sensitive topics I BELIEVE THE WRITINGS ON THE WALL — kuiper's trial

[BLAZESTAR]

Blazestar is settled onto the Highbranch, his blue eyes icy and his jaw clenched. The SkyClan leader is surprisingly calm and collected; his tone, when he speaks, is curiously devoid of the fury he feels building in his chest like a storm. "All cats old enough to catch their own prey, gather beneath the Highbranch for a Clan meeting!"

He will give this rogue what he had not given Vermilionsun in his folly. He will give him a chance to explain himself to the entirety of SkyClan. To Blazestar, to his council, and to his Clanmates. Today, justice will be sought -- for SkyClan, but also for all five Clans in the forest.

Blazestar flicks his tail, a signal for those who have gathered curiously to quiet. He calls, "Bring forth the rogue. Flank him on all sides." He will wait for two warriors to drag Kuiper into the center of camp, directly below Blazestar. From his position, Kuiper will see the massive Ragdoll poised, his chin lowered and his fur lying flat.

He does not know how long he will manage to maintain his composure. He supposes it depends entirely on whether Kuiper is willing to admit to the things he was hinting at on the border. Blazestar intends to drag it out of him somehow.

"SkyClan, before you stands a rogue who has offered his services to our Clan today. He has claimed to have killed warriors from all Clans in the forest." He will pause, wait for any reactions from the crowd, before continuing. "Rogue, identify yourself to SkyClan. Who are you, and what have you done?"

@kuiper

​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

​

 

[kuiper]

[ CW : cruelty , descriptions of violence , death , probably disturbing ngl ]
// tl;dr at bottom

Encircled by a swarm of barbarians at the heart of their little hive, Kuiper nonetheless stands resilient. His leaden tail - true to form - thrashes into a forelimb belonging to one of his jailors, and he revels in how boorish the feral furs feel.

The swanky fellow from before holds his attention. He dwells in a branch above, creamy strands oscillating in the breeze, and he addresses those subordinate to him with absurd pseudo-morality. A rogue, he calls him. How asinine of these clan cats to have labels for individuals uninvolved in their game. Their faux concept of justice births a putrid smile, the apexes of his maw diseased by silent mockery. He should have slew more of their kind. That's the sole regret he holds.

He can feel the weight of ample eyes as their collective focus descends upon him. He shrugs it off, and if anything, he appears to take pleasure in the spotlight. This is a long-awaited moment, for he has ached to paint a clear picture of his doing ever since his initial quarry.

"SkyClan," echoes the tom, at a volume loud enough for all to discern. "My name is Kuiper," he says, "a name given to me by twolegs, though some here would call these ones 'cutters'." Vivid images of polished floors, and their sheen when the sun poked through the glass opening, are conjured at this remark. "As I was nursed back to health over many moons, I came to understand twolegs. What they did, and why they did the things they do." The aforementioned images are sequestered by a metallic grid, which he had no choice but to live behind for untold days and nights.

A long-drawn exhale fragments his words. "They are driven by a thirst for control," he drawls on, "a hunger for authority. They want to shape the world around them along with those who live in it, without regard for their free will or protest. I hate them for that, and I think them to be a blight on the world because of it." If only he were a lynx, or a leopard, and Kuiper would have held the capacity to pluck them from their mortal coils as well.

"Your clans are no different than them!" the tom then snarls. Tone shifting from informative to outwardly venomous, his words are marked by a bitter edge that cuts through the air. "Staining the soil with the blood of one another, justified by a false code and beliefs. You are the type which kills all day, but you do not accept it when your own die." Icy hues comb through the surrounding crowd. "How many battles have you fought in recent seasons?" he asks incredulously. "How many families torn apart? An appropriate amount, or were you hoping for more?"

Kuiper's words hang in the air, heavy with disdain for the cats in his proximity. He does not expect to sway them, though he takes gratification in knowing he has exposed them to his truth. If there is but a lone flicker of doubt in the crowd, he latches onto it.

"I am unlike you," hisses the so-called rogue. His eyes fix on the swanky tom yet again, a menacing gleam eminent in them. "I am not ashamed to admit that I act according to my own desires, harsh as they may be, nor do I regret anything that I have done. I only wish I had culled more of you ill-bred heathens."

Whilst he prepares to expand into detail, lucid memories of his victims come to mind. Their thrilling final moments. Their delicious pleas for aid. He would give anything to relive those experiences. "The rosette tabby in the swamp, oh how easily his stomach tore," Kuiper purrs. "I'd thought him to be a child at first, given how scrawny and weak he looked. He died as he lived: savagely."

"A chocolate molly of the moors laughed as she died," he continues. "Tooth and fang plunged into her neck, and I thrashed until she was no more. I'd killed her the same day as the swamp cat, if you can believe it." Claws dig into the firm soil as every detail is reimagined, reminisced upon. He can nigh on smell the fear that had permeated the air then.

A shallow chuckle precedes the ensuing words. "A silver molly in the river territory met a similar end," Kuiper admits, "only I'd gashed her neck first. I left a mess behind, if I'm being honest. Hope they didn't mind." The sarcasm is uncharacteristic of the numbed feline. Seeing how he now has nothing to lose and everything to gain, he continues to speak without any semblance of remorse or empathy.

"I'd left a child of the moors so ruined, that he'd left a tooth in my leg during a meagre attempt at defense." Said leg is extended outwards. There are no visible signs of injury, yet it is the limb which ails him so. "Had that not happened, I would not have turned myself in," he says. "But I fear it is infected, slowly killing me, gnawing away at my being: akin to your lot, and the effect you have on the world around you. It's somewhat poetic."

There's more. There's so much more. "I forced the head of a river apprentice under the waves, gave a lesson on the true dangers of water," he goes on. His voice has grown coarse by this point, yet he persists nevertheless. They deserve the truth no matter the toll it takes. "Her clanmates gave chase, and the pursuit took us to a twoleg's land. By some miracle, I'd escaped; I took it as a sign from fate, a sign confirming the righteousness of my cause."

He inhales deeply, feeling reinvigorated upon reaching his first kill. The smile renews, and he homes in on the swanky leader's pupils. "And yes, you fluffy halfwit, I have been here before. My first quarry was a runty little thing that you allowed out of your camp. I plucked him from the ground and made short work of him, and I used what still remained to terrorise a cat in ThunderClan. He's still there, only as a pile of bones made sodden by snowmelt."

