GOLDEN CHARIOT [⚜️] Thunderpath Skirmish


IMG_0578.png

SOOTSTAR ♀​
Blue collides with blue, Sootstar lets out a furious hiss as her opponents claws strike upwards. They miss their mark, the veins of her neck, but her head only tilts back so far… her chin burns with a new deep cut that travels to her bottom lip. Adrenaline rids the pain and she seizes this moment and tries tries to take a quick slash at his underbelly. If she struck, she had favored speed over force, it wouldn’t be the deepest of cuts… But after hitting him like that several times, she may just have him cowering to her.

She sprints to gain some distance from her opponent, if he chases she could tire him out. In doing so she draws closer to the thunderpath.

//attacking @smogmaw , open to further attack
IMG_0583.gif
 
As soon as Mintshade launches into battle, Azaleapaw follows suit, rushing towards the first cat she makes eye contact with. She plans to use the muddy ground here to her advantage. After all, what is mud for if not to throw at other cats??? Exactly. With a bounding leap she plants her paws into the ground, skidding to a halt and sending a splash of mud towards @SHARPPAW. 's face.

If that worked, which she wouldn't be surprised if it didn't, given that Shadowclan practically lives in the mud, she would lift he front paws from the mud with unsheathed claws and look to deliver a ONE TWO SWIPE.​
 
† The fog parts to show two faces of a similar stone. ShadowClan's own flanks were caked in mud and bristled with bog - grime. WindClan's leader bore a soot - flecked smile and ash, real and tangible flaked at their paws, crossing the border. The fur along Sharppaw's neck rises. They're not here to talk. No, they couldn't be. He struggles to imagine Sootstar within any context that wasn't an ugly one. Perhaps because they hardly existing to begin with. How had Pitchstar done what he'd done?

You will not live to learn this lesson, crow-faced scum. It was like the moons of ignorance were no longer. Her own neck nearly snaps to glimpse the face her mentor is making. Could he stand to be so bored still, in the face of someone who wanted to– They wanted to kill him.

Why?

He probably deserved it.

Sharppaw knows he's an idiot, because he still can't bear the thought. Muted horror breaks upon sunken silver eyes. His lips are pressed thin. There's a spark of life within his dead tail that he thinks should be impossible, but he's too busy trying not to let WindClan see the tremble of his lip to worry about that. When Sootstar speaks, wind surges into shadow.

She sees a black she - cat fling themselves at Sabletuft. Maggotpaw charges like she's never felt fear before. A crouched smoke figure darts to wipe the grin from Chittertongue's face. Smogmaw carries his weight like a man unafraid to kill (And why would he be, when his own life apparently only rested a single skirmish away? And why isn't Sharppaw moving? Why can't he, why can't he—

He is far from attuned with the blazing gaze that locks onto his own self. She can only think about the debilitating drag of her tail behind her and the fog in her eyes and losing her mentor again. A blink shatters through the frozen glaze of time. And suddenly, she can't see. A clipped yelp of surprise announces his shock before he's battered by claws he can hardly see. His yelp quickly careens into a hiss, muscles held tense as he feels claws drag across his face. Blood mixes with mud.

Panicked, Sharppaw retaliates with claws outstretched, lunging sharply toward the (hopefully) smaller WindClanner in hopes it'd disorient them enough to give Sharppaw time to recuperate.​

[ ooc: engaging @Azaleapaw & open to further attack though her odds are shaky already.
took the full brunt of azalea's attack while not paying attentnion!
rolled an 8 to attack, -1 modifier = 7.
10 / 17 hp remaining! ]​
 

"BECAUSE COWBOY DAN'S A MAJOR PLAYER IN THE COWBOY SCENE"​
C_Angelkisses.gif
Houndthistle never liked cats that were chatterboxes and he especially didn't like talking during fights. The exchanges between enemies usually ended in the one who talked more with bloodied teeth and a sore wound to milk. But one thing Houndthistle found unnerving were the ones who grinned during fights. His father had been the type, the only time Houndthistle saw him smile after Peony's death was when he watched his young son get beat bloody by full grown cats or when he himself was doing it. He remembered the way his single amber eye would light with excitement when his claws found their mark in Houndthistle's flesh, it burned into his memory since the first time his father's claws ripped his ear to match its twin. And every cat who grinned like that... they always gave him that same familiar rolling feeling in his gut when he saw them. He only ever wanted to rip that smile off his dad's face, and he'd do the same to the rest who grinned at him on the battlefield.

