SONG OF DEPLETION [ joining? ]

[kuiper]

His jagged claws have savoured the blood of manifold colonist scum, putting them to death in honour of the sanctity of nature that which they defile. Not for sport, nor for pleasure, but solely for equity. Death, when imposed on those who merit it, comes as a noble enterprise, an act of benevolence in the name of the equilibrium of all things. And yet, death now beckons for him, the bounds of his own mortality having grown ever imminent with every passing sunrise, awakening, and exhale. Thus, his claws taste the bedewed soil of the pine forest, and he encroaches on his final act.

He has held this awareness since encountering the first moor rat, who'd left the confrontation with one tooth less than before. It lays entrenched within the tissue of his front leg still, and the crud and disease it brought only ferments under his skin like a botfly. It has bred immense pain for him, an incessant, ever-worsening throbbing, and whilst it gnaws away at his physical condition, he has taken it upon himself to revist where his righteous crusade began. A breath anew, and a concluding respire.

Kuiper's argent pelt is a vivid lustre below the day's light, pronounced and clearly noticeable to any deviant eyes coming his way. Therein lies his affinity for the nighttime, yet subtlety is not his intention here. He wants to be seen, he yearns to be seen. Should he die in a manner disproportionate to what he has prepared, all will be for naught. Hence he is careful with his gait, assessing his surroundings before crossing the scent barrier's threshold. There is a notable pep to his step, however, an eccentric excitement that defies both his limp and what fate surely lays ahead.

"SkyClan!" Kuiper hails, his voice full of vim and vigour. "I call to you, SkyClan! Permit me into your ranks, into your creed!" Frigid eyes descend upon the first trace of movement. "Please, send for your leader!" continues the tom, though at a diminished volume. "I've thought about this for moons, and I feel my strengths will coincide with your needs!"

His line of vision drifts towards a particular patch of land, a mere fox-length to his flank—that is where the young parasite took his final steps.



// [ OOC ] i am asking that an HP/sHP replies to this first :3 ​

 

[ThistleBack]

Skyclan, a voice caws from the trees. Boisterous, demanding the tune of arrogance spilling from the horion.

Thistleback is soaring the skies, limb to limb he sails the canopy of nettle. The pine cones rattle with his weight, the spiel of a stranger pinpointing for the hunter as he twists and leaps until he can see a coat of blue and tall tufted ears.

Only then did the black bramble pelted feline perches with a cock of his chin and peek of his fangs to taste the scent of the rogue as he asks for a paw in the foothold of Skyclan’s ranks. What can only be assumed as the coaxing of a daylight warrior, but why hadn’t it been spoken. Why hadn’t rumor carried such a formidable prospect?

Thistleback rolls his muscled shoulders and descends with an elegant twist, knuckles smack the ground and plant him before the blue-eyed feline with a deep scowl. Slitted grey eyes peer from the tombs of red lids and skull white countenance. " presumptuous " a growl is bellowed unintentionally; the nature of his tone was always that of nails on gravel.

" what is it that we need? Self-proclaimed strong lad" a smirk tugs on the edge of his maw. Two predators stand face to face.

​

OOC INFO REF

• —
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  Thirty-three moons EVENT TRACKER | IMPORTANT INFO
  — Lead warrior of Skyclan since 12.22.22
  — Devoted to Deersong 9.29.22 | polyamorous
  — Father of Coyotepaw, Pricklepaw, and Eveningpaw.
  — mentoring Snowpaw graduate(s) Quillstrike
  — very muscular piebald black and white tom with spiky fur and cold silver-grey eyes.
  — voice & accent
  — biography･ﾟ✧​
  OPEN for Dice battles | stine#3004
  
• 
  
  

​

 

[SLATESNARL]

❪ TAGS ❫ — Slate isn't far behind Thistleback, though unfortunately he has not mastered the art of effortlessly gliding through the branches as of yet. Heights are a fraction less daunting to him than they had been at the start, and while Slate can scramble and haul his large body onto a low-hanging limb, that is about as far as he'll let himself.

