pafp OUR WAR GAME ✧ melee

[GRANITEPELT]

Granitepelt is feeling antsy lately. He knows Sootstar awaits some useful bit of news, but ShadowClan is dryer than the ground sucking at their paws. His fur itches as though its ridden with fleas, anxiety tripping his steps and making him snappier. More than once, one of the kits has trodden on his tail or looked at him a little too long and met the sharp side of his tongue. He does not want them—even the she-kit—the grow up to despise him, as he has done his own mother, so one morning after he’s returned from the dawn patrol, he rouses all three of them and brings them into camp. There’s a soaking wet mossball clutched in his jaws.

He drops it—plop!—between the smooth slate of his forepaws. “One day, you will be expected to battle other cats,” he says smoothly, casting green eyes first on Flintkit, the look-a-like child, then on Nettlekit, bright and blue-eyed, and then—reluctantly—across the third, the she-kit, the phantom. He looks away from her quickly, feeling benevolent that he even chanced that one glance. “This mossball is a piece of prey. It’s the last piece of prey in ShadowClan, and if you do not bring it home yourself, your Clan will die.” He smiles. It’s odd and strangely devoid of warmth. “Show me what you will do to make sure you get this mossball back to me.”

Granitepelt almost lazily bats at the wet, heavy scrap of moss, and it’s flung perilously into the air. “Ready… set… go.” And then he waits for the three of them to scrabble. With any luck, they’ll turn their teeth and claws and wits on each other, but he will not be surprised if the less fierce kits get too close to the game.

// please wait for at least two of the following @NETTLEKIT @FLINTKIT @GHOSTKIT

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — granitekit . granitepaw . granitepelt
  — he/him ; warrior of shadowclan
  — heterosexual ; taken by Starlingheart
  — short-haired gray tom with white and green eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Meg

​

 

[NETTLEPAW ♡]

His father had, before, given him a puzzle; and though this one was nothing to figure out, to pick apart, there was a sense of thought about it. His toes twitched with anticipation, muscles quivering. Watchful as ever, brimming with clear-sky light of curiosity, Nettlekit watched his father, stance dutiful. So often was the fox-pelted tom informed of some approaching future- that ever-distant apprenticeship that was not-so far away anymore. It was overt of Granitepelt to tell them that soon, soon, they would be fighting other cats- but Nettlekit knew he was right.

If you do not bring it home yourself, your Clan will die. The clay-and-snow tom nodded thoughtfully. Nettlekit was ready to fully commit to this hypothetical scenario; he didn't know how fond he was of heroics, really, but if his father wanted him to save ShadowClan, he could easily slip into the skin of someone who would die for that possibility. For that last scrap. Yeah- he would be that saviour, the one who would stop ShadowClan from dying. It didn't matter If he could see himself succeeding or not- it just mattered that this was what his father wanted him to be, right now.

Go, said Granitepelt- and as the moss-ball flung itself into the air, Nettlekit set into some semblance of a hunting crouch, soft paws feather-light upon the ground as he stalked toward where it landed. Some other kits might rush at it, but no... no, not him. He was going to take a second- hunt it like it was real prey, and if someone got there first- he'd have more energy to catch them on the way back. ​

penned by pin ♡​

 

[GHOSTMASK]

†—— it is rare for granitepelt to seek her out for games, little tests, as he does with nettlekit and flintkit, she's noticed—on rare occasions she's caught a glimpse of him conversing with one of the two lighter-pelted toms, offering some word of advice or another. she does not mind, does not want his words; he would know if she did, because what ghostkit wants, she takes. at first when she wanted things she would literally take them, smacking another kit aside or telling them the honest truth—that they are stupid, useless, lesser. then she found out she didn't get what she really wanted when she did that. so now she's just nice to people until they give her what she wants, and it usually seems to work—except with granitepelt. granitepelt barely makes eye contact with her, much less gives her anything special.

still, today he's brought all three of them into camp with a wet mossball, and even glances at her once. ghostkit twitches her tufted tail, waits silently for his instructions and pauses to think once the mossball arcs into the air. she wonders whether she should wait for one of the other kits to retrieve it and then take it from their hopefully exhausted jaws—then she loses her time to think at all once nettlekit begins to stalk towards the moss-ball. she doesn't really care about saving shadowclan, but she wants that mossball now, so ghostkit will take it.

first she has to get nettlekit out of the way, though. she slinks towards him through the mucky ground of camp, then attempts to dig small claws into her brother's sides and prevent him from reaching his goal.

