sensitive topics On Earth or below (WindClan)

[Cindershade]

Over. And over. And over. "Just die already!" The woman snarls, spittle mixed with blood spewing from her crimson stained maw as she lashed her forepaw out. He ducks below quicker than she anticipated, or else she was the one slowing down. He surges upwards, using his momentum to uppercut into her chin and her feet seemed to move before she's able to process it. Cindershade bobs out of the way, narrowing her gaze to focus more keenly upon her enemy. No longer can she even smell him or her home, not even the fresh scent of New-Leaf moss. All she can smell is the metallic tang of blood, their aromas mixing together. Screeches echo in the distance, though barely audible from the pounding of her heart. It thrums wildly, blood roaring in her ears as she lunges for him again. Her back legs muster up the strength and she's not quite sure how in the state they're both in. Using her own momentum, she springs a little quicker than before and aims to smack dead into his bleeding chest with teeth aiming to make purchase upon his face and rip that smug grin wide open if she could. Was StarClan still smiling proudly upon them? Were they pleased that their warriors were literally tearing themselves apart? In a way, she likes to think so. She was defending her clan amd her home. She was not in the wrong here, no matter the circumstances. It brings a surge of new energy to hear aching limbs, perhaps she wasn't as done yet with this battle as she thought she was.
// roll 6 for defense and 3 for attack
@TIGERFROST
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[ SILENCE IS DEAFENING ]​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

The claws swing across his chest and he realizes immediately the intention behind them as it connects, as he feels flesh rip and blood splatter at his paws before he can. Smokethroat darts back to avoid the cut going any deeper but the damage is done. Branded, scarred, he feels his fur prickle in disgust at it; the same mark eerily mimicked across the brown tabby's own chest from his leader. Loyalty carved into skin, blood spilled for a false idol, it ignited in him a rage he had not felt in moons since the last time they had fought when he watched the bastard dart over the border to attack him on RiverClan land.
"YOU-" The dark tom choked back on his words, his anger welling to burst. Filthy rat, wretched thing, he was going to flay him alive. A snarl, a scream, a yowl to rival that of LionClan sent him slamming forward to once again throw them from a dignified battle of skill to the dirty and rough tussling of street cats fighting to the very death. He recalls his time in two-leg place where every fight ended in bloodshed and corpses, that each day he lived thinking his would be the last.

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[Ooc]
- @WEASELCLAW
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[TIGERFROST]

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The voice of his opponent is met with a sneer, despite Cindershade's avoidance of his attack. Ears flick backward as the voice of Hyacinthbreath cuts through the bloodied atmosphere, calling him rogue. His lips curl back into a snarl, and he grits his teeth, tells himself to focus on his present fight, lest he be torn to shreds at the claws of Cicadastar's lead warrior. Just as she springs, he surges to the side of her, her teeth and talons missing him by a hare's whisker, likely thanks to the distraction that Hyacinthbreath had briefly caused. Regardless, Tigerfrost has deftly avoided another stroke of potential death, and as momentum carries Cindershade past, he thrusts out a fore-paw and aims to rake his nails across the side of her body. He has little breath left for insults and banter, so he merely brings that sneer back to his fanged jaws, certain of his victory, despite the agony he now endured. Not even the adrenaline was enough to mask such pain, now.

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5 of 20 HP / rolled a 4 for defense and a 5 for attack
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@Cindershade and also responding to the insult from @hyacinthbreath cause i kept forgetting ;-;
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[Cindershade]

Her defense had been depleted, she had no strength left or will to bob and weave any longer. It had to end. She'd throw all she had left at him, every ounce of will power and mindset. As she soars towards him, she thinks briefly for a moment, that she's going to make her hit. She'd get to tear at him one final time, but his swift movements do not faltered. He side-steps just out of the way and she can barely feel his tabby fur against her splayed claws before she feels more seering pain. He connects to her vulnerable flank, swiping down her flank hard and she can't even scream at the pain anymore. She's numb—her mind begins to shut down from the trauma and she sees blackness edge her vision.
Was she going to die here at the hands of WindClan? Would the stars greet her whilst her wounds simply disappeared? Cindershade tumbles from the force of the attack, rolling in a heap of black fur and crimson blood that splatters from her muscular physique. Her breaths were becoming more ragged as she struggled, her body screaming for her to stop. Just rest. You're going to die if you don't. For a moment, she hesitates and wants to agree. It'd be the smart decision, wouldn't it? Save your own tail before it's too late.
But Cindershade just couldn't give Tigerfrost the satisfaction. She'd never give up.
So, the rosette tabby slowly gets on her shaking pawsand takes a deep breath. Her hazy eyes round upon the smirking lead warrior. Her stained lips pull back at the corners, revealing a smirk of her own. Paws carry her forth once more, this time clumsily skidding in the clearing as she pivots to his side and aims to leap upon his wounded shoulder and latch ivory teeth into the nape of his neck.

