sensitive topics WHY IS THIS SO HARD? ;; patrol returns with bodies.

[Fireflyglow]

TRIGGER WARNING This thread will mention bodies rotting, heavy grief, blood, and vomit. The vigil thread will be made after.
@FIGFEATHER @Daisypaw @edenberry ?! @DOEBLAZE @Howlfire
You can reply before the rest of the patrol does! No need to wait. Happens after this thread, and before the Gathering and Monthly Meeting.

The numbness has fully consumed him by this point, normally bright blues dulled with grief. The patrol pushes through the entrance of camp, two bulky bodies in their grasps. His tail curls around the limp, dragging leg of Dawnglare. Almost out of duty, Fireflyglow lowers Dawnglare to turn to the nearest Warrior. "Keep the kits in the nursery. They don't need to be seeing this." Fireflyglow orders calmly, his voice lacking the usual playful charm that came with it. His legs feel like jelly, his paws dragging through the grass as he heads to his den to retrieve the lavender. This is the first time he's ever had to use two stalks for one body, with the rotting stiffness of the deceased toms. His tail twitches softly as he grasps down on four stalks of lavender, carrying the stem-flower out of his den and into the middle of camp where the bodies lay.

"A dog got to them." Fireflyglow explains softly to those who join the group of cats grieving. He doesn't say it again, lets the rumor spread naturally through the clan like wildfire. He would be damned if he yelled so loud kits like Oleanderkit and Budkit found out about the death of their beloved medicine cat. He had cried most of his tears when he discovered the bodies, and now there is only numbness that is left behind.

Fireflyglow excuses himself momentarily to dodge behind a bush, bending down and emptying out his stomach. He heaved for a few moments, before he pulls back and wipes his maw clean.

"Grieve them both. Mallowlark must have tried to protect Dawnglare until the end." He grumbles as he picks up his lavender bundles and drops them onto the corpses to help (horribly) at masking the smell.​

SKYCLAN MEDICINE CAT ✦ 26 MOONS ✦ CHUNKY, BIG-FOOTED SEAL POINT ✦ TAGS​

 

[Orangestar]

// retro to kitting + meeting.
emeto warning in the para marked by an *!

Orangestar feels ill.

She emerges from her den and stops in her tracks, jaw firmly clamped and shoulders tense. A baleful look is cast skyward. How had Fireflyglow known where to find his mentor? Had Dawnglare taken glee in setting his former apprentice on such a sickening quest? She wants to order the two be taken away. To hold their vigil far from camp, where the reek of rot setting in would not haunt their home and the kits she would birth any day now.

A small part of her, timid and oft ignored, whispers that they deserve to see the Clan camp just one more time. As much as she knows the stench will hit the back of her nose for the next moon, a vision of two battered SkyClanners flashing behind her eyes every time she catches the barest trace of blood, Orangestar heeds it and the order dies in her throat. By some miracle, her (sparse) meal stays in her stomach. At least the kits had been ordered to stay in the nursery.

[iA dog got to them,[/I] Fireflyglow murmurs. Their words whirl in her mind, Orangestar's own unseeing eyes set upon the corpses of her Clanmates. She refuses to focus on the details, to take them in as anything more than a blurred acknowledgement. A dog had gotten her, too, moons prior: but the damage that beast had done pales in comparison to the grisly scene set before her. They're torn, mangled, as if used briefly as a dog-kit's toy, with no WindClan to chase the thing from the scene and no tunnels to escape into. The beast that had beset Dawnglare and Mallowlark had been a far crueler thing than she had faced.

* Sharp claws work in and out of the earth at the leader's paws, taking in small breaths as if that would halt the pervasive reek. It does little to help, and Orangestar resigns herself to it. Unfortunately, the first breath she takes is her undoing, and she must excuse herself to retch up what little meal she's taken that day. She returns on shaky paws a moment later, eyes dull and exhausted.

"We will hold their vigil when you are ready." She manages to meow to Fireflyglow, throat burning. He is the closest thing either tom has to kin in this Clan. Mallowlark had escaped WindClan to join them, moons ago; did he still have living kin? She would have to send messengers to the moors, if so.

​

 

[Chickbloom]

It had been so long since Dawnglare's freak-out that Chickbloom began to wonder if he was ever coming back. A small huff left the whelp at the thought, as if he was trying to expel the slowly-growing guilt in his stomach. Chickbloom looked back with pride on how he'd acted, finally standing up to someone and growing some semblance of a spine. Still, he may not have liked Dawnglare (or his mate, for that matter) but he didn't want them away entirely! The coward was convinced the medicine cat was just being theatrical; waiting for someone to come along and beg for the duo to return. somehow, though, the worrywart never even considered that they might be dead.

