camp WHAT IN THE NAME OF GOD CAN I BE \ ghost story

[MALLOWLARK]

Lunar light shone pale, pallid almost; framing white fur wraithlike, Mallowlark knew he could not let this mood pass him by. Long ago he'd come up with a little tale... growing up out of the tunnels, and before he had gotten too big for them, you had to come up with some ways to entertain yourself. And everyone else who you lived with. Not all reactions to the story were entertained, though was that not the fun of scary stories? In the cold, maybe a little bit of terror would warm the masses up- or a little bit of laughter! The tom himself had always found the story to be so unbelievable that it was funny, but... if there was anything he'd learned from living in WindClan, the things he found funny were not often shared.

"Ssssooooo," he chimed, dissonant sing-song, fringed with the fray of incoming laughter. Swallowed down, his argent gaze flickered impossible wide, raking over the faces who had perked up to hear the tale. "Who wants to hear about a- hah, an old moorland legend?" Shoulders shook in silent laughter, but for now- for now, he managed to keep it down. Composure may be lost in the midst of the tale, but he had to at least keep it at the start! ​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[TIGERFROST]

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Fiery eyes shift toward Mallowlark as the cold air bites at Tigerfrost's nose. One look toward the surrounding blanket of white was the only real encouragement that the muscular tom would need. He shifts closer to the pale-furred WindClanner, entirely curious about this so called legend. So long as the snow was so deep, he would not make for an effective hunter, so why not pass the time with something so simple as this?

"Sure. I'll hear it." Flatly spoken, though his interest was clear. Tigerfrost's eyes linger upon Mallowlark expectantly.​

 

[SNAILSTRIDE]

A little part of Snailpaw was warning them that any story that Mallowlark wanted to share would likely make them throw up from all the morbid details. The larger part of Snailpaw told them that life in WindClan's camp was boring and hearing about a legend would brighten up their day. With a grin stretched from ear to ear, the apprentice hopped forwards, their ears pinned back at the cacophonous giggles of their unusual clanmate. It was Mallow's perceived weirdness that Snail loved, but it didn't mean that he appreciated every single sound that came out of the white tom's mouth. Still, their eyes were wide with curiosity at what the warrior had to say about the moor, and with little regard for personal space, they plopped back on their haunches right next to Tigerfrost. "Oooh I love me a good story!" They beamed expectantly, leaning their muzzle forwards to make sure they didn't miss a single detail. "Go on go on, tell us!".



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[WOLFSONG]

──⇌•〘 INFO 〙 An old moorland story? Wolfsong is intrigued, but he wonders how old it could possibly be. He knows very little of the history of this land, of who lived here before WindClan and whether they did so harmoniously. He's aware of the battle fought between the two groups, who later splintered into the clans, but no more than that. Is Mallowlark's family from this place? Or did he simply hear the story from a cat who falsely claimed the legend for the moors? It could be a story no older than Mallowlark's head— where it might very well have been born.

"Do you mean to wait for a larger audience?" Wolfsong asks archly as he sits, glancing at the enthusiastic Snailpaw and severe Tigerfrost.
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[WEASELCLAW]

Mallowlark is a walking, perpetually grinning ghost story, in Weaselclaw's opinion. He sometimes has to cast a look over his shoulder to check on a looming white figure with an uncanny expression, fangs bared not in anger but in some private mirth sane cats cannot comprehend. The tabby's fur prickles with discomfort whenever he is around the black-pawed warrior.

Still, with the cold and the snow, with their empty bellies and bleak hearts after the events of the raid, Weaselclaw could use some cheer, though he doubts Mallowlark's ability to inspire any. The lead warrior sits a respectful distance from the other warriors, dipping his head in an indication for Mallowlark to continue. "Any distraction," he mutters. The constant worrying over Sootstar's dissenters while she carries his kits hangs on his shoulders and draws his features tight, even in moments of repose.​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

Eyes cast his way, friends seeking his tale- his grin grew wider still at the attention, impossibly gleeful. And yet, eyes were. pulled wide, skybound and earth-pulled eyelids. Argent in the low light, pupils moved clinically from cat to cat, like the ticking of a clock's hand. Tigerfrost, Snailpaw- fang-toothed glee met their eagerness. Wolfsong, he asked a question; oh, wasn't that bad etiquette, picking things apart before they'd started? Gladness came with the service of friends, though- he'd give an answer. "More than one'll do!" he chimed, and it was not a lie! Pointless telling the story to himself, who had made it- and to his family, who had heard it. No, he wanted this to be a frequent tale- for it to reach the fame it had forever called for! The bones below...

Weaselclaw, then. A longtime friend by now- though it was not often the tawny-striped tom put himself forward to do something with Mallowlark! He was busy, often... but this would certainly act as the distraction he prayed for! Creeping up, up- curving corners, his happiness lit his eyes as aglow and round as the moon. Oh, this audience would do nicely!

