development NOT EVEN THEY CAN STOP ME NOW — o, ambush

[SLATE]

SkyClan was fortified, practically militaristic in how many patrols were conducted and how many precautions were being taken to ensure that the rogues would not be able to take as much as a step over the border. After digging holes, enforcing camp's barriers, and setting up perimeter alarms, Slate was starting to feel a tad less concerned for the territory's security. SkyClan's warriors were ready, their claws sharpened and yearning for the blood of any cat who sought to harm their vulnerable.

Most patrols lately were uneventful, so much so that Slate wondered if the rogues had gotten the message and crawled off to somewhere else by now. The lead warrior even found himself spacing out as the patrol padded along the border... that is, until a strange scent wafted into his nostrils. Someone was here.

It all happened in a matter of moments — he had raised his gaze in alarm, the sound of a twig snapping following, and a big blur of brown and black hurdled towards him. The force of a monster sent Slate flying. He tumbled onto his side, his skull rattling against the ground and his ribs absorbing the impact, leaving the lead warrior stunned and unable to roll away as his attacker lunged onto his back.

"Say goodnight!" The rogue cackled menacingly, "This forest will be ours! Just watch!" This feline was massive, rivaling Slate in stature. Although scruffy-furred and littered with scars, the black tabby possessed a heft that was impressive even for a stray. They appeared to be by themselves, obviously confident enough that they could fight off an entire enemy patrol with their sheer brawn. "Get... off!" Slate managed to grunt out from under the beefy rogue's bodily weight, and as much as he wriggled around, he could not force the hungry beast off of his back.

Growling and grunting, Slate huffed through his teeth, an uncomfortable twinge gnarling in his chest as claws pierced through his thick pelt and curled into his skin. Amber hues darted upward toward the rest of the patrol; a silent plea for assistance. Ever the type of tom to insist on fighting his own battles, always strong and steadfast, for once he felt unsure if he could get out of this by himself. Starving cats were vicious and as stubborn as cockroaches, unwilling to surrender without putting up a fight.

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙘𝙠, 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙚

• feel free to powerplay the rogue, i just ask that they're not killed! also keep in mind that this takes place before the final stage of the clanwide plot, so if you want your character to participate in driving out the rogues later on, avoid giving them major injuries! (:

• 

• 

  ✰ SLATE
  —— he/him; lead warrior of skyclan; former rogue
  —— bisexual; single; not looking
  —— hulking, scarred charcoal-black colored maine coon with amber eyes
  —— "speech", thoughts, attack
  —— link to full tags; @ on discord for plots.
  —— penned by beatles

​

 

[falcongaze]

❝ STATUES AND EMPIRES✧°.☀ ————————————
Falconpaw had been.. quiet, during the patrol. His head was full of thoughts- likely about the rogues that had been too quiet for too long. He had agreed quietly with Slate, after all. It was kind of strange not seeing any signs of them after so long. Alas, he was still up to be on patrol, especially if he got some more pointers from Greeneyes about... anything. He was getting closer and closer to assessment day- he needed to know it all.

Thoughts dwelled somewhere past their borders in the sewers when the brush rattle, a snap of a twig. Slate's form was bowled over by an aggressive rogue. Blue eyes snapped up, and he didn't think. He moved, lacking much of the final battle training he needed, but that didn't matter. If he waited for Greeneyes's call, for the order to run... Falconpaw didn't want to think about what may happen to Slate.

A shout left the long-legged apprentice as he flung himself into battle, running head on into the shoulder of the rogue in hopes to dislodge him from Slate. When that didn't work- seeing as this brute was bigger then Slate- he leapt onto the back of the rogue, strengthening claws digging into the flesh. "Get... GET THE FUCK OFF!" He had hesitated, because he knows his father would cuff his ear for it. He knew what he was doing would threaten his life. The roaring in his ears blocked out any shouts of concern for his life.

