hundred killers, hundred hammers | skunk!

[GHOSTWAIL]

Dusk. It was preferable time of night for the pink-eyed, ivory-furred creatures of WindClan, one that wasn't hell on their sensitive eyes. The phantom, at least, preferred the cover of night rather than hunting in direct sunlight. It was more peaceful at night, with just the wind at her back and indigo-painted clouds above her head. Peaceful. An admirable trait, if peace were something she sought after in life. But the phantom of WindClan didn't seek peace, she sought prey. She was a hunter, an eternal carnivore that was never quite sated by her pithy catches. She had sought out bigger game as of late - clanmates, clan cats, the odd loner - but these things did not feed the cats back in the grassy knoll of her camp; these catches only fed her own bloodlust and that wouldn't do for sustenance.

Still, her claws came forth, scoring the ground beneath her as she roiled. She was hungry again, hungry for her own sort of adventure rather than the typical clan cat's day to day. It was tedious, unwaveringly tedious, a -

So caught up in her own myopia, the phantom had not noticed a small interloper come up on her right. Maybe it was startled by the she-cat's sudden aggression, maybe it was just a bit miffed by the presence of such a dingy cat in its path, but either way, the interloper had kicked itself around to point its raised tail and -

The phantom of WindClan stumbled back with a very uncharacteristic yelp as the stench of skunk hit her nose.... and clung to her fur. Bile rose up in her throat, the smell beginning to burn in her nostrils. Tears well up in her eyes, enough to blur the little creature that was making its cowardly escape after such an uncalled for ambush. A baby skunk, exiting the scene after its first inconvenience. If she could see, the thing would've been dead, but she could not, and so the spooky-ooky phantom of WindClan was reduced to rolling around on her back, now desperate to rid herself of the rotten smell that enveloped her.​

- you call for peace when it suits you​

 

[cygnetstare]

One of several WindClanners sharing the bloody eyes and bone-white fur that made the wickedly burning sun so hateful, Cygnetstare preferred the sweet cover of the stars even if she spent much of her time far away from them, beneath the earth. She ghosts across the darkened grass of the moor, the cool night air refreshing on perpetually scorched skin and exhausted viscera eyes, the moon smiling down upon her where its daytime companion rested with its evil rays. The chimera has just left a tunnel and they're harlequined with dirt—whoever they'd been beneath the earth with may or may not be accompanying them, though she wouldn't notice, attention worshipful on the benevolent moon.

As they idly cross the moor, perhaps seeking a different tunnel or perhaps just enjoying the peace of the night, that peace is swiftly broken. A terrible odor assaults her sensitive nose—her encounter with that mouldering rabbit corpse has proven the strength of her stomach, but it's still offensive. And familiar; she recalls her apprenticeship, only a few moons past, when her mentor had pointed out a small hole tucked under a rock and told her to smell the rank fog of scent hanging about its entrance. They'd ruefully told the story of a clash with a white-streaked creature that could soak one in its foul stench in their own apprenticeship, called it a skunk, and told her if she smelled that underground to get the hell out.

Cygnetstare heeds those old words and bolts to the side as a small monochrome thing waddles past, carrying the horrific stench with it; she waits, unmoving, for it to pass (lest she incur the wrath it's clearly already inflicted on someone). When they're sure it's gone, the tunneler peers about the thin moorland scrub in which she'd sheltered to see one of her companions in pink eyes and heated flesh writhing on the grassy earth. The chimera chuckles a gravelly laugh despite themself, watching as Ghostwail rolls on the grass; it's odd to see the tall (especially compared to their tiny frame) and aloof moor-runner flailing like an unhappy kit. Amusement does not overtake sense, though; they hang back carefully from the cloud of stink surrounding Ghostwail as they offer, "Didya get skunked? Don't see those much, but if we've got a burrow of 'em about that's a problem indeed."
​

 

[Lizardbounce]

( ✧ ) Even though his pelt wasn't alabaster, he too enjoyed the thrills of night hunting. Masked by the unforgiving darkness of the night, he found slinking around the territory quite exhilarating. There weren't many trees here to provide shade, so this was one of the times where he really got to blend in with his surroundings, and ambush his prey without too much running. It was cheating in a way, but the clan didn't care as long as their bellies were filled.