The smell was what woke him to reality.

Amber eyes stare as the patrol drags the duo into camp, not quite comprehending what was happening. For a moment he hoped it was one of his nightmares, a mischievous apprentice tossing a rotten squirrel into the warriors' den leaking its way into the coward's subconscious. a retching, gagging cough leaves the whelp, and he's sure he'll wake up any moment. At least, he was sure until he met Fireflyglow's gaze.

the haunting numbness in those eyes along with the muted order reaching folded ears dashes away hopes of this being fiction. Chickbloom nods almost imperceptibly, stunned before stumbling towards the nursery while trying his best not to breathe. Although the perpetually terrified tomcat was holding his breath, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the bodies. Like watching a car crash, the mangled corpses were seared into his vision, and the anxious cat can only muster a single thought.

this is my fault.

Chickbloom takes a shaky breath as he finally reaches the nursery, bottling up his guilt as he tries to attend to the little ones. a yolk-stained pelt blocks the entrance, wide eyes turning towards its inhabitants before the baby bird tries to emulate Butterflytuft, lowering his voice and trying to keep a cracking tone under control. "H-Hey, let's all p-play a game. um...l-let's play 'Bright Sun', it's a k-kittypet game. the sun is reeealy bright today, s-so - s-so we all have to stay in here and s-shut our eyes, okay?"​

 

[edenberry ?!]

They wander in horribly synchronized steps, every stare weighted by a different kind of exhaustion. One that if it had been described to them as a child, they'd have never understood... wouldn't have believed or conceptualized accurately. They are a funerary procession, already standing their silent vigil in the empty air that blankets them on their trip back to camp. At some point they recognized finally that one of their paws hurts... that many tiny, red prints have been left in their stead with each stride- they don't mention it. Not when Fireflyglow is in the state he is, a fugue of grief.

They've forgotten what their own scent is supposed to be like... blanketed in decay, soaked in what blood had not become too viscous to dribble from Mallowlark's body. They lick their lips nervously, trying to feel them beyond the physical layer of numbness that lingers at the surface of their skin. Orangestar's here...? They blink as if she's teleported to this space, tracing their own memory to try to remember when she'd walked over. When had they even entered camp....?

The dissonance of their time loss is enough to prove frightening in a new way... More terrifying than bearing the hole-riddled body of a once living, breathing clan-mate. The seal point medicine cat returns with some fragrant herbs- It's not enough- and they look to him with a quiet reassurance. We're still here.... We're all still here. The days would continue to pass... and the empty slot where these two had once stood would never go filled again... but it would become less painful to remember them with time.

They had to hope it would, at least.

Slowly, carefully, they lower the alabaster and crimson figure of the former WindClanner, gentle as if he were a sleeping kit. They press their nose into the corner of his lip, trying to imagine that widened smile rather than the grimace that's sunken in. "You're home now..." It is a mistake to inhale enough to speak, overwhelmed by the sickly sweet scent as they stumble a nauseous step back.

⟡₊ ⊹ i ll betray you like a man

• 
• -- edenberry / skyclan daylight warrior / any pronouns / 18 moons
  -- mostly white with black pinstripe and green eyes / scarred face and back
  -- color #728c69

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[Cherryblossom]

It takes a few heartbeats of horrified staring before Cherryblossom realizes the putrid, vile things draped across the backs of her clanmates are also her clanmates. "Oh my—StarClan's kits," she gasps, a sound so sharp it's almost a breathy, squeaked-out scream. The calico lurches backwards, a paw pressing her slack jaw shut. It's—they're—everywhere, it's all over Eden, ew it's dripping down, it's gotta be in their fur— There is no rush towards her lover, no cries of "thank the stars, you're safe," as she lets them collapse into her. There is only naked revulsion, splayed across her face like acid, churning the milk-white of it into unshapely curds.

The reins on her tongue just barely hold: it's all she can do to avoid spitting, "Why the name of StarClan did you bring them here?" Entrenched in her disgust, she makes no move to help, whether towards or away from the crime scene. In a way, her repulsion is a refuge from grief. The bodies are not bodies; that would imply that they once belonged to a cat, and the blanket of viscera sprawled in the middle of camp is more akin to shredded prey than cats she once knew, cats who had watched her grow up.

