DEATH MARCH ╱ JOURNEY ANNOUNCEMENT

[CICADASTAR]

by the time he is reaching camp again, it is dawn and the leaders meeting has long since ended. golden light spills into the water - backed camp, pebbled ground gleaming with a whisper of dew. it is a calm morning, the trill of good mornings and influx of fish scent from the freshkill pile as hungry mouths rifle through. eyes lift and he regards those who stare without seeing ; empty, mind - caged blues sidling heavy on those he passes. the mottled tom pauses in his pawsteps, feels sight burn into his fur the longer he stands, the longer long limbs refuse to move — when he sends them away, who would return to him? would any of them? and if the risk is that great, who would be there to defend them in their wake? who did he trust to send and to return safely, and who did he trust to protect the sick while their plague rattles on? the leader knows he must stay ; his soul is etched into these wide rivers, as raging as the waters but just as closed off. if anyone were to stay and bear the brunt of this sickness for his warriors, it would be him — and it will be.

he does not scale his stone, nor call for attention. enough stare at him for some to approach and his tail lifts in approval, drawing eyes, drawing ears. some murmur to gain attention of others, but bit by bit, his warriors will assemble around him. there are many, bright - eyed, old and young. he knows each of them, some their kin and beyond. he knows some of them will pass in the moons that follow, and he will see their ghosts in the stars above. does anyone else read constellations in their eyes? instead of mulling an answer, his voice lifts, ” i come with grave.. “ he begins, voice crackling with it, ” but important news. last night, i met with blazestar, chilledstar, howlingstar and even sootstar. “ some twist their nose, and he does as well, lifting his chin against it. even that scrap of flesh and fur had decided to attend, unburdened by her drooling lackeys and cooperative, for the first time since her days in the marsh. he did not trust it still, but life was grim enough without the moorland wretch showing her claws for one reason or another.

” starclan whispers to us. they say that this plague will reign on until we come together, and make a difficult decision as one. we met under a treaty of peace, on the hallowed grounds of fourtrees, beneath the eyes of our ancestors and discussed what this could possibly mean for our future. “ stalling, perhaps. painting a story of grandeur and star blessings, guided in the light of those already passed.. those that look out for them now. he does not tell of the terror in ravensong’s eyes when he stuttered a dream at him, tells nothing of the apprehension snapping between each leader like a taut wire ready to pop. maybe it had all been him. regardless, the leader hopes it beams in his eyes — hope. fire, confidence.. and not the silver - tongued snake he is, slithering about the tall grass ready to inject sure death into his victims. should he pick off the weak? send the strong, sturdy? he would meet somewhere in the middle it seems, ” the forest is scarce of lungwort — but our medicine cats believe to have discovered where it grows freely. far in the mountains, beyond the grassy hills and meadowlands. “

make it sound like an adventure, a part of him murmurs, dead eyed and still within him. the leader’s heart is still too warm for it, still shows the glint of anguish in his eye before it leaves his tongue. a glimpse of guilt. a sentence, ” we have decided to send our best and most trusted to this place, guided by the paws of our ancestors, and find where this herb grows so abundantly. yellowcough has devastated us, and we have been the luckiest of them — our river has protected our numbers, but it can only do so much. “ he thinks of flutterpaw. flutter, just as he’d told smokethroat he’d wanted to name his own child, though neither two had suited. the third and youngest, yes — but perhaps that name, too, was a curse now, ” these warriors will join those sent by thunderclan, skyclan, shadowclan and windclan.. and embark on a journey to save our clans. “ to save them all. this sickness would pick them each off, one by one.. it is foretold. the forest will rip itself apart in agony elsewise.

cicadastar sits straighter, now. his throat clicks, ” it will be perilous, but riverclan is strong. riverclan is proud, and unafraid. all of that and more..will be needed here. volunteers, please make yourselves known. “ the muscle in his jaw flexes: clenching shut, releasing, clenching shut. and here it is, ” otherwise, i will be choosing amongst you for myself. “ this is mandatory. he hoped, to the stars above, that at least one of them with raise a voice in offer. how many would he send to their deaths?