The words as the lanky tom is shoved by his momentum are satisfyingly cut off, something that likely would have made Houndthistle sneer if not for the situation at hand. Reveling in small victories were for the losers and this was a fight to the death. Houndthistle wouldn't die like this. The laughter, though, still grates his nerves and it only makes that fire burn brighter as he feels claws sink deep into his shoulders and even more deeper into the space under his ribs, making the large brute hiss as flames electrocute his nerves in burning-hot pain. He can feel the way blood cascades from that sensitive area and it becomes clear this needs to be changed quickly or else this could turn bad. With a snarl, Houndthistle aims to grasp the wriggling form beneath him by the shoulder, hoping to dig his teeth in deep and cause pain, and rip him out from under him. If successful, he'd rear his head back and hopefully slam his back into the ground, aiming to disorient.

"speech"
OOC CURRENT STATS INTERACTION RULES
  • @CHITTERTONGUE
  • Physical Health
    90%
    ⤷ deep wounds in his gut, moderately deep wounds in his shoulders
    Mental Health
    98%

  • Single | Bicurious | Not actively looking | Interested in none currently

    Houndthistle is both an easy one to gain the trust of and impossible to gain the trust of. He'll rarely reveal personal information or be vulnerable-if he's even capable of such things-but he will show trust in his willingness to lay his life down. To gain it, he needs evidence that you're loyal and strong, same as him, otherwise he understands he may one day have to come head to head with you.

    — will start fights / will not flee / will not show mercy
    — excels at Fighting, Tracking, Following Orders, Intimidation
    — poor at climbing, swimming, stealth, talking, strategy, politics
    — sounds like: deep, gravelled and thick with a sort of country accent / Arthur Morgan
    — smells of iron, leather, and wood
    — speech is #435E75

​
 
Her claws meet with Sharppaws face and she can feel them tear through skin. Her opponent doesn't seem to be paying attention. Did he think she wasn't worth the time? Was there something more important than her at play?

The thought irritated her.

But the irritation was immediately dissipated as she felt claws press into her shoulders. She hisses, blood seeping into her fur.

She would attempt to grapple her, claws aiming to dig into her shoulders. Then, she would rear her head back and attempt to BASH her head against Sharppaws.


(( HP: 13/15
Rolled a 5 for defense and took 2 damage!
Rolled a 7 for attack, with modifiers it's an 8
+1 damage modifier
No defense modifier

If this attack is successful, Azalea will take an extra point of self inflicted damage ))

@SHARPPAW.​
 
Image
— "Windclan attack!"
The yowl brought the rank scent of the moors to full blast as cats emerged from hiding. Immediately claws and fur were flying. Copper tainted the aroma of the two clashing clans. It was apprentice on apprentice, warrior on wariror, and deputy on leader.. A growl would rumble the throat of the monochromatic hues molly. Her amber eyes were ablaze with the drive of battle, the optics following upon a familiar chimera tom locked in battle. She was in a sprint toward Chittertongue when she witnessed the blood he spilled of his attacker. There was a flash of pride at seeing her own clanmate fighting so well, but it was only a quick moment. The stocky grey Windclanner had intent in his orange eyes, she could see that well enough.

Ratwater would attempt to throw her shoulder into @HOUNDTHISTLE . At least in a manner to throw the tom off of the other. Any semblance of enjoyment had long since left her features, it was only hatred in the form of narrowed eyes and a snarl. The rabbit chaser were set in their ways, there wasn't any need for word exchange, claws spoke plenty for themselves. The fluffy molly would hiss at the short-tailed male before diving forward with snapping jaws. Her goal was to bring the fight to the monster's path.

