duskclan IN MY EYES, INDISPOSED — o, stranger(?)

[SNAKEHISS]

It hasn't been long, surely, since he's departed the moors. However, this past moon has been nothing but exhausting. Snakehiss has never had to feed himself, shelter only himself, defend only himself. Luckily his blessed moor cat legs had carried him swiftly away from the gaping jowls of horseplace dogs and the occasional aggressive rogue. There really wasn't much out here otherwise; it was a wasteland... at least in his eyes. This was not his home, not where he was truly meant to be.

StarClan will not lead me astray... I am their loyal warrior. They will guide me to wherever I need to be. Snakehiss promises himself, holding tightly onto his faith so as not to let it slip out from under him. He's convinced that he'd been right about the sun, about the fire, about the hounds. Sunstar was going to run WindClan into the ground soon enough and they would all bear witness to StarClan's will. But, for now... Snakehiss simply wanders.

He looks rather wiry nowadays; a lack of bountiful prey had left the former WindClanner rather slim. Snakehiss' stomach pangs slightly, as whatever meals he'd been managing were not enough to satisfy his hunger. The black cat had to expand his horizons and hunt in further lands if he were to survive, thus he had led himself toward an unfamiliar swath of scrubland. There is a fresh scent lingering in the grasses here, not any that he recognized. A triangular dark nose wrinkles, analyzing the foreign stench, and his irises narrow moments later — rogues. Many of them.

Ears twitching at the sound of nearby pawsteps, Snakehiss pins his ears against his skull and whips around, jaw clenched tightly as he realizes he's been caught on someone else's turf.

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙏𝙄𝙈𝙀 𝙃𝘼𝙎 𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙀 𝙏𝙊 𝙈𝘼𝙆𝙀 𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎 𝙍𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏

• open to duskclan! please do not chase off until he gets to meet @PRIVETPAW >:3

• 

• 
  ₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾
  snakehiss
  

  — he/him; exile/rogue; former windclanner
  — long-limbed black tom with green eyes, a small white chest patch, and multiple scars
  — father to rowankit, violetkit, cricketkit, and privetkit (duskclan)
  — "speech", thoughts, attack
  — link to full tags; @ on discord or dm @beaaats for plots!​

​

 

[GHOSTMASK]

DuskClan is a group bound in blood and necessity—a smattering of cats who had made the undeniably wrong choice but lacked anywhere better to go. Better the devil you knew than the devil you didn't. Ghostmask appreciates the potential of their gradually growing group, though; cats with soft minds and softer wills, ready to bend underpaw, accompanied by the mewling and abandoned offspring the group seemed to keep acquiring. That Granitepelt is gradually feeding Privetpaw spare bits of prey, preparing the young cat to become his protégé, bothers the masked she - cat not at all; having never known her father's attention, she hardly feels the lack of it.

More than likely, he's off watching the young tom with fur like gravedirt, which suits Ghostmask quite well; the constant absence of Granitepelt's eye leaves her free to do as she wishes with her catches. The wastrel plain they inhabit has refined her senses—she'd always favored tracking during her brief formal mentorship, but survival has sharpened her senses to a keen edge, and she keeps herself fed more than adequately most of the time ( whether she feeds their vulnerable is another question entirely, and one Ghostmask frankly couldn't care less about ).

This all standing, the slightest whiff of a foreign scent, draws her blackened gaze in the twitch of a whisker; she heads for the strange smell with her usual whispering steps. To Snakehiss, her black - and - white form must seem to materialize from the scrubby grass at the moment he whips around like some vengeful spirit ( never let it be said her name has been inaccurate ). Ghostmask recognizes him in an instant; the ambitious scruffy thing from WindClan, looking newly beat - up. She doesn't plan on giving him the satisfaction of recognition, though.

" Trespasser. Who are you? " Her voice is silky and sweet, refined to earn esteem and then becoming the default even in such unfavorable situations; Ghostmask's wide obsidian eyes flick up and down the skinny black cat's form and she turns toward the general direction she'd thought Granitepelt had headed, snapping out a brisk call, " Father! "

Having settled for the simple parental term—its use seems to make her father tacitly uncomfortable, which is vaguely amusing—she swivels back towards Snakehiss, the vast darkness of her eyes exaggerated by the markings beneath. She blinks at him, once, twice, then states simply, " Well, don't try to run. " The masked warrior appraises him once more and adds, " I would catch you. "

// yelled for @GRANITEPELT

" speech "

​

 

[GRANITEPELT]

At his daughter's call, he slithers through the grass, adder-like gaze trained on Snakehiss's wiry black coat. Granitepelt's smile is cold as leafbare frost. "Well, well. Look who finally decided to join us." He lets out a bark of laughter, sidling up beside Ghostmask and pinning the ebony WindClanner with serpent's eyes. "We should rip the fur from your body and leave you for the buzzards. That's what Sootstar would want, after all." He makes no move, however, to do so; instead, he turns his head, searching the shrubbery for another dark pelt.