Her gaze flees the details like a hare under hawk-shadow, pitter-pattering futilely against the neverending stretch of cold black earth. The shards of ice lodged in narrow cheekbones, the smudge of darker red where blood clotted over black fur, the strands of silken cinnamon blowing away from the pile... she can't tear her eyes from it, but she can filter it out like blind spots. The two sprigs of lavender on top of each feel like a cruel joke. What good would it even do—there was too much to hide and nothing to save. She barely wants to look at them, let alone press her nose into their fur and bid them good hunting.

With StarClan's blessing, she squeezes her eyes shut. Still, her pupils remain fixed on where she knows the corpses to be. "Oh my stars." It's muffled through her paw. Tears spring at the tight edges of her eyes as someone mentions a vigil. "How... how are we..." "Going to clean them?" What comes out instead is a rasping, pathetic, "Fuck, Dawnglare..." A sliver of citrine cracks open, wincing at the scene unchanged.​

 

[TWITCHBOLT]

Should have known, should have seen it coming - but what would more warriors have done? Given them some sort of awareness, given them someone able to look past what had happened in camp? The arguing, the tenseness of it- but everyone had said it would be alright, it would be alright, it would be alright. Twitchbolt shook his head against the memory of it, those words hammering against the outside of his skull- his tongue clicked against his teeth, his heart bulged from his ribs.

Death always roiled in like this, ceaseless and without any preparation for it. "What," he said, hardly hearing his own voice past the rush of blood. Stars, he'd no idea how loud he had said it. Should have known. Should have feared, more, like he always did- pushed caution to the front, they should have run after them, done anything ... anything but leave them there.

Disembowelment like this, he'd seen it before- his mother's face, frozen in a snarl. Mallowlark looked just like her- like his mother, angry in death, and a face without a grin on that wretched tom made him feel almost as if he were dreaming. Or- or in the throes of a nightmare, maybe- green eyes found Dawnglare, then. Didn't look at his stomach, his guts, just at his face, his eyes- closed, though he imagined unnaturally. Dawnglare, again, reminded him of his father. A fearful face in death, that one- shock, maybe. Terror that rolled into him now. Should have known -

Grieve them both, said Fireflyglow- Twitchbolt's gaze could not move from Dawnglare's face, though. Usually he hated him for any resemblance to Ravencall- now, just like that tom, he felt a great, crashing pity. A sadness that rendered him near-immobile. Dead, so quickly. Stars, stupid- stupid for not doing anything, for assuming that they would be alright because they'd been together. They had always seemed content, that way. Would he always be punished for faith in the world?

No twitch of movement. No funny look from their medicine cat, as Twitchbolt violently jolted. And he thought, maybe Mallowlark might start laughing in a moment, because he loved this sort of thing, didn't he? But there was nothing, nothing at all. Twitchbolt said nothing more- he closed his eyes, tipped his nose to the heavens, and sighed.​

penned by pin ✧​

 

[Daisydrop]

It is both a blessing and a curse that Daisypaw had found himself grown used to the scent of the death upon his back, that it was no longer the scent of Dawnglare and Mallowlark that caused him to want to shrivel up in his nest for days on end but the way their bodies moved upon their backs as he moved alongside Fireflyglow instead. It was unnatural the way limbs twisted and fell draped over them, in the way that the patrol had to move as they carried the bodies home due to their condition, instead of worrying of them falling to the ground if they were to move too quick they instead had to worry about where they would fall atop them, and he didn't like it. The older apprentice felt numb, the usual excitement at seeing the entrance to the camp drowned out by the fuzzy feeling that surrounded him, skewed his vision.

He helped to place Dawnglare down carefully, sat there for a moment just staring at the two as warriors began to trickle forward, paws only finally moving to take a step back as soon as the medicine cat came back to drop the bundles of lavender on the two, the sight of it all finally crashing down the reality around the apprentice as tears finally filled his eyes and he turned to move out of the way, unsure of where he was going. He just simply needed to get out of here, get the blood of Dawnglare that still clung to him cold and sticky out of his fur.

ooc ♡ careful now with my head

• --
• 
• DAISYPAW ♡ he/him / apprentice of SkyClan
  
  
  ♡ born november 8, 2023. ages realistically
  ♡ adopted by Butterflytuft and Dandelionwish
  ♡ brother to Weedpaw, Fluffypaw, and Budkit
  ♡ mentored by Figfeather
  ♡ speaks in #708abb
  ♡ peaceful powerplay allowed
  ♡ penned by tikki
  

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[spicepurr]

There's a distance in her continued existence. The body that trudges alongside Edenberry is her own, but she feels beyond it, floating effortlessly as her paws trade gravel for pine nettle. And yet all the same, she's entirely there. She's reminded with every step that she's carrying the weight of the deceased - the way legs bend unnaturally as if the muscles meant to hold them in place have been shredded. (Maybe they are; perhaps in the long, slow amble home, she has already forgotten what pieces of them remain and what have been smeared on the tarmac.) Spicepurr feels a dull thud in the back of her mind, a pain creeping forward. She cannot help the mournful thought as she looks ahead, at Fireflyglow, at Dawnglare across his shoulders. They would've cared for her, yet she cannot find an ounce of care for them. Not in the moment, at least.