//rolled 1 for defense and 4 for attack;
Cindershade is currently at 1HP
@TIGERFROST
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[ SILENCE IS DEAFENING ]​

 

[TIGERFROST]

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Just as he sneered at her, Cindershade's own expression pulls into a dangerous smirk. She pants and gasps for breath as she pushes her bloodied, battered form back to her own paws. Tigerfrost is only doing an ounce better than she is, it would seem. The RiverClan lead warrior had gotten the jump on him, had shredded his flesh and fur, yet he had endured. Had fought through the pain, the suffering.

Now, as he gulped the blood-scented air into his lungs, gazing at his enemy, he knows that neither can keep this dance going for much longer. He knows that both have lost too much blood, have spent too much energy, have struggled through too much agony. His eyes no longer simmer with rage, no. They have gone cold, akin to ice. Where he had been so quick witted before, his sharp tongue now lies eerily silent. This was it, he realizes. This was the deciding moment.

It's almost as if it all happens in slow motion, though to anyone watching, it was surely just a blur of lashing claws and hissing vocals. He stands there, watching her, panting where he lingers, blood trailing down his limbs to splatter the damp earth, creeping past his stained fangs to paint his maw. In a rush, she charges, pivots clumsily to his side as her hind limbs throw her into the air, right toward his shoulder.

Tigerfrost says nothing, simply moves. He twists to the side, ducking low to avoid gnashing teeth, hovering close to the soil beneath him as she strikes down right where he had been mere moments ago. The chimera narrows his eyes in calculating thought, quick to take decisive advantage of his positioning. Tigerfrost jolts upward with one final, explosive counter-attack, hind-limbs kicking him off as he launches himself toward Cindershade, aiming to slam one clawed paw into the side of her skull with, he hopes, enough force to sent her crashing to the ground.

Would it be enough? Would their dance continue until they both bled out on the stained earth, and if so, would they be welcomed into the stars, where their fight might continue for eternity? He doesn't know. But in that racing moment of pain and exhaustion, Tigerfrost fully intends to put a stop to this fight, once and for all.

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5 of 20 HP / rolled a 5 for defense and a 6 for attack
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@Cindershade
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[Cindershade]

She's too slow. Tigerfrost sees her coming from a mile away as she leaps to seize the nape of his neck. She misses again. It's not like her to be so sloppy, but on account of blood loss and exhaustion, it's a surprise she's lasted this long in their thrashing of tooth and claw. They danced valiantly, hitting hard where it counted. She surges over the larger tom, looming and demonic looking with her own green hellish gaze and wild expression twisting upon her face. He ducks low, then brings himself up in what he had left of the tank. She sees it coming, his blood stained paw streaking out in a quick motion. The blow hits the side of her cranium hard, blood and spittle spraying from her slack maw as it connects against her. The force slams into her, a striking viper and she sees stars instantly.
Her body crumples to the ground a little bit away, a tangle of paws and fur. Small gatherings of crimson pool around her and she is still. One may look upon her disheveled body and mistake it for a corpse, how she was so still and her eyes closed while her jaw remain open. All that remained as a sign of life was the small rise and fall of her flank. Was she going to die? No stars had greeted her, just the eerie peacefulness of shadows as it carresses her. She'd put everythingshe had into her battle but with a heavy heart, she had lost. Tigerfrost had bested her, but he'd sure remember her by.
One could only hooe to pull her from the fray in case another WindClanner took it upon theirself to finish the job if they caught sight of her breathing form.

//K.O.
Any RiverClanner is free to grab her or see if she's alive lol
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[ SILENCE IS DEAFENING ]​

 

[Badgermoon]

Unsurprisingly, Willowroot took advantage of his exposed stomach and the WindClanner felt a jolt of pain as her claws swept across the tender flesh; their thumping hind legs reminded him, vaguely, of what it was like to catch a hare. The idea of ending this RiverClanner's life as easily as he could end a rabbit's was exhilarating, even if he knew it was surely not to be so. The thought, however, was galvanizing, as was the metallic nectar of her blood against his tongue as his jaws found purchase near her neck. The long-furred warrior pulled themselves away from him before he could sink his teeth in any deeper, and he rolled away gamely enough; he'd had enough of having his gut sliced up, thanks. Badgermoon scrabbled back to his feet, his heart leaping wildly in his chest as thin rivulets of blood began to trickle down his legs from his injured stomach. There was only an eye-blink, it felt, before the smoky lead warrior was springing towards him again - he let out a gargled noise that was half-hiss and half-cackle as he felt slender legs ensnare his hind paws. A tricky move! Unexpected, but thrilling, albeit inconvenient.

The black-and-white tom was highly reluctant to expose his stomach again, but considering his options, he felt he had no choice. Flipping himself onto his back before she could latch onto his neck, Badgermoon slung his forelegs out and tried to draw her in close to him, attempting to both slam his bulkier head into theirs as his front claws aimed to rake down her shoulders, and use his back legs to rip into their stomach, as she had cut into his. If she had a moment to spare whilst being attacked, perhaps she would catch a glimpse of some of her handiwork, as the white fur of his underbelly was stained a ghastly pink by the steady ooze of blood.

