camp golden fleece > rta

[ThistleBack]

A harsh orange afternoon sun burns beyond the gnarled black limbs of nettled trees. It’s quiet, so quiet the ringing in your ears could almost hurt and you can almost hear the wood groan with a gentle sway. The bark is jutted with mushrooms, and the ground is patchy soil, the grass is brown it’s almost like the woods mourn the near coming of leafbare. Thistleback’s memories of leafbare as a kit always squirm their way into his loud thoughts. That and the memories of his children growing up, or the way his estranged mate’s smile could warm even the coldest winter. visions of the past like these, that left him in the static. Where he was proud, regretful, happy, sad, and content.

His jaws rotate with his idle stare into the treeline with the ache in his shoulders and hip, brushstrokes from several battles on the canvas of his muscle and bones. Today, he was in a quiet pain but his Clanmates would never know. His face was always crumpled around the jowls in a permanent scowl, unreadable but everyone knew they could approach him and he will only offer kindness and wisdom. A chimney of love and protection for all that called itself Skyclan.

A mane of black thorns tugged by the wind, he stayed still where he rested on his haunches. Just outside of the gentle bustle of camp, he perched like a raven in court with merely himself. A stiff silence had taken over him and his duties the last few moons. Deersong’s disappearance, and his children grown out of their nests- He was comfortable in it though, this solitude was like the shadows and he didn’t just adopt this sort of thing- he was born in it, raised by it.

Nicked ears flick forth with the sound of pawsteps, and he’d purr harshly in greeting.

⛤ OOC INFORMATION REFERENCE ⛤

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  forty-five mns. EVENT TRACKER | IMPORTANT INFO
  — Former Lead warrior of Skyclan 12.22.22 - 06.2023
  — Devoted to Deersong 9.29.22
  — Father of Coyotepaw, Eveningpaw, Briarpaw, Damsel, Sunflowerpaw, and Rosepaw.
  — mentoring none formerly Snowpath & Quillstrike
  — very muscular piebald black and white tom with spiky fur and cold silver-grey eyes.
  — voice & accent
  — biography･ﾟ✧​
  OPEN for Dice battles | stine#3004
  
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[TIGERSCAR]

BIOGRAPHY AND TAGS​

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Dying undergrowth brushes broad shoulders, a shadow racing an earthen hued form. An eye of hungry flame flickers among wintry shade, as the afternoon sun dapples a chilled forest floor. Large paws are notably loud as the brute nears SkyClan's camp, having spent most of the day in twolegplace for some sort of... grooming, arranged by his twoleg folks. His fur was silky and shining, and the Daylight Warrior has already expressed his approval with rumbling purrs and gentle bumps of his head against the strange skin of his owners. Now, though, he has gone from pampered house pet to prowling predator, a creature of mangled flesh and brutal intentions, slipping along the forest floor like a demon which had crawled from hell itself.

The entrance is guarded by one solitary form, a figure of black and white with pale eyes of death. Thistleback seemed to keep to himself, the polar opposite of Tigerscar. Where one was loud and bold, the other was ice, bitter and cold. Nonetheless, Tigerscar flashes the former Lead Warrior a fanged smile, a cheerful greeting no less. "Keep sittin' there like that and you might turn to stone, you know." The Daylight Warrior trills humorously. "Ah, but perhaps that is just what we need to scare the rats away." A gargoyle of sorts, to frighten any trespassers who dared creep into SkyClan's woods. It prompts a widening of his toothy expression, amusement fresh upon his ruined maw.
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[DAWNGLARE]

" SkyClan gets no rats, " If such a comment was not literal, it's meaning is lost on him. There is much to dislike, about what he vaguely knew as sickly, overgrown mice. When he'd been nestled— or rather, uncomfortably stuffed— within ShadowClan's camp, he had heard whisper and word. Flashes of skinny flesh - tails and mangy fur. There is quite a lot to hate, more literally.

Less literally... he supposes the same was true.

Yes— Dawnglare finds that there is much to hate. Anguish, as he looks to the stars. Anger, when he thinks of moorland claws choking the life from Mothermouth. Things are much better, when he does more than sit. It's why his claws click against cold ground. It is why he finds himself at Tigerscar's side, now. And that being said... " There is no need to keep still, " curtly, he would tell the warrior. Dawnglare had destested him once, he remembers... Now, he sees no need.