//Rat's open for serious injury and the likes, just not killing — tags​
 
† She is intercepted– felt by the pinpricks in her skin before she can make out much of anything. He can hear the hiss caught in the WindClanner's throat. Sharppaw is blessed for a moment, muck running past her chin gives way to clearer sight once more, and she catches the wind up of the apprentice's head. He knows not what she plans to do, but throat - clenching panic has her pulling away regardless.

Space between them now, she can't help but gape at the motions followthrough. Had they been planning to crack their skulls together like a pair of twoleg muts? " W-whats wrong with you? " He barks the rhetorical, fur on end as the question stands out not just for her, but for all of WindClan, surging forward with drool on their lips and bloodlust in their eyes. ShadowClan was fighting to survive, but he supposes WindClan has no idea what that feels like.

Sharppaw takes the moment to wipe the remaining grime from his eyes in one swift motion before shes to her opponent agian, uneven tufts of fur spiking to give the appearance of a much larger cat. WindClan as a whole was so much smaller than them. The bodies of Smogmaw and Sootstar she can glimpse in the frey seem an unfair distraction, but she is vile as she as small. All of them make up for it with curled claws and keener teeth ( Headbutting other cats, was that what all WindClan apprentices were taught? )

He doesn't allow himself to lock up again. He wants to– surrounded by the tang of blood and clashing scents, its easy to become the same stone they fought across. He pushes forward, pushes forward, he allows his eyes to sting by the stinking Thunderpath.

Instead, she rounds the apprentice. How was ShadowClan meant to move, again? Strike fast and hard.

Hoping that the other would be getting her footing still, Sharppaw would round the other and aim to rake claws along her side, then move swiftly back a safe distance again , wary eyes flitting through the fog to ensure she would not bump into anyone else.​

[ ooc: engaging @Azaleapaw
rolled a 7 to defend! Took 1 dmg!
rolled an 8 to attack, -1 modifier = 7. (these rolls are crazy bruh)
9 / 17 HP remaining! ]​
 
EYES COVERED IN INK AND BLEACH​
maggotpaw | 07 months | female | she/her | physically medium | mentally hard | attack in bold mediumpurple
​
While her actions are a success, large paws barely smack against the thunderpath before her success is cut short. The sickening sound of flesh and bone meeting echoes with a resounding crack, and maggotpaw is ashamed to say she actually stumbles back a whole pawstep - hind legs nearly failing to ground her. {ink tongue lazily reaches out to lick away the blood that splatters down her muzzle - painting her grin red. That was certainly more ferocity than she'd been expecting from sunflowerpaw, and yet she only feels elation. This is much more interesting than her spars with Raggedpaw.

She doesn't have much more time to react than that before the other is charging back towards her with what seems like confidence, but that single moment of hesitation is just enough. She shifts, and while fangs grab fur and skin, drawing blood, it is not nearly as deep a bit as it could have been - not nearly as dangerous for maggie as it could have been.

Hoping sunflowerpaw has not yet let go of her shoulder, maggotpaw lets her weight topple them over to the side, hoping to use her weight and and angle to knock the other apprentice loose against the ground. Whether this works or not, she's already moving again, jaws snapping and fangs flashing as she arch's her neck in an attempt to grab sunflower by the scruff and once again toss them further towards windclans actual territory. She does her best not to draw blood in her actions - she only wants to scare them off after all.