// kuiper admits to killing five, and maiming one. pitchstar of shadowclan, branchfall of windclan, rainwhisker of riverclan, peachpaw of riverclan, and centipedepaw of skyclan. nettlepaw of windclan was maimed and left to perish. he shows no remorse.
// pronounced keye-purr! ​

 

[SILVERSMOKE]

Had he done all he claimed to do, Silversmoke saw no way of this cat walking out of SkyClan's camp. Disgust laced the maine coon's subtle sneer. Not trusting himself, he hadn't volunteered to guard the rogue, if there was one thing he could stand less than Slate, it was someone who was needlessly cruel to their opponents. Silver wasn't sure if he could even call the cats Kuiper had killed 'opponents' though. Ill-bred. He shifted in place, eyes twitching as he considered such words. 'He's still a kittypet.' Kuiper had claimed to leave that life behind, but his words were no different to Silver's mother's. The comparison left his stomach in knots, twisting and twisting until he forced himself to straighten his posture and listen to the beast's words once more. Somehow, hearing of the deaths of clan cats was easier than listening to another claim him to be a savage and a fraud. Briefly, he wanted to prove the stranger right - a sharp blow to the head for each time his own legitimacy had been called into question. Such a circumstance would've been enough to turn Kuiper's skull into a poultice, but even if he wanted to, he found himself frozen in place, bound to a duty that far exceeded his mortal desires.

It was no wonder why SIlversmoke couldn't call them opponents, they were children the rat had killed. Victims was a more appropriate term.

"And you turned yourself in for a quick death?" Not out of remorse, or to offer his services as he'd proclaimed a short while ago. Statuesque, he saw nothing from Kuiper but the truth, laid bare so effortlessly that for a second, his ears twitched back in alarm. The tabby's anger was unusually cold, his pupils thinner than mouse ears as he imagined himself giving Kuiper exactly what he wanted. A quick cut to the throat and a dozen grieving families could be liberated from the stain this putrid cat had forced upon their lives. Silversmoke was not a do-gooder there to declare Kuiper's wrongdoings back to him. If a crime had been committed, a crime would be paid for. Black claws touched the rocks below and he took note of how they felt pressed against the earth, wondering if it would be more difficult to sink them into the soil or into the rigid thing Kuiper called a heart. "You would kill if we were here or not. I will not argue philosophy with a dead cat but have some dignity on your last day, worm. Do not delude yourself into believing you are anything special, we all see through it."

He took a deep breath. Perhaps he was ill-bred. A disgraced kittypet, a rogue that had lost a battle that could've preserved his vision. Life had shown him that there was something wrong with him, a weakness that pressured him to fight and fight until his legs gave out. But, he found strength in protecting his clanmates... and now his friends, too. Briefly, he searched for Auburnflame in the crowd, hoping the calico could take such graphic details without feeling as sick as he did. After a while, his frosty glare settled back upon the pale tom. "Before, you said you wanted us to give you a name... a way of preserving your legacy, I take it. Let me tell you that you are not worthy of a name. You are nothing, your cause dies with you. You will be forgotten, I will make sure of that." He would claw the tongues of anyone who wanted to give this creature's name power; that, Silversmoke could promise with conviction.

​

 

[QUILLSTRIKE]

JUST MOVE WITH ME, DARLIN'​

---

Quillstrike made his way over with the rest of the clan, confused and annoyed at having his routine disrupted, but willing to entertain it because of the rumors about the cat being brought in. A murderer, set to stand trial before all of Skyclan. Quill didn't like it. Bringing a cat like that into the heart of their home, letting him get close enough to see their most vulnerable and precious clanmates- it made his claws flex in anticipation as he drew forth.

As the stranger - Kuiper, they called him- began to speak, it only farthered Quills conviction that that they shouldn't have been brought into camp to begin with. He was beyond[ a simple threat- he was a promise, a garauntee of things to horribly wrong, and the fur along his neck and shoulders spiked in agittation as he wondered why they hadn't killed him right there at the border.

"A clan-killer." the chimera rumbled darkly. "He's taken five lives, and whatever else Pitchstar had left. He shouldn't be in our camp- he should be dead in a ditch alongside the thunderpath."

He didn't sugar-coat the words, didn't hide the annoyed lash of his tail as mismatched eyes drilled holes into the skull of the outsider in their camp, but he didn't break rank, holding his place despite the desire he had to drag the arrogant tomcat out of their camp. He didn't want them so close to the nursery. Didn't want them so close to Twitch or Butterfly or even Thistleback.

If the idiot made one wrong move, Quill would take whatever punishment Blazestar had for him, he didn't care- he'd tear that fuckers throat out right here in front of everyone.
​

---

skyclan - male - 13 months - bisexual - homoromantic - single - a very tall, dark chimera tomcat with mismatched eyes and several scars. has bluejay feathers woven like spikes along his spine and neck.

 

[TWITCHBOLT]

At Quillstrike's side, as ever, Twitchbolt shook in the crowd, gaze fixed upon Blazestar. His jaw clenched ironlike. The pressure ached his molar fangs, but it was the only way he could conceive of steadying himself when faced with something like this. A killer- from every clan in the forest. The five Clans didn't have much in common, but... they had all surely suffered the sight of a horrific death, the sudden loss of a Clanmate. As the slate-pelted rogue began his spiel, wide eyes snapped and settled, eyelids twitching- but he could not, would not, let himself blink. A killer- if he took his eyes off him for a second, would he whip around in a flash of light? Barrel into them all, rip them to bits with canid ferocity?

His claws leapt from their sheathes.

A snarl found its place on Twitchbolt's face, a stormy scowl of fury that set the amber strike in his eyes aflame. This cat- he had killed from all five Clans, and was smiling about it. Smiling while those poisonous words spilled from him, about how he'd plucked lives from all of their ranks, and pride spilt from his word-bile.

I have been here before. The words struck the mahogany-and-white warrior like lightning, his hackles raising to rival a briar in sharpness. My first quarry was a runty little thing that you allowed out of your camp. Twitchbolt felt his blood turn cryogenic- felt every thump of his heart, felt his claws rip the grass. The roar of his quickening breath deafened him. The memory of day a Clanmate had gone missing, and there'd only been left behind a smattering of blood-specks, screamed in his mind. That day had persisted in his memory in many nightmares- he'd thought of dogs, thought of cruel Twolegs, thought of monsters... but even his worst terrors had never given such a concrete answer as to what had happened to that apprentice. A denmate.

