private THIS WASTELAND — sunstar

"I should tear you to pieces where you stand, traitor."

When Sunstar wakes, he will feel himself enveloped in muzzy, uncertain darkness. The air will reek of rotted things; there will be a slow, thick sound like blood dripping, water running on stunted limbs. A tabby phantom shivers from the treeline, blue eyes like shards of glass embedded into his face. "Your downfall is coming, Sunstar... even your mate is against you," he says, smiling through yellowed, cracking teeth. He paces, half-circles the great burnished king, and then stops to face him.

"You think it was an accident, or a mistake, don't you?" Lips peel away from blunted fangs. "He will not rest until every bit of you has been ripped apart." And neither will I, fool.


, ”

@SUNSTAR
 
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The first breath he inhales upon this plane of existence is a rotten heave that fills his lung like a grave half-dug. He hauls himself from a deathless sleep and into a land of what he may only know as a horror as if thrown through a mirror. Did he need to pull himself up as if he was asleep? Or had he been standing this way the entire time? The only motion he recognizes is the way that he turns to look upon Weaselclaw. Once his friend, now a figure rail-thin, weakened, smelling of rotten wood and a rotten soul. You are not well, he would say. His brow would furrow and he would urge his fellow lead warrior to rest. Assure him that this season of cruelty would pass over him soon and prey would once more fill his belly. Instead tapered ears fold down upon his skull, glaring uncertainly at the wraithlike tom.

"What nonsense falls from your tongue like waste?" Sunstar snaps, his chest filling up like a great shield before him. It is all too real in this brief moment. Flames curling the fur around his wound and the tip of his tail. Blackened char, a torch to carry back to his home and light the whole of their camp aflame. Scorchstreak had chosen to leave him behind; the others followed. Only Wolfsong followed him. (Too late. He had known beforehand. Had he waited so it would seem less grievous? His savior?) "You are a mockery of the cat I once knew." A nightmare. Nothing more.
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  • ooc:
  • ↟ 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑.  ╱  AMAB  HE - HIM - HIS.  LEADER OF WINDCLAN.    ⋆̶̬́̀
    ————  a rogue brought to windclan in a search for greatness, one of sootstar's most loyal warriors turned into her downfall. with a mate and kits to worry about, and now nine lives from starclan with a missing limb, windclan's leader has a lot to prove.

    82190121_9CSsSGfEk2LJ5dF.png
    a large chocolate and white rosette tom with seaglass eyes. the first thing many see when looking at sunstar now is not his proud posture or un-windclan build, but the scarred stump that remains of his front left leg. a wound that would have killed most other cats took one of his lives; not even starclan could repair it.
 

"What nonsense falls from your tongue like waste?" Sunstar's hiss is like steam, threatening to singe the whiskers on Weaselclaw's gaunt face. The tabby grins, though there is no humor in the expression that hangs off of his face with too-much skin, too-little fur. "You are a mockery of the cat I once knew," the WindClan leader says, the traitor says, and Weaselclaw knows it is true. He is thin beyond recognition; the body he walks in eternally had been ravaged by yellowcough, by diseases of the body and mind, lack of prey, lack of sense. He draws in a ragged breath and steps closer, his tattered ears flicking forward.

"Your whole Clan is rotten from the inside out, fool." His grin is sardonic. He scrapes rivulets into the leafmold with his broken claws. "You lead a lie. Your throne is built on treachery, and it will crumble under you..."

Weaselclaw sidles closer, his eyes narrowing into blue slits. "I will make sure of it."

The tabby will attempt to slash at Sunstar's left ear in a guerilla attack, unseen and uncoordinated. If he is to draw blood, it will bring a look of manic joy to his hallowed features.