He pricks his ears upon hearing an unfamiliar voice ring through the borderlands. Urgh, another cat seeking refuge in SkyClan. Slate is a hypocrite, considering he's done the exact same, but at least he was an asset of sorts for the clan. Not all joiners were entirely useful. "Presumptuous" He hears Thistleback growl aloud, which secretly makes Slate glad that the lead warrior has some standards in regard to newcomers.

The burly Maine Coon pads forth, approaching the ashen-hued tom before standing near Thistleback. He tacks on bluntly, "Not to mention dramatic." Some cats tended to have a flair for spectacles. Slate had a bad habit of calling negative attention to himself through bickering and conflict, but other than that, he never intended to do so purposefully. Contrary to what may be popular belief, the male was a rather quiet fellow once you boiled him down to the basics.

A critical stare rakes over the lad wishing to join as if he could somehow deter him if he bore his gaze long enough. "Yeah, what do you have to offer us? We let in a lotta' cats." Too many, in his opinion. It got real crowded in camp sometimes, so much so that Slate found himself preferring the open space and serenity of the territory much more. "We don't need anyone who's gonna mooch off our food and not pull their weight." Amber hues glance down toward a limping foot, his nose slightly screwing up as he notices how angry and swollen it looked. Was he only seeking SkyClan out for their medicine cat?​

 

[Orangestar]

The fact that he'd stepped over the border already makes Orangeblossom frown. There are many ways to get SkyClan's attention, and that is one of the few negative ones ... it lends itself already to a poor impression. Paired with his announcement, one which reminds her strikingly of Dawnglare for some reason, she can already feel her opinion sinking into the dirt beneath her paws. The deputy flicks her tail as she herself hobbles over, hind leg healed to the point of scars rather than the angry infection creeping up the limb of this stranger.

"Step back over the border and then we'll talk. You're trespassing on SkyClan land." She meows simply, fixing him with an even stare. If this stranger had thought about it for as long as he claimed, he had to know how borders worked. Though, SkyClan had its fair share of feather-brained adults already ...​

 

[SPARKSTORM.]

I keep trying to find me​

---

Quite the disrespectful display, crossing over the border, shouting loud enough to scare the prey away and not only that claimed to be strong and a necessary fit for Skyclan's rank. Sparkstorm shook her head, it was not her place to judge maybe he was just arrogant and had not realized that he crossed over the border and Orangeblossom had already been on it to tell him to back up.

The warrior was next to stand near the others on a lower branch, green eyes narrowing down at Kuiper with a calm look before a bright smile dance on the she-cats face. She wasn't one to be suspicious of someone and always thought the best in others, though she understood where the annoyance came from. She let a soft chuckle out. "Perhaps be more aware of your surroundings before claiming we need you" the she-cat stated warmly, her fluffy tail flicking a bit as she examined Kuiper, something didn't feel right about him and yet she decided to push it off, after all everyone who seeks refuge or a new home have a dark past about them and those were secrets left untold.​

"speak""Thoughts"​

 

[kuiper]

As expected, the vagrants trickle into view at his beck and call. Kuiper supposes it is intrinsic in the pack's intuition to obey, given that kittypet blood spreads unchecked amongst their population. A pestilence upon this land, the lot of them.

The earliest of the faces to show belongs to a brawny sort, clad in a violet collar and equipped with goading words. Strands of salt and pepper cling onto his staunch frame, which looks to be blemished with intermittent scarring. A true warrior. Kuiper's icy vision remains affixed to this one with mild intrigue even as others enter the fray. He does not budge at the dark-toned tom's grovelling, consistent with his initial absence of acknowledgement. It is only when a third voice suffuses the air that he stirs yet again. His line of vision gravitates toward the accusatory molly, and the ensuing squint nigh on provides his answer before it is alloted.

"No," Kuiper says, dismissively. A sharp exhale follows suit. "You do not own this land. Land belongs to no one. Moreover, it is a land I've walked far before your little sect appropriated it." Their authority here is strictly a product of religious doctrine, a doctrine that which Kuiper does not accordingly subscribe to. Though they may try to enforce their command through force, it does not make their command righteous.