COLD & CRUEL LIKE WINDS ON THE SEA  ╱ INFORMATION ✟

• i. only those chosen and in the discord for the journey may volunteer, though you also have the choice to remain silent and be chosen by cicadastar !! dm me here or on discord if you’d rather that route < 3
  
• ★ ⋆ CICADASTAR −−−− FOUNDING LEADER OF RIVERCLAN. HOMOSEXUAL, MATED TO SMOKETHROAT. FIFTY MOONS, FATHER TO STARLIGHTKIT, CICADAKIT && BEEKIT. PENNED BY ANTLERS −−−−− ⁺₊✧
  
  
  he / him. tall, elegantly curled smoke tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt blue eyes. his structure sings a feral sort of hymnal, presenting an almost dangerous sort of beauty veiling what monstrosities lie beneath the ivory of his skull. jutting jawline and a squared chin, sunken cheeks drawing a shadow beneath high, sharp cheekbones with tall, angular ears settling high atop the flatter slope of his cranium. he is beautiful ; lucifer in the eyes of an envious god. for all his looks, his expression is lax, void — corpse - eyed and hollow until spoken to, sparking the undead to life. he is tall, lean, cut - glass pretty ; he smiles with too - many teeth, blackened frostbite pulling back his maw to bear canines setn beneath curling whiskers, pantomime skeletal. a predatory gracefulness from the lines that press the image of exhaustion beneath ice water hues to the slow, sure gait in which he walks, nameless strength poorly concealed within the hard lines of his physique. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar stands unnaturally tall amongst his peers, always holding himself with a tragic sort of grace ; poised, prim, and uncannily aware of how he appears.
  
  ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── smells like wet moss and meadowland thunderstorms.
  ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── notoriously paranoid and closed off, cicadastar will tend to lie, assume, and jump to conclusions whenever it suits him. any 'suspicious' ic actions he witnesses or hears about will have a strong effect, and will have ic consequences! if you're unsure of an interactions outcome, please feel free to send a dm!
  
  no character opinions represent my own.​
  
  
• " speech "​
  
  
  

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[hazecloud]

The morning was rather lazy and slow to rise. With not many awake yet, the silky-furred molly had spent her time that morning preening the smoky pelt of @ROOKFANG while she still had the time. With him still prone, only stirring slightly, she could at least make him look decently clean before he woke. Then stars knew when the opportunity would come again, ever so stubborn to rest once he's begun to move.

The sight of Cicadastar returning had caught the warrior off-guard, not even aware he had left at all the night before. Hazecloud slowly pushed herself up on her paws and left Rookfang's side to approach her leader; he looked as though he had something to say.

She is silent when his voice finally breaks. Her tail-tip twitched as the surprising mention, and cooperation, of the moor queen. The mottled tom appeared to agree with the wide sentiment of distaste, but it did well to describe the weight of the meeting. They all met under the same goal, and they all agreed on the same conclusion. Never in her lifetime did she imagine seeing that, not with the roster of leaders they had.

Cicadastar laments on the destruction the sickness wrought. The scarcity of any safety in its wake. Hazecloud found herself peering for the slightest insight on how it must feel to be in his place, to watch his Clan, the Clan he had sworn all nine lives to protect, wither away beyond his control. Without any supply of the cure, few being lucky enough to receive it at all-

Hazecloud glanced around the gathered cats in search of a certain blue molly. How quickly she had weakened under the blight. Flutterpaw, succumbing to it seemingly overnight. Aspenhaze, her friend now replacing the lead in Ravensong's den alongside the other apprentices and warriors. This journey Cicadastar described would hold the lives of the forest if they succeeded. Yet he could not join them. He had to stay and bear the force of yellowcough overtaking his Clan.

"... volunteers, please make yourselves known."

Of course. How could he decide which of his warriors to send, knowing they may not return?

She is moving, speaking before she can even realize.

"I will volunteer." Her pelt felt hot. The lack of hesitation surprised even her. "To follow StarClans guidance into the mountains, to find the cure, it would be an honor."​

 

[CHICORYPAW]

*:･ﾟ (^˵◕ω◕˵^) chicorypaw is sat outside the apprentice den when cicadastar returns to camp, eyes heavy with sleep and struggling to stay open for longer than a minute or two as she tries to groom unkept fur but it appeared futile considering she'd constantly lull into a brief doze before jerking back into wakefulness. when the king of the river began to speak it doesn't reach her ears as clearly, only able to catch bits of the beginning. a sharp nudge into her side causes the tortoiseshell to startle, focus whisking to the side where a fellow denmate hisses at her in a quiet breath to pay attention. chicorypaw gives a little shake of her head, trying rid herself fron the grips of tiredness to put all her concentration on what the smokey chimera was saying.