@willowroot​

 

[TIGERFROST]

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The hit connects. He can feel the weight beneath his paw, the crack of it against her head. Cindershade falls, tumbles to damp earth. Lights out, he thinks with grim satisfaction. Tigerfrost still stands, panting for breath, blood streaked and gore covered. He is a sight to behold, fangs bared and claws out, eyes alight with a victorious glow. He pushes himself to stand taller, lifts his chin with an arrogant pride. Tigerfrost did not lose fights, SkyClan knew this, and now RiverClan would too. Anyone that opposed him was bound to fall before his might. Cindershade had tried so hard, but in the end, she was no different than the rest he had battled. Another tally. Another foe defeated.

Still, she had done a great deal of damage against him in the fight for her life, and he could respect her skill in that. Tigerfrost is scarred and exhausted. No amount of pride could hide the pain in his eyes. A hard fought victory which tasted of blood and dust. His sides heave as he expels a long breath, then, parts his jaws, lifts his nose to the sky, and yowls, "For Juniperfrost!" A rallying cry to his surrounding clan-mates, those still locked tooth and nail with their opponents. They could do it, they could keep fighting, they could avenge what had been taken from them. His heart beats with the thrum of excitement, the thrill of his triumph. When the second wave finally arrived to relieve the first, they would be met with the gory sight of a battlefield paved for their arrival in blood.​

 

[WEASELCLAW]

The yowl Smokethroat emits as Weaselclaw's claws hit their mark is less of pain and more of unfiltered rage. The brown tabby grins, though he hardly has time to gloat at the brand now seared across the RiverClan lead warrior's chest before he's attacked again. Gone are any pretenses that this is not a fight to the death. Weaselclaw is bowled over by Smokethroat's weight, and the claws that pierce his flesh are securely fastened.

The tabby attempts to use his lower legs to kick at Smokethroat's stomach, hoping to tear the sensitive flesh there and remove him. As he uses his powerful hind legs to kick, Weaselclaw says through a mouthful of blood, "I think it looks good on you." His blue eyes are frenzied with the flames of battle.​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

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[SMOKESTAR]

He didn't answer, grit teeth and spittle, breathing fire, howling with rage like some unearthed abberation let loose upon the world.
It was the claws to his stomach, he felt them split through fur and flesh like nothing and it was his own fault not being more guarded with the more vital areas of his body but his rage had sent him on a downward spiral. The slice burning across his underside felt hot, horrific, but he didn't know how bad because the pain was dulled in his wild fevour to remove this stain from the land. It wasn't the fall that killed you but the landing and whether the blood pooling around his belly was fatal or not the impact to the ground and jagged rocks was enough to break his senses; splintered and scattered into pieces. It was a hard hit, not from Weaselclaw but the ground itself.

Another fight on uneven grounds, moor rat couldn't win unless he threw some advantage his way into the mix whether it be multiple cats on his side or an ambush in the dark; on a level playing field Smokethroat would have killed him in an instant but now he...
Don't shut your eyes, idiot. Don't close them. Weaselclaw was not some bleedingheart sympathizer like the clanmates his queen had run out, he would not be satisfied in simply defeating an opponent. He'd make sure they didn't get back up.
No. NO. Not yet, not until he chased the bastard out of his home; temporary or not they had no right to be here. Despite his mental protests, teeth clenched and claws outstretched in a last attempt to bleed anything from the tabby, he found his vision blurring at the edges; the world growing gradually darker.
Until it went very still and very black.

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[Ooc]
- @WEASELCLAW
Please do not save him, it has already been plotted out! ♥
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[GILLSIGHT]

A defiant shout is punctuated by kicks to his ribs, a sharp throbbing that only weakens Gillpaw further. Though pain is evident in the boy, he still stands his ground. For as long as he can, kick after kick. Gillpaw aims to strike back, with claws seeking impact at the moor dweller's chest below him.

Another kick to his ribs, harder than the last. Air is knocked out of his lungs at the impact, white paws wavering as he struggles to regain his breath. Gillpaw falls back, eyes wide with panic at the stinging warmth that riddles his body - a sudden realization that he was failing, that he was slipping up in this battle against his bloodthirsty opponent.

He's going to lose this. He's going to die.

A chilling thought he has little time for. It shocks him too, the sudden idea of leaving Clearsight without his apprentice, of failing him. Gillpaw can't let that happen. Clearsight can't lose him.

With a burst of energy regained, Gillpaw leaps forward again, claws aiming to strike the apprentice once more - a hope that the blow is strong enough to get the upper hand in this.

A hope for the WindClanners to retreat, for normalcy to return to RiverClan. To be able to train with Clearsight tomorrow.