He looks to the slate-furred fellow, a brow cocked in response to the remark about food. "A startling claim to make, isn't it? Do you think the birds in this wood know that you own them?" The similarities these clan cats have with twolegs is disgraceful, insisting possession over not only land, but also ecosystems in their entirety.

A rearward pawstep, assenting to the demand for space yet he refuses to cross their scent barrier. Now, the tom addresses them as a collective. "Your clans are fraught with war," he puts forth, leaden tail thrashing at his spiel. "I do not know where SkyClan's grievances lie, who your enemies are, but I can put an end to them. I have been to the moors, and I have been to the river. I have been to the oak forest, and I have been to the swamp; the umber tabby I'd met there had taken a while to bleed out, admittedly." Recalling how helpless his game had been on that night was something he relished in.

"The point stands as I know how vain these borders are. They exist only in concept, and every so often in scent." Unliked twolegs, the clan cats cannot build walls around that which they claim. They are not safe, especially from the likes of him. "Accept me with open paws, give me a name, and I will ensure your protection." ​

 

[Auburnflame]

"Put an end to— what exactly? What is so special about you?" A voice hums overhead, pallid eyes piercing from behind the nettle he had perched from. Auburnflame had been silently listening until now, a flare of suspicious ever present in his rigid features. This newcomer certainly had a voice to him—an entitlement about him, as if the lands belonged to him. Something in his gait, the way he moved and spoke created an ice cap along his spine. Auburnflame couldn't place the why, but he'd not rid Kuiper of the chance to prove otherwise—yet. He states he once walked among these lands before the colonies were here, the colonies that Auburnflame and so many others had grown up in. He'd never seen this particular individual before, not even in passing. What was he trying to protect them from exactly? The other clans? An unforseen force? A plumed red tail swishes below him while in thought, suspended in the air whilst he was stationed in the trees not far from where Thistleback had crossed before descending to address the boisterous stranger before them.
His gaze traces over to that of his cousin, Orangeblossom, to gauge her reaction. He's half-listening to the rambunctious speech he squawked on about until a certain phrase made him stiffen. The umber tabby I'd met there had taken a while to bleed out, admittedly. What did that mean? Who was he speaking of? Bi-colored ears sloped back against the nook of his neck, an icy stare following to Kuiper. Did he kill someone? Did he kill someone from ShadowClan?
​

[ SETTING FIRE TO THE SKY ]​

 

[SILVERSMOKE]

Silversmoke would not be invited to be at any welcoming parties anytime soon. A resting bitch face and a sharp tongue left little room for good first impressions, and with the stranger's theatrics on full-display, already the spotted fur across his spine bristled as they moved closer. He blinked, near-incredulously, as he disrespected Orangeblossom. 'Better the land be owned by a clan than a dozen of you', he thought, his tail lashing. There had been no pride in living a loner's life, wars had happened over sillier things than borders, it left him uneasy that the stranger either conveniently forgot such hardships or had never truly suffered. A brief glance at the stranger's leg told him it was more than likely the former, he didn't know if that was worse. The ghost spoke more and more and Silver squinted, following the story cautiously. Finally, the swamp was mentioned, a black tabby left tortured by Kuiper's own admission. Recollection settled onto the maine coon's face, his eyes glinting with a frigid surprise that left him, for a fraction of time, stilled. A brief glance was cast to Auburnflame, his throat tensing and threatening to emit a hiss as he recognised the danger his clan (and his friend could be in).

He steeled himself against the wave of emotions that rushed through him like a tempest and turned his head back towards Kuiper, claws unsheathed. "Hmph, some protection you can offer. 'Took a while to bleed out?' You're just a jumped-up rat if you couldn't even kill a ShadowClanner in one blow." There was only one ShadowClanner that the tabby believed would have 'taken a while' to die, and he wanted Kuiper to admit it. He wanted the clan to see the danger, and if he could not convince them through his own words, then he'd have to let the rogue bury himself deeper. It hadn't worked with Slate, as much as he wished it had. But this was different, he told himself. It had to be different. He'd told Blazestar his philosophy on the outsiders, how some of them enjoyed the blood and fighting of the lifestyle like a stream in a heatwave. Either Kuiper was the same, a feral hound trying to sneak its way into getting Dawnglare's attention, or he had done the one thing that could incite the very wars he claimed not to know about.