I WILL CARVE MY WAY OUT (†) 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 𝑶𝑵𝑳𝒀 𝑴𝒀 𝑻𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑯

• ooc: ——
  
• disclaimer: it is extremely important to note that ghostkit is an exceptionally cruel and immoral cat and her actions and thoughts do not reflect my own opinions as a writer. the way she behaves and thinks is morally reprehensible, and i do not condone these actions outside of roleplay in any way. she may refer to other cats in demeaning ways, including as "things", and this is not an attempt to oocly dehumanize anyone's character, but a reflection of her unfortunate outlook on the world.
  
  ghostkit is also a budding skilled manipulator who is already very good at concealing her true feelings. as such, other characters will generally not be able to detect the fact that she's falsifying her behavior unless it's specifically noted in the post to be visible. this includes "gut feelings", "intuition", or suspicion with no ic basis.
  
  again, all opinions & thoughts are ic only and do not reflect my thoughts and opinions as a writer.
• 
  — ghostkit
  — she/her ; kit of shadowclan ; 3 ☾s
  — "speech" ; thoughts ; attacks
  — penned by dejavu
  

​

 

[✧ Siltcloud.]

♡​♡ SOLD HER SOUL AT SEVENTEEN ♡♡​

---

siltcloud & 14 moons & female & she/her & shadowclan warrior​

---

Siltcloud is more than a bit curious as green eyes watch her brother, gaggle of kits before him. They'd never played such... interesting kit-games, no, her memories are only of bitter words and violent actions, any innocence they'd held ruined early on by death and fire. Though.. she'd made her mark on shadowclan, the burnt sycamore still referred as such even to this day.

She slips a bit closer, her own focus only on ghostkit - she shouldn't pick favorites, really, but if granitepelt could then what's the harm. Nettlekit's focus is on the moss, of course, but his sister is already moving towards him with claws outstretched. The molly finds a sick sense of satisfaction in the action - eyes glittering. She hopes it hurts. A sentiment once aimed at another ghostkit flashes through her mind, and oh, the irony.

Perhaps, this one would be worth more to shadowclan than a nice view.

— a beautiful and broken mess ♥

• Actions && "Speech," && ' Thoughts/Quotes '
  
  ooc: —
  tw/cw: —
  
• 
  — a dust hued cinnamon tabby with white markings and sage green eyes. her fur is dull and unkept, her figure frail and slight. she's usually quite passive, and rarely makes eye contact or speaks above a whisper. she has five toes upon all four paws.
  
  — physically medium && mentally hard
  — non-violent powerplay allowed && healing powerplay allowed && minor injury powerplay not-allowed
  — please attack using [b][color=#905d5d]action here[/color][/b] and tag account

 

[Swansong]

————— ☾ —————
NOW I KNOW WHAT'S REAL, WHAT'S FAKE

It's a strange game, that Granitepelt draws his children into. More violent than the usual kit-fare, pitting his children against one another. The kind of game that gives Swankit a sinking feeling in his stomach. He certainly wouldn't like such a game, has no envy for them nor want to join.

But he watches.

Silent on the sidelines, a spectator, a ghost, pale fur bright in the murky camp as his eyes track the movements of the kits, the strange facade of a smile on Granitepelt's face. Nettlekit's careful stalk, Ghostkit's — violence. The uneasiness twists, catching hold of Swankit in a small exhalation as he sees the flash of tiny claws moving towards Nettlekit.

He feels like he's intruding, somehow, in some strange ritual. Out of place. There's something in Granitepelt's eyes, in Siltcloud's, that makes this feel like more than just a game. Swankit does not dare interrupt, but... "Ah... Be... Be careful..." he breathes, barely audible, more prayer than true advice, wincing as he watches Ghostkit's ambush.

She's young, he tells himself (though truly, she's barely younger than himself). She doesn't know any better. It's just a game.