good thing she does because she soon learns that all five clans are being beckoned by stars to come together and send representitives of each clan to venture off beyond the forest and rivers they know in order to find and bring back lungwort that the rest desperately need to heal the infected. pale green eyes grow wide with awe, suddenly feeling much more awake. an expedition full of mystery and potential danger sends an excited thrill up her spine, how cool would it be to see the world beyond the island of her home then come back to be hailed as a hero?! a thick, cream and blue tail thumps against the sandy grounds of camp as her imagination runs wild with the idea. chicorypaw wants nothing more than to go on an amazing adventure and make history. agh, should she say something now or wait until there's more cats who step forward?

* ˚ CHANT THIS CHARM (♥) YOU&#039;LL FEEL SO GOOD ˚ *

• 🟆 dw she's not say gonna anything bc she takes way too long to decide what to do lol
  
• perhaps larger reference added here?
  
• 
  ━━━ chicorypaw
  ━━━ 5 moons.
  ━━━ she/her ; apprentice of riverclan.
  ━━━ pansexual poly ; single & oblivious.
  ━━━ lh blue tortoiseshell w/ low white
  ━━━ "speech" • 'thoughts' • attack
  ━━━ penned by cobatic
  ━━━ art by cobi
  
  
  

​

 

[salmonshade]

Salmon had roused quite some time ago, paws full of energy that she know will deplete faster than she wants it to. She sits next to Ratpaw as the younger molly eats and gets herself ready to leave out for the morning, her tail flicking back and forth in idle thought. Perhaps she could take Rat to the beech copse, begin on battle training... But how would she go about this? Would she begin with simple things? Fighting came natural to a woman with rage that simmers just beneath the surface, a woman who had her teeth bared for the longest time, but the girl was so young, too young to experience this... Would she know of it, if she dug deep within? Her and Ratpaw were perhaps cut from the same cloth, she has seen it twice before. If only...

Eyes flit up, breaking her out of her thoughts when Cicadastar returns. He looks... She doesn't know, but she doesn't like the look on his face. Her tail lashes. He speaks of grim news, of how the Clan territories are out of the only cure for this disease. She holds her breath because what if, what if the next to fall ill was Ratpaw, or Snakeblink, or anyone she thinks moderately fondly of? Lichentail had already been cured, so surely that provided some immunity to the disease that seized both the young, strong, and old? She briefly thinks of Flutterpaw, deathly still with a paw reached out to another nest. Her stomach twists and turns in to knots that make her sick. It is only a matter of time before kits begin to succumb as well. She wonders if the rot has already infected those healthy, just waiting for an opportunity to bite.

Cicadastar pushes on. He speaks of cooperation with other leaders, with the moor-rats of all cats- she is surprised she does not hear more protests, cries of outrage. After their stain upon the earth, bloody and a deep red, whose to say any of them are truly deserving of the cure? Her fur slightly raises at this thought but she keeps her cool, dipping her head to lick at her chest fur so no one can see the fury brimming in her eyes. He continues, asking for... Volunteers, a perilous journey, he calls Riverclan proud and unafraid and under any other circumstance she would agree. Can we truly risk sending any healthy cats? They have no choice, after all, this is the last bastion of hope that they have lest they want to all be wiped out.

Haze voices her want to go. Salmonshade doesn't speak, just stares at her leader through a searching gaze. Her mouth stays shut. She has a duty, here in Riverclan, a duty to Ratpaw, a duty to the river and the lands itself. She would not abandon her training so quick, barely a moon in. She turns her head, once again, to look at the apprentice by her side. Her gaze softens and for the first time, Salmon aims to draw a comforting tail around the smaller one. There will be no need to volunteer. Hazecloud, and from the looks of it many others who are about to speak up have it covered. The air feels heavy and her stomach still churns, oh, Stars she hopes they come back with more of the cure. It's all we have left.

₊˚.༄ info

• referencing @Ratpaw
• 
  -> salmon ,, salmonshade
  -> cis female ,, she/her ,, 30 months
  -> warrior of riverclan ,, former marsh grouper
  -> fluffy & dainty chocolate tortie smoke with white, blue eyes
  -> “speech, ff91a4” ,, thoughts
  -> lesbian ,, single
  -> smells like warm flowers & freshly cut grass
  -> chibi by pin
  

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[Mosspool]

Mosspaw was up early, as she was every day. Which was why she was among the first to notice Cicadastar's return. She tilted her heard curiously at the sight, as he must have headed out awfully late to be returning so early. Far be it from her to question his actions, of course, but she could not help her curiosity. It drew her toward him before she even realized that he had anything to announce.