Silversmoke crept along the newleaf grass in a wide semi-circle, hoping to remain parallel to the stranger on the borders. His ears twitched forwards as he waited for a command, his lips curled in disapproval towards the stranger.
​

 

[BLAZESTAR]

Blazestar arrives and takes his place between Orangeblossom and Silversmoke. There's a scent of gristle, blood like a staining perfume over the rogue who has trespassed. Blazestar does not know if he's imagining the scent of death on the gray tabby, but regardless, he is on edge before he even joins the assembly of SkyClan warriors facing him down. Orangeblossom tells this cat to step away, and he tells her "No."

Blazestar can feel his warriors' ire exuding like flames from their lithe bodies. He listens to the monologue with a frown set deep on his muzzle. "I have been to the moors, and I have been to the river." To WindClan. To RiverClan. "I have been to the oak forest, and I have been to the swamp; the umber tabby I'd met there had taken a while to bleed out, admittedly." To ThunderClan. To ShadowClan.

Blazestar's heart begins to pound, staccato beat. This cat is bragging about his kills. "I'm sure it takes some time to lose nine lives," he says, his voice low and grave. Chilledstar had given no explanation for their former leader's death -- but it seems the explanation has delivered himself to their border, unafraid.

"Tell me, is this your first time to our pine forest?" His voice is a rasp. His paw pads are prickling with unrest. He wants to flee. He wants to order the rest of the SkyClanners to drive this drifter out.

But he does none of these things. He waits for the rogue to answer him.​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

​

 

[SLATESNARL]

❪ TAGS ❫ — The charcoal tom's hackles begin to prickle as a blatant "no" is delivered to the deputy by the arrogant stranger. A trespasser who refused to abide by the inhabitants of the very territory he's trespassed in... bold, indeed, and quite stupid. Slate is about to open his maw and interject but the gray tom continues speaking nonsense. "What point exactly are you trying to make? They're birds." The warrior snorts in reply to Kuiper. Why was he so obsessed with claiming ownership of the land and even prey? A cat had no business considering such questions; it was either kill or be killed in this world. They all had to eat. Why consider the feelings of a non-sentient scrap of meat?

Pearly whites flash behind a curled lip as he growled, "You're an ignorant fool if you think that this land belongs to no one. We can prove that this land is ours, starting with forcing your sorry ass from the very border you crossed over." Was Slate truly speaking out of passion and loyalty for SkyClan, or was he simply protecting his own best interest? After all, this territory is where he slept and hunted. If the borders were to be compromised, then Slate would go back to being a starving street cat.

Protection, as if they needed it. Did it look like they needed the help of some strange cat with a god complex? The hot-headed ex-rogue had half a mind to lunge forward and smack this idiot upside the head when Blazestar himself makes his appearance, to which he uncharacteristically shuts his trap and lets him take control of the situation.

Slate turned his head in the Ragdoll's direction, brows ever so slightly raising in realization. Was Blazestar implying that this cat was responsible for the death of ShadowClan's leader? He truthfully didn't know much about Pitchstar nor the circumstances surrounding his death, but Blazestar seems to be on to something that he is unaware of.

Immediately, he tenses and unsheathes his claws, staring thin daggers at the rogue. If this was indeed a leader-killer, then he wouldn't be getting through to Blazestar. There would be no chance in hell, not with a horde of warriors present. Slate had something good going for him here in the pines, a promising new chance at life, and this cat had a death wish if he thought he could waltz beyond the borders and fuck things up singlehandedly.​

 

[SQUALLMIST]

When he was young, Squallmist's father taught him the importance of helping others, taking in those who sought a home. The weak, the adventurous. Those close to death, and those whose lives had only just begun. When SkyClan was just the Pine Group, and Rain had ruled the forest, the silver tabby had met many a face - those quiet, those loud - alongside his father.