// Rolls: 19 ATK + 10 DEF
- all hits on maggie were successful; broken cartilage but not bone in nose resulting in bleed + surface level bite wound in shoulder
- using blunt force to try to simply push sunflower back to windclan where they belong
@sunflowerpaw

​
 

"BECAUSE COWBOY DAN'S A MAJOR PLAYER IN THE COWBOY SCENE"​
C_Angelkisses.gif
His focus on the chimera is broken as a shoulder slams into his side, making him stumble off his original opponent as his lips bared, snarling angrily. The large brute whipped his head in the direction of the cat who interrupted him. Standing closer to his size, Houndthistle met her bite with a strong, slam of his shoulder, taking the brunt of her jaws as he aimed to make her gag or atleast hurt from having her momentum stopped. He snarled, wincing, as he felt the pain in his arm explode, but his eyes glared angrily down at her, the large murderous rage in blood boiling. Using his large size, Houndthistle lurched his shoulder, hoping to rock her off balance as he swiped his claws to gouge at her thighs and stomach.

Houndthistle's ears flicked, listening to his clanmates behind him as they fought, risking a milisecond of a glance behind him to check on them all, make sure none of them would need his assistance. The apprentices seemed to be fighting bravely, though his eyes narrowed on Sunflowerpaw, focused on her fight as his teeth grit in anger. Of course that little runt would suffer, she needed help or else the Shadowclan mongrel was gonna make sure she became a flattened pancake like Shadowclan always going to be. He hesitated, momentarily, distracted.

"speech"
OOC CURRENT STATS INTERACTION RULES
  • Actively engaging with @>Ratwater , still fighting with @CHITTERTONGUE
  • Physical Health
    83%
    ⤷ deep in his gut, moderately deep in his shoulders, deep bite in his shoulder; bleeding profusely from his gut wound
    Mental Health
    98%

  • Single | Bicurious | Not actively looking | Interested in none currently

    Houndthistle is both an easy one to gain the trust of and impossible to gain the trust of. He'll rarely reveal personal information or be vulnerable-if he's even capable of such things-but he will show trust in his willingness to lay his life down. To gain it, he needs evidence that you're loyal and strong, same as him, otherwise he understands he may one day have to come head to head with you.

    — will start fights / will not flee / will not show mercy
    — excels at Fighting, Tracking, Following Orders, Intimidation
    — poor at climbing, swimming, stealth, talking, strategy, politics
    — sounds like: deep, gravelled and thick with a sort of country accent / Arthur Morgan
    — smells of iron, leather, and wood
    — speech is #435E75

​
 
જ➶ The thrill of the fight makes his jaw chatter, teeth snapping against teeth as he fights to maintain his own life. It fun, and he is sure he is making his mother proud of him at the moment. Even when teeth snap into his shoulder he laughs, a burst of noise that makes his whole body shiver and shake. The other moves him from underneath him and he squirms, claws flexing to attempt to slice against @HOUNDTHISTLE chest. But before he he js slammed down another of his clanmates intercepts, teeth sheer flesh from his own shoulder and blood pours from the wound. Yet the tom is up and moving. This is the distraction that he needs. It works for him and as the other focuses on other avenues the smiling youth crouches. He circles and then launches himself to attempt to latch his claws into the other's back. "Pay attention or you might lose something, kskekeke!" His laugh is wild, sounding chaotic as he pushes forth from the flesh of his attacker possibly.

Reaching forward he aims deadly claws, trying to tear at the other's face. To get at the other's eyes, whatever he can reach though he is closer to the right side. Lose something, lose something. Feel regret for ever coming onto Shadowclan land.​
 
  • Like
Reactions: HOUNDTHISTLE
Her head misses its mark, she's almost relieved. At least she doesn't get a head ache, right? Sharppaw breaks free from her grasp which frustrates her. If she could just get a good grip on him, she could finish this in a heartbeat. But maybe the swamp makes Shadowclan cats as slippery as the mud they dwell in, who knows. He asks whats wrong with her, and she's not sure how to answer.

"A lot, probably." She replies.

Was her behavior normal for a cat??? Did other cats behave the way she did? Did they hide behind well trained facades and take satisfaction in an enemies death? She'll never know for sure.

She had nary a second to move before Sharppaw's claws dragged down her side, causing her to yowl in pain and fury. She immediately turned and whipped her head around to attempt to bite onto Sharppaw's neck and try to force her weight onto him in an attempt to shove her down into the mud.


