LIGHT OF THE SEVEN [ slate ]

[SILVERSMOKE]

It had been a figure of a ghost at first, a memory of a past long forgotten by the spotted tabby that he thought originated from hallucinations brought about by the frigid winter. He'd stalked the beast of history for some time, confused and longing to find revenge even if it was against something fake. Then, he'd heard it speak, and all possibilities of Silversmoke being caught in some lingering nightmare disappeared. He waited and waited, his heart practically beating out of his chest in anticipation as he waited for the other's patrol to disperse. There was no point making a scene, he knew he'd be told to get over it and he knew they'd be right for saying it. SkyClanners did not have to get along to be a functioning group, strength was not forged by the bonds one made but instead by the convictions in their heart, and if Slate devoted himself to SkyClan as much as he devoted himself to... well, himself, then there shouldn't be cause for concern, right? Unfortunately, it was not that simple for the tabby. He watched as the final patroller left Slate and a switch flipped in Silversmoke, a harsh yowl escaping him. The quiet cat was not one to make such cries normally, but Slate's very presence brought about a pain he hadn't experienced since he'd almost lost an eye.

Silversmoke bared his fangs, every memory of battle setting the tabby's muscles alight as he cleared the distance between the pair. His unsheathed claws wanted to rip at skin and flesh, but an invisible barrier just a fox length away stopped him from fulfilling his wish against the darker feline. SkyClan was undeniably soft with who they let into the group, ultimately, it was not his place to defy the orders of his leader no matter how much he ached for it. Spit flew out the Smoke's mouth as he snarled in warning. He did not remember why they had fought that day, rogues tended to scrap over the silliest things, regardless, he was still living with the consequences of that fateful encounter. He didn't doubt that Slate would recognise the scars running from mouth to ear-tip, it was he who had given them to Silversmoke, after all. "What are you doing here?!" Accusatory, the large cat paced like a caged animal. Respect for Blazestar prevented him from getting any closer to the tom, but he kept his eyes peeled for any aggressive movements from the other - he wouldn't expect a faithless rogue to understand clan law, after all.

"Who gave you the right?".

@SLATE

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[SLATESNARL]

A snarl revs at him like a monster's engine, causing the rogue to slightly jump and spin around to face the unknown. Amber eyes narrowed into daggers as he fixed them onto that of an angry-looking tabby, with eyes of green and — ah. He knows who this cat is.

Slate frowns, now coming to a realization that this is the same tom who he had scrapped with before. There are many others who sport a similar coat to him; his appearance is nothing extraordinary, though the scars that rake down his right cheek are unmistakable. Slate remembers as if it were yesterday, the aftermath of their fight with fresh crimson trickling down the younger man's features and dripping onto the ground. He had survived after all, and had apparently joined the ranks of these forest cats.

His masculine features are largely tensed, with knitted brows and a clenched jaw, though his tone remains rather leveled. Would the other be so stupid as to pick a fight with him in the middle of camp? "Huh. Looks like this place takes in just about anyone." Slate doesn't care if anyone overhears him. Was it not true? It seemed that as long as a cat didn't threaten to literally slit someone's throat upfront they'd be allowed to stay. He could have been the most dangerous and bloodthirsty rogue to ever walk the streets but as long as he acted level-headed and decent, Blazestar saw no reason to turn him away! It was a rather dangerous practice, in Slate's honest opinion, but then again he didn't run this place.

It's almost amusing to see his presence alone getting under someone else's skin. He wondered if Silversmoke even feared him to some extent; he seemed more hostile and defensive than anything, but Slate could take out his other eye if he really desired to. Would the tabby be such a skilled fighter without the advantage of sight? "Your leader gave me the right, actually. My brother lives here." Slate figured it could go unsaid that he wanted some time to catch up with his kin. He had not yet cemented a decision to actually stay in this place; it operated like a giant community, something that the rogue was not accustomed to. He could go back to living as a lone wolf, a man only responsible for himself, but... Dusk was here. After years of anticipating never reuniting with any family ever again, he had just so happened to stumble across his own flesh and blood living amongst these forest cats. Could Slate bring himself to turn his back on SkyClan knowing that Dusk lived here and would carry on a life without him?

