pafp GHOST ON THE HILL || death/murder

[TIGERFROST]

TIGERFROST ♂

0/9

WINDCLAN / LEAD WARRIOR
BIOGRAPHY AND TAGS
PLAYED BY SHEOGORATH

HEALTH: ████████████████████​

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[[ Content warning for violence, blood, and death. ]]

Dawn is shadowed and filled with swirling mist. The sun, as it creeps above the horizon, is hidden behind a blanket of thick cloud. Visibility is poor, but Tigerfrost knows he can still rely on the rest of his senses, as he has done countless times in his past. The day is unremarkable, warm and tinged with humidity. A rainstorm looms overhead, thunder rolling in the distance, an ominous scene. But the first drops of rain are yet to fall upon the windswept moor, though the scent of it is already brought forth upon the breeze.

Tigerfrost has gone out early, where the crack of daylight is hardly visible. Not even the dawn patrol has set paw outside of camp so soon within the day. Restlessness and nightmares of the battle against RiverClan drive him from his nest, and out for an early hunt. He seeks to clear his mind, to find peace among familiar lands, where he roams with kingly confidence. Though, as he scents the air, he tastes not rabbit, but something stranger. Another cat lurks the tall grasses alongside him, hidden nearby. The stench is fresh, and Tigerfrost curls his lip with a growl, determined to locate it's source. He tracks the scent, the prints in the warm, dusty earth. He's near the Northern border now, where no clan rests beyond the roaring thunder-path. Down the slope and toward an outcropping of undergrowth and trees, it is only then that he realizes the single track has merged into several. Three, in fact.

The bushes rustle, and it's all the warning he gets as a weight crashes down upon his figure. Tigerfrost can feel the claws in his back, raking down his shoulders. He whips his head back, slams it into the nose of his attacker to loosen their grip, then spins as the feline is flung backward, lancing his claws across the intruder's face. The rogue snarls, hastily backs away as a new set of claws takes her place upon his back. Teeth sink into Tigerfrost's scruff, and he jolts himself against the splintered trunk of a narrow tree. The weight on his back is lifted as the attacker loses his breath, and Tigerfrost spins to face him, biting into the shoulder of the other tom, ripping his claws down the rogue's chest.

A third rogue strikes him from behind, wrapping jaws around the back of Tigerfrost's neck, dragging him off of the second rogue. The Lead Warrior thrashes, yowls, and spits, but the first rogue has leaped on him again, has sank her teeth into his throat as he struggles, ripping his talons across her stomach and chest. He can't breathe, feels a sudden surge of panic and fury igniting his gaze, kicks with all of his might and strikes the rogue in the belly, hard enough to throw her back and away. He twists in the grip of the third rogue, tears himself free and slashes his talons across the eye of the other tom.

He's outnumbered, and he knows it. He has torn into his attackers, but in turn, they have torn into him. His throat and back bleeds, his wounds burn. He flings himself out of the trees and back up the hill. At it's crest, he can see a ghastly form, a figure as white as a ghost. It is no spirit, though. Ghostwail stands above him, and he knows that she has seen it all. He tries to speak through his exhausted gasps, but a weight tackles him from behind, drags him back down the hill. He thinks of the friendships he has formed, and of the things he has achieved. He lets his anger melt away into a concern for his clan-mates, but he follows that sensation with a hopefulness that WindClan will find what remains of him, and will take steps to ensure no other falls prey to the rogues. Tigerfrost thinks he has no regrets in his final moments.

The three rogues have finished what they've started, have torn his throat open and bled him among the trees. Thunder crashes overhead as the rain finally begins to fall, and blood sinks into the muddied earth. All that remains of the rogues is their scent, their blood, and their prints, leading back across the thunder-path, and toward the un-claimed lands beyond. Tigerfrost rests beneath the bushes, lifeless, for his spirit has taken it's first paw-steps into the starry beyond.

((hey all! i will be leaving TT for a little bit, not the discords tho! i have some irl stuff that is basically taking over my life atm. I will be back once it's all taken care of in a month or two, but for now, I felt the need to wrap up Tigerfrost's story so there's a bit of closure in WindClan while I'm gone! I am extremely grateful for the chance to be a part of the HP team here in WindClan, and I had a ton of fun. Thank you all for the opportunity!