They're in camp and Fireflyglow's stomach finds release in the shelter of a nearby bush. His voice is ragged with acid and tears, and she notes this of nearly everyone who ventures forth. Those courageous enough to see the plain viscera of the toms, to wish them farewell as they join the afterlife. Edenberry murmurs something as Mallowlark slips from their shoulders, but Spicepurr cannot offer him the same kindness. Her lips part to do so, as if she must lie in the moment and say that this hurts her more than a surface level sheen... but the smell scrapes down her throat and she instead takes an instinctive step away.

This is disgusting, she thinks. She looks on to Dawnglare, on to Mallowlark. She can see them better now, in all of their unholy glory. And though the stench permeates the air and mingles with the only herbs Fireflyglow returns with... the sight no longer perturbs her. She reasons with her ease, tells herself that it is because she is no longer cinnamon and cream, but various shades of maroon-red and dried, crusted brown. She has become them, in a surface level way. Rotting, decaying. Maybe her heart is no longer warm, too. Why don't I hurt for you? She pains for the lack of pain in her chest. But before she can even try to discern her distant thoughts, another clicks into place, obscuring the rest. I need to bathe, she turns her gaze away, tilts on paws that are dotted with metallic ichor - and moves to leave before the vigil can begin.
​

 

[Howlfire]

Having been weighed down by her grief and the literal body of Dawnglare she had helped carry back, it is a strange sort of relief to make it back home, and to know that Dawnglare and Mallowlark could be put to rest somewhere close to the place they had called home. In her brief moment of relief, she almost forgot how violent their deaths had been, how ruined their bodies were. Howlfire comes back to reality when more of her clanmates approach, their expressions that same mix of horror and disgust as hers had been when the patrol had stumbled across what was left of them.

As more and more approach, Howlfire steps back, finally ceasing her staring at the two bodies. Orangestar mutters something about preparing a vigil soon to Fireflyglow, before quickly departing. The sooner the better, Howlfire thought grimly. The two of them had already been left out long enough. Unfortunately, the violent nature of the death did not make it easy to look at them, much less want to touch noses with them and share vigil properly. Without a word, Howlfire makes herself scarce, quickly slipping away to clean and try and rid herself of the smell of decay before a vigil can be held.​

 

[CANDORPAW]

Not swiftly enough. Candorpaw had hoped— prayed that the situation was still salvageable; that with a mighty enough will Fireflyglow would find what he was meant to, and he and Dawnglare both would rise from the ashes, all the better for it. There were always little lessons hidden in tales like this, something about bravery, something about wit over sheer strength, something about perseverance. His half-brother had worked as thoroughly as he was able, and that should have been enough. It was what a queen might drill into their kit's head, a not-so-subtle nudge at the takeaway of it all... That was the future Candorpaw had prepared for, good triumphing over evil.

...What is the takeaway, from this? The corpses of their Clanmates, not taken from a battle hard won... but... stiff and rotted. Bled of all they were worth. Felled in a battle that was anything but honorable— massacre, more like. Corpses of cowards— that thought comes fleetingly. He'd thought it inevitable, that the two would return. That with the wish of death, Dawnglare had so undeniably been the villain, an otherwise wayward soul... But one that was redeemable, undeniably. There was something he'd needed to be taught, and that something would be simple... It almost always was. The distinction is what he's blinded by, what sun-glare is keeping him from seeing what's in front of him... Mallowlark had sought him, grinning... And if he had not been the one to bring that lesson to him; terrible, fatal flaw unearthed... someone else would have. Fireflyglow, Howlfire... It could have been any of them. It would have been, he'd known it as certainly as he knew his own steadfast paws.

Perhaps Mallowlark had been the thing that had blinded him. Love- Love was a wonderful thing. It defeated those who did not know it. Those who could not understand something as simple as wanting the best for someone, or someone else wanting the best for you. But... he's heard of the times that it in itself is fatal. Candorpaw would not claim to know them. He would not claim to know all they were. Perhaps it is impolite to theorize, and he should only allow them to be what they were... Dead and gone. Angry and afraid. They did not look the way he had always imagined lovers did in death: paw in paw... half-slumped in embrace; not fighting what would befall them, for they knew in the end, that they would have each other.