"Centipedepaw..." Twitchbolt said, though he did not know how loud. His whole body trembled violently, and his breath scraped against his ears and throat. He kept his vision on the answer to those night-terrors, despite the swim of his mind and the seizures of his eyelids. Centipedepaw should have been a warrior too, sat in the crowd and facing this intruder upon their life. He should have been here today, ready to strike at a word, just as Twitchbolt was now. ​

penned by pin ✧​

 

[Johnnyflame]

LIVE AS IF YOU WERE TO DIE TOMORROW​

---

"Your outta your mind!" growled Johnny from his place in the crowd, amber eyes blown wide in horror and fury as he listened to the stranger rant and rave about how the clans were a poison- how they wrong for not being more like the monster weaving webs in their ears right now. Did they really think those strands would stick to anything, that their words would inspire some 'poor misguided soul' into seeing things from his point of view?

"You expect us to help you treat the wounds you got while killin our cats?" he voiced, his disgust and disbelief unfitered. He'd mentioned kids in that graphic confession of his, and when he thought of the paws of Skyclan -one of which was now dead- he couldn't imagine any of them doing anything to deserve such a fate.

Muscles twitched beneath a bristling coat, lips curling into a snarl beneath blazing amber eyes. Johnny had met a lot of assholes in his life, but he'd never come face to face with a monster. Rivals groups or not, bad blood or not, he couldn't bring himself the believe that all of those cats were evil, that they deserved what had happened to them. And what of their friends and families left behind?

All this time Johnny had been living comfortably with his twolegs, while beasts like this were out here terrorizing innocent cats. It left him sick with a feeling of self-loathing that writhed beneath his skin, but shoved it down, a battle to fight another time.

"He can't be allowed to leave." Alive.

Bright eyes flashed toward Blazestar, toward Thistleback, imploringly. Johnny was so new it was almost laughable for him to have any opinion on the matter whatsoever, but surely, surey they understood the danger here? The ramifications of what could happen if this cat was allowed to stay alive?
​

---

 

[Auburnflame]

"You come here—declarin' your so-called 'righteousness'. You've killed children, unable to live their lives fully because of your 'beliefs'! You're sick, demented, twisted. A shit stain upon this land. You deserve a fate worse than death, you deserve to suffer for all the sufferin' you've caused!" He can't stand to hear it, feels the rage bubble up and incinerate every ounce of feeling within his soul. He stands there among the throng of cats, pink lips stretched into a snarl. Ivory teeth gnash together with every venomous word he spit from his barbed tongue, mismatched ears flattened against his cranium. Auburnflame took a threatening step forth, letting his grief and anger slip past his self control. Taking the lives of someone from each clan, a leader—warriors—apprentices. All of them gone because of him. He declares they are no better than Two-Legs, but the same can be said for him; except he's willing to kill, to maim anyone who doesn't believe what he does. The man that stands before them all, spewing bigotry for all to hear. It made every hair upon his pelt stand, his feathered tail lashing. Shoulders tense and rippled under his wavy fur, coiled and ready to tear into the silver rogue at Blazestar's given order.
"You claim we are the heathens, but look at you. You are not only the same—but worse. You pick on those weaker than yourself, gut them where they stand and slink off like the rat you are. I'd like to see you take any warrior here on, head-to-head and see who comes out breathin'." His voice peaks in the stagnant air, declaring his conviction with all of his heart. He wanted to flay this rogue alive, to cleanse the land of him once and for all. A smaller voice speaks near by him, the singular name of an apprentice lost to them moons ago. Centipedepaw. His first murder. Grief gnaws at his heart, fueling the anger that burned red hot within him. Another apprentice lingers in their mind, an apprentice that had disappeared as if she had vanished into the void. "Howlpaw.." The calico murmurs, his pupils constricting to slits, predatory like a viper. Was it him? Did he take Howlpaw from them, too? Cast her body somewhere they hadn't searched yet? If he had—Blazestar would strike him down here and now.
Silversmoke's voice breaches his ears, declaring that Kuiper was nothing and he deserved no name—no legacy. He was nothing. His gaze flicks towards the Maine coon and settled upon his stone-etched features and fear strikes his heart like an ice shard. What if something had happened to him? His friend? Ivory claws anchor into the soil, keeping him stationary. He didn't want to think of such a thing. It was enough that Howlpaw was missing—lost, unable to find her way back.

If she was alive, that is.
​

[ SETTING FIRE TO THE SKY ]​

 

[Orangestar]

Orangeblossom takes her usual meeting place at the base of Highbranch's trunk, plumy tail curling around white paws. She snorts derisively as this stranger, this Kuiper, likens the Clans to twolegs in their thirst for control and their murderous tendencies, blames no cat but themselves for his actions. He doesn't know SkyClan at all, does he? A very small number among them have killed, but as far as the deputy knows it has only ever been in self defence. SkyClan does not warmonger, does not strive for control over other resources like ... well, every other Clan. The recent Gatherings play out in her mind - accusations flying everywhere but to the pine-dwellers of SkyClan.

"Ha!" She trills incredulously, cutting in briefly as he proclaims that he was different to them.

The Clans had purpose. The only thing that he'd missed in his increasingly animated rant was the guidance of StarClan, guides from beyond the grave, and that tells her all she needs to know: he knows nothing about the Clans at all. It takes a moment, but her mind flicks to the prophecy Fireflypaw had been given by Haku; do not waver when boughs are plucked from the pine. Was this what he meant? But Howlpaw had gone missing, and if this rogue was to be believed (he isn't, hisses the part of her mind not boiling over with anger) he was the reason Centipedepaw had gone missing too. Oh, kiddo ... at least they had an answer now. Twitchbolt echoes her thoughts out loud, drawing the same conclusion, and she offers him a weary nod. He might not see it, but other SkyClanners would.

Orangeblossom condemns their unwelcome visitor with another disdainful sniff as he laments about his infected leg, a kitten's last desperate defense against demise against a coward - against a fully grown adult. Even if it had been a WindClanner, possibly even an apprentice at that stage, Orangeblossom takes careful note of the fact that this ... monster had killed a kit all the same. You deserve a slow and painful death for the lives you've ruined.

"He won't." She assures Johnny, meeting his gaze with a small nod. The only exception she can think of is dragging him to the Gathering to face judgement there - but a small and selfish part of the deputy hopes they just kill him here. He might want a quick death to put him out of his misery, but it would ensure the forest was free from a mad cat like this.

