traditions of the forest she's lucky to live in, she respects the hierarchy she's worked herself up, and so she keeps quiet. She trusts her mate to speak for SkyClan, and that he does, condemning WindClan's actions. When Smokestar calls his Clan to leave, Blazestar agrees, and she weaves her compact frame towards him through the mass of pelts. Away from the Gathering, away from the rosetted tom perched on the rock above, defending the choices of a madwoman.

i'm a moon ☾ ( constantly chasing you )

• 

• 

  bobbie ; lead warrior of skyclan
  x. she/her ; 42 moons ; tags
  x. small, scarred lilac tabby and white she-cat with green eyes
  x. played by dejavu
  x. mother to lupinepaw, crowpaw, and drowsypaw. mate to blazestar.

​

 

[HOWLINGSTAR]

ShadowClan's news pass by quickly, and Howlingstar only ducks her head in sympathy when she hears their kits have still not been found. It is a dark thought, but she believes it might be too late. Kits out there alone for this long must surely be dead, and the thought breaks her maternal heart. "We will keep looking," She assures the ShadowClan leader, but how much more can they do? They've already sent out a search patrol, and all border and hunting patrols are aware to keep an eye out, too. Still, she hopes it provides some comfort to Chilledstar.

Smokethroat - No, Smokestar now, rest Cicadastar's spirit - goes on to share news as if nothing has happened. She watches him carefully, feeling her fur prick with unease at what is to come. She can hardly pay attention to his news, only looking forward to what comes at the end. And there, the truth spills like hot blood over the Great Rock, filling the entire clearing with yowls of horror as Sunstride confirms it all. Her pelt bristles but she remains silent, her fern-green eyes narrowed to slits as the other leaders condemn WindClan's actions. So it's true. What RiverClan told her had not been a lie. She joins her voice with the others, hissing, "This is blasphemy!" She needs not add much; her lashing tail and bared fangs show it all. As Smokestar and Blazestar both take their leave, she lifts her chin up with pride, leveling the deputy she thought she could respect with a glare. "ThunderClan, as well. No clan may claim Highstones, no clan may claim the Moonstone." Fury rolls off of her in waves as she lashes her tail and leaps from the Great Rock, her own ears pinned. "Let's go home," She tells her clan, as it is obvious the Gathering has drawn to a swift end.​

 

[HARBINGERMOON]

☾ Never far from erupting chaos leered the fluffy and quaint form of the ebony and white splotched tux. Hot, unbridled fury seethed through the depths of Harbingermoon's pelt as he accompanied the familiar warmth of Hollowcreek's side. These bickering clan cats were damned fools to him, and as more and more voices added to the fray, his resolve strengthened. He hated when fun things turned too serious. Clan life was invigorating, except for moments like the one unfolding before them. Each leader's scathing response towards Sunstride had the hairs along his spine ruffled. Every little infliction cast on their absent leader pushed him further and further. Medicine cats and kits alike, whining out their own moralities, felt like fangs in his throat.

Disgust and aggravation caused his ears to flatten further with said indignation. Harbingermoon vehemently refused to make any eye contact as his inner monologue grew louder. Drowning out the situation like an ugly chorus of snores across flea-ridden nests. I'll cut through every last one of them. I swear it. All sets of their claws sank deeper into the earth as Smokestar's mug appeared to drawl on and on. Riverclan looked like glittery fish brains aiming for compliments and praise that their scrap of a new leader died. We did what was meant to be done, and he paid for ignoring our warning. Next time I'll make sure he's long gone before I leave him for crowfood. It was the spiel he'd repeated over and over to himself upon arrival and one he wouldn't soon forget.

Things had finally seemed to be on the cusp of change and he was proud to see Windclan's solidarity. If it weren't for his belly rolling waves of lava, he might have smiled, knowing that they alone ruffled a Starclan-blessed cat to such a degree. At the sound of dismissal, he huffed loudly beside his clanmates. Sootspot seemed like the only creature with their fur on today, but Blazestar's angry mewl and Howlingstar's bitter dismissal rallied his fuming hatred. Cowards, the lot of them! Just to run away after parading such a display almost made him believe the other was in it for the dramatics as much as himself. The musing switched to belated breaths as the soft mutterings of a nearby RiverClanner made his fur stand on end.

- - -

Harbingermoon hesitated a moment to take in each syllable, trying to hold back from shouting mutinous words as every other attending cat seemed to be doing. Like the poison drying on his tongue, his thoughts spun and swirled. Head tuft furrowing, his gaze slimmed to a needle as he whipped to the side—intense expression heating up by the moment while the exiting cat ground out their haughty insult. Following the injured blasphemer's look, something inside snapped. Earlier, anchorage relinquished from the earth below as he set off, leaving Hollowcreek's side. Quickly, he rounded on the offending whisperer. A respondent growl announcing his presence as he shoved to the front of the Riverclanner's vision.