Slate could see it, looking up at Falconpaw who now moved, fast as the bird he was named for, teeth sinking into the scruff of the rogue. His eyes were wide with rage and terror alike. He could not let their lead warrior die. He couldn't. Cherrypaw would hate him. Lupinepaw wouldn't be able to look at him. His heart burned, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

// you're welcome to lightly powerplay falcon leaping off if someone else can get the rogue off!!

"SPEECH"

[penned by dallas - ☀]

———————————— ☀.°✧ ALL AT YOUR PAWS ❞ ​

​

 

[TWITCHBOLT]

The shout shattered through the pines like a swooping hawk- it was Falconpaw's voice, and Twitchbolt's hackles were immediately raised wen he recognised it. Ears swivelled, eyes globed- he was running before he knew he was running, toward the sound. Because it couldn't happen again, it couldn't- not more, not another. If he could give his life to stop it happening again, he would, he would. Not another one dead before they could complete their name, before they could become whole-

But it wasn't Falconpaw- in fact, Falconpaw was leapt atop a rogue, battle-torn, stinking. Knocked against the ground was Slate, met in size by the stranger- and fear lit a fire in Twitchbolt's veins. It blazed him foward, mouth agape, fangs glinting in the beams of harsh leafbare sun. Falconpaw was doing well, and Slate would fight back, he knew that- but now he'd burst forth, what more could he do?

Fury blinding him- for how dare anyone encroach the boundaries of his home, endanger what and who he loved- Twitchbolt bolted forward and latched furious teeth into the rogue's tail, tugging as hard as he possibly could. Anything, anything to rip them away from Slate, to protect Falconpaw from having to fight alone like so many of their apprentices had done before. If he tore their tail clean off, he didn't care, he didn't care. Nothing but anger blazed in the hateful grimace on Twitchbolt's face.​

penned by pin ✧​

 

[edenberry ?!]

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 〰 Trailing after a hulking frame, they are always reminded of just how annoyingly present he is. They don't dissect the fact that it is because of his proximity to Cherrypaw that causes their constant run-ins... they just continue to be surprised and frustrated whenever it happens again, unavoidably. Turning away anytime he glances back to make sure his patrol is following, the black and white cat is stubborn not to go giving him the satisfaction of knowing he was right about them. That they were a dumb little kittypet first... and a SkyClan apprentice second. The marred skin across their face screams of proof and carefully, they continue hide it in denial- to prevent their clan-mates from looking down on them (more than they already probably do).

So it should serve as no great surprise that they are taken completely by surprise by the whirl of fur and claws that fly in a matter of seconds. The other cat is impossibly large.. to have sent Slate tumbling as if he were nothing more than a scraggly kitten himself. They stare in slack-jawed horror, losing track of when exactly it was that their paws went numb. When did their ears fold back? Their bobbed tail tucked between their legs? When had their paws retreated back two stunned steps away, as if already fleeing before they'd even done their part to help?

"S..Slate!" As much as they loathe his dark-cloud personality, they do not relish the suggestion that they might witness yet another death in its slow, agonizing, final moments... And thankfully, braver souls than them rush by in the form of whites and soft browns... Falconpaw... Twitchbolt.

The generally anxious lead warrior still does more to rescue his clan-mate than Edenpaw does and they wilt to consider how much more of a coward that makes them, to already be half-prepared to flee.​

 

[SLATE]

[ cw for murder/gore! perms given by marq <3 ]

As the cogs in Slate's brain spin, working to find a way out of this predicament, he feels the weight begin to shift on his back. Falconpaw had daringly flung himself toward the rogue, assumedly ripping and tearing at their back and causing them to loosen their grip upon him. Out of the corner of his eye, he can spot a patchwork feline of brown and white rushing forth to assist in launching an attack against the beast, overall just trying to get the hulking mass off and focused on them instead. The lead warrior struggles, eager to stand to his paws and do something instead of being a useless sack of fur and bone. Slate fought his own battles; his clanmates shouldn't have to fight them for him!