The tom could go back and forth with himself all day about the impending decision, but there were clearly other matters to address here. "And you're some hot-shot clan cat now? A warrior, right?" The clans had not yet existed when the two had gone head-to-head. Silversmoke could not have possibly dwelled in these lands for much longer than a few seasons, yet he appeared ready to defend them with his life. Interesting.​

— * ✰. ooc information recent events * ✰. —

• 
  
• 
  ✰ SLATE
  —— amab, uses he/him pronouns. twenty-nine moons old. warrior of skyclan; former rogue.
  —— unrefined, rough and tumble rogue who is not accustomed to clan life. only trustful of his littermate, duskmane.
  —— link to tags. @ on discord for plots.
  
  quite the hulk of a cat, slate stands above the average clanmate with an arrogant gait. he has a dark gray ( bordering on black ) colored pelt with a pale-brown-tinged underbelly and whisps of tan at the tips of his chest hairs. amber-colored eyes contrast against his dark palette. notable features include a jagged scar across his right eye and two small scratches across the bridge of his nose.
• 
  

​

 

[SILVERSMOKE]

A slurry of colourful nicknames was about to be offered to Slate at his taunt, the tomcat lowering his haunches as if preparing to pounce at the foxheart. The clan's openness, a constant blessing and a curse for Silversmoke, today, it was a foul reminder of the utter crowfood that could be allowed to be a warrior. "I have proved my loyalty to this place, filth. You have not." He reminded the older feline, speaking behind a drawn-out hiss. They had both been rogues, for a time, but the tabby had given up that fetid life behind the moment the opportunity presented itself. It had taken Slate months to escape a selfish life, and that hesitation alone made Silversmoke believe he was truly better than the other. Everyone needed something to live for beyond themselves, what was the point of life if not to find meaning past the barriers of the self-serving nature of cats? Narrowed eyes tried to search for a motive as best they could, but all Silversmoke could sense was hostility - his own, mostly. He swore he felt the gazes of others burn into him, but unless they exchanged claws, Smoke didn't see a reason for anyone else to intervene. They had a right to answers.

Blazestar... He resisted the urge to shake his head as Slate confirmed the leader's generosity. Mention of a brother caught Silver's attention and he raised his muzzle, his tail lashing in suspicion. The privilege of having family in a clan... he couldn't argue that he wouldn't use the same if he had it. All the same, his fur bristled in frustration at the blatant nepotism on display. "You never cared about having a brother before," he decided, though he barely had the foundations to make such a judgment about the other. It was unfair, but so was letting the creature that severely injured his face join the clan. "If you're using him as an excuse to use us and manipulate the trust my leader puts in you, you won't leave this territory alive." He sensed cockiness, fabricated by his own hatred or otherwise, Silversmoke interjected before Slate could reply to his threat. "The odds aren't in your favour anymore, not in this territory." He knew every tree like the back of his paws, every battle move was as natural as breathing. SkyClan, soft-hearted kittypets and overly trusting nature aside, had nasty tricks that he'd managed to learn - he didn't know if Slate could say the same.

His pupils thinner than needles, he listened to Slate's questions impatiently. More curses filled his mind, aimed at the charcoal feline's nonchalance. Slate must have known he was untouchable with Silver's new code of honour. Oh how he wished he was a worse cat, how he could wipe that smug air right off of the other's face and give him scars that made Silver's look like little nicks. He breathed deeply, trying to shake off the worst of his bloodlust. "I joined the group in the Pines not long after... our battle. I saw things that made me believe in this way of life, now, I am a warrior. The rest is none of your business." Defensively, he tucked his paws closer to himself. A lot had happened to form the five clans, half of it Silversmoke hadn't seen, but the consequences were clear from every border interaction and gathering. "And you... you joined because of your brother? You're willing to abandon all you've known over some cat?" He didn't believe rogues had the capacity to care about family the same way that the clans did - his own family hadn't done much for him, anyhow.

"I don't believe you."

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[SLATESNARL]

... Filth.

Well then. Silversmoke was awfully quick to look down upon Slate and spit at him like he was some lowly scum... even though they were both on the same playing field not too long ago. SkyClan had certainly helped inflate his bastard's ego. "If you think having a fancy new name and a title somehow makes you better than I am, then you're fucking delusional. Warrior. A fierce, noble fighter feared by many and a winner of many battles. Even Slate wouldn't consider himself a warrior; he was more so a stray who picked fights in order to survive. He fought well, but there was no honor involved in any of his battles. Why should there be? Survival did not entail rules to live by, a code of honor.

However, this cat was no warrior. Who was he trying to fool? Himself? He surely wasn't fooling Slate. "I didn't even know if my brother was alive before. I wasn't trying to seek him out. I found him." The dark-furred tom explained, though quickly teetering on the edge of impatience. Truthfully, Slate had given up on finding Dusk early on, figuring that he and his new twoleg family were long gone. His siblings had been destined to live as kittypets, though he would not accept the same fate for himself.

Silversmoke had been correct in thinking that the arrogant tom would try to find some way to bring up the result of their last altercation, the demise of his eye, but the tabby had brought up a frustratingly valid point. If the warrior had indeed earned the trust and loyalty of his clanmates, then they'd jump Slate quicker than he could even blink if he tried anything. How unfortunate, seeing as Slate would love to reach over and rake his claws across his maw in order to shut him up.