Tail lashing, fangs bared, and claws extended, he snapped audibly toward Rookfang with unfiltered viciousness. Alas, the fervent whispers, glares, and unanimous outcries pushed him over. Winding back their dappled left paw, the shorter tom put all his available weight into the motion. For a split second, all the WindClanner could see was the dark of the Tunnels. The cool respite in which he haunted each looming corridor often taming the beast inside. But above ground, he was unironically akin to a fish out of water. With the tingle of soft grasses at his legs rousing him to the surrounding gathering, he finally swung forward. Landing a smarting smack right across the warrior's cheek. Sound muffled by fur and pads but glaringly evident to any cat above or nearby.

Rookfang's remark to any sane clan-cat would be water level at best, but to Harbingermoon, they were the wrong cat at the right time. Satisfaction trickled throughout his being, and for the first time since arrival, his ears sat tall and their tail wound itself higher. All earlier thundering in his mind, blissfully quiet for a change. His rumbling voice bloomed with the threat of laughter. "Just as you deser-" In his moment of self-proclaimed victory, a set of claws seeped into the lower half of his jaw, cutting out any previous joy or elation as pain erupted across his muzzle. This action left them dumbfounded and reeling backward from their earlier victim.

Surprise lit up Harbingermoon's cocky face while the claws ran cleanly from the right side of his chin to the top of his throat, leaving behind a crimson set of lines shining starkly against his white and black complexion. In less than a few heartbeats, it seemed a much larger cat stepped into the fray, and the Windclanner's bloodlust roared to life like the sun on an arid day as he confronted both enemies. It didn't matter if he stood against a sea of Riverclanner's they wouldn't allow another cat to slander his home or leader. Once more he lurched forward, this time to snag his fangs into Nightfish's incoming blow, but was blocked and met with another score across his chest. Matching the nasty beading droplets on his cheek.

Still, he refused to stand down, eyes wild and hateful as he spat out. "Hit me again, you damned fool, and I'll make you eat my claws!" Their shout was met with an answering grunt, as his frame was effortlessly shoved to the dirt below. Despite the humiliating disadvantage of being laid out, Harbingermoon didn't let up the resounding hisses and growls. Legs poised and moments away from throwing all of his inhibitions into the wind and making good on the earlier threat. ☽

☾ OOC ☽
Do not attempt any dramatic changes/interactions/fights if you are not a part of this plot and please wait for Sunstride to reply first before posting! Given explicit ooc permission to powerplay both @Nightfish + @ROOKFANG interactions.​

 

[SUNNVAR]

He had known to expect the worst of these fools, yet it is Harbingermoon that does the most harm. From one moment into the next, this Gathering is thrown to chaos. There is no time to redeem himself, to utter a traitorous I am not Sootstar, before claws sink through flesh and blood is spilt once more across these hallowed grounds. He had not been there at the time this promise came to be, but an oath was made to even walk into these lands. An oath that these cats had immediately betrayed. The other leaders have begun to filter from the rock and call their clans away– Sunstride does not offer the same dignified approach. He leaps from perch to perch like a storm given golden fur and to the spot where he had stood the moon before. The spot of WindClan's deputy, maintained once more by vibrant fury.

"Enough!" he shouts, a singular word from the depths of his diaphragm. Rage lights a vicious fire within glacial eyes, though it is not at any one side or another. At Sootstar, at StarClan, at the fact that he stands here and faces this for the sake of another. One who was ungrateful, un—

Abruptly, he cuts himself off. "We are not to harm another. Your foolishness does not serve your clan, or the stars. Return to camp." The warrior's head lifts, picking out the loyalists that still sit amongst the crowd. No longer are they faces to fear the reaction of. So many of them stand like Harbingermoon; the others are pathetic youths, without the experience or knowledge of their betters. (Some he will pity– some do not know what they have gotten themselves into, the way that Sunstride himself had once not known.) "All of you! Go!"

To the leaders, in their various stages of departure, Sunstride returns his blazing gaze. (Vibrant energy on the tip of a knife, swaying this way and that with the breeze. He does not know what to do with it but bore holes to their heads where he stands with his shoulders hunched, his claws flexed to the dirt. He seeks wild connection. Understanding. A tether to sanity, for the briefest of moments.) "You speak of StarClan, and your connection to them. Yet StarClan has remained silent this night. None among WindClan have suffered their wrath; they did not take Sootstar then, and they do not do it now. If you are to lean on the stars this coming season, they must first deal with her." It is a voice of pride. WindClan's might, and Sootstar's alongside– and a voice of desperation, as well.

He does not speak again to WindClan's warriors, or the other leaders. From where he stands amidst the crowd, before Harbingermoon, Sunstride turns to stalk away.