It's something that's carried itself into Blazestar's reign in a smaller form, that of taking others in. Daylight warriors and the like. Different now because of the clans that rule, the tensions and allyship that forms the borders, but Squallmist still sees his father's welcoming stance at every new face, and hopes he can only be as welcoming to those who hear the forest's call in his rank as a SkyClan warrior.

So, when this new voice, boisterous and odd, breaks into the ambiance of the pines' atmosphere, Squallmist finds himself following its sound to greet the newcomer that asks - in his own strange way - to join the clan.

But what he arrives on makes him falter, makes fur on the back of his neck rise.

It must be the area, a poor coincidence for the gray tom's first impressions. One that Squallmist tries to avoid, one that was painted crimson with his apprentice's blood, the last time he'd been here. An area he now stands at with half the sight he did the last time.

Or maybe, it's the way he talks. Maybe, it's the way he speaks of the clans and their borders - as if they mean nothing to no one. The moors, the river, the oak forest, and the swamp. He's been to all of them, the newcomer claims, as if this should be some high achievement. Squallmist's been to most of those places. Even little Greenpaw's gone to RiverClan. It's nothing new, is it? Nothing commendable from an outsider.

But, his high achievement is tied up with a sinister end - the umber tabby. A kill. Squallmist knows by now that it's inevitable, cats losing their lives to another's claws, but this is not a clan cat. This is not clans fighting against one another. No, this might be a bigger threat than that.

"We can protect ourselves perfectly fine," he shoots at the loner, any hopes for a welcoming demeanor from Squallmist long gone. "We don't need you." The warrior aims to speak more, but only closes his mouth as golden fur appears within diminished eyesight. Blazestar. A charcoal tail lashes from side to side behind him, half-blinded gaze narrowing at the loner. He can only hope the leader doesn't let this one in.

Blazestar's comments, though hardly welcoming either, put no ease to Squallmist's mind. A comment back about the umber tabby, pieces starting to get put together in his own mind. Pitchstar. If this cat could kill Pitchstar, then --

Squallmist shifts, muscles tensed and claws unsheathed as he waits with bated breath for further answers. Though he knows better not to strike without them, he knows to stay alert when a threat is near.
​

 

[Fireflyglow]

The wind swept past his ears as he listens to the bickering back and forth, his tail gently resting upon his father's foreleg to comfort him. He knew his dad would probably be anxious in this situation, with this high and mighty tom declaring his betterments. However, Fireflypaw showed no such fear- shut-eyed gaze directed towards Kuiper with a lazy, cheshire grin instead. "If She wills it," He begins, stepping in front of his father. "She will bury you." It's not so much of a threat, moreso revelations to his future. Everyone returned to Her when they died, after all. StarClan was only the messenger of Her voice. "May Mother bless you with such luck as to remain on these hallowed grounds.."

Hyena-like laughter ricochet's in his chest as he watches everyone talk; in this moment, when his sister is missing? He couldn't care less about some Rogue wanting a place in the world. The last Rogue he knew personally had been framed for murder; the real murderer still out there somewhere. I'm sure it takes some time to lose nine lives, his father claims. Perhaps, perhaps. "Lots of blood," He unhelpfully adds into his father's statement, nodding his head. Perhaps Dawnglare would rip the ground to shreds if he heard the words being spoken.

Closed eyelids flutter as he lifts his head to face Kuiper; grin growing wider until his face looked tense. Little giggles left his lips. "You speak blasphemy in Her lands, strange one. You are no saint to preach here." Resting, he seats himself down as if he hadn't just insulted the man in strange tongue. Besides, it felt much better to feel Her against his paws- ignorant of the situation around him as he focuses in on everything but Kuiper once more.​

 

[kuiper]

There loom ten of the miscreants in total, a figure which effectively kills off escape as a recourse. They bear down on him with mulish ignorance, markedly content with the lives of savagery which they lead. This verdict comes hardly as a revelation—Kuiper recognises all too well how easy it is for the feeble-minded to become ensnared by the shackles of religion. Musings on multiple lives and hallowed grounds prompt his ears to whip in disgust, emphatically so when he hears a child among those spreading their depraved gospel. Indoctrination at a tender age is no less than reprehensible from a moral standpoint. Had it seemed feasible to do so, he would have slain the seal point where he stood and spared them from their impending evolution into evangelism. Pitiful that he couldn't.