(But also, putting him where Sootstar would have been last moon and letting StarClan take a second shot at a senseless murderer might be funny.)

(Orangeblossom chooses not to voice that thought aloud.)

She allows Silversmoke to take the lead on questioning, on condemnation, and nods along quietly. This Kuiper, already labelled and freely admitting to his crimes, did not deserve a Clan name. It would be a disgrace to the stars if he did - and StarClan wouldn't take him in regardless. Not when Centipedepaw - surely, hopefully - and Kuiper's other victims hunted with them.

She has nothing to offer immediately, her Clanmates adding their jeers and snarls to the chorus that greets Kuiper's words. So instead of rage, in a rare show of self control she goes for nonchalance. Maybe that would stir him more. Maybe he was waiting to announce his latest victim, a SkyClanner too - but they hadn't caught any other cat-scent where Howlpaw had vanished.

"Are you done bragging yet?" She meows, stifling a yawn.

— info

•  
• 
  orangeblossom. tags.
  — she/her, skyclan deputy.
  — mentor to eveningpaw.
  — attack in #e08550. uses trees as an integral part of her fighting style.
  — mean enough to note that her thoughts don't reflect my opinions as a writer haha.
  — penned by mercibun; @ me in any official tabbytales discord for plots. :]
  — art by merc!<3
  

​

 

[SQUALLMIST]

Squallmist keeps the killer within his line of sight as he stands guard, silver tabbied fur bristling as he waits for answers from the rogue. One wrong move from the grey feline, and Squallmist would strike - he'll rip the threat out of his home by himself, if he has to.

Because the cat - a kittypet, more worthy of the label than Squallmist and most of SkyClan - is a risk to his clan, a risk to all of them. No longer does Squallmist feel any means of welcoming the rogue, gone by his own admission and Blazestar's orders. Not that he deserves it, not that he'll make it past this trial, if it's up to Squallmist.

This cat - this... Kuiper - is a murderer. This cat has the strength to kill leaders, to rid them of their multiple lives.

And he stands here, in the midst of SkyClan's camp, as hardly a prisoner - not trapped away in Vermilionsun's former den, but standing, surrounded by targets, faces who might not hold have the strength this one claims to have.

But Squallmist stands guard, listening to the delusion in his testimony, to his recountings and his kill count. Gruesome, vile descriptions, interrupted by tales of his own injuries, his fears of infection. Squallmist can't believe this, the audacity that this cat brings - to kill from the marshes, the moors, the river, and then ask the pines to heal him.

He keeps going, and Squallmist fears his recountings will never end. Another RiverClanner, and then --

And then, Squallmist's blood runs cold, and the world feels like it's spinning.

He's killed a SkyClanner. An apprentice. Left him rotting across the border. The pool of blood left on the scene - the place Kuiper had only just made his presence known. Again. He'd made his presence known again.

He doesn't want to hear it, doesn't want what he knows now to be true. But it's Twitchbolt that says it. It's Twitchbolt that utters the name - a child of the pines who would have been a warrior by now, who would still be alive, if it weren't for the threat at Squallmist's side.

Centipedepaw.

A pile of bones, Kuiper describes the kid as. A body they'd failed to find, a burial not given. Squallmist feels sick.

"You," he growls, head whipping around to look the murderer straight on. "You --" He wants to kill him, wants him to suffer as much as his apprentice did, wants him to be nothing but a leftover pool of scarlet.

"My apprentice is dead because of you," he snarls, claws unsheathed, a step taken forward. "You do not deserve to be healed in the space where he should still be walking! You deserve to rot." To fester, to suffer, to die.

It's Auburnflame that speaks another name. Howlpaw. Missing, still - a horrible coincidence that Kuiper stands before them in her disappearance. Squallmist can only prey to the stars that she hasn't fallen victim to him too.
​

 

[eveningsun]

called fourth for a meeting, eve was quick on her paws to join the rest of her clanmates. whispers of a rogue seeking a home in the pines did not miss her ears, and her curiosity was pricked as blazestar called him forward. she blinked, the air was thick with seriousness as kuiper was brought forward, flanked on both sides.

the apprentice craned her neck to try and get a look, but as he spoke she stilled. confessing to murder after murder, all unprompted and all in cold blood. fur along her spine began to stand at his nonchalant tone. five lives were victim to his claws, yet there was not a hint of regret. she couldn't even imagine how anyone could do such a thing. slaughtering all those cats without a care, what about their families? their friends? the fact that he had even brought death upon skyclan, it wasn't targeted, it could have been anyone. could have been her.

blue gaze drawn wide, she looks around at her clanmates, glancing to where orangeblossom sat for any guidance on how to react. the deputy was so calm, seemingly unphased despite the atrocities presented. was she not scared? not even a little bit? looking away from her mentor, she searched for thistleback next. someone had to be feeling the unease she had building up in her stomach. her breath quickened as she did not find her father, but her attention was drawn to an outburst. squallmist's growls ripped through the clearing, her head snapped towards the warrior in a swift motion. the pain in his voice made her ears droop. something had to be done, this murderer sat smugly in the heart of their home. eveningpaw looked up to blazestar, hoping he would get rid of kuiper, and quickly too. the tortie couldn't listen to anymore of his crimes, she just wanted it to be over. ​

[ FALLEN STAR ]​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

He knows not of this stranger. The dreary face pokes their head and pulls forward to reveal a sin-slicked form. Idle curiosity draws Dawnglare further, and the clenched jaw of his friend makes him stay. The tom is not entirely there, no. His mind buzzes with whim and hymnal, strung along by the promise of something further in wait, still. This was but an interruption– interjection, nothing more. He smiles, narrowed eyes at the claim so boldly made. One he has heard before, from many a stranger– the fools looking to creep within their ranks. Not fools for their wanting to join, but fools in the sense that they hovered around those of their kinship.

So he hates them– he hates. And Dawnglare may not entirely blame him. But it is a waste of energy, and– why, he wonders, did he desire to join them if he believed such. (Did he, at all? Was there something more he sought to take? His gaze flickers to his den. Too, too far for the mangy thing to bolt for without killing him for it. And naturally, that would not be so.) Death could be a necessary weapon, but to do it so haphazardly– to spend energy on puny things who would have gouged themselves on a stone's edge without any such effort. Well, it is what a fool would do. He is nothing but a fool. The words are more grating than anything. Dawnglare's ears raise and flatten, again. His teeth grit with the sullying of the gospel.