((( HP: 10/15
Rolled a 4 to defend and took 3 damage!
Rolled a 6 to attack, +1 modifier to =7! ))​
 
† The answer rushes past her ears, only half - registering in her adrenaline - muddied mind. She knew that. Of course she knew that. Not all could be right in the world if you break a fresh rule just to hunt down someone who did not deserve it.

( She shouldn't assume that, though. What reason did she have to give that benefit of the doubt? ) Sharppaw swallows the lump in his throat. He should ask him, if they make it out alive.

His hit lands. He watches the apprentice yowl as he stumbles back a safe distance. Quick as any WindClanner though, they whip toward her with jaws agape. Silver eyes widen, taken aback. A million different strings of advice wittle their way through his mind. None of it is useful. It could be– couldn't it be? But how could he trust any of it? She nearly trips over her dead tail in the process, but she pivots to the side, narrowly avoiding the vicious snap of jaws,

Cut off all your enemy's escape routes, encircling them with your patrol..

They should get WindClan off of their territory. WindClan should get off of their territory.

Sootstar herself is drawing closer to the Thunderpath. Sharppaw lingers upon her and Smogmaw with a wary eye before looking back at the WindClan apprentice. Holding her breath, he would dash forward aiming a hard forepaw slash at their chest, hoping to stagger them back toward the thunderpath.

[ ooc: engaging @Azaleapaw
rolled an 8 to defend! Took 0 dmg!
rolled an 8 to attack, -1 modifier = 7. (THE ROLLS R NUTS)
9 / 17 HP remaining! ]​
 


The brinks of his daggers simply graze his target's neck, for she veers her head rearwards at the most critical moment. Brows would crease inwards when the attack comes to naught, and a loathsome curse or two rupture from his maw in a harsh whisper. Sootstar, as he's come to understand over the preceding of encounters they'd shared, is quite the nimble pest. Though the tom's claws do connect, instead raking across the underside of her chin, he is denied the gratification of draining all the sweet crimson from her throat—a grave injustice that the WindClan leader would soon come to sorely regret.

Holding a broader scope of the surrounding battle him is implausible when faced by such a harefooted foe. Her steps prove too swift to gauge, and he must dedicate the totality of his focus to the dance of death between them. Not a single moment can be afforded to monitor the state of his clanmates, and thus, Smogmaw realises his next course of action must be decisive.

Before he can even draw his next breath, however, the Moor Queen's counterattack tears his veil of anticipation asunder. The skin along his belly is suddenly cauterised by acute pain, prompting him to recoil rearwards. An unmistakable warmth soon follows, trickling from tissue to the tips of his fur as a bloody reminder of Sootstar's precision.

"LEAVE THIS PLACE, AT ONCE!" bellows the deputy, pressing on through the pain. His features are tainted by an unpleasant amalgam of rage, anguish, and desperation. They chose to attack like cowards, and he can only assume they'll flee like cowards in turn. Yet reeling from Sootstar's attack, its aftermath now dribbling to the tops of his legs, Smogmaw fixes his intense gaze upon the enemy leader. With her throat refused, he opts to take her eyes.

He accelerates then, breaking off into a heightened sprint to bridge the short gap between them. Hind legs propel off the murky terrain and send him airborne, forelimbs outstretched, claws extended. The risk of this maneuvre is calculated; an attempt at a devastating blow, aiming to tear his lethal claws through her emerald eyes. If the stars do not align, however, and once again grant Sootstar the grace of evasion, Smogmaw's contingency plan will come into play. Should he miss, he will instead strive to force her to the ground through sheer force, in the direction of the treacherous thunderpath.

// attacking @SOOTSTAR, open to attacks and wounding! ​

 
She sees her opponent stumble over his tail, and she realizes that it isn't because they were clumsy, no. It was dead. Completely limp. Perhaps she could use this to her advantage at some point. She does not take her eyes off her. She isn't worried about her clanmates, they can hold themselves well enough in battle. Her focus was all on Sharppaw. And yet even so, she does not move quick enough to dodge the blow to her chest. She growls angrily.

