pafp HISTORY IS CUT-THROAT ☁ Battle stories

[VIPERPAW]

*+:｡.｡ Viperpaw can't stop staring at Scorchstreak.

Perhaps if his silence weren't so rare he might've been easy to ignore, but as it stands the usually abrasively loud young man with his bug eyes trained so boldly onto his deputy makes for a rather...uncomfortable presence within today's afternoon patrol. Should he have asked for permission to stare? Is that even something you could ask for consent on? Such questions don't cross his mind - hence his unabashedly bad behavior continuing. In Viperpaw's defense, it's rather hard to make room for social etiquette when one's head is filled to bursting with stories of Windclan's top ten greatest battles! Who would've thought that today's mundane effort of picking fleas off an elder would result in the recounting of some of the coolest tales Vip had ever heard!
All morning long, the boy had fantasized about Windclan's lore. He could practically see the blood splattering over the grass and flew flying through the air as cats, brave and bold, defend one another with great, self-sacrificing honor. He thinks of all those who would be forever immortalized as legends, told for ages to come, names carved into the memories of every new generation for the great acts that paved Windclan's future! Rattleheart was one of those heroes, his death marking a chapter of great grief in Windclan that still echoed to this day. It was too late now to ask her for her stories, though. While her death was still fresh it...felt wrong to badger cats for her history.

That's when, upon being assigned to her patrol, Viperpaw laid eyes on Scorchstreak.

Mean, lean, fighting machine - Scorchstreak, the deputy of Windclan! Viperpaw practically trembled with excitement as he kept close pace behind the woman, eyeing her scars with a fascination typically reserved for crows pecking at shiny objects. He'd never thought to look so hard at his clan's second-in-command before, but now that he is...wow! Look at those scars! The stories that hide behind every savage bite and gruesome scratch! It made Viperpaw's kitten-soft cheeks feel so pudgy and lame by comparison! He wondered how she got those scars- by defending her home without fear? By protecting a clanmate whose life mattered more to her than her own?! Did she fight against beasts bigger than her? Stronger? Did she win by skill alone? Using her intellect to outsmart foes with longer claws and sharper teeth? Had she shoved down her fear, bitten back her wails, to do what was right?
Dear fucking Starclan - he needed to know!

"SCORCHSTREAK!" An explosive cry bursts through the quiet evening air, "HOW'D YOU GET THOSE SCARS?!"

*+:｡.｡ Updated 10/11/24

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  "SPEECH"
  
  
  GENERAL:
  ☁ Viperpaw
  ☁ DFAB— He/Him
  ☁ 10 moons
  ☁ Son of Snakehiss and Berrysnap
  ☁ Brother to Rowanpaw, Snakepaw and Privetpaw
  ☁ Windclan — Tunneler's apprentice
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  COMBAT:
  ☁Physically easy | mentally medium
  ☁Attack in bold white
  ☁ None currently

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[SCORCHSTAR]

༄༄ That grating voice… that irritating shout… it could be worse, she thinks. At least it isn’t actually Snakehiss, but only one of the kits he’d left behind in the clan.

Scorchstreak lets out a long-suffering sigh, tail flickering as she regards Viperpaw with resigned golden eyes. "Many places," she says, a bit stiffly. Does the overeager tom expect her to explain each and every one of the scars that adorns her body, or just the most prominent ones? Perhaps the most obvious are the multiple scars that mar her chest, the ones that only three of the council now wear. Wolfsong and Sunstar’s are still whole, while the tunneler’s has since been crossed through with a swipe of Sunstar’s own claws. It is not the most kind scar to talk about—it makes some cats uncomfortable, when they find out. Viperpaw may be a bit more sturdy than others, but that does not mean he will appreciate the more tame story of willingly inflicted scarring.

Casting off all thoughts of her chest scars, the calico gestures to her own eye and cheek. "These ones, I received from one of RiverClan’s former leaders. He was just as mad as Sootstar was, in the end; he chose to shelter a WindClan exile, who then crossed the border to murder a WindClan warrior in cold blood. I fought against him in the attack we launched in retaliation." She thinks of the battle fought in Juniperfrost’s name, and then of the countless other lives lost to RiverClan’s callousness. Bluepool and Rattleheart are among them now, but Sunstar will not lead crusades in the name of revenge. When she thinks about it, she does not want to, either. What’s done is done, what’s lost is lost… WindClan should linger in the past no longer.

YOU KNOW I DESERVE IT ☽♰☾ WELL, TAKE IT OUT ON ME

• ooc: —
• 
• SCORCHSTREAK ❯❯ she/they, deputy of windclan, tunneler
  ༄ small, slim flame-streaked calico with fiery golden eyes. cold and closed-off, ferociously protective of her clanmates. rarely seen aboveground.
  ༄ mate to bluepool ; sibling to rattleheart & rabbitclaw
  ༄ mentor to bilberrypaw & brackenpaw ; previously mentored pinkshine
  ༄ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted, but may react aggressively
  ༄ penned by foxlore

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[BUCKFIRE]

The tom's molten gaze drifts along the expanse of the dusk-shadowed moors, jagged outlines of scorched flora breaching the horizon. Lean muscles billowed underneath a tabby pelt as he kept up with the patrol, head held high as he kept his eyes open and nose keen for any prey scent.