"It's a warning... about the tunnels, hmhmhm," laugh muffled through lips, giddiness somewhat steadied. "Sleeping under the earth, deep below, in the most hidden tunnel-turning of all, is a chamber. A tomb, lined with bones! But these aren't the nice sort of bones," he chimed, theatrical shake of the head, almost as if he was drying himself off. Too much, always too much. Not that he was aware of it. "No, no- they say if you disturb them, they whip up into a huge beast- and- and- HK-HAH-" Togetherness, togetherness... keep composure, at least for the ending!

Oh, but he could barely hold it. Joy bubbled in his tone as he recounted the thrill of the tale, searched the faces around for horror or amusement or anything similar. "-And they rend your skin from your body, rip your skeleton out through your mouth- and you become part of the chamber!" As if it was the best joke he'd ever heard, Mallowlark tipped his head backward and aimed his cackles heavenward. ​

[ PENNED BY PIN ]​

 

[LAMBCURL.]

Never would he pass up a chance to expand his wealth of knowledge. A distraction, a tale, it was far much more than that. Value was deep-seated into those words, no matter the theatrics, no matter the manner spoken, no matter the deliverer. Every piece had its place, and he considers it his own place to listen. Moor cat as he was, he was not so ignorant as to think himself all-knowing. The experiences were different. For the artificial walls he had lived in, these cats had always lived within walls of dirt, crafted only by nature, and further honed by their own claws.

Preacher, but still a student, curled ears hone in on the source. A harrowing tale, it's claimed to be, and with the mention of tunnels, it becomes his given duty to listen. Lying on his side, he cranes his neck to give the storyteller his full attention, glowing grin and all. Lambcurl promises to him his dedicated soul, even if his eyelids droop and the tears in his eyes gloss warily.

Wasn't that something? A predator that made its den within those cramped walls. It's something he's never offered a thought towards. Even if a hare could kick and bite, it was still prey. Doom to them all then, if there was truly such ferocity hidden in place unseeable. Perhaps the worst part was that, a soul oblivious may not even see the signs. The air may shift to dampness, and the soil may give way to splintered pad. That may be all the warning you had, before your bones were rended from your body.

A shudder passes through his body, phantom feeling from something that was once there, through the stump of his tail and up past his spine. He only looks on as the story then splits into cackles. An appreciative blink, and Lambcurl does not tear. The pallid moon provides respite for his fragile face.

Only moor runners, the lot of them gathered. "Oh, I'm all on my own..." he says, though he is not bothered. Were it his place to fall corpse to a tunneling beast, he would accept it gladly. "If some day I do not return..." trails off into nothing, for his intentions were surely known.​

 

[TIGERFROST]

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Others gather, though Tigerfrost pays them no mind. He offers only short nods of greetings, as his eyes linger upon Mallowlark. The story is presented as if it were some horror story, a tale of dark tunnels and animated bones. A monster beneath WindClan, as it were. Some might say that you did not need to dig far beneath the earth to see a monster in WindClan. It's warriors were wicked enough. Of course, Tigerfrost would never agree to such a statement.

"Well, I'm not a tunneler." The brute shrugs briefly, his vocals bland. "So I guess I don't have to worry about it." He's not so sure he believes that there's a bone monster lurking within the deepest tunnels anyways, though Tigerfrost supposes that he's seen plenty of strange things in his life. From StarClan, to clan leaders rising after death. Was a bone monster really so far fetched?​

 

[ELKSKULL]

Hearing this story, coming upon this group it all has drawn his curiosity. Sometimes he likes to hear a story or two. But this one about a sleeping bone best that wakes up and tears a part any unsuspecting tunnler to make them a part of the wall that it comes from. It's intriguing, he wants to see something like that for himself. He wants to go down into the tunnels. But alas, he is much too big for them. He is a moor runner and he can not fit. It makes him a little sad but he guesses that is just how things fall. Instead he sits quietly during the tale with that same enigmatic smile upon his muzzle. His thick tail flicks back and forth and he truly wants another story from Mallowlark. His laughter adds to the story even though he knows it isn't on purpose.

when Lambcurl speaks about himself being the only one and of if he disappears one day the apprentice chuckles lightly. Tail stilling as he fixes his cold blue gaze upon the tunneler. "We will remember you fondly of course. Maybe you could go a head a pick a place for your grave just in case." His tone turns almost questioning before he merely turns his gaze back to Mallowlark.​

 

[WEASELCLAW]

Mallowlark seems ... pleased by Weaselclaw's attendance for this macabre story. The smile he gives the tabby has past the threshold of unsettling and has landed somewhere in "terrifying" territory. Horrific. The way the fangs are revealed to their roots, the rubbery curve of the white tom's mouth, the strangely dead but shiny eyes like the backs of insect wings...

He is rooted to the spot, pinned. The story is as bad as he'd imagined it to be. A monster of bones lurking beneath them, roaring through the tunnels and tearing skeletons from cats' maws.

His expression reveals everything he's feeling. "StarClan, I'm glad I'm a moor runner," he mutters, scrambling for composure and failing. His eyes are saucer-huge. "Where the hell did you hear this story..."​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

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