It was finally dawning on her. She was losing. She was getting beaten by Shadowclan filth- She couldn't let this happen. Not in front of her clanmates. In front of Sootstar. Mintshade. No, she needed to turn this around. She had to. Her life and her pride depended on it. She had to get the better of this apprentice somehow. She was nearly a warrior for stars sake! She couldn't let herself falter now.

She was being pushed to the thunderpath, she realizes. So, she bolts to the thunderpath. It may look like she's fleeing at first, but she turns around and starts bolting at Sharppaw at almost full speed, leaping at him with claws extended hoping to latch onto her and bowl her over.


(( HP: 7/15
Rolled a 4 for defense and took 3 damage!
Rolled a 4 for attack, +1 =5! ))​
 

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

//CW: Description of gore, blood, and injury. I'm mostly putting it in the second paragraph so if you don't wanna read it, feel free to skip that paragraph!
His eyes narrow as his eyes snap to Azaleapaw and that other apprentice, the tide seeming to not be on her side either. Of course, apprentices suffer, that's why Houndthistle made it a point that Mirepaw stay in camp until he was ready. His jaw set, debating abandoning his opponents to go and rip either of those Shadowclan mutts from the Windclan apprentices and make sure they atleast were okay. But a sound caught his ears.

It takes just a moment for battles to take a turn. Just a split second. As his gaze is focused on his clanmates, he turns his guard from his opponents. A voice, chittering in delight, reaches his ears a moment too late as a weight lands upon his right side, making the large tom stumble heavily, snarling as claws dig in his flesh for grip. But what makes him really howl like the creature he's named after is, as his head whips to rip at the tick that clung to him, claws ripped savagely across his face, blistering hot white pain flaring in his skull so loud he cried aloud, the left side of his oculars painted red and throbbing from the trauma they suffered. Overran with adrenaline, he aims to snap his teeth hard upon Chittertongue's paw, and, if successful, throws the other by his paw at Ratwater, reacting blindly. If his attempts at defense are successful, he stumbles back, a large paw reaching up, shaking, to touch where his eye is. He snarls, hissing loudly as gasps leave his mouth, bringing his trembling paw down to look at to see it is drenched in crimson.

His teeth bare, murderous rage blaring in the eye that could be seen under all the gore as his face snaps up to face the both of them. He rushes forward, paws a blur, as he aims fast, hard swats and swings at both cats, trying to back them back into the murky, rotten forest from which they came. He aims to bloody them, teeth snapping and claws flashing with quick strength. If he could, he'd kill them both, but he wanted them to flee and turn tail. There was always another day for him to kill a filthy Shadowclanner.

"speech"
OOC CURRENT STATS INTERACTION RULES
  • attempting to beat back @CHITTERTONGUE & @>Ratwater
  • Physical Health
    73%
    ⤷ left eye is blinded, deep bite wound and claw marks in chest, stomach, face, and shoulders.
    Mental Health
    98%

  • Single | Bicurious | Not actively looking | Interested in none currently

    Houndthistle is both an easy one to gain the trust of and impossible to gain the trust of. He'll rarely reveal personal information or be vulnerable-if he's even capable of such things-but he will show trust in his willingness to lay his life down. To gain it, he needs evidence that you're loyal and strong, same as him, otherwise he understands he may one day have to come head to head with you.