She blinked at his declaration that he had met with all the other leaders. Never had she thought that he would meet amicably with Howlingstar or - stars forbid - Sootstar outside of the gathering. Immediately, the importance of whatever news he had was impressed upon her. Her anticipation only grew when he spoke of Starclan. Each word that he spoke she ate up eagerly, listening enraptured as he spoke of the greatness of the stars and of Riverclan. She tried to stand up straighter.

Then, finally, he announced it. A journey designed by the stars to save all the clans.

Her heart skipped a beat.

For once, the stars' will was clear to her. This was the sign she had been waiting for. Every night she had prayed that her mentor might be saved, and now the path to doing so was laid out before her. Mosspaw did not waste a moment.

"I will volunteer as well." Each word was confident and firm as she stepped forward with her head held high. Her eyes shone bright with determination Cicadastar would be well within his rights to refuse her, and she would accept his decision with grace if he did. But she had hope that he would not. She may have been only an apprentice but she was, by her own estimation, the most capable of Riverclan's apprentices. Her warrior ceremony was close at hand and she had trained diligently for it. She was ready. She would make clan proud. Of that much, she as certain.​

 

[FERNGILL]

He knew something was coming, could say that much; even Sootstar, Cicadastar said, and that was when Fernpaw could tell that something big was coming. It was no secret that the supplies of the cure clearly weren't enough... otherwise, Steepsnout and Mudpelt's fates wouldn't lie in uncertainty in Ravensong's den. A bright eye searched for his friend, the medicine cat doubtlessly nearby. For a moment, he looked at the tom's face, seeking any answers- but Cicadastar's next words pulled him from the stupor, attention swivelling.

The medicine cats made a discovery. But it wasn't as easy as some hidden grotto nearby, flush with the cure... was it? He'd learned by now that, no matter the good karma you'd built up, life was rarely that kind. A journey to save our Clans. Volunteers. Something began to struggle in Fernpaw's chest- an uncontrollable urge to yell out, untempered and passionate, that he would go. For a moment, though- for once, he thought about it. Paused as voices piped up around him.

It'd be wonderful, if everything went well. He'd have finally proven himself the way he had wanted to when facing that fox- if, if he were to come home triumphant. But now he thought of the possibility that he wouldn't be alright- that he'd lose another eye, that he'd meet his death on these mountains if he were to volunteer. If he failed, fell to the weakness he was so prone to, he'd die on these mountains without a warrior name.

But how could he just stand here? He wasn't a warrior, but was he strong, proud and unafraid? Well, he was... proud, he knew that definitely. Proud of RiverClan, proud of his family- some of which needed him now. And unafraid- he was unafraid to protect RiverClan. Did that make him strong, though? Fernpaw just... wasn't strong. It was a mere fact of life, one he'd learned the hard way- he was small and weak, and since his injury had finally fought with that in mind.

He could be strong in spirit, though. And thinking of his father and Steepsnout, of bringing them home the cure, he finally locked his eye upon the leader and called out. "I'll go too!" How could he sit here and wait, merely? He had to go. Even if death crouched for him on this journey, readying his strike... he couldn't sit by. Nerves bristled on his pelt like frost across a leaf, creeping mortality.​

✦ penned by pin ✦​

 

[iciclefang]

Cicadastar’s return from his moonhigh convention is somber. Iciclefang had expected him to be bristling with some righteous fury or another, but their leader’s expression is muted. She wonders if something had gone awry, and when he speaks, she half-thinks her assumption had been correct. She is no Clan leader and likely will never be, but it could not be easy to choose cats who may die on a dangerous trek into unknown territory.

So, he does not choose. He asks for volunteers. Iciclefang’s ears swivel, eyes darting to each Clanmate who raises their voice. Hazecloud is a competent-enough warrior. Mosspaw does not surprise her; Willowroot’s daughter is confident in her abilities and proud of her Clan. But when her brother volunteers, Iciclefang looks at him with blue eyes sharp as her claws, her namesake.