"Must-'ve!" he breathes alongside the silver warrior, swaying on his feet. The mismatched apprentice speaks, and with him, he meows, "Must be–!"

And– he hadn't been all here. What madman would listen to such a rant wholeheartedly, doing anything but picking their nails and daydreaming of clawing ears to they're bloody? Death and dying, did he speak of such? That of his own– he means. Killing him slowly. Dully, it registers. Blue pools turn to crescents with the close-lipped smile. Him? Was it him he wanted? A velvety tail thumps the ground behind him, and he's no less than– no less than–

A hiccup pounds the bars of his ribcage, and it slips into a stuttered laugh. "Let me, let me–!" He raises an unsheathed paw, shuts an eye and allows moon-curved knives to curl in front of his face. Like this, it nearly looked as if his claws danced across the stone back of the filthy prisoner– like it'd be so easy to rip in and pull entrails out with him. "I'd do it myself. I would..."​

 

[FIGFEATHER]

Figpaw cannot believe it.
She’s witnessed monsters before, not just twoleg monsters, but feline monsters. They flooded the gatherings, one sat atop of the Great Rock, WindClan was flooded with them. But the Tom they’ve imprisoned was a whole new breed of monster she’s never encountered before. A clanless cat who truly killed just to killed, cats who were commonly apprentices at that!

It sickens Figpaw, her stomach churns.

Figpaw wishes to have the strength to sit through Kuiper’s speech and ramblings, but everything he says tastes vile. She cannot help but picture the cats he’s killed, his descriptions of how he killed them.

It was too much, she’ll make herself useful elsewhere and leave the punishing to those who have the strength, anger and stomach for it.​

---

Spoiler: TAGS ★ 03/27

( primary character / "speech" / ic opinions )​

╰ ★ ჻ 001 GENERAL INFORMATION ,
· FIGPAW, AMAB — she / her
╰ ‣ 11 moons .
╰ ‣ skyclan apprentice . believes in starclan

╰ ★ ჻ 002 VISUALS & AESTHETICS ,
· DOMESTIC FELINE, smells like pine nettles & sap, status — 100%
╰ ‣ A red tabby she-cat with orange eyes. Mangled right hind leg.

╰ ★ ჻ 003 MENTALITY & MANNERISMS ,
· ENFP-A ❝ CAMPAIGNER❞ , Gryfindor, Lawful Good
╰ ‣ Excitable, generous, caring, quick-to-act, distrusting, resentful
╰ ‣ finds relative ease relating to others . kind-hearted, will show mercy
╰ ‣ cats of windclan blood or those she deems morally inferior will be met with her ire

╰ ★ ჻ 004 INTERACTIONS & RELATIONSHIPS ,
· NPC X DAISYFLIGHT, sister to Greenpaw, Violetpaw, Snowpaw & Butterflypaw
╰ ‣ Pansexual . mistakes admiration for romantic feelings
╰ ‣ Crushing on Fanta
╰ ‣ Apprentice to Tallulahwing
╰ ‣ good fighter . excellent hunter .
╰ ‣ unlikely to start fights . will flee .
╰ ‣ attack in underline . penned by user @ava.

 

[BLAZESTAR]

Kuiper. He looks upon Blazestar with visible disdain, then sweeps corpse-pale eyes around to scorn his Clan. When he speaks as commanded, he does it with a loud, clear voice, unashamed and unafraid. Blazestar's gaze is cold still, and he listens with all of the patience he can muster.

The rogue states he understands Twolegs, but Blazestar's experience is nothing like Kuiper's. His housefolk had been his kin, the only family he'd had until he'd blundered into the forest chasing after Little Wolf. They'd not conquered him -- in their strange way, they'd loved him, cared for him when he was ill, just as the Clan does for their weakened members.

The comparison Kuiper makes does not surprise him. Blazestar's long, thick tail, draped over the side of the Highledge like a rose-gold scarf, begins to twitch aggressively. The monologuing goes on for what seems like eons, before Kuiper finally, cruelly, cuts to his crimes. A rosette tabby in ShadowClan, and Blazestar knows without a doubt now that he's speaking of Pitchstar. Two RiverClanners, one an apprentice held beneath the water. A child mauled in WindClan, left alive but maimed beyond comprehension.

"And yes, you fluffy halfwit, I have been here before." Blazestar's blood chills. He struggles to stay still as Kuiper tells him that he had killed Centipedepaw and dragged his body away so that his Clan could not mourn him. "I plucked him from the ground and made short work of him, and I used what still remained to terrorize a cat in ThunderClan. He's still there, only as a pile of bones made sodden by snowmelt."

Blazestar's lips peel back from his fangs. "So you freely admit to murdering a SkyClan apprentice." He is prepared to have this over and done with, to order his lead warriors to take this prisoner into the forest and ensure justice is achieved, but he's halted by a horrifying word, a name uttered by Auburnflame in the crowd.

"Howlpaw." Blazestar begins to feel lightheaded as he stares at Kuiper. He had been here before. He hadn't admitted to further murders. And yet -- hadn't they been unable to find Centipedepaw's body too?

"My daughter went missing a few days before you came here," he says, struggling to hide the fear that's beginning to rise inside him. "A small brown tortoiseshell." He swallows. "Have you done something to her?"​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

​

 

[SLATESNARL]

❪ TAGS ❫ — Rogue.

The very term is spoken with rancor from the leader's maw, an icy stare boring into the ashen criminal's form. The entire clan emerges in order to attend the judgment of the stranger, warriors looking on with condemnatory glares and youths skittering along the edges of the crowd in order to catch a glimpse of the menacing figure.

It wasn't in Slate's plans to open his maw at all during this trial, especially considering that he himself was considered a rogue by clan terms. His whole life, the Maine Coon had only considered himself a street cat, a survivor only trying to secure food and shelter while battling off dangers and other contenders for limited resources. His charcoal paws had once been stained with the blood of another cat, perhaps considered a sin by those who were morally righteous and merciful. To him, death was a necessity, but only in situations where his own life was in immediate danger.

That is where the warrior finds issue with Kuiper's reasoning.