Once the rogue stumbled off of Slate, they began swiping their claws and snapping their jaws at Falconpaw and Twitchbolt, trying to pierce and snag their skin. "You all fight like a bunch of house pets!" They exclaimed, a mocking amusement accompanying their insult.

Slate takes this moment to catch his breath—in, out, in, out, his lungs go—and raise himself onto his feet again. Edenpaw stands there, horrified, likely expecting the worse — the other lead warrior or their peer coming out from this fight maimed or possibly dead. Maybe they feared for their own life, too.

"I'll send you running back to your masters!" The black tabby taunts further, clearly looking to goad the SkyClanners for their own merriment.

Slate grits his teeth together. Enough of this. Enough playing cat-and-mouse with a giant bully, a lowly vulture who didn't deserve to breathe his same air. Briefly, fleetingly, he thinks of the serial murderer Kuiper who had slain countless cats, including apprentices, for his own sick pleasure. He had left Howlfire—then Howlpaw—to rot. These dung-mites nearly killed children who were fresh out of the nursery.

Prove to me you're not a lowlife, Silversmoke's distant, scathing sledge unearthing itself deep from within Slate's subconscious. The Maine Coon's claws dug into the earth below as his large paws carried him forward, rippling form storming straight for the rogue. The male barks like a maddened hound, "Call me a pet again. Say it!" He would not die to the rogue who had called him a kittypet. That would not be his legacy. He was too stubborn to let it happen. He was too insistent on making a corpse out of this pathetic dung-eater.

Expectantly, the rogue's attention was now back on Slate; though they didn't answer his challenge, they did lunge straight toward him. The charcoal-pelted Maine Coon squared his stance like a tree holding firm to its roots, though as the two reared up and began to swat violently at one another, Slate found himself on the receiving end of a nasty bite onto his tricep before he could make a killing blow to his opponent.

He managed to shove the rogue back, trying to afford a moment to reel from the pain now radiating from his arm. His clanmates had distracted the rogue in one way or another, leaving Slate a sliver of time to recuperate. Just when the time was right, the lead warrior charged forward at the fastest speed he could muster.

Slate had never cared to pay any mind to the fables of the clans, but as he propelled himself off the ground, he could have sworn that he felt the spirit of a LionClan warrior roaring in his ears and flooding through his veins. In that moment, with no other way to possibly describe the feeling, he felt golden. It felt like an aura of power radiated from the very tip of his tail to the nose, unlike anything he had ever experienced before.

Down the attacker went, buried underneath Slate's weight and thrashing wildly — claws scored across the Maine Coon's belly, tearing through thick fur and sending clumps flying outward. The pain barely registers in Slate's brain now as only one primary objective seizes his concentration — die, die. Sharp canines make purchase into the tabby's throat, their struggling only intensifying as the lead warrior encloses his jaws deeper with a sickening squelch. They can't hurt SkyClan anymore. They won't be a threat to anyone anymore.

The world is still as Slate holds his victim with an iron grip, as if his very life depended on this. Their movement eventually eases to a stop, warm blood pooling around their neck and smearing the hulking male's maw and chest. His own blood was soaking from his shoulder and underbelly, the throbbing pain beginning to settle in now that the objective had been fulfilled.

He staggers off of the limp form, heavy breaths filling his lungs as he lifts his amber gaze to assess the patrol members. "Is... everyone okay?" Nevermind the damn body; they could come to deal with it later. Now... it was probably time to see Dawnglare.