Then, one of the apprentice's shouts undoubtedly scares off any food in the vicinity. Buckfire flinches, ears pinning back in reaction, though he recovers quickly as the subject of conversation turns to the WindClan deputy herself. The calico details an account of a battle fought long ago, the specifics already lost on Buckfire as the story progresses — something about Sootstar; the previous WindClan leader was brought up quite a bit around here.

The moor runner observes the flame-licked molly, molten eyes admiring her form for a few moments before they lingered on the side of her face. The fact that she is @SCORCHSTORM 's mother does not deter him from his shameless attempts at charming the stoic second-in-command. "There's beauty in scars," Buckfire meows with a small raise of faux brows. "They're proof of how strong you are." Though he doubts that anyone needs a reminder of how strong Scorchstreak was. Her aura alone was dominating, even bone-chilling at times.

A lopsided grin tugs at the corner of Buck's lips, orange stare unmoving from Scorchstreak's features. "I think we all wanna hear more stories, right?" The patrol would certainly be more interesting that way. There was nothing more boring than walking in silence.

𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 ✹ . + ˚ · 　 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋

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• 

  — buckfire / 32 moons / he/him pronouns
  — windclan moor runner / shadowing scorchstorm / former loner
  — sh chocolate tabby w/ orange eyes, bite marks on left foreleg, nick in left ear & scratch on right side of lip
  — click for tags

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[Brackenpaw]

It's a miracle that no one loses their hearing when around Viperpaw for too long, sometimes his boastful and joyous fits can be funny to witness. This is not one of them, ears pin back to her skull momentarily before flicking back up to their usual perky position. She could pretend that it was the breeze that did this, it was easy enough to do as the breeze took down sections of the moors tall grass in a makeshift wave. It was a cool sight, enough to keep her entertained on the patrol as she followed after her mentors paws.

Her mentors stiff tone doesn't go amiss by her ears, her muzzle scrunches on instinct. She was used to hearing that kind of stiff tone when they're holding back from giving Brackenpaw an earful over something they've said or done (in her opinion she needs to try harder when holding back). To hear it in relation to the topic of scars is enough of an indication that she must not be the topics biggest fan. Scorchstreak at least indulges Viperpaw in a story, she seems to like doing that.

It was interesting to hear where they come from at least, even if they're in the tunnels most of the time she's still subject to looking at the deputy's face whenever they can be bothered to. At this point the scars are just her, they forget that they're even scars at all instead of being a natural partition of fur. They can't feign disinterest in her stories for long though, not when Buckfire tries to greedily take this lapse in conversation for some... What ever it is that he's doing.

There's a request for more stories, the tunneler apprentice scowls subconsciously as she recalls Scorchstreak's stiff answer at the original request. "No one wants to hear about dumb scars" she pipes up with a huff, using their usual sharp tone to conceal any concern she actually holds for the older calico. Her gaze shifts to the dusk covered moorland that stretches along the horizon line. "Shouldn't you all be talking about how to catch a rabbit or something actually useful instead?" Not that they want to hear about that either but maybe that would provide a less stiff tone.

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‎‎ ‎┌── Im just a dog ⸙ with no bite ──┐‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

• 
  ooc.
  
•  
• Brackenpaw
  ✩ they/she, tunneler apprentice of Windclan, 11 moons (ages on the 22nd)
  ⭃ a lithe and fragile looking calico that looks like they still need to grow into her ears
  ⭃ Speech, thoughts, attacking
  ⭃ NPC x NPC, mentored by Scorchstar | Formally mentored by Bluefrost
  ⭃ easy to befriend other kits, gradually harder to befriend every rank after that
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by Juice ↛ @/ouijeejuice on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  ⭃ All opinions are IC!! Bracken is a little hater
  

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[SHAGGYDOG]

Shaggydog's gruff voice cuts through the air like a cold wind, carrying an unmistakable edge of irritation. "'s rude to ask a cat about their scars," it grunts, the words clipped and harsh, each syllable laced with disapproval. Its eyes narrow as it fixes Viperpaw with a stern, unyielding gaze. Shaggydog knows that scars are more than just physical marks—they're stories, often ones cats prefer to keep buried. Its own scars are hidden beneath the thick, tangled layers of coarse fur, but they're there, silent reminders of battles fought and endured, pains that have hardened its already solitary heart. Shaggydog shifts its weight slightly, the movement slow and deliberate, as if weighing whether to react more sharply. It hasn't survived this long by letting others prod where they shouldn't. Most cats who've lived through their own trials know better than to ask, and Shaggydog expects that from others. Viperpaw's curiosity has crossed an unspoken line, and Shaggydog isn't about to let it slide without a lesson.

Lifting its paw with deliberate care, Shaggydog aims a light cuff at Viperpaw's ear. The strike isn't meant to hurt—not physically, at least—but it carries weight all the same. It's a warning, a firm but restrained reminder that there are boundaries to be respected, especially around cats like Shaggydog. Its touch is light enough for Viperpaw to feel the message without pain, but the young apprentice will know not to press the issue further. Shaggydog's tone, along with the physical reprimand, says everything it needs to. It doesn't bother turning its attention to Buckfire or Brackenpaw, both of whom stand nearby but remain utterly unacknowledged. They haven't said anything to warrant Shaggydog's attention, and it isn't the type to waste energy on small talk or pleasantries. If they haven't done anything or said anything of interest, they aren't worth engaging with, plain and simple. Actions speak louder than words, and it has no interest in entertaining idle conversations.​