GOLDEN CHARIOT [⚜️] Thunderpath Skirmish

[Mintshade]

Her opponent is about as alert as a rock, easily toppled and sent rolling and she continues her almost gleeful hyena like life even to the kick launched her way that she bends around and dances back from; if this ShadowClan fool thought they were going to land even a solid hit on her they'd be utterly mistaken, she didn't come here to play honorably or find herself a rival. She came here to kill a useless marshland cat and test her apprentice's mettle against whatever ShadowClan had to offer. Out of the corner of one acid green eye she spares a glance to Azaleapaw, eagerly noting the blue she-cat's vicious assault on the marsh apprentice whose only advantage this battle was they'd match the thunderpath they'd be strewn across it seemed.
"Are you going to give me a challenge or do you need an escort back to the elder's den?"
The black-she cat pristles, thorny holly bush pelt and poisonous gaze honing in on the dark-furred tom and she darts from side to side before lunging forward with an arm swung up and then down to try and add another decorate display of claws across the tom's face.
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[SOOTSTAR]

SOOTSTAR ♀​

"I'm not going anywhere!" Sootstar spits in a hiss, scrambling to her paws. Every bit of fur along her spine bristles, and the tiny she-cat looks almost double in size. Muscles ache and beg for a break, but she prepares them to dart out of Smogmaw's way- only she expected another airborne attack, something! But the blue tom takes her head on, his skull colliding with her chest. With incredible force she is blown further back onto the thunderpath, her head landing next to a yellow pigmented line. With skin broken and her head ringing with pain she slowly staggers onto her paws. Feeling the weight of her entire body and more, she faces Smogmaw, a nasty snarl revealing itself on her face. It was evident she was low energy, nearly beaten, but she seems intent on throwing herself back at the ShadowClan deputy. Someone would have to die. "I'kill you!" Her furious yowl splits the air, her hindquarters wiggle and she prepare to leap for the gray tom. //no further interacts unless... you're ifykyk thanks for the fight w/ smog, willie B)

 

[Azaleafrost]

She collides with her enemy, knocking them down and pinning them. This was it, She was in the perfect position to kill her. She could end his life right now. All it would take is one well placed bite. The battle rages around her and she can hear Sootstar's voice getting further away, but she dares not turn her head to look. She has to remained focused, no matter how bad she wants to look around.

Sharppaw struggles to get her away, but to no avail. She ignores the battering with a few winces, but she'll probably feel it later. She looks down at Sharppaw, can tell she's scared. She wonders if she should kill a cowering enemy. The thought is quickly dashed, countered by the thought and knowledge that these cats would not give her the same mercy. She bore her teeth and attempted to latch onto Sharppaw's throat.

She wondered if there was something wrong with her. To go for the throat without a second thought

(( HP: 7/15
Rolled an 8 to defend, took no damage!
Rolled a 6 for attack, +1 is 7! ))​

 

[S A B L E T U F T]

can we leave it behind? — // tw: gross killing murder stuff. all of its underlined | tdrl: sabletuft takes one of sootstars lives by a fatal throat wound, and threatens to take another if windclan doesnt leave

His movements don't feel like his own. Muscles push, stretch and twitch but nothing is of his own conscious choice. When Mintshade is launched away from him, his body rises more closely to an unanimated corpse than a breathing warrior. His claws sink into the peaty soil to reel himself back together, to push away what was getting closer and closer to breaking his resolve. The thin barrier between him and what he used to be. The line between skin and flesh. His sight is distant, away from the Thunderpath.

In his attempt to hold himself, Mintshade's words are wholly unheard. Had they been, he might have thrown back his own petty retort, but he could hardly hear anything aside from the sound of his own heartbeat. And the screams. None that came from any maw on this skirmish. Echoes of the pleas he had ignored, remnants of the blood his claws had spilled.

A sharp sting across his face finally drew him away. Whatever efforts he made were fruitless as his mind regressed back once again. Sabletuft hissed at the pain that fired through his muzzle, a growl rumbling from his chest. The sounds of the present fighting cats mix with memories of his own, but one such yowl has his attention more than Mintshade's petty taunts.

Beyond Mintshade, over her shoulder he spotted Smogmaw facing off Sootstar. The moment brings him back again, the sight of Smogmaw facing off a different foe. In a blink the Thunderpath turned into the a clearing closed with towering oak trees. Sootstar's face was a blur. his body moved before he even realized it. He might have shoved past Mintshade to get through- he couldn't recall. White mitted paws now dirtied from running through the mud, Sabletuft would burst from the fog, eyes ablaze as they locked onto the she-cat.