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙘𝙠, 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙚

• 

• 

  ✰ SLATE
  —— he/him; lead warrior of skyclan; former rogue
  —— bisexual; single; not looking
  —— hulking, scarred charcoal-black colored maine coon with amber eyes
  —— "speech", thoughts, attack
  —— link to full tags; @ on discord for plots.
  —— penned by beatles

​

 

[falcongaze]

❝ STATUES AND EMPIRES✧°.☀ ————————————
Anger bubbled beneath the sleep. His eyes were narrowed, fangs dripping with the blood of the rogue. Falconpaw wasn't bulky, but he was on the taller side. He was aware of Twitchbolt entering the fray- three of them together could take this rogue, easy. Edenpaw's shout was fresh in his ears. He inhaled sharply, leaping from the rogue's back as the enemy stood. His head dipped away, ear barely nicked by a claw. The insult didn't land, but a retort was swift from his jaws. "And you fight like a rat drowned in the sewer."

Where in the stars was he getting these insults today, anyways? Falconpaw didn't advance, now that he was on the ground, now that two warriors were standing. Instead, he backed slowly towards Edenpaw, his blue eyes narrowed and teeth bared in warning. It was a silent message to the soon-to-be-fought off rogue- come this direction, and I won't hesitate. It would turn out that he didn't need to protect anyone, his shoulders heaving gently as he lifted his head. Falconpaw's cheeks were wet from tears, ones he had shed in panic while atop of the rogue's back.

His eyes blinked, watching the carnage without flinching- but he did shift his body to block Edenpaw from it. The fear-scent coming off of the younger was telling. His vision turned then towards Edenpaw, not watching the rogue's final moments, blue eyes trying to focus. He was sure he wasn't that much of an inspiring look either, blood barely inking his muzzle. "Hey, focus. Easy- Slate's okay. He took care of it." Falconpaw said, trying to regain the apprentice's attention. Ever the self sacraficer, aren't you? The nagging voice in his head spoke, but he ignored it.

Falconpaw's head turned, a bead of blood dripping down the back of his ear. His chin tucked quietly. "I'm okay. Barely got my ear." He spoke, vision searching Slate's body. "Are you okay? Can you manage making it back to camp, or do we need to get Dawnglare now?" Falconpaw asked, still hiding the sight of the dead rogue from Edenpaw.

"SPEECH"

[penned by dallas - ☀]

———————————— ☀.°✧ ALL AT YOUR PAWS ❞ ​

​

 

[edenberry ?!]

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 〰 Luckily for Slate, this dumb stray manages to hit the softest of spots to piss off the lead warrior. Calling him a kittypet is tantamount to slapping him in the face and calling him an unlicked kit. Edenpaw believed it was a matter of the most sincere form of jealousy but... that was a rumor and secret best kept between girl friends. They open their mouth to say some kind of encouragement, to cheer for the bulky tom cat that he could do it, that he was strong (anything that might scream at him 'don't die!!!' 'please not here!!') but terror shackled paws translate to anxiety-tight throat and they just stand there dumbly with their mouth half open.

A beam of dark pointed light moves in front of them, having successfully done his part (been useful) to make sure no one else needed to be buried today. A gaping mouth closes slowly, staring into azure shores and a cautious, quiet voice... They can't ignore the rosy blush of blood across his face but it has to be far better than the grisly details of whatever goes on behind him.

"He's okay," they echo him, repeating it so it might stick, so the pitch fur along their spine might rest again.

No one else had died today. They could relish in that.

They frown slightly at the small ribbon of red that trails the (barely) older boy's ear. It had to hurt... even if he was trying to be big and brave and strong about it. But that was for someone useful to help with which, presently, did not include Edenpaw.

"Thank you..." A sheepish whisper they aren't entirely sure he'll hear. Chipper and silly they are, stupid they are not. His careful adjustments of his body are intentional... and a younger, less horrified part of them swells with joy to be spared more terror. "I'm.... I'm gonna run ahead and tell the medicine cats you guys got some scratches 'kay? Don't fight anyone else on your way home," they meow loudly before haring off to help in whatever miniscule way they can.

// out and!
i dont CARE that the last response is a week ago, you'll get my notification and you'll like it!!! /lhj​