DEMIURGE ↷ [ pre-journey & pre-gathering musings ]

[smogstar]

Perched on the threshold of a colossal change, peering over the ledge at the chasmic depths of uncertainty, Smogmaw's apathy holds strong. The unknown is not known to stoke fear in him, and if anything, he's strangely enlivened by it all. To toss his ambitions to the wind, much less embrace a decision which put his life in jeopardy, it was like a profound sigh of relief, or a dry throat finally quenched, only at a spiritual level.

Impulse is deep ingrained in his genetic coding, and deputyship has left him all but restrained in this regard. His position in the clan suppressed his caprices and reduced him to a monotonous routine of responsibility—in making a spontaneous decision during the meeting, the first in a very, very long time, he defied the essence of his role on the whim of his own instincts. That alone rekindled a spark within him, and damn it if it wasn't liberating.

Now that he has had time to ponder what lays ahead - some days since the meeting, and some hours before the fateful gathering - the gravity of it all has started to give him great pause. He has long carried an insatiable desire for something beyond what he has. Influence, through force of will and decisive action. Authority, through influence and experience. This plague raises a unique quandary, however, in that Smogmaw stands to lose something for a change: family. Halfshade and Swanpaw's survival was now a matter of question, and not only did their fates weigh heavily in his thoughts, but they lay in his paws as well.

So here he was, rejuvenated by his change in course, and his rejuvenation dampened by the possibilities he now must consider.

Of course, and as usual, he doesn't make a show out of his internal strain. Some may call it stoicism, others might see it as indifference, but whatever it truly was, it was writ large on his features. Cold eyes would shepherd him through the masses in camp, and on long strides across the soggy terrain, he makes his way towards one of those he'll be accompanying to Highstones.

"I think I'll miss this place, funnily enough. The stink. The feeling of an empty stomach. The intense depression. All of it." His head swings over a shoulder to glimpse the busybodies shuffling about, namely those who'd be stuck in the territory with the plague. "Hope some of them are still around when we get back," he then drawls on, forcing a chuckle shortly thereafter. "Or- well, if we get back."

---

// speaking to either @SHARPPAW. , @Needledrift , @clearheart , @HONEYJAW , @Magpiepaw
(sorry for unsolicited the tags i love you all)

// not a pafp tho! anyone can post :3​

 

[Garlicheart]

She didn't want to see Smogmaw go. Why did he have to? He should stay right here, with her and her family. But she understands... She knows how important this is. So many cats were sick, Halfshade and Swanpaw included. Smogmaw was going to go on this journey to save them, and she admires him even more for it. Her father was going to save the clan, he was going to save everyone.

Yet she still can't stop herself from wanting him to stay.

She pads up to him and presses her head against his shoulder, worried that it may be the last time she ever gets to do so. The thought of him never coming back haunts her and gnaws at her mind like a dog at a bone. She refuses to consider it a possibility... Smogmaw saved her and her siblings from the bears. Saved Halfshade from the bears. Surely this journey would be nothing in comparison.

"I wish you didn't have to go..." She says sadly. "We'll- We'll still be here when you get back, and everything will be okay!" She adds in an attempt to reassure him, but herself as well.

Everything was going to be okay. It has to be. She refuses to accept a reality where everyone dies of sickness.​

 

[WOLFEARS]

♰—— wolfears is a cat of many flaws, and one of them is that she is (and has always been) a gossip. yeah, she keeps it on the down-low, but she is and she acknowledges that—to be honest, she really doesn't get why everyone thinks it's so bad. she could tell you a helluva lot about half the cats in the clan, and she nearly always knows what's going on; under that flirtatiously flawed exterior, wolfears possesses a startling intelligence.

as such, she's very much aware of the inter-clan events of the day. namely, quite a few of their own cats are bedded down with illness, and a few more will be trekking to distant mountains to retrieve the cure. wolfears is kind of sad she's not going, because the drama of it all will no doubt be unparalleled, but she also doesn't really want to—too much responsibility, euch. she's sure that with time and effort she'll be able to draw out all the salacious details from some cat braver than her who's making the choice to join the journeying party.

smogmaw, of course, would not be her first choice - but he's starting a conversation with one of his journeymates about the whole thing, and wolfears pads closer, all four ears (though, unbeknownst to her, only two of them truly hear his voice) perked for any fresh information. the conversation is boring by the time she reaches it—his daughter pressed against him as he talks, pressing ahead with a childish optimism that wolfears finds both amusing and slightly depressing. the reality of it all was that smogmaw and the rest of 'em had better get the cure fast or they'd all die.

"hey, y'all," the warrior drawls, dragging her eyes across the conversing cats. she refrains from entirely offering her pessimistic thoughts and instead nods in agreement, replying unasked, "weirdly enough, i think i'd mess me up to live somewhere normal by now. at least y'all'll be gettin' a change of scenery."

YOU'RE KILLING PEOPLE! (♰) 𝑵𝑶, 𝑰'𝑴 𝑲𝑰𝑳𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑩𝑶𝒀𝑺

• ooc: ——
  
• nothing here, have a nice day :-)
• 
  — wolfears
  — she/her ; warrior of shadowclan ; tbd ☾s
  — "speech" ; thoughts ; attacks
  — penned by dejavu
  

​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

† Sharppaw is conflicted. Almost certainly – he the small portion of ShadowClan to be afforded ( and he supposes that he is one of them – expendable. ShadowClan would suffer no great loss if he were to never return, and the thought makes his pelt ripple with unease. ) They were all almost certainly garunteed death, to trek off to who knows where, in search of something they barely knew what. The Medicine Cat they did have is one that has likely never seen Lungwort, the herb, of course, naturally averse to ShadowClan’s marshy ground.