"Privetpaw. What do we do with Clan cats?"

His tail lashes, though the smile remains frozen on his white muzzle.

"With traitors?"

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Granitekit . Granitepaw . Granitepelt, he/him w/ masculine terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 23 moons old, ages realistically on the 10th.
  — mentored by Pitchstar and Dogfur ; mentoring n/a ; previously mentored Applepaw
  — "duskclan" leader. flint x sandra, gen 2.
  — formerly mated to Starlingheart, currently mated to n/a.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  sh blue and white tom with dark green eyes. arrogant, stealthy, sneaky, observant, perceptive, cunning, spiteful, envious.
  
  

​

 

[PRIVETFROST]

Fern-green eyes stared straight at the man who mirrored him, glassy gaze like a glare of light within the unconceivable darkness, slowly emerging from the depths. As if the apprentice had stared straight at himself, standing right in front of him. The man looked almost emaciated, as though the wild had worn and dewretted him down, of which elicited no displays of pity from him. Privetpaw's maw wrinkled upwards at the faintest hint of heather-scent, like a flash of scarlet shining through the mist, premonition of sanguine upon the air. You're trespassing. Whiskers twitched as he did not flinch in his glare, trying to discern what this stranger was doing upon Duskclan's land. The wine-dark apprentice tailed after Ghostmask and Granitepelt, though no expression graced angular features - only a cold blaze of nothingness reflected upon twin moons. From how his leader talked of this stranger, he was no stranger at all. Trespasser from the Clans. The worst of them all. Slight distaste crossed his countenance, seeping into magpie colors like rainwater bleeding into earth.

"What do we do with Clan cats?" His leader's voice rings resolute through the scrublands, like a pallid knell blinding through the destitute, a sort of guiding beacon that Privetpaw looked towards. Bastards of kin and false kings of the fields, he knew of the fate that they would soon face. They were to die by Duskclan's claws, to spill out and release whatever rot infested them. "We show no mercy." The boy recited, tone as specular as nitid backscattering of the stars, clear in youthful conviction. Stepping forwards, needle-claws unsheathed from white-tipped paws, blades hidden by the gloom of the shrubbery. Quickly, Privetpaw lunged for Snakehiss and swiped at his face, attempting to at least disorient the stranger-not-stranger so that he could inflict more damage onto the branded traitor. Paws clashed against bone and flesh, and he hoped to see that familiar red burst through the black, brighter hues overturning that of the night.

𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐂𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 ── X ── 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒

• OOC:
  
• 
• 

  —— PRIVETPAW / He/Him / 6 Moons
  —— Apprentice of Duskclan / Mentored by Rumblerain
  —— Wine-dark and white-tipped, almost like a magpie. He has black fur except for the tips of his ears, his muzzle and chin, a blaze on his chest, bottom portion of the legs, outer end of the tail, and along the upper ridges of eyes. He has ghost striping that can only be seen in certain sunlight. He has fern-green eyes.
  —— Cool, calculating, and much too mature for such a young age. Enamored with the life of a warrior and burdened by the expectations of his people. Hard to befriend and harder to maintain a steady friendship with.
  —— Penned by Tempest. Contact on Discord (naruk4mi) for plots and threads.

​

 

[SNAKEHISS]

Glaring green eyes burn into the newly-materialized sight of the two-toned girl. His memory, albeit rusting at this point, serves him well as he recognizes her to be Granitepelt's daughter — one of the ShadowClan rogues that Sootstar had taken in once upon a time. Ivory claws flex into the ground tensely as Snakehiss resists the urge to hiss, spit, and lash out at the figure of dark and light. She and her father both had been part of WindClan's downfall. They had ruined what was left of WindClan, tarnishing the trembling pillars of the clan's dignity with their rogueish ways. Sootstar truly had been mad to allow them refuge.

Father, she calls, and Snakehiss' mouth runs dry. Maybe he ought to at least try and run anyway; wouldn't Granitepelt skin his hide either way? However, his paws do not move for a reason he cannot name. Perhaps a subconscious part of him wants to see what's left of Sootstar's followers; if they were hungry, suffering, and mangy like they deserved.