// @Azaleapaw !​

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[CICADASTAR]

he doesn’t know who this molly is, but she screams beneath him. bloodcurdling yowls that pierce through the air, echoing about the beech copse. cruelty wells within him. good. good. he wanted them to hurt, the only thing a windclanner knew — the only thing they were good for. she kicks at him and his claws move to sink deeper to keep him in place, the jostling of his mind limbs hopefully ripping into them further. he snarls, a rabid, feral noise that very nearly causes him to miss the drabble she spits at him.

weaselclaw is going to kill your fucking mate.

it’s slow to register in his hazy mind, clouded by the yowls of agony and rage around him. he barks a laugh at her, feels drool dribble from his mouth and to the bloodied back beneath him, “ i’m going to kill you. “ it’s gritted, unnatural to his tongue. he would end her and the rest of the excuse of warrior patrol she’d rode in on. he aims a sloppy bite again, but his eye flick up and — there. weaselclaw. the brown tabby was under him, the dark warrior atop losing strength until finally, his head lulls back. his eyes close.

there is a brief second of stunned silence. the tabby is bleeding and beaten in the sand, but smokethroat falls and the blood rushing in his ears falls quiet to match. weaselclaw is going to kill your mate. no — no. he would kill their leaders.

the mottled feline pushes off of his current prey, attempts to push off of her head as he launches himself forward, claws unsheathed to hopefully rake her deep across the face with his hind claws. this windclanner — he’d been a problem from the very start. he should have taken him out the moment he’d attacked him coming from the moonstone, should have left his mangled body to find lying bloody in their territory. he would now. he would seep the life from him if it took one of his own to do so, says not a word until he is close enough to push off of his hind limbs and aim to bowl into @WEASELCLAW the moment he tries to lift from where smokethroat had had him pinned. his mate is lying on his side and he has no time to watch for the rise - fall of his flank, has no time to nurse the mourning that already bubbles in his stomach. rage — red hot and violent. he’d seen it this time, had time before he tucked tail and ran. he would not be getting out of this camp alive, cicadastar would drag his body back by the torn scruff and let them know sootstar’s kits would be fatherless of their own accord. he would revel in it.

there is no banter from him. river phantom, stomach torn from scorchstreak nearly forgotten in the adrenaline. relatively uninjured, eyes burning from the sand the windclan molly had desperately tossed in them, should he succeed he attempts to use the moment of solace he had as smokethroat falls to his advantage, aims a vicious bite at his throat and pulls. there was no honor here, no respect of life — if he fails in some way, at the very least, he will have slot himself between the two, muscles bunched and crouched protectively before his fallen mate. the only way they would leave is in pieces, in his wild mind, he knows. it was all they had ever known on the moors, wasn’t it? he would end it — he would. if smokethroat was to fall at his claws, he would take them from the one who’d killed him as a trophy. a small solace amidst the heat of fury in blinding blue eyes, he would pull him from the heat of battle and curl into his fur on his own accord, but for now, revenge, desperate and quick.

/ rolled a five, sorry weasel < / 3

− ♱ information out of character ⟐ visual reference translated ♱ −

• ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⠀ CICADASTAR⠀⠀−−−c−−−⠀⠀king of the rivers.
  m. he / him. black smoke & tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt - blue eyes. a handsome, looming tom bearing patchwork black - silver curls that fall over his slim figure in loose, shining rivulets, broken with white and glossy from his fish diet. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar stands unusually tall amongst his peers, and holds himself with a tragic grace, poised and prim and ever - aware of how he is being perceived.
  
  ᨒ gay, courting smokethroat. smells like wet stone & moss.
  ᨒ speaks with a german accent. 40 moons, ages on the eighth.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
• 
• none.

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[WEASELCLAW]

Victory. His hind legs, powerful from distance running in the moors, have sent Smokethroat rolling and bloody. The enemy is still, but for the faint rise and fall of his ribs. Weaselclaw's smile is slow and almost disappointed that the fight has concluded. Because it has. Smokethroat will not live to see the sunrise.

The tabby pants, rolling onto his own flank from the exertion. His wounds are deep in some places, shallow in others, but his body aches all over. He begins to use what's left of his energy to push himself to his paws, his limbs beginning to shake with spent adrenaline. He takes an unsteady step toward Smokethroat. His expression is cold. He will deliver the killing blow, just as Smokethroat would have done to him. Their fates are writ in the stars beginning to blaze above their heads.

He begins to take another shaky step. He does not get the chance to press his white forepaw back to the earth. Another force, sharp and bony and pointed, flies into his side, intercepting the final blow. Weaselclaw is forcibly slammed back, and his legs buckle beneath him. Cicadastar leers over him, seeming mountainous, made of shadows. His teeth are flashing, so close to Weaselclaw's face, and he lets out a strangled yowl as they sink into the soft skin of his throat. Wetness begins to drip around the sides of Cicadastar's fangs, down the white of the lead warrior's scarred chest. Cicadastar aims to kill him -- to avenge Smokethroat, not even knowing the bastard is alive.