    — will start fights / will not flee / will not show mercy
    — excels at Fighting, Tracking, Following Orders, Intimidation
    — poor at climbing, swimming, stealth, talking, strategy, politics
    — sounds like: deep, gravelled and thick with a sort of country accent / Arthur Morgan
    — smells of iron, leather, and wood
    — speech is #435E75

​
 
Last edited:
  • Wow
Reactions: SOOTSTAR
A sharp tongue darts across a blackened muzzle, a fiery gaze turns to look at the shapes crawling from the shadows; the toads hopping from their swamp to protect their nasty mud-covered territory. She passes a look to Sootstar waiting for her orders and it doesn't take long for the she-cats declaration of war to be heard and her own yowl would soon follow her leaders; shrill and guttural a bellow echoed form the depths of her throat. It does not take long for the air to be filled with torn fur and blood, the miasma of battle envelopes her; it welcomes her home. She rushes into the fray, part of her wishes to follow up on her words to go after Smogmaw while he was preoccupied with Sootstar and the idea is tempting she's about to turn to rush back over to her leader but a flash of fur darting Houndthistle's way catches her attention. She isn''t the only one with the idea of double teaming an opponent, she doesn't doubt Houndthistles ability to handle two of these crowfood-eating-mongrels but she's certain he wouldn't mind her assistance especially with one of his opponents a tom who uses the distraction to his advantage she can make out claws striking down at Houndthistles face. They meet their mark. The smell of blood is heavy , she doesn't stall she rushes forward. Houndthistle is frenzied, she cannot blame him but he'd have no need to fight a battle blinded for much longer. She'd be his other eye. She'd take the one on that side and leave him to get revenge on the foxheart who'd tore him up.

Her sights are on @>Ratwater if not for her he would've never gained an advantage over Hounthistle, Firefang was gonna make her pay for that she wouldn't let her in particular flee not if she could prevent it. She attempts to pounce on the older she-cats back and if successful she'd dig her claws as deep as she could into either flank and rip upwards a move done with intent to hurt long after the battle was over. ​
( ✦ )
 
  • Like
Reactions: HOUNDTHISTLE
can we leave it behind? — The face of the leader is show enough for what was about to come down. He knew it, could feel it in the way his heart skidded in his chest like a rock over ice. The same bubbling feeling that lured his claws out as it had so many times before. Had Sabletuft possibly left any moment to think outside of teeth finding someone's fur, he would have thought to hold back with Ratwater present.

Life was different after leaving. His paws had held the lives of so many. Had taken, and taken, and taken in the name of land and prey and honor and sometimes? Sometimes because he had simply felt like it. How easy it was for him to devolve back into that time. Moons across moons he had kept himself away. Away from the Gatherings and away from those skirmishes, to keep himself together. It rotted away to reveal the fetid soul the marshes had shaped.

A clashing inky pelt of Mintshade had been enough force to send the both of them rolling backward, the momentum enough to carry both of them further into the thicket of battle. Sabletuft could hear the barks and howling of cats all around him now. There's nothing but an animal behind his eyes as they focus on Mintshade, aiming a swift kick to her gut to send her off of him.— tags​
 

IMG_0578.png

SOOTSTAR ♀​
Sootstar feeds of the anger that courses through the tabby’s eyes, did he feel as out of control as he had made her felt? On her own territory? She sneers as her claws meet skin, their cravings from ShadowClan blood sedated as a roar shrieks in her ears. LEAVE THIS PLACE, AT ONCE!

”But we’re just starting to have fun!” She cackles, spit flying ungraciously from her salivated maw. The deputy sprints, his hind legs propelling him into the air. His muck-filled claws are outstretched to claw out her eyes, what a feat it would be to blind the WindClan leader! But not today, and most certainly not Smogmaw, the maggot-faced ShadowClanner! Swiftly she ducks, adrenaline pumping, she hadn’t felt that his claws had in fact graced her deep across the brow. Warm, sticky blood begins to trickle into one of her eyes, effectively blinding her in a different manner.

She is barreled into, the air escapes her lungs, she tumbles backward and her head hits against concrete. The foul stench of the thunderpath burning in her nostrils, but all she sees is red, and the horrible face of Smogmaw hovering over her. Successfully pinning her to the ground. An outstretched forelimb aims to rake him across his cheek and over the bridge of his nose, before fangs stretch outward in an attempt to sink into his chest. Any pain she could invoke to stagger the deputy long enough to wiggle out from his grasp.