He had been doing just that, when a horrible, gut wrenching smell pierced his nose. It was so strong that it made his eyes water, and his face wrinkle in disgust. Skunk. He couldn't think of anything that smelled worse than that...even the other clan's borders. It was awful strong too, so whatever got sprayed, it was nearby. His prey had caught scent of the putrid smell as well, and retreated into it's burrow. Lizardbounce flicked his tail in irritation, and decided to go check out the situation. If it were a dog or an enemy from another clan, he would need to sound the alarm anyways.

Slinking through the moorland, the moving shadow made his way towards the spray site. As he came over a small hill, he spotted the ivory figure of Ghostwail rolling around on the ground. His jaws pulled back into a smile as he laughed to himself. Instead of joining the pair, he remained fairly far away...no way was he getting that stink on himself. "We should just toss you into Riverclan's camp tonight. That stench would drive 'em away for good." His plume-like tail rose slightly at his joke. "I wouldn't come back to the camp smellin' like that...the warriors will have your hide." ​

( YOU GOTTA BE SO COLD ; TO MAKE IT IN THIS WORLD )

 

[BLUEFROST]

Beneath the tunnels, it’s always night. Her vision has adjusted to see shifting shapes and shadows in the darkness, but it’s still her other senses she must rely on and hone when beneath the earth. Her mother has told her from that first daunting day that Bluepaw must sharpen her hearing, her sense of smell, the touch of her whiskers beside a tunnel wall, and it’s led her to wanting to be out in the dark more often. She had been told she would someday know the tunnels like the back of her paw—but that can’t happen if she isn’t training for that day.

She emerges from a tunnel near Ghostwail’s hunt, her pelt dropping clumps of mud with every movement. It’s the one thing she still despises about being an apprentice tunneler—she spends hours every night before she goes to sleep chewing earth from her beautiful gray fur. She gives herself a shake, sending grit flying, when the awful stench hits her.

Green eyes immediately water, threatening to spill. “StarClan, what is that?” She can make out the equally-pale figure of Cygnetstare and Lizardbounce’s moonlit outline in the shadows. “I don’t think I’ve ever smelled anything so awful in my life.” She frowns, flicking her eyes over Ghostwail. “I certainly don’t want my nest next to yours.”

// mentor tag: @SOOTSTAR
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[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

 

[RATTLEHEART]

Rattleheart was an interesting case compared to those present, a sharp mix of black and white that meant he was never falling apart beneath the sunlight of the day, but he couldn't completely blend into the shadows of the night either. He probably would have been frustrated if he had been a moor runner, forced to rely on his surroundings in order to hunt anything worthwhile. His small size had turned out to be a boon to him though, allowing him to hunt down in the tunnels winding beneath the whole of the territory. One didn't need much cover down there, as long as they were swift and willing to bolt out into the open moors when the scent of prey first hit their senses. The monochrome feline had gotten pretty good at that over the moons he had spent as a Windclanner, and that was often obvious from the spoils he emerged from the tunnels with when he got back to camp.

Unfortunately, the scent that hit him today was far from the desirable smell of prey crawling around up above him and the others. He'd been down in the tunnels not far from Bluepaw, doing his own check of the walls when the apprentice had moved upwards. Rattleheart had been about to follow, only to balk when an absolutely awful smell from above hit him - half of him just wanted to stay down, far away from the stench, and just let Bluepaw and Sootstar handle it. Unfortunately, his mind drifted back to the unfortunate piece of decaying prey that Cygnetstare had come across the other day, and he decided he couldn't risk not seeing if it was something along the same lines. If it was, then they likely had some kind of problem terrorizing their prey. An unpleasant prospect when they were already dealing with issues from other clans.

When he finally emerged from the tunnels, though, he was accosted not only by the awful smell being even stronger, but also the image of Ghostwail frantically rolling around in the grass. Rattleheart genuinely couldn't help the grin that cracked across his face, a few soft chuckles leaving him as he made his way over to Lizardbounce's side. It was easy enough to settle beside his brother, his tone gaining a teasing edge when he piped up, "I guess Ghostwail met her match... I just can't say I was expecting it to be a skunk." Truth be told, he wasn't quite sure what he had expected the phantom's match to be. Maybe a monster, or something else sufficiently hair-raising?
​

[ PENNED BY EO ]​