He has one chance to make it out alive. Weaselclaw raises his sturdiest forepaw and slashes toward Cicadastar's face. It would not be a blinding or terribly deep blow if it hits. Weaselclaw's only aim is to cause the wretched river king to release him. His head is beginning to spin. It's more blood than he'd thought possible. More than he's ever lost before.

// interacting with @CICADASTAR >:)​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

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[CICADASTAR]

he hits, the shock of colliding with a sturdier body than his pulsing in his side but the tabby goes down again. easier now than he would have been, smokethroat had beaten him well, weakened him to a quaking mass of brown and red. warmth pools over his jaws, floods the ivory of his features in crimson, he can feel blood and drool string from between the gaps of grossly exposed canines. he latches into him like freshkill, jerks his head like he were tearing into him, as if he aimed to eat what heated insides he forced out. his only thought — furious and blinding, more hound than cat in the way he moves. its because of this that he does not see the single forepaw that lifts, strikes him across the face just over a sharp cheekbone.

he hisses in pain and anger with it, jerks his head to the side and consequently unhooking his teeth from the windclan scum’s throat. a grisly thing, spitting his own blood at his face. knobbed spine arched, fur bristling along his jagged edges, a shallow gash lain over the top of his hollow cheek slowly splitting with red. the lead warrior lies in a puddle of his own and it is enough to see him struggle beneath him, the remnants of a pained howl still echoing in his ears. he hopes he bleeds out, hopes it hurts. there is a brief moment in which pallid eyes lift, flicking towards the body of his fallen warrior and there is a beat in which @WEASELCLAW can slither from beneath him, but within moments his gaze snaps back down, renewed to lift a bony paw and strike fast at his face towards an eye, curved claws caked in blood, fur and sand. he hoped he was the last thing he seen — his snarling, blood - covered muzzle. he wanted it to hurt.

− ♱ information out of character ⟐ visual reference translated ♱ −

• ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⠀ CICADASTAR⠀⠀−−−c−−−⠀⠀king of the rivers.
  m. he / him. black smoke & tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt - blue eyes. a handsome, looming tom bearing patchwork black - silver curls that fall over his slim figure in loose, shining rivulets, broken with white and glossy from his fish diet. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar stands unusually tall amongst his peers, and holds himself with a tragic grace, poised and prim and ever - aware of how he is being perceived.
  
  ᨒ gay, courting smokethroat. smells like wet stone & moss.
  ᨒ speaks with a german accent. 40 moons, ages on the eighth.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
• 
• none.

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[TIGERFROST]

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Victory tasted like blood and dust. Tasted like oily fur and fishy breath. Cindershade hasn't moved, in the night her figure is still, caked with blood. Smokethroat had fallen as well, another corpse to the pile. If they were still alive, he cannot see it, hear it, or know it. Too dark, too chaotic, to even note whether their sides still moved. And yet, as RiverClan's resolve shattered, as their defense creaked and broke beneath the pressure of WindClan's ruthless assault, it was still not enough. They still fought on, even as the second wave raced to crash into what remained of those still fighting. They don't seem to realize that they've lost, Tigerfrost thinks behind his narrowed eyes. Breath comes quick to his aching lungs, heart racing with the adrenaline that streaked through his veins. He's hurt, dying perhaps. It didn't matter. He couldn't stop now. Soon, they'd all be home again. They'd all be sitting together in the clearing, sharing stories. Laughing. Feasting. Triumphant.

Yet, there's a roar unmistakable, a fury like a wildfire sweeping through the frenzied battlefield. Cicadastar is a wall of muscle that crashes down upon Weaselclaw. Fiery eyes widen, maw half parted, fangs bared as Tigerfrost finds himself frozen in place, watching as the leader's fanged maw crunched into his fellow Lead Warrior's flesh. What? No. It couldn't be, could it? You bastard! But Weaselclaw still lives, still breathes, gasps between his teeth. Weakened limbs churn desperately against RiverClan's mighty tyrant. Rage fills the chimera's mind, glows within his eyes like molten fire. Too weak to call out, not enough breath. Blood drips from his maw, trickles from his burning wounds. Fight. The word echoes through his mind. He takes a step closer, claws out, figure quaking. How dare he. How dare Cicadastar even try. His clan had already lost. He had already lost! Fight! It wasn't over yet. Weaselclaw wasn't going to die. Tigerfrost wasn't going to die. WindClan had won. Another step closer. He won't let Cicadastar take one of WindClan's best. He won't let Cicadastar take his friend.

Fight!