//please no further interacts with her unless you are Smogmaw or apart of a plot! Ifykyk
Fighting @smogmaw on the thunderpath
IMG_0583.gif
 
† It works for a second. Her blow connects. Following an angry snarl, the WindClanner darts to the thunderpath. Stupidly, Sharppaw lets herself feel a fleeting glimmer of hope spark in her chest. He felt more apart of ShadowClan than he ever has– working to drive an intruding force off of what was theres. Depressing or not, it was there pile of mud, wasn't it? And her– their deputy. From afar he can hear his caterwaul, usual monotone brought into anger. When your life was on the line, why wouldn't it be? Sharppaw would take a step forward, seeing the WindClanner off. Would they leap in to join their leader in battle, instead? Sharppaw watches with held breath.

They hurtle back, though. They boomerang back toward her with signature WindClan speed. Sharppaw hadn't thought the battle was over. Of course not, but he startles anyway, uneven wisks of fur spiking further in alarm. The entirety of the apprentice's weight crashes into him before he can think of what to do. There's a thud where his body hits the ground. Her spine was suddenly screaming. Claws are digging into her pelt, She can feel blood beginning to stain her black fur. " G-get off, " he croaks. Claws would swipe toward the other apprentice, clumsily trying to get them away.

[ ooc: engaging @Azaleapaw
rolled a 1 to defend! Took 4 dmg!
rolled an 8 to attack, -2 modifier = 6.
5 / 17 HP remaining! ]​
 


Sootstar's vision is spared from his spurs, yet the brawn of her brows doesn't share that distinction—and within a manner of moments, the ShadowClan deputy has his foe kowtowing at his very paws. The sound of her skull striking the thunderpath echoes in tandem with the blood flowing in his ears. What trepidation remained in his veins is soon replaced by triumph, and the sight of pristine crimson seeping through her features becomes an emblem of his superiority. The once-daunting combatant lays pinned beneath his grasp, their noses nigh on touching as he towers over her.

To slay her right now would come as an effortless endeavour, a swift slash across the throat as he'd initially intended. But, a desire stirs within him, one which quashes the impulse to end her immediately. By delaying the inevitable, and watching her stay humbled under the control of his paws, Smogmaw can only savour the raw power he holds over his enemy. These thugs have long evaded the weight of shame, and the time has come to bestow it upon their leader. "We do not cower in WindClan's shadow, moor rat," he hisses, his voice slithering with a venomous edge as droplets of saliva are sent forth with every syllable. "In the shadows, we thrive!"

Just then, the molly's finesse would outstrip his advantage. Claws tear through the tissue of his face, and before he can even recoil from the blow, his foe's teeth bite hard into his chest. A fusion of a yowl and a shriek sounds from the deputy's throat whilst he relinquishes his grip on the other's form. On disoriented limbs he'd stumble away, and though he keeps his gaze fixed on the wretched leader, it is difficult to maintain focus amid the cacophany of his laboured breaths. But, as he holds her in his gaze, it dawns on him how far he'd managed to drive her away. With a single shove, he may very well thrust her in the trajectory of a traveling monster.

"Last chance to withdraw!" he warns, yet he cannot feasibly expect her to heed his caution. Stubbornness blinds her to reason, and defiance burns brightly in her eyes.

Smogmaw's claws taste the earth in preparation for his final attack. Brewing in his gut is a mixture of pain and tenacity, both emboldened by the searing pain she'd inflicted upon him. Sootstar holds a multitude of lives, whereas he only harbours the one—if he can lessen her number before the end of the day, it'll be a stronger remedy than anything Starlingheart can put together.

A sharp inhale marks the beginning of his sprint. He's keenly aware of her capacity to outrun and evade, thus he does not aim to scratch or bite; rather, he tilts his charging head into butting position, and attempts to plow right into her midsection. If he's successful, her life will no longer dangle in his claws. As Smogmaw braces himself for impact, he makes a silent prayer for the emergence of a monster.

// TRYNA HEADBUTT @SOOTSTAR ​

 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Top Bottom
Back