duskclan FINAL BATTLEGROUND 🧲 Reminiscing

[SILVERSTRIKE]

With as diluted as DuskClan had become over the moons following Sootstar's murder by the paws of those she had once considered Clanmates, there were more than a few days where Silverstrike considered leaving. He never did - and perhaps that was because in truth, he had nowhere to go. He was too proud to call himself a loner or a rogue, or worse, try to turn himself into the Twolegs as one of their little kittypets; there was no going back to the WindClan of today, not only because they simply wouldn't have him back, but because it had changed too fundamentally for him to ever consider it home again. What was left for him but remaining with the remnants of Sootstar's loyalists? - and what a joke that was, when it was primarily made up of new rogues and cats too young to have really known Sootstar.

Rolling his shoulder back with a sigh, Silverstrike looked out in the direction of Highstones, wondering for not the first time how Sootstar had felt when she'd first convened with StarClan - StarClan, who'd abandoned her in her time of need, who'd been quiet and cruel in the aftermath of every battle that took place on old land. She'd once been most pious, and Silverstrike had been content to follow in her pawsteps, to believe in something that he was unsure of; only for that same piety to produce nothing but hate and blood. It was an affront. Silverstrike's attention was pulled from his dreary thoughts to the present as a young warrior stepped up to his side, and he took a moment to regard him.

"Privetfrost." Silverstrike greeted, not coldly, but not with the full warmth of a friend. His feelings were mixed when it came to the young tom - he had all the makings of a fine warrior, so it was only a matter of time before he proved himself fully in the older tom's eyes. He'd stayed steady with DuskClan for this long, had taken on their beliefs - even if he'd been born after Sootstar's time, he had a respect for their roots that was greater than Silverstrike could say for some of the cats that populated their small faction. "Come, sit. Something tells me you've got a question for me."

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎OOC ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ .ᐟ.ᐟ INFO ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

• ! please wait for @PRIVETFROST

• 

• SILVERSTRIKE ✩ WARRIOR of DUSKCLAN, 50 moons
  → peaceful and healing powerplay permitted.
  → penned by Archivist → .archivist on discord.

​

 

[PRIVETFROST]

There were little others that Privetfrost looked up to than those that came before. They had been around for the great reign of Sootstar, like their tales of yore hummed along an eldritch rhythm, of which the tomcat could only hope to versify and spin into his own spool of ideals. Perhaps Privetfrost only crawled beneath the great shadows of his forefathers, attempting desperately to make sense of the dancing silhouettes and to make something of the stageplay that he had been granted. In his little time upon the earth, the young man knew he had not deciphered even a fraction of the history that preceded him, and yet he still sought that song to release him of his desires for more knowledge. There would be a state in which he would know everything, but for now, the moments leading up to him drove him mad with a sort of hunger. As Privet slithered along the harsh and treaded grounds, he spotted a lone warrior simply biding his time. Stopping in his tracks, the Duskclan warrior looked as though he donned owlish gaze, olivine stare piercing yet never tearing through. Snow-tipped ears twitched as Silverstrike beckoned for him, as though the senior warrior were instead an omniscient furor, devoid of the trappings of emotion as any divinity would be. Was it that obvious? I need to work on how I look. The magpie-plume feline did not hesitate further, instead blinking away any remnant of confusion, casting them away as the morning does to its snakeskin mist. "Yes." Privetfrost stated as he lowered his crown to Silverstrike, as if the adage of "respect your elders" had wrapped upon his mind, taut strings to counsel his movements and his joints into a more reverent position. He sat down with his reedlike tail coiled along alabaster paws. "What was Windclan like under Sootstar? Was it... like this?"

𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 ⋆ ˖ ⁺ ‧ ₊ ☽ ◯ ☾ ₊ ‧ ⁺ ˖ ⋆ 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

• OOC: Sorry for the lateness!
• 
• 

  PRIVETFROST & HE/HIM & 11 MOONS
  —— Warrior of Duskclan / Formerly 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.

​