It isn't long before the grayish rogue dives into his past, still seeming to retain his dramatic flair and lengthy diction even with a horde of razor-sharp teeth and deadly claws resisting the urge to pounce him at any given moment. Slate, however, remains impassive as his fluff-tipped ears capture the story that Kuiper narrates. Twolegs were selfish, despicable beings — this was true. Kuiper and Slate may have not had exact natures of upbringing, but it was made clear to them from very young ages how twolegs ran the world and how they sought to dominate and control. All creatures, including cats, had to bend to their will or be punished. An ear-shattering scolding, a spritz with water... even so much as a punitory smack, according to what Slate has heard.

However, when he compares twolegs to clan cats, that is where Slate is lost. Not all clans were the same, and WindClan was living and breathing evidence of this fact. Their own selfishness and greed got their own killed; SkyClan only fought and killed to defend themselves. Not once had Blazestar ordered his warriors to rip parents from their children and make their opponents suffer for the decisions of their leader, although according to Kuiper's skewed worldview, that is exactly what clans do.

Slate hadn't meant to open his big mouth, but before he knows it, he is eager to tear into Kuiper like everybody else was. "You're right on one thing — you are unlike us. Whatever your star-given cause was, whatever message you are trying to push, you lost all credibility the second you decided to go around taking the lives of those who don't deserve it." The Maine Coon snorts.

It was strange. There was a point in time when Slate could never fathom truly being part of the collective, always feeling like an outsider, never quite fitting the mold of a real clan cat. As Slate draws his verbal wrath upon the rogue now, however, this is a rare instance in which he feels like he's left his old life behind, "I was a rogue who lived on the streets. I stole, I fought," He cannot help the quick glance in a certain lead warrior's direction. "I killed another cat, but only out of defense of my own life. It was an easy thing to do, but not an easy thing to accept. Death is a necessity, a means for protection, not some twisted sport." As hostile and warmongering as the former outsider could be, Slate was not someone who slaughtered fellow felines like it was a simple walk amongst the pines.

His amber hues narrow as he steps forward, a fiery passion spilling forth into his speech, "I can tell you right now, a cat does not deserve to die because they live in a clan. Cats fight to survive and protect their own, whether they're part of a clan or not. So why does an apprentice—a kid—deserve to be drowned under your paws for living the only life that they know? What kind of sick fuck thinks that way?" Slate snarled, giving a lash of his longhaired tail.

Why continue to waste his breath on a cat who essentially sealed his own fate? There is no way that he is leaving this camp alive, not when he's admitted to not only killing a leader but a SkyClanner as well. "But there are cats who deserve a long and painful death for the wrongs they've committed against their own kind. Cats like you." Dagger-like irises stare straight toward the dead cat walking before uttering coldly, "And the way I see it, it won't be long before you'll be in the ground with them."

As soon as it was Blazestar's turn to question the murderer, Slate waits with bated breath for him to answer the leader's inquiry. If Kuiper were to admit to Howlpaw's death, then everything would be over in a matter of seconds.​

 

[Fireflyglow]

Talk of murder is thrown side to side, Dawnglare preaches his willingness to be the one to put the tom down. Fireflypaw watches silently from the ground, eyes half-lidded and lips curved up into a half-grin, half-smile. Control ones temper, a challenge in it's own right. He doesn't want to hear the answer to his father's question, doesn't want to listen as Kuiper brags about murdering his sister. It's a possibility, one that he won't let be true. His claws slide from their sheathes, and he wonders idly if this was what it was like to feel bloodlust. His body warm, fur ruffled and puffed up like a chicken. He can subtly feel a low rumble in his throat, recognizes it as a snarl. He didn't snarl often.

"Feed him to the dogs," He whispers to nobody in particular, wonders if it would be a mess afterwards. If they led dogs to the body, then back and away from the camps- would they rescue ThunderClan and RiverClan both, then? Would the fighting stop? No, it would never stop- violence would never sway nor disappear in this world. He would merely have to survive in this world as everyone else had, immortality to the side. "There's no way he killed her." He hisses low, ears swiveling to the back of his head. You'll pay for what you did to the others.​

 

[cloverjaw -]

TAGS — Cloverjaw... hates this. He hates this grand display that Kuiper is putting on, he hates the things that spill from the wretched silver maw. He hates that Kuiper is a kittypet, not because he hates kittypets, but because he can't hate kittypets- and what Kuiper is doing now is giving them all a bad name. Giving him a bad name. He's never been shy about his kittypet heritage, and he knows that the other housecats (former or otherwise) of SkyClan can understand his journey from the twoleg nest to the feather-woven one he uses now. And none of them had ended up like... like this. The silver tom sits astride his brother, ears twitching, chest churning anxious anger. Kuiper's deluge doesn't stop, though. He talks about twolegs and their habits; their desires. Umbrage arcs through his spine like lightning. Maybe his twolegs had been wicked, but Cloverjaw's experience was different. Even if... even if they'd left him behind, the bloodshed and fruitless grasp for control didn't line up with his own experience. Sure, he'd never go back now, but it's not for a lack of fondness for his old family.

Thankfully at least part of that kin has found him again. "This is awful," Cloverjaw murmurs to Slate, lip quirked with distaste. He doesn't always wear his emotion so obviously, but he supposes the recounting of abhorrent and senseless murder is as good a time as ever to be outwardly disgusted. To compare twolegs to clan cats... no, that is just not right. And even if it were, surely StarClan would never bless this foxheart with a mission for bloodshed? With killing apprentices? There's no cause in all of that senselessness. There's no remorse in Kuiper's dramatic flair. There's nothing here: nothing human, nothing honorable, nothing even remotely able to connect. Cloverjaw hates it.

But he doesn't speak up. Instead he sits silent as Slate parts his own jaws- and his amber eyes widen just slightly as Slate admits his own bloodstained history. A jolt of shock vines up his limbs. He'd known his brother had lived life as a rogue, of course. They'd talked about it before, in the process of catching up on so many moons lost from each other; but he'd never mentioned this. Cloverjaw tries not to be shocked for long. Slate's right, after all- death is a part of life (though Clover might be paraphrasing a little there). He thinks he is allowed to be a bit surprised to hear that his brother had killed a cat in the past, but he doesn't want to turn it into judgement. Cloverjaw takes a deep breath and points his amber gaze back up to Kuiper, trying to read the rogue's expression from where he sat beneath the tree. At least he can take comfort, he supposes, in the idea that the tom won't escape unpunished.​

​

 

[sheepcurl]

A trial, the news said, a trial, and then Blazestar perched ontop of the branch that he sits on during meetings. Sheeps drawn forth with morbid curiosity, not having been with the others when the rogue had been found, yellow eyes wide as she stares. And oh, its a mistake to come here, because as soon as Blazestar demands the rogue to brief Skyclan who he is, all light from her eyes disappear.