Please wait for @GHOSTWAIL to post, and keep in mind that there is no evidence that she had seen the attack and had refused to help. ))​

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[GHOSTWAIL]

Titan fall - Olympus crumbles down around his ears, ichor welling up from mortal wounds. As close as he was to the Sun, Tigerfrost had never cared to check if he would be burned in the wake of her glory. He had been unremarkable in her wake, ungrateful for her tutelage. He viewed his position as absolute, unwavering, a position that he deserved when it had been so graciously given.

Gifts in WindClan were never to be squandered - the phantom of the moors would make sure of that. From kit to culled mongrel, she would make sure of it.

He falls and her trio turns to her, expectant. They expect praise, they expect payment for their deed. She flicks an ear in response, burning eyes narrowing ever so slightly. She waits three heart-beats, her tail ever so slightly raised. Their payment - hesitance. Mercy. A chance to run before there is more bloodshed, a chance to escape before they are found with the giant's blood upon their paws. Thunder rolls, startling the smallest one. They scatter, skittering away from the scene of the crime - the heavens themselves have seen their injustice and they roar their disapproval. The first drops of rain chilled her ghastly pelt - cleansing, a blessing. StarClan looked down upon her and washed away her involvement. They knew what must have been done. In the name of her queen, she would carry out Their will.

She crawled out from the underbrush and lifted her head, calling out the scattered patrol. "I've found him! Tigerfrost, he's - oh... oh, no..." Empathy, shock. What ever happened to poor Tigerfrost?

May the stars pity him when he begs for entrance upon his arrival.​

- you call for peace when it suits you​

 

[✧ Venomthroat.]

I REALLY COULDN'T CARE LESS

venomthroat | 28 months | non-binary | they/them | physically medium | mentally hard | attack in bold black

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Death has always been a simple fact of life. Everything dies - from the bugs beneath their paws to the birds in the sky, it's all the same. But it certainly hits a little to close to home when the one who dies is a loved one - when they fade right before your eyes. Venomthroat is too late to do anything - the blood still cooling on their brothers fur when they arrive on the scene. Persuers long gone - only the scent and Tigerfrossts sacrifice remain. Ghostwail hovers over his form, calling out even as raindrops began to splatter down to earth, as though it can wash their sins away. - smothering the scent, the pawprints, their feelings - all of it. Tch - why had it come to this? The dampness on their cheeks, little as it is, is easily explained away - dark eyes cold and hard. "Stop your wailing - help me take him home," they rumbles, and if their gravely voice is raspier than normal - well, they'll blame that on the rain too. Like a shadow given form the feline shuffles their shoulder beneath their brothers body and heaves - they'll take him home. He'd died for this foolish place - he'd want to be buried here too, be remembered as he was. It's unsettling, how still he is, this lifelessness. His soul has left for starclan by now, they think, leaving behind only this. How sad.

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[HOUNDTHISTLE]

"BECAUSE COWBOY DAN'S A MAJOR PLAYER IN THE COWBOY SCENE"​

A cry startles Houndthistle's searching, feeling rain begin to fall as it hits his nose. His amber eyes reflect red as lightning scores across the sky, Houndthistle's hulking form a mere giant amongst the moor as his head turns, eyes widened with concern and ears perks. Without more of a thought, the brute races up the hill where Ghostwail's voice called, cresting the precipice in time to see the blood along the grass he called so fondly home now and at it's source was a familiar white-splotched tabby form. A form he once considered maybe somewhat a friend, as good of one as Houndthistle had. He feels the rain begin to stab through his thick coat, still shedding what's left of his leaf-bare thickness, as he stares down with an unreadable emotion at the ghostly form standing like a wraith over his companion's bloodied corpse. It's an image that bears great familiarity to the former loner's mind, one he must set his lips tightly and furrow his brow to prevent himself from remembering. A hair too late and a heartbeat too far it seemed, just as it always is.