It’s stupid, really. It’s all so stupid.

Sharppaw’s claws itch with some unnamed desire. Despite the bleakness of all, Sharppaw does not feel any great regret. His mentors volunteering of him brings a twist to his gut. He felt sort of sick, but in a way that wasn’t all bad.

He could do something now. He could. He is not as useless as he was, a few moons ago. He’d like to frighten them all, once he returns. He could be someone knew.

I think I'll miss this place, funnily enough. Sharppaw is inclined to agree, and the fact makes her want to tear out her own fur. The stink. The feeling of an empty stomach. The intense depression. All of the intricacies she did not understand. The eyes that are always judging, even if they would claim that they were not. The cats who got their way, impossibly and nonsensically so – a culprit behind Smogmaw, himself. Sharppaw watches him with wide eyes. She wonders what it would take, to steal his face.

" …The experience will probably be the same, " he muses; and he wonders what he has to do, to exert the same dry mirth Smogmaw did in situations like these. It won’t be ShadowClan, though. He huffs a nervous laugh, only because he thinks that he should.

Sharppaw imagines, that he did not have his kits in mind when he chose to muse over their own inevitable death. Sharppaw looks at Garlicpaw with wide - eyes, the optimism certainly something only a child could hold in a situation like this. Sharppaw frowns, but says nothing. Her eyes flicker to Smogmaw's, a silent challenge, of what possibly he could say.

A change of scenery. Sharppaw looks away; tries not to make a face. He has never appreciated change.

OOC † IN THE MIRROR 08.30.2023

• OOC: NINJA'D TWICE so hopefully this is okay lol
•  

• SHARPPAW: brother to Rookpaw. Mentored by Smogmaw
  —— he / she , no pref , icked by they prns ; fine with gendered terms ( tom, molly, etc... )
  —— currently 14 moons old. warrior ceremony delayed due to lackluster progress.
  
  anxious, antisocial, paranoid. Sharppaw is a creature living in constant fear. Most thoughts are irrational, but consistent in that they are borne from pessimism and generalized anxieties.
  — In an era of assessing what has set him back and figuring out what he wants.

​

 

[CHILLEDSTAR.]

DON'T YOU GIVE ME UP, PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP​

---

pessimistic. they're not at all hopeful, but with shadowclan's track record, it wasn't like chilledstar could really be blamed. but maybe there was a bit of a bright side. with so many sick, it would force them to work together more. they have to, otherwise they just would not survive. the journey would mean nothing because the cats within it would not have anything to return to. with a sigh, they stand up and shake out their pelt.

"you'd better return. i don't want to have to kick your ass in starclan. got it?"

they snapped, though they're not angry. they're worried. how could they not be? everything about this trip screamed danger.
​

 

[smogstar]

A grin threatens to thaw his numbed demeanour when his daughter comes dawdling into the fray. Worse yet, the contact of Garlicpaw's stubby little head brings a soft purr into existence. Stars, why did she have to be here? Farewells became more manageable when they weren't laden with sentiment—so, of course, she just had to accompany the occasion and complicate affairs.

"I know you will," he tells her sorely, sorry that her two-toned ears had picked up on his callous remarks. Mockery and derision are habits he has no wish to pass down to her. "It's your duty to take care of your mother, you know," Smogmaw continues, holding onto his softened tone. "Make sure she's fed, and don't let her pretty smile ever fade." Full-on smiling now, the tom lower into prime licking position and imparts a long, rough streak down her cream-coloured nape. It hadn't been considered until just this moment, but leaving his kits is going to tear a hole open somewhere within him.

Wolfears' encroachment causes his head to swivel, aloofness settling on his features once more. Opinions are opinions and a matter of perspective, sure, and yet hers couldn't be more wrong at the fundamental level. Embarking on this journey and, by extension, a change in scenery remain foreign to his desires. "And what's 'normal' to you, Wolfears?" he asks innocently enough, ignoring how his initial remarks had taken a critical lens to the swamp environment. "Good meals? Dry land? A sense of kinship with your clanmates? Blasphemy."

He isn't so much adverse to change as he is at odds with loss. For he knows that stepping beyond territory lines, for what could be the final time, means he'll shed the weight of his title and the legitimacy which comes with it. A motley crew of the clans' finest won't heed his commands when his authority no longer holds sway. And he dare not entertain the notion of losing the chance for his nine lives—everything he'd ever worked for would be for naught, and he'd opt for a freezing, empty void over having to contemplate the could-have-beens from StarClan.

On a similar topic, the emerging presence of Chilledstar seizes his focus next. A forceful shoulder-bump is given to his apprentice, whose nervous laughter bubbles up, as his leader draws ever nearer. "Oh, there's a line, you'd have to wait a fine minute before you got the chance," the deputy returns, his words attended by a swift nod. "But, acknowledged. We'll have brought back so much lungwort, Starlingheart'll need a second cave to even store the stuff."

Yet, his words ring hollow. Simmering within is this nagging doubt that his clan won't get its fair share at the journey's end. ShadowClan's most preeminent trait is always getting the short end of the stick. It simply comes with the turf. ​