What is this fool doing? Her brother is improving, mouselength by mouselength, each day, but this is not a journey to prove some minnowbrained notion about himself. He’d already tried and failed to do that with the fox who’d marred his face. She says nothing aloud, but the look Iciclefang gives Fernpaw is glazed with the frost of a hundred leafbares. Now I must go to ensure you return.

“I will go as well.” There is no hesitation hitching her voice, but nor is there excitement. Cool and collected, the tortoiseshell regards Cicadastar with her trademark neutral expression. Mudpelt and Steepsnout both are counting on RiverClan to get their portion of the lungwort now… and it would not do to send Hazecloud with a pawful of inexperienced apprentices, would it?

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — iciclekit . iciclepaw . iciclefang
  — she/her ; warrior of riverclan
  — lesbian ; single
  — short-haired tortoiseshell with white and ice-blue eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Pin

​

 

[LAKEMOON]

LAKEMOON — me and the devil, walking side by side.
Narrowed optics are as observant as ever as their leader finally returns, slipping through the entrance with a melancholic tilt in his step.
I bring… grave, but important news.
The tabby is already there, pelt prickling with fiery curiosity.
When Cicadastar begins, Lakemoon moves slightly forward, feathered tail flicking to and fro while her eyes shift to the same rhythm, thinking, fearing.
There it is. A dangerous journey, perilous sent off by their star-laden ancestors.
Whether or not Starclan was sending off more cats to die, all Lakemoon could think about was Flutterpaws corpse, curled meekly in his nest, followed by a sequence of her loved ones in his same position.
She stands, but before the silvery tabby can speak, Fernpaw is calling out earnestly, Iciclefang in quick pursuit.
Lakemoon pauses, eyes searching for her mate- would she resent Lakemoon for leaving on the heels of her siblings?
Leaving to save us all.
The words are already leaving her maw as she turns back to Cicadastar.
"I’ll go." For Flutterpaw, for the two overzealous young cats she had come to call her family.
She looks to Iciclefang, then Fernpaw, volunteers still echoing from different parts of the gathered crowd.


"speech"

tags​

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[ROOKFANG]

THE HERMIT ───The morning was gentle despite the grim aura that resonated throughout the camp. With the warmth coming from the soothing figure of Hazecloud, the rugged tom was able to close his eyes to rest, his heavy tail lazily wrapped around her's in a form of gratitude. He was not entirely too sure what caused Hazecloud to grow closer to him but it was an event that Rookfang appreciated as his connections and relations were...limited to say the least. This was all unfamiliar territory to him but for once, his tense muscles weren't so wound up and there was something he could focus on rather than the quiet whispers of the past that traced his mind.

Unfortunately, the timing never seemed to give him the upper hand as the grim reality of the sickness that had settled over the clan had impacted so many and his overthinking only created more fear within him. Rookfang had taken it upon himself to hunt more to make up for the impacted hit on labor, despite the exhaustion beginning to creep up the more he took on. But everyone needed to help in some way and he was no healer, he could barely keep himself alive and functional. He was nervous that he was beginning to feel symptoms, with his lack of sleep, his immune system wasn't the greatest and he wondered when it would be his turn.

With the shifting of Hazecloud and the warmth seeping away, it caused his eyelids to flutter open, mixed gaze watching as she appeared to head over to where the others were gathering and that's when he noticed the limber figure of their leader. As well, as the steely gravity that weighted down with the expression he carried. This caused Rookfang's permanent frown to deepen as he rose and followed shortly as Cicadastar began to speak. The further the mottled tom spoke, the more of his spiky fur began to rise. Volunteers? To go into the unknown journey? His jaws tightened and locked, nerves beginning to ignite. He knew what it was outside the Clans and the world was unkind. There weren't protected and monitored borders, there was only survival and he knew it too well. He wondered if his expertise in it would allow for him to volunteer but as he rummaged through his options, there seemed to be some clanmates offering to participate. With one of them being Hazecloud.

He blinked. What?

His naturally furrowed stare widened until the golden tints showed as his eyes shot toward her direction. He seemed sickly all of a sudden, as if all the dark color from his pelt was ready to be drained away and he felt a sick twisting rope tie and knot itself around his chest. Rookfang wasn't sure what to say. What to do. All he could think was how once again...he failed.​

 

[lichenstar]

⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧ ⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧ ⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧ ⋆

---

The ghostly presence of a coil-crested star moved through the camp with a chill... a chill that matched that icy, haunting gaze as it swept through the faces of his clan-mates.