In the midst of the barbarian throng dwells a jumpy fellow, narrowly collecting himself under the bounds of his cream pelt. He stands as the only lout to question him further, and the qualities of a smile manifest on Kuiper's maw shortly thereafter. Whomever this is, he has caught on. Splendid. He can forego the false intent from here on in. His entire being now lies in their paws.

"Well, what do you think?" he asks, meeting the query with the question as one should in such dialogues. The tom then gestures to the surrounding warriors with a wave of the head. "Your cohorts insist they're protected well enough; do you agree with them? Do you truly believe your scent barriers will safeguard your vulnerable?" Seizing the initial parasite from this forest was far too undemanding of a feat. The little tyke walked into the jaws of death itself. If anything, the odorous border made it easier to find him.

"The only authority that any of you clan cats hold is over your own miserable lives, and even at that, you fail," expels Kuiper, eyes expanding in intensity. They wish to remove him from the premises, yet his goals lie in the contrary. "Your type masquerades as survivors, and not the war hounds you truly are—and in your reckless pursuit of violence, you rob your young of their livelihoods." Yet, they choose to live in this way, blind to their own complicity in the countless lives that have been lost. "Not only from conflict, mind you," he continues, "but from outside forces that disregard your concept of borders. Outside forces that have no qualms with stepping over the line and snatching your children."

It is already apparent that these fiends seldom appreciate fantastical spiels. He speaks regardless, absconding from his false attempt to join and awaiting a realisation of his shallow confessions strewn within his words. ​

 

[Sharpeye]

☁ "What the hell is going on here?" Sharpeye found himself rolling up to the scene somewhat late in comparison to the others. The small tom flexed his jaw in idle thought as he stepped into a position that would allow him to see what was going on. Though what his keen sight was perceiving alongside what his ears were hearing it only served to worry him. A leader killer. The realisation that they were looking at Pitchstar's killer only served to rile up Sharpeye's protective instincts. After seeing Blazestar die during the battle with WindClan he found himself never wanting to witness such a horror again.

Bristling, he weaved his way closer to their leader with the sole intention of shielding him from harm. Though he liked to think that the mad loner would walk away given the present number of SkyClanners. "You try to rattle us with words of warning that many of us already know pertaining to the threats beyond our territorial reaches. You call us war hounds with a tendency for violence, yet you brag so openly with violent acts of your own. From a distance one might mistake us as being the same, but there's a difference; you are driven by a darkness and do so alone, but we act together for the sake of protecting those we love most. Much of the violence among the clans finds root in the way we seek to do what we can for those we cherish most."

The scruffy tom took a bold step forward as he hardened his stare. "It will be my claws and my love for this clan that will aid me in protecting it. Now leave. Carry yourself far from here."
​

 

[ThistleBack]

Like spiders pouring from the shadows of the canopy, all around. Skyclan swells around the speaking stranger, crude words spoken in the ink of fundamental truths. The view of an outsider, a cruel eye filled with scrutiny and audacity. A pool of mud he spews, received as it should. Skyclan bites back, each in their own way.

The rogue refuses Orangeblossom’s order, Thistleback’s chin tilts down and his ears pivot above his crown. He spits on clan ideals and offers help in the same sentence, borders are meaningless. The piebald watches the hang fire, a loud silence about him, as per usual.

It is the blatant confession of taking Pitchstar’s lives that oils the cogs in Thistleback’s mind. Silversmoke entertains the admission with a taunt, followed by the Skyclan leader’s knowing words. Blazestar was not a fool, he couldn’t be tricked or played, was not blinded by ambition. Thistleback is proud in the way the ragdoll stands before a man admitting to taking all the lives of the swampland king. As tall as the pines in which his subjects perch awaiting their orders. Loyalty in perfect display.