A voice, carried over the thrum of rain, cuts through his thoughts as Venomtongue speaks to Ghostwail, Houndthistle giving a shake of his head before making his way down to join his companions. Without a word, the brute reaches just as Venomtongue heaves the former lead warrior upon his shoulders, craning his neck to pick up Tigerfrost's limp head by his scruff and carry him with atleast some of his decency. As his mouth grips the loose skin, he can taste the scent that reeks from the cadaver, it's acrid flavor overflowing his mouth so much his lip twitches in masked anger. With the best of his ability, he tries to put this scent to memory, knowing that if he can ever pinpoint it upon clan territory again, he'd ensure they'd never take another Windclan life.
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✦ ★ ✦​

 

[WEASELCLAW]

Rain. The skies are still swollen and gray, though the thunder is distant. StarClan's growls of disapproval, their wrath reaching for WindClan's forsaken with white-lightning claws. Weaselclaw braves the storm, though the water washes away any scents. It's not the smell of blood or rogues that alerts him, but a thin wail of despair.

Weaselclaw follows at Houndthistle's heels, blinking rain from worried blue eyes. He crests the hill behind the thick-furred warrior, dread building like bile in his throat. He knows the keening of loss. Ghostwail's pale spectre-like shape hangs her head over a bloodied body, tabby fur wet with rain and blood. He stares through the gloom, his dread becoming white-hot and searing like teeth through his flesh when he sees the half-white face of Tigerfrost lolling as he's hoisted onto Houndthistle and Venomthroat's back.

He gives his own startled cry, one that wrenches from his throat like blood. "No..." Weaselclaw tilts his head to the clouds, aghast. Tigerfrost had been slain; his throat is torn, tattered by tooth and claw. An ambush? How else could a warrior so skilled and courageous die to an untrained scavenger?

Hollowness begins to claim its space inside his chest. The warrior who'd saved him from Cicadastar is gone. A lead warrior of WindClan, taken. Weaselclaw's eyes glaze with grief. I'm the one who turned my back on you, not Tigerfrost, he thinks, bleakly directing his thoughts to their star-faced overlords. What have I done?​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

 

[Badgermoon]

The sky above was rent asunder by rain and by thunder, and Badgermoon trudged beneath it, speckled paws steady on the moorland grass despite the slickness of the rain and the startling bolts of light. The weather could not disturb him, not when his heart rested in StarClan's paws, when his body was strong and his purpose was clear. It was the brilliant smell of blood and the stench of rogues which unseated him, the slow, grinding realization of the immense loss which made the deputy's paws slip on the soaked earth. He swore under his breath and struggled to stand upright, sorrow darkening his yellow eyes to the color of rotten wheat.

Without a word, he followed the rogues' prints until they reached the Thunderpath, stared out across the foul strip of asphalt and considered giving chase. He felt his old dark hunger, simmering low in his chest, rising and threatening to choke him, to send his paws thundering across and into the wilds beyond. It was only the knowledge that Tigerfrost needed to be returned to his home and buried with all the honor he deserved that kept Badgermoon from disappearing into unclaimed territory and allowing his anger to consume him. "They're gone." muttered the bicolor tom, returning to his Clanmates as they commenced their sorrowful march to camp.

He tried not to look at the tattered throat of his friend and colleague, tried to pretend for a few final, precious moments that the bold and courageous chimera still stalked the moors.​

 

[SNAILSTRIDE]

No one wanted to see death, a reminder of mortality that clawed at the back of one's mind at all times, only set free by coming face to face with the hollow expression of one who had experienced it. Snailstride had been lucky in their escapades away from camp, only seeing glimpses of those who'd fallen and never staying long enough to comprehend what it truly meant, but all four-leafed clovers wilted eventually. The form upon Houndthistle and Venomthroat's back should've been unrecognisable, but through the stench of blood, the grey tabby was quick to determine who it was. Their ears oscillated madly in the rain, their body frozen in a state of neither fight nor flight, no matter how much they wanted to do the former. Nausea didn't just creep into the feline's belly, it leapt, almost with enough force to knock him over and sent what remained of their eaten rabbit onto the floor below. Limbs shook like thin branches as they shrunk further and further into themselves, their throat full of burning ash.