The building tension within Slate begins to visibly manifest as he clenches his jaw and lashes his tail, fur prickling and skin hot with animosity. Truth be told, their scrap had been so minor in significance ( at least to Slate ) that he probably wouldn't have even cared to approach Silversmoke in the first place. What if they had chosen to just ignore each other's existence? But no, there had to be a big fuss made right in the middle of camp. What the rogue had done unto the other was solely a means for survival, not because of anything personal, but Silversmoke was quickly becoming his public enemy number one solely based on this interaction. "Am I supposed to care if you believe me or not? You're not the leader. You're not even anyone of any significance." Slate spat towards the younger tom, baring his teeth at the utter audacity to assume anything about the relationship and history between him and his brother.

Technically, Slate was only staying because of Duskmane. Giving up his life of independence and self-reliance was not a decision made lightly; in fact, he often thought about fleeing camp and running back to the city, to the life he knew. Who knows? Maybe clan life wouldn't work out for him after all, but either way, Slate did not owe him any more explanation. "If Dusk wasn't here then trust me, I'd be gone. You think I'd willingly subject myself to sharing a den with you?" The long-haired male snorts, puffing his fluffy chest in a haughty sort of manner.

"Just do us both a favor and stay out of my way."​

— * ✰. ooc information recent events * ✰. —

• 
  
• 
  ✰ SLATE
  —— amab, uses he/him pronouns. twenty-nine moons old. warrior of skyclan; former rogue.
  —— unrefined, rough and tumble rogue who is not accustomed to clan life. only trustful of his littermate, duskmane.
  —— link to tags. @ on discord for plots.
  
  quite the hulk of a cat, slate stands above the average clanmate with an arrogant gait. he has a dark gray ( bordering on black ) colored pelt with a pale-brown-tinged underbelly and whisps of tan at the tips of his chest hairs. amber-colored eyes contrast against his dark palette. notable features include a jagged scar across his right eye and two small scratches across the bridge of his nose.
• 
  

​

 

[SILVERSMOKE]

"There are no delusions, I've always been better than you." He held his head high, meeting Slate's gaze with confidence. It was a code of honour, set by the clans or set by one's own beliefs, that separated cats from dogs and other such vicious predators. Maybe a code was easily manipulated, but when the alternative was chaos, a state of existence where nothing made sense and there were no stakes to care for others, Silver would take law any day. His scars were seared with the memory of what happened when rogues were allowed to do whatever they wanted, his right eye saw the world through a neverending fog because of the very same thing. Moons ago, Slate had been the better fighter, forcing Silver to retreat when his vision had been blinded behind a crimson screen. Still, he'd never doubted who the better feline was. Insecurity plagued the tabby in many aspects of life, but he wouldn't take criticisms of his character lightly, not when the twolegplace and all its filthy inhabits had molded it in such an unconventional way.

He didn't pay much attention as Slate spoke of his brother again, finding the family to be a convenient excuse for Slate to escape the worst of what leaf-bare had to offer. The tabby had never had such a crutch to allow him access into the first groups, he'd relied on the sympathy of strangers, a far harder thing to earn when he'd snarled and spat at them from caution. A part of him was grateful his own family hadn't found SkyClan, or worse, became Daylight Warriors. Unlike Duskmane, he doubted that his siblings or parents would care very much for duty, not when they couldn't even perform it for someone of their own flesh and blood. His paw raised involuntarily as Slate called him irrelevant, both claws and mind straining under the thought of making him eat those words. The ability to choose may have separated them from other animals, but Silver knew that if Slate hit the right buttons, it'd only be natural instinct that drove the tabby forwards. For now, he simply hissed. "You don't get it, do you? Every creature that walks through that camp entrance and declares themself a SkyClanner is important, whether it's a leader or an elder. My word may not be law but if I give a convincing enough argument it will sway others. Don't give me a convincing argument if you want to stay, or do and let your little farce end early, I don't give a shit."

Their interaction was bound to attract the attention of others by now, and the blue tabby's blood boiled even more with a potential audience. He didn't turn to see if his fears were true, his glare was solely locked onto Slate, focused on every little shift and change with a sheepdog's intensity. Silver didn't think he wanted Dusk to leave, but if that would be enough for Slate to leave him alone once and for all, then perhaps a selfish little part of him hoped his brother would drift off to StarClan in the night. The guilt was immediate as soon as he thought it, urging the tabby into a cold, uncomfortable silence as Slate continued to talk. An opening to leave the conversation came, and with the wind taken out of the warrior's sails and the real possibility for conflict if he stayed, he decided to take it. "Fine, but I'm watching you." He warned. Turning on his heels, Silversmoke gave one last flick of his tail before storming away. The greatest motivation to improve his fighting further had just walked into their camp, and the tabby wouldn't let the opportunity go to waste.



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