He moves, at last. He moves and he sucks in an explosive breath as the pain of his injuries threaten to send him collapsing to the ground. He grits his teeth, refuses to give up, to lay down, to let Weaselclaw become food for the worms. Paws thrum against blood-soaked ground, eyes blaze with determination, he pushes onward, straight for the RiverClan leader, as his focus rests upon the battered figure of Weaselclaw beneath his claws. Get off of him! Back legs send Tigerfrost airborne. Time stops. It's silent, now, the screeches and the yowls are gone. He can see his target as clearly as the stars themselves, his owns talons reaching out for the RiverClan leader as if in slow motion. It's all so clear, like still, reflective water. Am I going to die? Tigerfrost is not the one beneath Cicadastar's claws, but he can't help but wonder... when the RiverClan leader turns his wrath upon the chimera, could he actually stop the other tom in his present state?

For a moment, he thinks he's okay with that. Dying for WindClan, for a fellow Lead Warrior, and a friend.

I'm not a quitter. The thought is like a jolt electricity. Tigerfrost wasn't going to die. Cindershade couldn't kill him. He's too stubborn. The thought is amusing enough that it still brings him some peace, even as he flings himself into the jaws of the devil himself. Tigerfrost aims to crash into Cicadastar's side with enough force to topple him, while using his feline talons to anchor himself into whatever flesh he can find. Jaws snap and teeth glint with rage as the Lead Warrior aims to send them crunching around the back of Cicadastar's neck. A killing bite, perhaps. Maybe it wouldn't matter. Perhaps it wouldn't connect. Perhaps Cicadastar had plenty of lives to spare, or maybe he'd simply shake the wounded Tigerfrost off of him like an annoying fly. But I have to try, he reasons. He doesn't care if Cindershade is dead, or Smokethroat, or even Cicadastar. Not right now. All that mattered was somehow getting Cicadastar out of the fight long enough for the first wave to retreat.

For Tigerfrost and Weaselclaw to retreat. Alive.

(( helping @WEASELCLAW by attacking @CICADASTAR ))​

 

[SCORCHSTREAK]

Every part of her body feels like it’s been set on fire and cooled too quickly. She’s been raked across the Thunderpath on a too-hot day, left awaiting the rumbling of a monster on the oilslick ground beneath her back. The battering of her body continues, and she only floats back into awareness when her head is jerked harshly to the side with yet another vicious slash to her cheek.

Blearily, she lifts her head, feeling dirt—sand, whatever—sticking in the bloodied wounds across her face. The raging leader has abandoned her, it seems, in favor of defending his black-furred clanmate from Weaselclaw. Her taunt worked, she thinks for a moment.

But Weaselclaw is injured, too. His victory did not come without cost. He is in danger, unhelped by her pathetic attempts to injure the RiverClan leader.

With a pained grunt that feels more like a whimper ripping itself from her throat, Scorchstreak drags herself to her paws. She feels closer to being a corpse now than she ever has before. With effort, body groaning at every jolt, the calico springs for the fallen RiverClanner. Tigerfrost and Weaselclaw surely have the mottled tom distracted enough for her to pull off… something truly idiotic.

Is she willing to lay down her life for this clan? She was willing to give up her son’s. Her decision is quickly made.

"It would be… so quick to end his life." She grits the words out, blood dribbling from her mouth; the claws in her cheek must have sunk deeper than she thought. The aching falls to by wayside, though, as she shifts her stance, balancing on three tired, shaking legs. Her vision blinks in and out, blurring when she moves too quickly. But this is a chance. She can get them all—or at least the lead warriors—out of this battle without loss.

Hooked claws lower to rest just at Smokethroat’s jugular, tracing the skin but not sinking in. One move, and she could sever… something important, certainly. If she kills him now, it’s all over. One RiverClan life in return for three WindClan (because she knows that if Cicadastar turns on her, she’s no better off than either of the others) isn’t a worthwhile trade. "Easy pickings, in the middle of a battlefield."


// threatening @Smokethroat in an attempt to distract @CICADASTAR.
​

[ MONSTROUS WOMAN ]​

​

 

[sparkspirit]

Pounding, beating, racing heart– he abandons Snakepaw, abandons his opponent, and he flees. Not from the battlefield but deeper into it, casting only one last glance at the other apprentice with fearful electric eyes before he throws himself into the blood-fray. Though his body aches with exertion and panic flutters frantically against the walls of his chest, suddenly none of it matters. All he can see is Weaselclaw, and the cat who has spoken at the gatherings in a bold, hateful voice. Sinking his claws into him, striking viciously in the night. Tigerfrost and Scorchstreak both do what they can, but is it enough? Would it be enough to save the one cat in WindClan who seemed to have complete faith in him? Weaselclaw saw more in him than traitor's blood, and Sparkpaw would not prove him wrong now. He would not be as weak as Yewberry. He couldn't be.

As Tigerfrost occupies the leader's front half, and Scorchstreak pulls his attention away, Sparkpaw swings around behind on deft paws, swiping out at the leader's hindquarters and delicate tendon to force motion, a drop, anything that would get him away from Weaselclaw. It doesn't even matter if it works. The gushing red stains the ground and calls him to it. His teeth sink into the tabby's scruff, and though there is little might behind the WindClan apprentice, he pulls with all of it, doing everything that he could to yank the lead warrior from beneath Cicadastar's wrathful gaze.