Rosette tabby of the swamp, chocolate molly of the moors, Sheep thinks she's gonna be sick but he keeps going on. A silver molly of the river, a child of the moors. As much as Windclan was her enemy, was Skyclans, she cannot help as claws dig in to the earth and lips pull back in to a snarl. A child, the audacity, everything about him was a mistake, a cruel cat that had been born a mistake. And he continues with the child murder, an apprentice of Riverclan. Her rage only rises, a pressure between her shoulder blades.

Out of your camp... He's still there, only as a pile of bones made sodden by snowmelt. Her heart stops and catches in her throat. Twitchbolt says the exact name shes thinking of- "You absolute fuck-up!" bastard- scum of the earth! Sheep could leap forwards. She could kill, for once in her life, and hold no remorse for it. Centipedepaw's death would be avenged, poor baby.

She had helped the clan try to look for him. She had been there looking for him, she had helped find the bloody scene, she had interacted with the kid. Once upon a time, so full of life, he had been confused by the way she had spoken. What's that mean? he had asked her, so small, so little. How long was it from that interaction that he had been brutally murdered by the creature in front of her?

And shes so angry that tears build in her eyes, shes shaking as the camp erupts in to snarls and Stars is her throat dry, scratchy, everything hurts. "Blaze-" don't ask that, don't, don't- her head jerks from side to side as a hiss leaves her mouth, curled ears pinning back along her head. "Perish, and I hope the fires scorch you worse than you ever inflicted on those children." execution, he deserves one. To be held down and ripped apart, to suffer a long, drawn out death.

With how self-centered this idiot was, he'd probably go out smiling. Sheep would rip it off, for Centipedepaw, for the others. She only waits for him to speak next, for Blaze to give a signal, anything.​

"speech"​

 

[kuiper]

They hoot and they holler, and when tangible words are sporadically thrown into the mix, they're spoken in the only dialect these hooligans hold knowledge of: hysterical drivel. It should not, and does not, come with astonishment that his sermon has provoked the clan cats' ire. He's ultimately playing the same heinous game as them, inflicting harm and taking colonist lives, only not as a colonist himself—a reality which makes their savage hackles rise. Suppose that Kuiper had joined one of their creeds before embarking on his just crusade. Despite the sheer brutishness of his actions, Kuiper knows full well they would have been considered justified under the moral standards upheld by the clans.

When all is said and done, SkyClan's collective condemnation of his actions rings hollow. The barbarians are correct in one regard, though: he isn't getting out of here alive, irrespective of whether he desires to or not.

Another fact is clear. Not a single one of them has attended a trial before, to the point where it's becoming increasingly ridiculous. First and foremost, he cannot begin to fathom why they believe a self-confessed child-killer would value their rebuttals, particularly when calls for his own execution follow in their wake. It's somewhat too late for him to change his perspective, if that's what they were aiming for. Secondly, their errant shouting serves as a clear indicator where their priorities lie. They wish to assert their righteousness, and in doing so they take a greater offense to the nature of his monologue than the very fact he's killed one of their own. It's quite telling.

Tufted ears twitch when the disruptions inevitably cease. "Look at you all," he says, curtly, clearly. "Claws unsheathed, lusting for my blood; where's the hospitality? I come bearing truth and closure for your savage kind, yet you repay me with such disdain." Of course, Kuiper hadn't come equipped with any other expectation. The walls of his own life are closing in, whether due to his infected limb or the imminent threat of their claws. All he came with was a final desire to witness their response to his dreadful revelations, and for the most part, they hardly cared.

His focus fastens to the response given by SkyClan's swanky leader. Howlpaw. Uncouth naming conventions aside, the leaden tom holds no familiarity over an individual of the description given. Then again, as he's culled so many of them, he was bound to forget one or two. "A pitiful brown tortoiseshell, you say?," he sneers, relishing in the power he wields. "Perhaps you'll find her in twolegplace, although I must warn you, she was already half-dead when I left her on the road. I imagine the crows are still picking whatever's left from her bones." ​

 

[ThistleBack]

There was only one emotion Thistleback could feel as Kuiper boasts about his cullings, a dangerous quiet rage. Black ice climbs his legs, finds his heart. His face is unmoving, his claws sheathed but his eyes are fixed. He peels from the brambles to stand next to his daughter Eve who looked terrified as she looked up to Blazestar as he pulls the truth from the miscreant, casting a shadow as he stands protectively in front of her. He turns only to touch his nose to her cheek, a silent promise that as long as dad was around- she was safe.

Blazestar continues his interrogation, but the mention of Howlpaw makes him waver- fills even the stars with tense silence. His hackles rattle, his jaws flex. Kuiper paints a disgusting picture, and pain radiates through the lead’s heart, for the girl he practically watched grow up with his own children. Enough He cannot listen anymore, the leader of the skies would surely crumble this time- the unfathomable. Eve’s gentle ears listen to knives. NO MORE

He can hear his clanmates, their fury rings but his vision is tunneled, and he was listening to his own breathing with a ringing coming somewhere from the air. To commit execution, it would be to have blood on your claws for the rest of your life. No matter who it was. That burden didn’t need to be on those who think they wished it. That and, Kuiper was going to try and take someone down with him, it’s obvious what he is doing. Someone blinded by rage, he’s coaxing with his words. Unfortunately for him, Thistleback, was not blind within his rage.

when the reaper’s eyes snap away from his beloved child and to Kuiper, he twists his forearm with knuckles shifting against the ground, crackling tendon as his mind is cleared- child killer. Child killer. Child killer, the vision of Centipedepaw lights garishly behind his stare, then Howlpaw- he looked at his own daughter one last time, this monster will not live in the same world as her, anymore, it’s not a quick decision, and one made in ringing silence. Then his backlegs buckle with purpose and push him forward with a gallop- paws slapping like thunder over the ground yet he wears no snarl, his mind is set and absolute, the brutal theatrics will come with this dance.

He doesn’t deserve to die quickly, for the macabre image of the young boy comes back. ‘He has no regrets he says, so I shall inflict them’ Suddenly a guttural roar tears from his scarred throat. He smashes into the grey rogue, claws snagging an open mouth still boasting and preaching- another set pierces a shoulder. With the momentum he barrels the large cat over and violently twists him until he’s pinned on his back. Kuiper’s paw swings for Thistleback’s neck naturally, only to be caught by the Skyclanner’s teeth. He can feel the nails on his tongue, piercing it even but he crunches his fangs together hard and feels a toe crack at the bone.