He used Sootstar in the collision to protect him from the impact against the pavement. He took no hesitation to latch his claws in to keep her from pulling away from him, using his weight to keep her back against the ground underneath him after they stopped skidding. His chest heaved for air, but the adrenaline made him feel lighter than air. It devoured him, every thought that pushed to the forefront urging him to finish this. To feel the flow of blood after withholding himself from this for so long.

A blink. Teeth had already sank into her throat. Iron flames stained the white fur between his jaws and on instinct Sabletuft began to pull. There was tension, he felt resistance and struggle against his hold. Another growl burst from his muzzle as his claws sank deeper to hold her still, pulling and tugging at her skin and flesh until his neck swung back from the release of pressure.

It filled his nose and mouth, the scent of so much blood. His jaw went slack as he looked down when he noticed Sootstar had stopped struggling, now lifeless beneath him.

"She's dead."

But wouldn't be for long.

Sabletuft lifted his head to look at the cats around him, the embers behind his gaze dimming. He spat the blood in his mouth onto the pavement before stepping off of the leader. WindClan blood soaked the white of his muzzle, stained his chest and paws. He returned to Smogmaw's side, tail lashing as he dared the WindClanners to step any closer with a silent snarl.

"I'll give you all to ten before I take another."
tags​

 

[SOOTSTAR]

SOOTSTAR ♀​

//tw for blood/gore, rot and other gross descriptors The goal of killing Smogmaw in her next blow was shattered as claws as sharp as gorse thorns rip into her skin. A burning sensation runs through her as an unrelenting force knocks her back down onto the thunderpath. An ear-splitting scream pulls from her throat as she squirms and wreathes, forepaw and hindlegs lashing out at every opportunity to kick and claw. Her heart thunders as stained yellow teeth lunge for her throat, as fangs dig deep into her flesh blood spurts from the wound to stain her white fur red. It boils in the back of her throat before the taste of iron floods her mouth, she gurgles and chokes on her own blood, a look of pure hatred and defiance staring back at Sabletuft. Yet as life fleets from her, anger turns into trepidation. I’m dying. The raging of battle quiets around her and the corners of her vision grow fuzzy. ‘StarClan can’t take back the nine lives they gave you, can they?’ The words of her mate rung, his blue eyes vivid in her mind. Dangling like caught-prey she thinks the exact words she had told him, ‘I don’t know.’ The horror of this life being her last strikes her with hefty claws as she breathes her seventh life’s last. Eyelids sluggishly blink open as her toes curl to find their footing on wet grass. Sootstar’s head, still pounding and ringing with the sensation of battle, lifts with a groan. The seconds it takes her to recollect her thoughts feel like grueling hours, but piece by piece she fits her mind back together. There was one truth she could say for certain, she was dead. Permanently? That Sootstar did not know. Her throat was hoarse and she could still feel blood caked to her fur. Eyes dilate to adjust to the dark scenery and to her horror she finds herself in a forest. Withering, colossal trees encircle her, not even SkyClan’s pines could compete. Their spiraling and crooked branches blocked out a majority of the sky, even where night did break through there was no moon or starlight to be found. The air was stiff and muggy, an intense green-leaf heat with no breeze of relief. The she-cat’s nose wrinkles as she is battered by the putrid scent of decay and rot, the horrid smell only amplified by the swelling heat. What was this place? It could not be StarClan… it was somewhere cruel with no wind in her fur, no starlight to guide her paws. Trying to stand, her limbs buckle and shake, instantly giving into her own weight. Her body is sprawled on the forest floor like a newborn fawn, helpless and bewildered by the world around her. Lost, confused, petrified, Sootstar’s consciousness in whatever hellish world she’s entered fades to nothing.

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

† She's stuck, sunken into the ground, held back by the weight of her own held breath, it feels like. The ache of her muscles from the heat of battle is slowly seeping back in, leaving her panting and breathless. Her face hurts. It aches to keep her eyes open. The battering of claws towards her opponent proves futile, shrugged off seemingly without effort.

The rest of the battle dissipates into fuzzystatic, and all she can see are eyes blazing crimson. The world seems to slow as lips curl back in a snarl, and suddenly they're at her throat, pearly and prime for the marring of flesh, not already tinged with mud and blood as their claws were. Intent to kill, Sharppaw's mind supplies. It's a useless assessment. WindClan's goal was assassination, what need is there to settle for just one? (Sharppaw's death would not be so significant enough to warrant it such, though. Assassination was upon important cats. However he may be– Smogmaw was one of them, and Sharppaw would never be like them.)

She doesn't want to die yet.

Sharppaw thinks she can feel fangs bury themselves past fur; grazing against skin. Surely if she could, she would be dead already. Perhaps it was only the rush of battle; perhaps it was only her heart jumping in her chest. In a last ditch effort, Sharppaw would push at the apprentice in a weak attempt at holding them back. He ignores the way his ears are pinned to his skull and his eyes are wide with terror.