Yellowcough had made itself intimately well-known for its deathly touch across the five clans. It didn't hesitate like a feline enemy might... had no morality to appeal to. Completely indiscriminate. Made only worse by the nature of the cure, which would not grow here- not this late in the seasons- and supplies had been limited to start.

A tightness in their chest suddenly- a small wheeze of anxiety.

The knowledge they were one of a very small, lucky few made their head spin.

And as Cicadastar spoke, the exhaustion dripped from his voice like sap, sap from the languid, tired branches of his body. There was no joy in this decision... the threat laced in every word, delicately stitched in careful articulation-

If you go... you may certainly die. Not said outright but universally understood by the staggering amount of unknowns this journey contained. There was no preparing for the blind mission they were being assigned. That... and it left them weaker for the loss of strong warriors when numbers already dwindled.

The blue point cast a look across the solemn crowd that had gathered, catching on silver fur briefly before moving on. No one seemed mistaken about what this meant. Was she surprised by the first volunteer? No. That small glance had said plenty. Hazecloud was, if ever, a proud molly who couldn't be talked out of near anything... and protective to an obnoxious degree. A hard stare is exchanged from the shadowy tom that sat nearby her... You expected different?

And then the others chime in like birds returning a song through the forest. Mosspaw... confident as ever with a trustworthy lineage to wear as a badge of pride. Fernpaw, whose sudden confidence felt familiar and destined for tragedy- his luck never ceased to betray him despite the purity of his motivations. Iciclefang, about as surprising as the sun's ever continual ability to rise; she had beyond proved her merits over and over again and no doubt she feared for her less-than-exceptional brother. And Lakemoon, whose quiet demeanor never truly did justice to her strong convictions.

Smokethroat would have her head if she piped up now and Ravensong surely would gnaw off her only remaining ear- opting with a sheepish glance towards the ground instead. There would be other chances to rise to RiverClan's defense, even from home... besides, not all of their best warriors could leave.​

 

[RAVENSONG]

He had seen the mountains in which they would travel to. If the other medicine cats were to be trusted, and StarClan's cryptic guidance, there was lungwort nestled in the stony range. Despite the prophecies and visions, they are still sending them in blind... but this is their only hope of retrieving the cure. Flutterpaw has died, and many more might follow.

The dark-furred medicine cat sits like a shadow at the front of his den. It's not a journey he can make—he would leave the Clan with no healer at all. For once, medicine is tied up in a warrior's paws, and he can only hope they can keep themselves safe. Surely, he thinks, one of the Clans will send their medicine cat. Wolfsong and Starlingheart are recovering from kitting, but either Berryheart or Dawnglare would make a good choice, the latter as insufferable as he is.

He swallows thickly when Hazecloud volunteers, and his heart sinks lower when Mosspaw pipes up. His claws dig into the earth as Fernpaw announces his desire. His fur prickles when Iciclefang and Lakemoon join to the chorus of voices. But he remains silent, eyes set in a deadened stare past Cicadastar's body. Perhaps he is imagining those mountains again, painted with RiverClan blood.

☾₊ ⊹ темная ночь — dark is the night

•  
• 
  RAVENSONG of RIVERCLAN
  — LH BLACK POLYDACTYL MALE (CARRYING CINNAMON, DILUTE) a tall, slender creature with pitch-black feathery fur, large ears, and a sharply angled skull held up in an aloof manner. smells of dried herb, speaks with a low and rumbly accent and walks with an elegant slinking gait.
  
  — born in twolegplace and orphaned at a young age, he joined riverclan at its inception and began training as a drypaw warrior known for a bitter temperment until beesong made him his medicine cat apprentice. after his mentor's untimely death, he had been named ravensong at the moonstone, young heart revitalized with anger and guilt. he is a somber and thorough medicine cat that guards every word spoken in the confines of his den.
  
  — secretly loves "the stars but not so much what inhabits them"
  — openly suffers from chronic migraines
  — single, but "it's complicated"

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[robinheart]

The golden rays of dawn make the world seem cheery and bright, but only for the brief moments before Cicadastar begins his announcement. His words send a chill down her spine as she seats herself near the back of the crowd, citrine eyes fixated on the mottled leader as he recounts the events that led up to this moment. It is made to sound like an adventure - a call for RiverClan's best and most trusted to seek out lungwort to bring an end to yellowcough's reign.