RATHER SLEEP THAN STAY AWAKE
————— ☾ —————

☾⋆⁺₊⋆ info ; visual

• //
  ​
• SWANKIT named for his pale fur, after his maternal grandmother.
  — he/him. 4 moons.
  — shadowclan kit.
  — quiet and dreamy.
  
  penned by saturnid.​
• "SPEECH"
  ​
• 

​

 

[FLINTWISH]

The other kits don't play with him, so Flintkit tries to enjoy this group outing as much as he can. But beneath the veneer of family fun he knows that this is a test- because it is always a test, isn't it? It had been a test when Granitepelt had asked him to pin the butterfly, and it is a test now to see which of his brood will be ShadowClan's best warrior. He wonders what else could be tests, too: could Starligheart have been testing him when she'd made him eat that prey? Had Chilledstar tested him when Applepaw was apprenticed to his father? Was each glance his way, each word lauded upon him a test to see if he knew the right way to act, the right things to say, the right cat to aspire to become?

It is a lot of pressure on a tom so young, but maybe that is a test, too, to see if he will break- and if there is one thing Flintkit is, he is sturdy. He is as unyielding and unweathered as his namesake, and so he approaches this game with the same keen edge he approaches most things with. Critical eye; critical tongue; critical moments; he watches his littermates launch themselves after the moss ball and is pleased that they entangle themselves in each other first. If he notices Ghostkit's claws unsheathing, he does not seem to care. He would do the same, after all, to get to his goal; but for now it seems that he is the most eligible warrior to catch his prey without need for that kind of violence.

He doesn't understand why his siblings stalk the mossball as if to hunt it. It's not going anywhere, after all, and so Flintkit launches himself, full-bore, at the sopping green thing, hoping that his littermates' squabble would buy him enough time to quickly snatch up the mossball and bring it to Granitepelt uninterrupted.​

​

 

[GRANITEPELT]

His littermate’s dusty tabby figures catches his periphery, and Granitepelt goes to sit beside her. Her gaze is trained on the kits as they scatter debris with their quick little paws, scampering after the sodden moss. “Sister,” he greets cordially. “Who do you think will be the victor? Best piece of prey on the pile, it’s Flintkit.” He smiles proudly at the small gray tomkit who bunches his muscles and launches himself toward the toy.

It's interesting, to watch each of his kits approach the object in a different way. Nettlekit treats it like live prey, his hunting crouch a solid impression of an older cat’s. He puts space between himself and the mossball, eyeing it as though it will grow wings and fly away. The she-kit slinks, sneaky, and goes on the offensive—she attacks Nettlekit instead for daring to approach the thing. Granitepelt’s fur prickles uncomfortably while he watches her, but he has to admit she has guts. She has the pelt and beauty of her soft-hearted mother, but… he has taken hold of his daughter, ruined her before she ever had a chance.

“Take your chance,” he coaches Flintkit. He can see one of Smogmaw’s kits watching the game—the only tomkit, the pale and sleepy one, who does not seem to have any desire to participate. Odd. He gently elbows Siltcloud. “I would’ve loved a game like this as a kit,” he sniffs.

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — granitekit . granitepaw . granitepelt
  — he/him ; warrior of shadowclan
  — heterosexual ; taken by Starlingheart
  — short-haired gray tom with white and green eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Meg

​

 

[NETTLEPAW ♡]

Ghostkit's needle-claws made purchase, digging into his flesh- it was a sharp pain Nettlekit had never felt before, and he yelped in pain, immediately frustrated. If this was an actual piece of prey, surely it would have been scared off by now by all the rustling? Maybe it was his fault for imagining it in too much detail- but he was in no place to start considering where he'd gone wrong, not now. He twisted violently, whirling around to Ghostkit and attempting to powerfully bat her around the head with a sheathed paw- a hit without thorns, but the force was certainly there. "Get off!"

He couldn't pay much attention, in the blur of this new pain, to the onlookers- Swankit, his friend, and Siltcloud, kin. Blue eyes swivelled back to the target, then- only for him to spot Flintkit making progress toward it. Clear-sky eyes shot wide then, and he exclaimed, "He's got it!" Him and Ghostkit, if they just fought in the background, would just be giving Flintkit the win! He could only hope Ghostkit would see it, too- and he would attempt to surge forward. ​

penned by pin ♡​