Then, they arrive. Slithering like adders out of their hiding holes, stinkier and slimier than they ever were before, his former clanmates appear before his very eyes. There is a new face or two—undoubtedly they've recruited other rogues to strengthen their numbers—but Granitepelt is a face Snakehiss instantly recognizes. He had been Sootstar's last deputy, technically speaking. Not that it was truly worth anything. The slate-pelted cat utters icy cold threats, though Snakehiss' frown deepens when he mentions the tyrant. "You... still put your faith in that false queen?" The wiry tom scoffs dryly, barely having the strength to pick a fight but managing to muster the energy to slander Sootstar's name regardless. She was dead! Gone! Certainly not amongst the ranks of StarClan. They might as well be worshipping a cat who never existed. "You will suffer StarClan's wrath, Granitepelt. You and your dogs." The former WindClan deputy proclaims, his confidence gripping for dear life onto shakily tethered faith.

And what of the mother of his children? Does she live amongst them as well, or had she run off somewhere after she'd dumped the kits onto WindClan's doorstep?

Granitepelt mentions Privetpaw, a name Snakehiss does not recognize. More than likely a kit they had found orphaned, or perhaps stolen from somewhere. The aforementioned apprentice rears into view, green hues appearing to mirror Snakehiss' own. Splashes of white are scattered more liberally across the youth's pelt; aside from that, there is something about him that is... familiar. His gut intuition screams though Snakehiss does not care to listen to it, not when the boyish DuskClanner suddenly lunges for his face.

A snarl erupts from Snakehiss' maw, dark features cringing as sharp claws snagged across his nose and lips. He lashed out hastily, no real method to his attempts at fending the apprentice off. Channeling most of his energy into escaping this situation alive, Snakehiss would turn and swipe at any cats who pursued him before utilizing his moor runner limbs to bolt away from the scrublands.

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙏𝙄𝙈𝙀 𝙃𝘼𝙎 𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙀 𝙏𝙊 𝙈𝘼𝙆𝙀 𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎 𝙍𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏

•  

• 

• 
  ₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾
  snakehiss
  

  — he/him; exile/rogue; former windclanner
  — long-limbed black tom with green eyes, a small white chest patch, and multiple scars
  — father to rowankit, violetkit, cricketkit, and privetkit (duskclan)
  — "speech", thoughts, attack
  — link to full tags; @ on discord or dm @beaaats for plots!​

​

 

[PRIVETFROST]

Nettle-sharp claws clashed against soft flesh, like a vulture's beak carving into carrion, as if aiming to see what lie behind the face of the strangely familiar tomcat. Privetpaw relished in that familiar feeling, of rending the tissue behind the fur, of blood welling up from its sources. Sanguine did not rush up from Snakehiss' face, but he had certainly felt the blow, and the intent of the message was far more important to him than the tangible results. Snakehiss lashed out wildly, as anger incarnated into fear, and the man thrashed and fought to escape. Deftly did the wine-dark apprentice leap up and away from his assailant, catching his breath and his step. The trespasser's claws had narrowly grazed at his whiskers, though the white-tipped adolescent used his smaller size to his own advantage. Bolting quicker than Privetpaw had ever seen another cat run, the traitor was nothing more than a black smear upon the horizon now, gainsay to the denounced clan's whims. Haggard breaths pooled out of his maw, though he quickly spooled back his composure and stood straight. Good riddance.

Letting out a gruff snort, Privetpaw's eyes glowed as he stared far beyond where Snakehiss had disappeared, his words still echoing within the chamber of his head, making their mark like carnassial teeth lacerating velvet skin. False queen? He knew it to be quite common for those of the opposing sides to deny their mission sacrecy, as if telling oneself lies would certainly shield them from the harsh sun of the truth. If Starclan should incur wrath on any cat, it is those that have stolen our homes away. "How pathetic. He is a grown cat, yet he cannot stand and fight me." Privetpaw scoffed, lip curling as though he had tasted something bad, even as his tongue had been embittered by the sheer, unending pity he held for the stranger. He must have been a cat that Sootstar would have hated, but then why would he come here all alone? Had he been searching for something? "I doubt he will return. If he does, I will make sure he will regret it." His claws sunk into the loamy ground below, blades athwart to the earth bearing his wrath, though he did not entertain the pursuit of the white-tipped tom. His tail flicked behind him, vapid serpent that rustled in the wind's wishes.

𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐂𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 ── X ── 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒

• OOC:
  
• 
• 

  —— PRIVETPAW / He/Him / 8 Moons
  —— Apprentice of Duskclan / Mentored by Rumblerain
  —— Wine-dark and white-tipped, almost like a magpie. He has black fur except for the tips of his ears, his muzzle and chin, a blaze on his chest, bottom portion of the legs, outer end of the tail, and along the upper ridges of eyes. He has ghost striping that can only be seen in certain sunlight. He has fern-green eyes.
  —— Cool, calculating, and much too mature for such a young age. Enamored with the life of a warrior and burdened by the expectations of his people. Hard to befriend and harder to maintain a steady friendship with.
  —— Penned by Tempest. Contact on Discord (naruk4mi) for plots and threads.

​