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"

​

 

[Nightfish]

𓆝 . ° ✦ Nightfish didn't come here to pick a fight, is the thing, though there's a perpetual itch under his pelt, a singing in his blood that wants him to draw blood more than it wants him to be smart. He wasn't even listening to the leaders talking — wouldn't have known what to pick a fight about, he was too busy looking around, trying to find a familiar face in the crowd. He'd kind of registered Rook's muttering, because he was sitting right to the other tom, but only enough that he could tilt his head in a kind of silent yeah, sure of acknowledgement even though he hadn't gotten any of the meaning behind the sound of his voice.

But being distracted, looking around, means that he sees the Windclanner coming. Sees the paw raised, coming down on his clanmate, and even though he doesn't see the glint of claws yet he's all too aware how quickly one can unsheathe them right as the arc of the blow collides with the opponent. How easy it would be to take an eye out, or worse; hell, Rook's still in pretty bad shape, who knows how much it'd hurt. He doesn't think about how stupid it would be to throw the first clawed hit at a Gathering, even from a Windclan cat — maybe they make them stupid over in the moors, he doesn't know.

The problem with you, Night, is that you never think.

The thought, half memory, half self-criticism, echoes in Nightfish's head far too late — his own claws are already out, a snarl twisting his usually placid face as he jumps at the Windclanner's throat.

He scrambles forward more than he pounces, and the hit isn't as direct as he'd like because of it. His claws rake across the bicolor's warrior's jaw rather than his eye, but that's alright. Blood-speckled paw hitting the dusty ground, Nightfish pushes himself forward and into the Windclanner's space, putting his body between him and Rook just in time to intercept his next attempt at an attack. He gives the other a rough shove — sharp enough to draw blood as his claws, still unsheathed, skitter across a white-flecked chest.

"Back off, hare-brain!" He spits back, throwing his bulk forward and slamming his shoulder into the smaller cat, throwing him to the ground. Hee looms over the moor cat, body shaking slightly and fur standing on end as he wrestles with the instinct to follow his opponent down and sink his teeth in that bristling spine and shake until he stops moving.

The Windclan deputy's shout stops him, but only just. Nightfish is suddenly aware of the wetness of blood on his paw, staining his white spot red; the eyes of other cats on the scene; the stare of the stars up above. He's too keyed up to feel fearful of the transgression. He backs away from the Windclanner, limbs stiff as if with deep frost, and waits for Rook to start moving before he follows the rest of Riverclan away from Fourtrees.

✧ ° . ✶ . ° ✧​

ooc Information

• ooc: —
• 

  NIGHTFISH — HE/HIM ･ 38 MOONS ･ WARRIOR OF RIVERCLAN ･ PENNED BY KANGOO

  a large black and lilac chimera with high white and blue-yellow heterochromia and an expressionless face.

 

[Mothfur]

♪ Like a moth to a flame ♪ ---- Mothfur's first four trees gathering, he was excited. To get his name announced felt like an honor. However, that excitement changed to saddness then anger after the talk about casualties and the moonstone situation. He scoffed, "How pathetic-" he whispered to himself. As ruckus ensued, the tom ought to keep to himself. Not wanting to worsen the situation, Mothfur moved to the back.

​

シ ooc info

• Lyrics - Moth by HELLYEAH
• - 12 ☾
  - Tom, He/Him
  - Single, Bisexual
  
  

Played by @Dutch

 

[HARBINGERMOON]

☾ Sunstride's furious shout echoed through the clearing, and Harbingermoon's fiery gaze bore into the maned deputy with a mixture of surprise and irritation. You're just going to make me look like a failure! The unexpected turn of events had thrown a wrench into his previous plans, and the tuxedo warrior found himself momentarily disoriented.

Nightfish's presence further fueled the internal turmoil, but beneath the outward facade, Harbingermoon's pride was wounded. The cooling embers of humiliation flickered, and his steadfast resolve wavered. Orange eyes reflecting the chaotic storm of emotions within. Rolling said eyes he curtly ground out. "Fine." It was clearly not fine for him but the fire had been put out.

Liquid venom threatened to pour from the Windclanner's lips. Instead, he held firm to respect the authority figures wishes. Had it been any other cat he would've gleefully spat the desired curses. Except the onslaught of burning looks squashed that fact with ease. Now the Tunneler was hyper aware of the attention and for a change his gut disliked it.

As the burly tom, Nightfish, backpedaled, the tension that had held Harbingermoon rigid began to dissipate. Slowly, he settled onto his paws, feeling the throb of his injuries as the adrenaline faded. The superficial cuts would need attention, and the warrior's smoldering glare lingered on the deputy before turning toward the Riverclan cats. You'll get yours. Don't you worry.

With a defiant toss of his bottlebrush tail, Harbingermoon sulked away, head held high defiantly. Their fluffy appendage soon dragged behind, leaving a small trail, as he vanished from sight. The fiery desire for vengeance simmered beneath the surface, each step echoing his determination to settle the score.

☾ OOC ☽
Out!
All opinions are strictly IC!​