You are neither the best nor most trusted, Robinpaw, the tortoiseshell reminds herself as Cicadastar calls for volunteers. Not that he'd let her go anyway - she still has a lifetime of punishment to make up for her disobedience. So she remains silent and seated, gaze drifting down to her paws as her clanmates begin to speak up one by one.

 

[dovethroat.]

Unsurprisingly, Dovethroat is sat near the medicine cat's den. He moves very little as the leader speaks, and tries his best to make very little change in his face. Though he succeeds for the most part, there are points where he falters. The choice of the word grave easily suppresses any desire to retain a poker face, a small grimace painting Dovethroat's maw. That is one of the first words—not setting him up for particular success. For the rest of the speech, however, he performs better.

Dovethroat is as pessimistic as he is an idealist, and he cannot help but feel that the journey is to be more dangerous than even Cicadastar's halfhearted attempt to make it seem more of a bootstrap-lifting, wide-eyed adventure. Maybe part of him wants to believe it, but he cannot stop doubting. It is uncharted land, and it is a sojourn out into it undertaken by four groups that have readily killed each other before; all from political machinations, in the comfort of their own camps. Dovethroat doubts it can work. They might slaughter each other before the elements of nature did it to them.

He remains silent. He does not say anything. Even though there is part of him that wishes to provide aid to an important cause—and certainly a cause that would help someone to whom he feels a particular connection to—he does not trust it. He cannot.

[⋆]​

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[Petalnose]

Petalnose would have gone. She would take the risks, the tiresome journey to save cats within their clan. But she didn't. Mosspaw volunteered, Aspenhaze was sick; they needed somebody familiar and the clan needed strong warriors to protects against any inevitable danger. The queens, kits and the elders needed sharp claws defend. Foxes were a danger, without many cats in camp hawks may become more persistent as well. Riverclan needed guards. Riverclan needed to stay strong in case they somehow didn't come back. The clan needed warriors so it wouldn't waste away.

She stayed silent upon her internal decision. She watched the warriors who volunteered, giving Iciclefang a proud nod to follow this journey and assist her brother. Fernpaw- she forced a light smile despite her worries. Although, she did believe in him. Maybe he could prove himself, come back to finally be made a warrior and make his clan proud. That would bring more of a smile on her face, tell him she told him so. She believed in him. She believed in everyone.

Starclan may you protect those souls.

Eyes slowly blinked as she looked over each volunteer and searching for more, giving a heavy breath. She hoped this wasn't the last time she'd settle her eyes upon them.

Tags​

 

[Snakeblink]

MAYBE I'D BE A SAINT IF I WEREN'T ————————————​

A journey...

Ah. Must they rely on hope alone already? How badly must this plague have burned through the ranks of the other clans, Snakeblink wonders, for this to become the best option? A trip to distant lands, fraught with dangers, carried by visions that can only be proven right by following them into the unknown?

A scattered few volunteer despite the risks: the unadventurous Mosspaw, the ever-courageous Fernpaw and his battle-hardened sister… A variety of talents and personalities. All knowing that their duty calls them away from their watery home.

And through it all, Snakeblink remains silent.

He squashes down the little voice in him that murmurs you should go with them. His entire being recoils at the thought; he cannot stomach the idea of leaving his kin behind.

Perhaps his efforts would be better spent traveling across the world to snatch lifesaving herbs from the jaws of highmountain winter; it’s not as if he can do anything for the sick staying here, not like Ravensong does. But who will feed the sick, the young, the nest-ridden queens and elders? Who will make sure the dens are woven tight to keep the Leaf-fall rain at bay, who will patrol the borders for loners and predators seeking to take advantage of their temporary weakness? Who will watch for foxes coming in the night? Who will carry Ravensong’s herbs while the medicine cats tend to the ill?

Just because he is staying back doesn’t mean he is standing still.

”Return safely,” he mutters to no one in particular, half-afraid to be heard and picked out of the crowd if he speaks too loudly.
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——————————————————————————————————— so god damn lonely ​

ooc. information.