˗ˏˋ  †〚  OOC REFERENCE INFORMATION 〛

• ooc: interacting with @CICADASTAR and @WEASELCLAW, trying to pull the latter away.
• 
• sparkpaw, sparky. dmab male, he - him - his.
  ──── apprentice of windclan. loyal to windclan and his family.
  ──── 04 moons old. born on 12.15.22, and ages in real time.
  ──── echolight x elmbreeze, adopted by yewberry. brightfam.
• "speech"

​

 

[WEASELCLAW]

Weaselclaw's attack hits, and Cicadastar is forced to loosen his jaws from his throat. Relief. He gasps for breath, and is relieved to find he can still breathe -- that air is going into his lungs, that his life blood isn't fountaining over the RiverClan leader like a scarlet waterfall. He has no time to rejoice that the move connected, as Cicadastar aims for his own eyes, and Weaselclaw screeches as the chimera's claws latch just around his eyelid. He uses the last of his strength to roll away, to escape with the eye that Smokethroat could not, but the blood that pours from his face lets him know he will not leave his battle unmarked.

The tabby wonders if this is where he dies, and he thinks of his kits. He thinks of Sootstar. Moons packed into seconds, he thinks that he will never see his sons and daughters become apprentices, train to defend their Clan, then be anointed as warriors WindClan can be proud of. They will know he died in the line of duty, but he isn't satisfied with that.

He wants to see their faces again. Adderkit attacking Gravelpaw. Harrierkit pouncing his brother. Cottonkit following him about camp. Bluekit's troubled stare. Moorkit and her fake war cry.

He wants to live.

It's chaos, what happens next. Weak and bloodied comrades coming to his defense. Scorchstreak, who Cicadastar had tossed aside just before coming to his mate's aid, is up, is fighting. Tigerfrost, too, looking only a fraction more alive than he is.

A dark burst of movement behind Cicadastar draws his fading attention away. Weaselclaw feels fangs in his scruff. Sparkpaw. His apprentice had come to his rescue, too. With the added momentum, Weaselclaw uses what's left of his strength to force himself to his paws. Blood is wealing from the wound in his throat, from his eye, and his body feels seconds from disintegrating beneath his own weight.

He looks at Cicadastar and yowls: "WindClan, retreat!" The first wave has done all they can, and it's up to the remaining warriors and apprentices to finish the job.

He waits a moment before he decides to spit, "The next time we meet in battle, I'm taking every life you have left, bastard... including his." Bleeding blue eyes flick to Smokethroat, and he leaves -- he knows they all must, or risk immediate death. He prays his call for retreat is enough for RiverClan to let them all go.

// out hopefully !!!! lmao​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

​

 

[CICADASTAR]

there is a sudden weight on his back, but cindershade had done her job well. he is weak, struggling to move alone and the bite he could only supposed is meant to be killing does little. the leader shakes, snarls, but it is sparkpaw’s slice at his heel that lifts a paw that held him steady despite the windclanner’s sloppy hold. thinking quick, despite his lack of mass, the riverclanner aims to slam him into the ground by leaning on his side, trying to jam a sharp, bony shoulder into his throat when they fall. idiot. should he succeed he will attempt to writhe, kicking up his limbs in attempt to find perch on any sensitive flesh he could strike. it’s only then that scorchstreak’s voice breaks through the haze of battle, through the flare of rage in his eyes intent on tigerfrost now — the river phantom is new to the battle, only shallow scratches by half - dead windclanners, one of which refusing to stay down. it’s easy enough to break from his former opponents grasp, weaselclaw forgotten as his gaze snaps to the side, taunts drowning the screech of battle around him.

he should have killed her. he should have brought his own teeth down on her throat, could have pushed off her corpse instead and left her bleeding into the ground. tigerfrost would hopefully bleed out from the wounds already inflicted upon him — despite himself, he would have to make the same decision twice. the leader scrabbles against the ground, hopes to jerk himself out of the white - masked tabby’s hooked claws. his teeth grit, imagines he can hear the popping of flesh as he forces himself loose, infuriated strength wading at the pain pulsing hard in his back. thin, tender skin wells to a crimson by the time he is loose, “ get away.. “ low. more growl than words. he takes a slow step forward, pain over his knobbed spine and blood at his heel impeding his ascent. with the slightest limp he moves forward, finding his footing, “ du rohling, i will gut you — i’ll finish what i started, ill even make dirt on your body so you still smell of your home when i leave you to rot. “ threats. she is wavering in pain, face mutilated, but her claws are at his throat. if he moved too quickly, she could draw them over in seconds.

a grating yowl, a call for retreat. his head whips back and weaselclaw is glaring at him, saved by the same apprentice that had batted at his hind limb before tucking tail to skitter away. he wants to run after him, but his gaze snaps towards the former subject of his attention, hopes the call was enough to distract her half - dazed state long enough for him to launch forward, splaying over his fallen mate and aiming a harsh, sharp bite at the wrist over his neck, thrashing his head if successful. should she struggle away from him, he would not move from his spot. he would not chase the retreating windclanners. he would wait, would stay crouched low until able to drag him from the field. pale blue glares daggers at them, but he says nothing — only a low, howling hum of a snarl riding on the edges of his vocals.