What hurt more than seeing blood was seeing who it belonged to. Tigerfrost, an old mentor, a temporary mentor but one that had provided them with the necessary gusto to survive the ever-strict climate of WindClan. The one who'd given advice when others had mocked, the one who'd made a warrior out of them when the rest were willing to give up - the only cat outside of their sister who'd ever truly believed him in, now slumped in a pool of his own blood, lifeless. Tears stung the corners of their eyes, almost grateful they could not make out the full visage behind the mixture of crying and rainwater. "W-What... That can't be... I'm sorry I..." Talking scorched their neck further to the point where Snailstride was certain a hole would be burned through it if they tried anymore. For Tigerfost, he had to try. "T... Ti... T-T.." Their jaw ceased up not too long after their limbs did, their belly touching the ground as they tried to get at least one part of their body working. Even their eyes would be beneficial, they didn't want to look at the blood and yet even blinking was agony.

A noise finally escaped the tabby, a whimper and then a sob, not caring at that moment for the weakness they were showing. This was not a friend, but this was a hero to them, they were allowed to grieve no matter what the others said. The world was obsolete at that moment, Snailstride deaf from the blood roaring in their ears and blind from the scarlet that clouded their eyes to anything else. This was the price of being a WindClanner, if Tigerfrost couldn't stand the gale, then what chance did they have? StarClan was empty for them, that was what they had said for a moon now. A lucky thing, not to have lost anyone. Tonight, they would look to the sky and hope that there was at least one soul walking among it.

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[Clambite]

Death was always looming, always lurking. You're never truly alone on these moors, because there's always something waiting on the grass, looking for just the right moment to strike you down. Clambite was always aware of this reality, yet she foolishly let herself believe that some of her clanmates were untouchable.

Tigerfrost was one of them.

She followed behind Snailstride. Ghostwail's cry had turned her blood to ice, and she almost didn't want to approach as if not seeing the body would mean she would see Tigerfrost later, alive, in camp.

She forced herself to lay eyes upon the scene, gaze wide with terror and wet with tears. She just about didn't even hear Snailstride lose his lunch.

Anything she tried to say was caught in her throat. She trembled, unable to look away.

Tigerfrost, one of the cats she thought unbeatable, was gone. One of her friends, even if it may have been one sided, gone.

Claws gripped the earth beneath her and she swore revenge. She would hunt these rogues down and deliver justice.

Tigerfrost deserved no less.
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[Firefang]

Starclan came for them all one day, it was a fact of life but it didn't make the loss of a clanmate any easier. She used to the tang of blood in the air; t's thick and unmistable a miasma of palpable despair. No amount of rain can disguise it, it's too fresh. She's far from the first that comes onto the scene where a strong tom lay butchered, he may have died with honor just as he lived with it but the husk that was left behind was nothing more then a reminder to all of the just how fragile they were. What was once Tigerfrost dangles limply in the jaws of warriors he fought shoulder to shoulder too, her throat clenches her paws are hesitant to step any closer - her eyes burn. She'd looked up to him since she was a kit, strong and infallible the very type of Windclanner she wanted to be. She'd strove to be like him and those of his ilk like Juniperfrost had been; she'd had basked in his approval when she'd finally earned it when she saw she was no longer just a scrappy annoying kit reflected in his eyes.

How could this happen? He was so strong, just who could've done this? Had it been a ambush? had he been put down like a hare no better then prey that cannot be who wouldn't go down without a fight, wouldn't lay down and let some fleabitten intruder encroach on Windclans lands. He died protecting them but he'd still died! It wasn't fair! She was so sick of this, so sick of burying clanmates and sitting up at night wondering when she'd hear another yowl announcing the death of another irreplaceable clanmate - the death of role models, of friends - of family. Her face scrunches up every furrow on her muzzle defined her eyes flash with ferocity and desperation. Her teeth grit and claws sink into the mud to stabilize herself. she wants to yowl to bang her paws against the mud and curse at Starclan for taking him away; for showing no mercy or care for those most devoted to them to he clan they were supposed to bless! They sat beneath the silverpelt were closer to them then any other clan - was that why they were so eager to take them into their ranks?