• 
  
• — Snakeblink • he / him. 45 ☾, riverclan warrior
  — a sleek, skinny tabby with long ears and a scar over his right eye.
  — gay, not actually evil, penned by @Kangoo
  
  
  

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[CICADASTAR]

by miracle, they do volunteer. loyalty and strength in each one that stands forward, vows to go while others shield their wandering eyes. it isn’t long before there is a small chorus of voices arising from the group around him. relief and guilt flood him in equal measure — hazecloud stuns him, though not by much. she is a good natured warrior, mindful and loyal to those around her. she offers her paws and he dips his head.. and then mosspaw. a proper molly, well - spoken and dutiful.. willowroot and poppysplash’s child, hazepaw’s ( well behaved ) sister. her kins eyes draw and he, for a moment, pretends he cannot see the dismay on loved ones faces as more join in. fernpaw, blurting his eager burst of ‘ i’ll go too! ‘, and for a brief second, the leader goes to open his mouth — an objection, perhaps. baseless, dying on his tongue before worry can drop from his maw. long in the apprentices den, only moons into adjusting to life with his injured eye. and mudpelt wastes away within the medicine den when a second of his litter steps up, cool and collected as the ice in her moniker, alongside her brother and.. salt blue eyes fix on her, a brief conflict crossing his expression before it’s quelled away. there is no time to dwell before lakemoon, quick and firm, announces her volunteering as well.

” stories of your bravery will be told for seasons. mosspaw, fernpaw, hazecloud, lakemoon and iciclefang.. “ their names will be told to the kits, will be revered as heroes — should things go well. salmonshade says nothing, and he is, in part, grateful for it — they would need skilled paws in the wake of losing hazecloud, iciclefang. lichentail remains, as does snakeblink, rookfang. three warriors, and two apprentices. was that enough? " i’ll need only one more. "

eyes drag, slip over those joined — he would not make himself obvious. there is a beat of silence and.. no one else looks to him. his fur does not burn with the stare of his warriors and for once, it is agitating, the avoidance. perhaps that is why when he sees dovethroat, hanging at the back of his crowd, trailing at ravensong’s heels. the medicine cat was busy and so often agitated, tail lashing around the young, anxiety - ridden warrior. he would do him this small favor, ” dovethroat. “ what was he sentencing him to? the man stands straighter and heads turn as well, eyes searching for the subject of his chosen interest. he must be special, huh? ” ive witnessed your ability to swim and hunt in deep, rapid waters myself. i can only imagine such would be a valuable asset in reaching the mountains.. would you, too, do your clan the honor of seeing this journey through? “ he must be special, if the leader was watching. intense eyes burn into him, unmoving as more turn to stare, to watch with baited breath. would he go?

COLD & CRUEL LIKE WINDS ON THE SEA  ╱ INFORMATION ✟

• i.
  
• ★ ⋆ CICADASTAR −−−− FOUNDING LEADER OF RIVERCLAN. HOMOSEXUAL, MATED TO SMOKETHROAT. FIFTY MOONS, FATHER TO STARLIGHTKIT, CICADAKIT && BEEKIT. PENNED BY ANTLERS −−−−− ⁺₊✧
  
  
  he / him. tall, elegantly curled smoke tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt blue eyes. his structure sings a feral sort of hymnal, presenting an almost dangerous sort of beauty veiling what monstrosities lie beneath the ivory of his skull. jutting jawline and a squared chin, sunken cheeks drawing a shadow beneath high, sharp cheekbones with tall, angular ears settling high atop the flatter slope of his cranium. he is beautiful ; lucifer in the eyes of an envious god. for all his looks, his expression is lax, void — corpse - eyed and hollow until spoken to, sparking the undead to life. he is tall, lean, cut - glass pretty ; he smiles with too - many teeth, blackened frostbite pulling back his maw to bear canines setn beneath curling whiskers, pantomime skeletal. a predatory gracefulness from the lines that press the image of exhaustion beneath ice water hues to the slow, sure gait in which he walks, nameless strength poorly concealed within the hard lines of his physique. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar stands unnaturally tall amongst his peers, always holding himself with a tragic sort of grace ; poised, prim, and uncannily aware of how he appears.
  
  ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── smells like wet moss and meadowland thunderstorms.
  ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── notoriously paranoid and closed off, cicadastar will tend to lie, assume, and jump to conclusions whenever it suits him. any 'suspicious' ic actions he witnesses or hears about will have a strong effect, and will have ic consequences! if you're unsure of an interactions outcome, please feel free to send a dm!
  
  no character opinions represent my own.​
  
  
• " speech "​
  
  
  

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