/ took 3 damage, attacking with 6 on @TIGERFROST and defending smokethroat from @SCORCHSTREAK

− ♱ information out of character ⟐ visual reference translated ♱ −

• ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⠀ CICADASTAR⠀⠀−−−c−−−⠀⠀king of the rivers.
  m. he / him. black smoke & tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt - blue eyes. a handsome, looming tom bearing patchwork black - silver curls that fall over his slim figure in loose, shining rivulets, broken with white and glossy from his fish diet. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar stands unusually tall amongst his peers, and holds himself with a tragic grace, poised and prim and ever - aware of how he is being perceived.
  
  ᨒ gay, courting smokethroat. smells like wet stone & moss.
  ᨒ speaks with a german accent. 40 moons, ages on the eighth.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
• 
• none.

​

​

 

[TIGERFROST]

Tags and Information

---

Oily RiverClan fur is never a joy to bite into, and Cicadastar's is not an exception. Tigerfrost feels as if he can hardly catch his breath, made exceptionally more difficult with the fur in his jaws. Worse, still, his vision seems to grow unfocused, and he lets out a hiss, fur bristling, a hollow noise of irritation and rage. Doesn't matter, he thinks tiredly to himself. Doesn't matter. And through his bloodstained feline lips, a devious smirk crawls across his maw. Doesn't matter. Another assurance. More encouragement. He didn't need to fight off Cicadastar. His goal had been simple, to free Weaselclaw from the RiverClan leader's grasp. With the help of a quick-minded apprentice, it seems Tigerfrost has managed just that. Another victory, he laughs, a grim, painful sort of noise. There's no joy in it. No mirth. Only exhaustion, and the simple satisfaction in knowing that with the first wave's retreat, the second wave would crash in to finish the job. Cicadastar probably thought he had won.

Tigerfrost exhales sharply, vocals silenced as the leader tips beneath him. He knows exactly what Cicadastar is doing, but Tigerfrost doesn't have the strength to shove himself away, or... leap to freedom. He supposed he had accepted that he might die for Weaselclaw the moment he leaped to the aid of his fellow Lead Warrior. And so soon after my promotion... a bitter thought, one that is swallowed by that stubborn sense of victory. Even in the end, I win, but there's not much room for further thought, as Cicadastar's figure crashes into Tigerfrost's, slamming him to the damp ground. He chokes, gasps, struggles for breath as the elbow of the other tom crashes into his throat. It's a debilitating sensation, but it reminds Tigerfrost of his spar with Houndthistle. Those were good days, he thinks to himself, as the battle rages on around him. It's almost as if time itself has stopped. His ears are ringing. He's tired, though. He's not so sure he minds the warmth spreading through his limbs.

Reality is cold when it explodes back through his thoughts. Cicadastar's claws slice into his fur and flesh, but... the leader stops. Tigerfrost doesn't know why, can't really see what's going on, or hear the vocals of Scorchstreak. It takes him so long to process it... but she's there, a savior, claws to Smokethroat's neck. Heh, clever, Tigerfrost thinks, but he seizes the opportunity, shoves himself onto clumsy paws as Cicadastar tears himself away. Weaselclaw has announced the retreat of the first wave. It was time to go, and Tigerfrost sees no reason to remain. He had won his battle. He had saved Weaselclaw from certain death, alongside Sparkpaw and Scorchstreak. The second wave would soon arrive with fresh warriors ready to tear through the weary ones who remained in RiverClan's camp. They won't stand a chance, the Lead Warrior thinks numbly. RiverClan was doomed. He just hopes the second wave could finish off Hyacinthbreath, wherever she had run off to.

Tigerfrost stands, unsteady, watches with flaming eyes as Cicadastar lunges for Scorchstreak. He can't help her, though. He needs to use what little remains of his energy to get off of RiverClan territory. And, with the first wave retreating, Tigerfrost had no intentions of getting left behind. He'd be killed, and... he had lived through so much already. He couldn't give up so easily, not so fresh from his victory as he was, not when he knew reinforcements were on the way. He doesn't even have the breath to yowl at Scorchstreak to run, but he supposed she would have heard Weaselclaw's demand to retreat anyways. If she was smart, she'd do the same as the rest of them and flee. There was no point in staying here any longer. With that in mind, Tigerfrost turns away to escape while he still has the chance, fading from RiverClan's makeshift camp alongside his bloodied companions.

//out, Tiger was too weak to attack anymore but @CICADASTAR @SCORCHSTREAK @WEASELCLAW @sparkpaw. for mentions! :D \\​