Paws plant on a forelimb on each side of Kuiper’s pinned torso, nails dig and curl into skin like hooks. While Thistleback wasn’t tall, he made up for it with the weight nearing that of a foxhound. The worst part wasn’t his claws, for they weren’t razors but their blunt intrusion was not so easily stopped by skin. It was the jagged rows of grime ridden teeth that Kuiper finally frees his paw from with a sickening tug and rip.

A forceful cage of jaw bears down on the rogue in savage quick impulsive snaps on fistfuls of body. Incisors that regularly chew bone for sport during the peaceful days of camp, show their efficiency with each crushing bite to various parts of Kuiper. Collar bone first, he twists his skull like a maddened bear. Growls and spits like a rabid wolf as he bites down on old wounds, any flesh he could. He’d kill this bastard as slowly as he deserves. Even if kuiper’s claws slash frantically, snagging him in areas that sting and one claw digs deep down his underarm but it only serves to make the lead warrior’s bites reinforced with pressure.

Thistleback’s backleg slams down on the wounded man’s infected leg, the other plants on a heavily pulsing belly as his victim breathes quickly. Blunt claws that hoist him into canopies, dig into soft tissues.

Thistleback pauses, no longer was there much flesh he hadn’t bitten into. The agony shows as the claws desperately pushing him away grow more like a squirming beetle on its back. Iron clogged his senses, blood, sinew- a mess he had made with such a mauling. Leaving wounds that would probably take all of the medicine cats of the forest and Starclan’s good will to heal. That’s assuming your body doesn’t just give in to the excruciating pain he had inflicted. Countless tendons severed, cracked bone, reopened festered wounds. The white fur of the piebald’s face and neck was a dark shade of red. The purple of his collar barely sticks out as he steps away licking his teeth and spitting out blood with a growl.

" how does it feel? " he whispers in a large tufted ear, " to feel helpless and weak " he feels his jaw rotate from the efforts he had made out of just seconds of mauling a specimen of his own species. With a deep drag of claws , he severs the man’s jugular with a purposefully slow swipe. Signing the seal of death.

" Gutless scavenger parasite " Thistleback’s blood-soaked slobbery jaws yowling into the dying murderer’s ear. " over the ideals of a pathetic coward. Using your blind grasp and opinion of our culture and twolegs as justification for taking children from their mothers and fathers. Desires, you say. Sick freak " A hoarse growl busts from his lungs. His hackles are sticky but they swell with his every breath around his shoulders. " take your holier-than-thou preaching to your shallow grave. You arrogant shit. " he spits.

He takes a moment to crouch towards Kuiper’s face. Grey eyes piercing blue, he wanted to watch the life leave his eyes as Skyclan looms over him with vengeful shadow.

​

OOC INFO REF

• — TL;DR
  that scene with the bear from the revenant starring Kuiper >.>
  Permission given by Willie!
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  Thirty-three moons EVENT TRACKER | IMPORTANT INFO
  — Lead warrior of Skyclan since 12.22.22
  — Devoted to Deersong 9.29.22 | polyamorous
  — Father of Coyotepaw, Pricklepaw, and Eveningpaw.
  — mentoring Snowpaw graduate(s) 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
  
• 
  
  

​

 

[SILVERSMOKE]

He lurched back in surprise when the first strike came. There had been those amidst the clan that had called for a slower death than perhaps even Kuiper's infection would've provided, but there had always been a stark difference between anguished cries and horrid actions. Another hit came, and another, and another, and the Lead Warrior's stomach dropped as he realised what would happen to the serial killer. He deserved it, there was no doubt in the tabby's mind - what did it mean for the cat who was capable of doing such a thing though? Another hit. Wide eyes focus on Thistleback and linger longer than they should've. The piebald tom was a stranger at that moment, nothing more than a rabid dog set on tearing what was in front of it until naught but bone remained. He closed his parted maw in understanding; underneath the other's ivory mask was the same blood-hungry rogues he'd been forced to contend with for moons. Thistleback hadn't changed, no matter what his smile and chained-dog act had led the clan to believe Silver blended into the frozen crowd like fog, reappearing by Auburnflame. There, he stood, two paws in front of his friend in case the mad beast turned its sights on him.

Death was not a twisted sport, would Slate agree now? Mismatched eyes burned with an intensity only seen in combat, anticipation leaving his long limbs rocking each time he felt his balance waver. He watched as Kuiper became more carrion than cat, he watched and found himself not wanting to look away. Blood and sinew had never made the maine coon squeamish, intent was the only thing that made him feel sick. What was Thistleback's? To avenge children, or to do what life as Blazestar's guard had never permitted him to do? He hated that he couldn't decide, he hated that he no longer saw a mentor at that moment, only a boar with a face contorted just enough to remind him of what once was. But, how could Silversmoke be so righteous when he did not leap in to offer Kuiper mercy? It was a question that began to emerge the longer this torture went on, as limbs grew weaker and bodies stiller. 'Protecting my clan is far more important than killing this rat.' He told himself, though it was an answer he was not entirely happy with.

Thistleback spoke and the tabby's perception warped further, confusing him enough for his limbs to slacken briefly against the tide of defensiveness. The Lead Warrior was corrosive, no one else seemed to want to stop him for fear of being caught in his poison too (fear, or because they agreed that this bloody display was alright). Narrow pupils flickered towards others in the crowd, his tail lashing as he noticed apprentices for the first time. It was that which solidified his opinion: rogues would never change. All those times he had wrestled with his own aggression for the sake of his clan, all those times he had permitted his den to be shared with evil, what did it matter if someone he called a friend could return to his roots and find enjoyment in death once more? Unsheathed claws tugged at the earth below, his legs once more growing as stiff as sticks. "Unless Blazestar has mastered mind-speak, I don't recall you ever getting permission to kill him... especially not like that" He asked the other lead warrior. Blazestar hadn't said anything, as far as his burning ears could recollect. If no one else dared provoke this infection, then Silver would be the first.

Once the words start, it is hard for them to stop. "Your vengeance wasn't more important than anyone elses and yet here you are, covered in blood as if you missed the feel of it on your fur. Cur."
​