A WISE WOMAN SAID I'M ALIVE 🍷 NOBODY'S EVER TOLD HER SHE'S WRONG

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• ( I'M AS ALIVE AS HER BEARD IS LONG ) DAWNGLARE Medicine Cat of SkyClan. Mentoring Fireflypaw
  𓆩♡𓆪 He / him , deeply confused by the use of other pronouns
  𓆩♡𓆪 Currently 59 moons old as of 11.20.23. Mated to Mallowlark
  
  Unsettling and strange, Dawnglare bears a unique perception to the world and stars above on top of a generally unpleasant disposition. Holds others to uniquely impossible standards and himself undeniably above the rest.
  Mood is decided by dice - rolls per thread, with the exception of some important threads

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[Johnnyflame]

HE SAID, "WELL MY NAME'S JOHNNY, AND IT MIGHT BE A SIN
BUT I'LL TAKE YOUR BET, AND YOU'RE GONNA REGRET, CUZ IM THE BEST THERE'S EVER BEEN."​

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"Aye, they're all sittin' pretty over in Windclan right now, aren't they?" Johnny quipped with a snort, all too happy to equate the moor-dwellers with the sneaky, filthy rodents.

When he'd first come to live in Skyclan, the patched tabby hadn't understood the animosity so many of his clanmates directed toward the other group- but now, after seeing it first hand? Johnny wouldn't hesitate to call it like it was, not when they'd jumped Riverclan in their own beds and then tried doing the same to Windclan- not when they'd stolen away Highstones in a bid for control and then tried to murder Smokestar.

His mind was quick to refocus though, because it wasn't every day that Thistleback made himself available for casual conversation like this, too busy with his work or mourning the disappearances of his mate for Jonnyflame to steal away any of his time. It was a regretful thing, but the lead could understand a need for space and he respected it, even his gaze was often drawn to them.

Today thought temptation would get the better of him, especially when he realized that Dawnglare and Tigerscar were already present. "Besides, 'Stoneback' doesn't have quite the ring that 'Thistleback' does." he added, golden eyes flashing toward silver in amusement.

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[CHRYSALISWING]

Oh great, the unholy offspring of a rabid badger and a thorn's nest was back. Thistleback was unlike any feline that Chrysaliswing had ever seen, with black needles outstretched like some soot-stained sun and a white underbelly like ashen snow. Was his mother a fire or something? That would account for the strange features, as though he had walked straight out of an open flame. Son of smoke and scorch, Chrysalis figured that he was probably mixed with something else and was not wholly a cat.

"He's just imitating how he petrifies all his enemies to stone with his ugliness." Chrysaliswing sneered in his typical fashion, slithering up to the crowd like an adder within the sunlit stones, a deadly venom that lie behind the cold concrete. It seemed that with winter's birth came the emergence of their warriors, like some sort of reverse hibernation. It was good that they returned in time for leaf-bare to rear its ugly head at the clans.

"Listen to Dawnglare and Tigerscar. You should get off your ass before leaf-bare comes around." Perhaps even Chrysaliswing needed a break from hunting and patrolling every once in a while. He was young and sprightly, so there was little problem for him to conduct his duties. Even then, he tired of the bleak monotony of clan life - though, perhaps it was wrong to hope for more tumultuous times after the plague of yellowcough had stricken the land. Maybe he would go out and sunbathe, forgot about his troubles for a moment...

( this is IC opinions im. so sorry )
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[SLATE]

"I don't think you're one to talk about ugliness, Chrysaliswing." Slate snorted, having been passing by when he caught wind of the budding conversation. His personality, at the very least, was detestable. If he were to possess even a sliver of Thistleback's charisma then perhaps he'd stand a chance, but as it stood now, the young warrior was the grimy little pest that he had always been.

He glances up toward Thistleback, a neutral stare painting his rugged features, overall unsure of what to think of the former lead warrior. Here they were, switched places, though still brutes living under Blazestar's rule all the same. Thistleback had always been a curious subject for Slate; he had been a killer and a hound bound by SkyClan's chain so to speak, at least until he had snapped free of it to dispose of Kuiper. Yet, there was still an undeniable air of respect that surrounded Thistleback, which was attributed to his moons of duty and loyalty to the clan itself. He was a rogue, yet generally still held in higher regard than Slate was. His charm and amiability made up for everything else, it seemed.

It seemed that not everything that spewed from Chrysaliswing's maw was utter nonsense. Sitting around wouldn't do the clan any good. They would all starve if they didn't work overtime to secure some food. "He's right, unfortunately. We need to be stocking up on prey as much as we can before snow storms start rolling in." He can recall the battle between SkyClan and WindClan last leafbare, where the brawling felines were battered and blown by frosty gusts as they descended into their own flurries of teeth and claws. That had been one of the coldest days Slate had ever experienced by far. There would surely be more blizzardy days ahead; camp would be buried by mounds of powder as would the woods they hunted in, making gathering fresh-kill a lot more difficult. If they were smart, they would be proactive.

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙘𝙠, 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙚

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  ✰ SLATE
  —— he/him; lead warrior of skyclan; former rogue
  —— bisexual; single; not looking
  —— hulking, scarred charcoal-black colored maine coon with amber eyes
  —— "speech", thoughts, attack
  —— link to full tags; @ on discord for plots.
  —— penned by beatles

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