An ear - piercing shriek shatters through the field of hissing and screams. Past the body of her attacker looming above him, Sharppaw almost thinks he can soot - smoke fur laying dead across the thunderpath. The whole forest seems to breathe. She's dead.

Sharppaw's jaws part in a wordless question. The stink of the thunderpath blazes past her nose. She hopes that her own ghost wouldn't materalize amongst the fog along with whoever had died. She hopes that her attacker had stopped the same moment she did. Whoever had died, she thinks. Yet she thinks she knows who. Her chest heaves a shaking breath.​

 

[>Ratwater]

— The feminine white shadow would recoil from the initial blow to her throat coughing and trying to catch her breath but as luck would have it Chittertongue would intervene. Her chest rose and fell in quick succession as her focus recovered back to the Windclan tom. Amber eyes were locked upon the brute as she was able to maneuver out of his swinging paw. Although Houndthistle would prove not to be her enemy anymore.

A loud hiss ripped through gritted teeth of the molly as she felt claws dig into her back. She'd stagger, nearly falling to the ground at the weight of a new attacker. As Ratwater had steadied herself she could feel the claws of the other ripping up either side of her flank. Blood pounded in her ears, her heart running faster than a rapid fox.. She'd throw herself, back first, into the ground in attempts to squash @Firefang . If successful, she'd thrust her head back, attempting to daze the other via headbutt before rolling off.

The molly in any manner would flit her gaze around from her brother in a lapse of concern.. She saw him. The white bits of fur he had adorned around his face was doused with scarlet. Not only that but his bloodied paws would step away from the lifeless form of Sootstar. Her blackened ears would pin against her skull before her eyes addressed their combatants. — tags​

 

[HOUNDTHISTLE]

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

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The scream for blood from the moorland queen doesn't halt his anger, but what does is the sound behind him as she screams for her life. Like the well-trained mutt he was, he froze his own battle, head snapping back in time to see a Shadowclan cat standing over Sootstar, teeth digging into the leader's throat. His breaths heaved, vision lopsided and throbbing red as he stood, frozen in time with wide, horrified amber eyes. He has witnessed Sootstar losing her lives before, this was no new development, but what was was the fact Shadowclan had gotten one over on her-and it wasn't even the damned deputy. His limbs shake, claws digging into peaty earth as he watches this mongrel rip his leader's throat out, marking the end of the battle.

Teeth bared as the rat tells them they have ten minutes, Houndthistle's head drunkenly sways to his opponent, debating if he should gain the satisfaction of ripping that grin into shreds or cut his losses, but finally, instead, he spats a glob of faintly pink saliva in his direction-a final show of disrespect to this star-forsaken territory-before he turns, stalking toward the fallen leader. His bloodied face faces the pair who stand near her, cautious, as he gets closer as though expecting them to rip into him. He stands defensively over her-knowing he cannot lift her in his state-and waits for the rest of the patrol as drops of scarlet drip from his many wounds, cascading down his face and matting his mane, legs, and stomach, staring the pair down. If they wanted to steal another life from her after Windclan stops their attack, they'd have to go through him, that much he was intent on.

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"speech"

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OOC CURRENT STATS INTERACTION RULES

• Physical Health
  
  68%
  ⤷ 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

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[Maggotfur.]

EYES COVERED IN INK AND BLEACH​

maggotpaw | 07 months | female | she/her | physically medium | mentally hard | attack in bold mediumpurple

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With the victorious call of her clanmate, Sunflowerpaw is left discarded, an after thought, as maggotpaw turns striking blue eyes towards sabletuft. Thick blood drips down her muzzle, tongue absentmindedly swiping it away as a bubbling wheeze escapes her. "Hah!" the incredulous noise is matched with a sharp, smug smile - an eerie expression on the usually stoic mollies face. "Hahaha- urgh!" laughter rings out sharp and abrupt, snorting high-pitched cackles, only interrupted by the spattering of blood and snot that comes spewing forth as she inhales through injured nose. She stares down her muzzle at the windclanners as they begin to scramble back to their leaders side - head tipping as she stares at the corpse of their leader. She's never seen a leader lose a life - only been there to witness pitchstars cold corpse after all."That was fun, we should do it again sometime," she says - half taunting, half not. Sunflowerpaw's intensity ha surprised her, certainly, but there had been no hard feelings on Maggies end - and why would there be? Battle is battle - the warrior code says you must chose your clan first in times of need - but they're still.... friends of a sort, right? She hums idly, fluffy tail swishing back and forth as she waits - will windclan flee like rabbits and live to see another day?

// CW: bodily fluids; general nastiness; death
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