Words tick on the shell of nicked ears, following Fireflypaw’s giggles. Outside forces that have no qualms with stepping over the line and snatching your children. Grey eyes snap to Kuiper’s, to Blazestar, then narrow. His paws shift from the roots he was digging into his place on the dirt. Long sideways steps make his shoulder blades flick his hackles like black brambles.

The silver tabby lead semi-circles the rogue, and Thistleback mirrors it on the other side only he plants himself behind. A clear convey of message as he lifts his gaze to Blazestar. Shaking his head with very slow twists, eyes unmoving.

Sharpeye’s words are followed swiftly by Thistleback’s own,

" perhaps there is value, in this stranger’s information " he speaks as though calculating something. Eyes lift to Blazestar once more, words vague for the stranger and all very knowing for the leader. " Vermillionsun’s den has plenty of room " white thorns halo his words and foreshadow their rather direct meaning, let's take him in for proper questioning. A suggestion. Let not the rat, slip through the fingers.

​

OOC INFO REF

• —
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  Thirty-three moons EVENT TRACKER | IMPORTANT INFO
  — Lead warrior of Skyclan since 12.22.22
  — Devoted to Deersong 9.29.22 | polyamorous
  — Father of Coyotepaw, Pricklepaw, and Eveningpaw.
  — mentoring Snowpaw graduate(s) Quillstrike
  — very muscular piebald black and white tom with spiky fur and cold silver-grey eyes.
  — voice & accent
  — biography･ﾟ✧​
  OPEN for Dice battles | stine#3004
  
• 
  
  

​

 

[BLAZESTAR]

Blazestar is disquieted by how unfazed this rogue is by their numbers, their unity, their determination to drive him out. Fireflypaw appears close to him, and his sense of unease grows. He flicks his tail against his son's flank, a motion for silence.

"Outside forces that have no qualms with stepping over the line and snatching your children." Blazestar's shoulder fur begins to prickle. He thinks of Howlpaw, how their searches so far have turned fruitless, and now this rogue taunts them with missing children. The Ragdoll's dark eyes glint, his expression stony as Sharpeye bristles and Thistleback mentions Vermilionsun's den.

"I think you're right, Thistleback." His eyes do not leave the silver rogue's form, but his voice becomes thunderous, and he lifts it so his entire party can hear with unmistakable clarity: "Surround him. Bring him back to camp."

Blazestar waits only a heartbeat before adding: "Alive." Pause. "For now."​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

​

 

[Auburnflame]

With each baited breath that the rogue expels, the wintry and crimson shaded hairs along his spine seem to prickle. Blazestar questions him, followed by so many others and Auburnflame just stays within his perch—waiting. He speaks of children going missing, not denying the fact that he had potentially killed Pitchstar and now here he stood in all his morbid glory—preaching upon his soapbox. He was one to talk about religion, giving how he acted. Pale irises narrow, pupils constrict to pinpoint slits as he continues to speak. Was he speaking of Howlpaw? How coincidental it seemed that he showed up to the borders as the apprentice disappears.
Thistleback speaks of Vermillionsun's den, and the calicos muscles tense. Just give the word, he prays. The gall this newcomer had, the audacity he carried in his gait. Bile rose in the back of his throat, scorching his esophagus till it was raw. He wanted to spew it at Kuiper, to watch him become drenched in his venom. Shoulders roll as he leans forward, coiled and ready to strike from above.

Surround him.

Auburnflame moves seamlessly, dropping down behind Kuiper with a soft thud beside Thistleback and Silversmoke. He draws himself up to his full height with the lead warriors, pressing shoulders back whilst his head was held aloft. His heart hammered within his chest, threatening to break from its ivory cage. Would he attempt to run? No—he couldn't be that ignorant when so many piled around him in a full circle. The calico utters a low growl, his usual friendly demeanor now vanished into the void. All that remained was a stoic man, willing to draw razor tipped claws out and tear him up at his leader's beckon call. "Best you not try to run, friend." He speaks cooly, letting his curved talons slide from their sheaths and into the cool earth below him.
​

[ SETTING FIRE TO THE SKY ]​