She would follow the 'funerals-procession' tail lashing behind her, they all wore grim faces yet why didn't they run into the moorlands chasing after the foxhearts who'd done this she'd seen Badgermoon go check but it's not enough what if they came back what if there were more? She can't just walk back to camp no she'd be sick if she had to sit in her nest or in the safety and warmth of a burrow while Tigerfrost's body grew colder and wetter and the scents left behind became fully washed away beneath the thundering of the rain of the moorlands. The rogues were gone she must logically know that they'd be mousebrained to return so quick - but she still stops in her tracks. ❝I'm not goin' back to camp❞ her words are harsh and not spoken loud enough but that whisper of a proclamation turns into a yowl ❝I'm not gonna just give up and let them get away with it - I - I❞ her voice chokes and a growl roars from her chest to disguise her weakness. I don't care if the rain makes me sick, I don't care if there's no chance of finding them! I can't let his sacrifice mean nothing! Her eyes hurt, they sting so bad and yet she still tries to hold herself high trying to stay together to hold onto what pride she can't afford to let go ❝Anyone's free to come with me! I don't care!❞
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( ✦ )

 

[SOOTSTAR]

SOOTSTAR ♀​

Blue paws are planted firmly upon a young tabby's chest. "I've won again!" Triumphantly the she-cats voice rings out, looking her defeated opponent in his face to further relish in her victory before removing her paws. "So much for those big paws of yours. Might be all big and brawny but you're as clumsy as a badger!" Ever since she was a kit, runt Soot had been doubted. Soot Claw, her father, had worried immensely that she'd lack the fierceness and competency in fighting that a soldier should have. Yet here she stood, tutoring a younger trainee that towered over her and planting him in the dirt with ease. Yet despite her overflowing pride, she's suppressing the urge to loll her tongue and pant. As speedy and cunning she was, Tiger put up an incredible fight. He showed great strength and prowess in the art of fighting, the she-cat feared he'd be smothering her face in the mud in a few sessions if she didn't keep up in her own training. Tiger rises onto his large paws; Soot's green eyes wander upwards to meet his yellow gaze. He doesn't seem terribly upset by his loss, he seems to take it as the lesson it was and to be better next time. The cunning look in his eyes made Soot reluctant to jest about a rematch like she usually would. "I'll get the hang of it. I almost got you that time!" The tabby grins before lifting a paw to brush dust from a cheek tuft. Sootst's eyes widen, "Nuh uh! You weren't even close. You've got lots to learn yet before you take down someone like me." She purrs in forced denial, Tiger was catching up to her, and quickly. "Same spot in a couple moon-highs, badgerpaws?" Tiger meets her challenging gaze and returns it with a nod filled with determination. Soot pads away and hurriedly makes for Soot Claw, stars be damned if she allows herself to be defeated! Yet despite it all, Tiger did get her eating dirt in the end. Even so their lessons continued, both young felines learning new techniques and battle moves from each other. When they grew older they were distant friends, soldiers loyal to the bone to each other and their colony. If in the lives she's lived she learned anything about Tigerfrost, it was that his loyalty was not wavering. He had been loyal to Soot as to young cats training and stomping around in the swamps, and he was unyieldingly loyal to her now as queen of the moors. It just... made sense for him to stand at her side as a lead warrior of WindClan. One of her greatest soldiers, one of the few she could count on to follow her through the thickest of fogs and back. Now he lays before her paws dead, blood still draining from his wounds and a vacant expression in his eyes. She searches it for the ferociousness that was once there, and when she cannot find it she grows enraged. Grief strikes her straight in the heart, her throat tightens and she lets out a yowl of sorrow alongside the rest of her clan. Her clan screams for justice, the blame is placed on the rogues, but Sootstar knows who was really behind this. Rain droplets dampen her nose. The promise of a storm was on the horizon. She tilts her head slowly upwards, a look of pure hatred casted to the sky. River, Sky, and Shadow be damned... she thinks, the voice in her head roaring, if my war is with anyone, it is you. Green eyes blazing she looks to Firefang, silly girl, these rogues were not the enemy. "Find them, and rip their throats out!" Sootstar yowls in pretend conviction against the rogues. Looking to Houndthistle, Clambite, and Snailstride she orders, "Go with her... The rogues should be easy to find by their wounds. Tigerfrost would've gave them hell." Just like we taught each other. Padding towards her mate she brushes alongside his pelt, but her heart feels empty. Tigerfrost, Lion of WindClan, had been slain.. Sootstar just wishes she had been there to witness his brilliance in battle, to fight at his side as queen, tutor, and friend one last time.