No, even though Dawnglare had conversed with the stars — spoke to them hushed, head bowed, a mark of love between the eyes... Even though he had done so for longer than any other in this forest, in death, he looked as if he'd had no inkling when it came to what happened after. There was no acceptance. No bittersweetness to it all. Only slaughter.

There's a pit in his stomach as Candorpaw bows his head, the chasm of a philosophy thoroughly jostled yawned deep... No, not even he could find the silver lining here. Not while his kin look near-dead themselves. Not with the somber party that waded through these stormy skies, adorned in ribbons of blood and entrails. The queasiness is more than superficial; not just the disturbance that came with the amassing of gore. He knows not what to say. A flutter of the eyelids. " ...I'm sorry, " it feels hollow.

He hopes that if there was anything to learn, the two of them knew it now, at least.​

 

[FLUFFYPAW]

The first pair of eyes upon her pelt had been Dawnglare's, in truth — her mother had labored, her father had paced just outside the nursery, the other queens had kept to themselves, pregnant or nursing. He'd brought her into SkyClan, had pushed her toward her mother's nipping mouth. How many of the cats here have stories like that, she wonders? Certainly Candorpaw and Daisypaw do — Howlfire, Cherryblossom, and Fireflyglow, too — so many young warriors, too many to count. How could such expertise, a cat so revered, look like that now, splayed open toward the sky he'd prayed toward?

Fluffypaw's eyes crease with tears, and she does not hold them back. They flow, freely. "Mallowlark must have tried to protect Dawnglare until the end," Fireflyglow says, and her chest clenches until she fears she'll faint from lack of breath.

Mallowlark had faced the monster who'd tear them both to pieces. He had given up his life to die in the arms of the cat he loved most. Fluffypaw's tears streak down her cheeks. It is a noble death; it is a senseless one, too, isn't it?

But, stars, is it brave.

She finds Candorpaw's flank almost blindly, pressing her shoulder to his. He tries to comfort his brother, his sister, but they are hollow-eyed from grief. She cannot help them, either, but she can help her friend stand upright. She can do that, at least, even if she cannot do all the other things that one expects from their best friend.

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Fluffykit . Fluffypaw, she/her w/ feminine terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 11 moons old, ages realistically on the 8th.
  — mentored by Greeneyes ; mentoring n/a ; previously mentored n/a.
  — skyclan apprentice. butterflytuft x dandelionwish, gen 3.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  lh chocolate tortie/cream chimera with jade eyes. frightened, clingy, anxious, gentle.
  
  

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[DOEBLAZE]

CONTENT WARNING : Very brief mention/implication of past suicidal ideation. Paragraph marked with a star (*).

✦

Impossibly, she thinks she is beginning to understand the weariness that had tugged at Blazestar, the tear-tracks seared into his cheeks when they had first met. It is impossible, she knows, because she has not endured half of what he put up with; then again, she is half the cat he had been. How had he survived it? How will she survive it, if the stars mean her to endure any more? Exhaustion is a tide tugging insistently at her paws as she falls into step with the others, behind them, freed of the purpose she relies on to keep her afloat now that they are back in camp.

No longer preoccupied with keeping watch for predators on the long walk home, grief presses itself upon her shoulders with full force, with a frightening insistence. How she had hated Dawnglare, how she had avoided Mallowlark. And now she misses hatred, how she would love to go back and argue with him in the dim and the hazel-scent one last time. How she would adore the chance to grimace when Mallowlark tried to gift a skull to a kitten. How she misses the privilege of distaste and dislike and distrust. What a privilege it had been. What fortune it had been, to have somebody with whom to squabble over those precious last memories.

" Candorpaw. " Wearily, so wearily, she crosses to her son and tips her head into his shoulder. Mindful of her weight, not to pull him down with it, she keeps mostly on her own paws—but she needs it, needs the press of familiar fur and the presence of her kits in a way that chokes her. She wants to gather them, all of them—grown and gone and out in the dangerous world—to her chest and hold them as if they were newborns again. It could have been you. It could have been any of us. How many times has she nodded goodbye as they went their separate ways for patrol? Irrational, she knows she's being, but she can't help the fresh beads of salt pricking cream fur.

She cannot contemplate Orangestar's commands, Chickbloom's distractions, the weeping and gasping of Clanmate after Clanmate (Cherryblossom, Twitchbolt, her own patrolmates, all flash by in unseen succession). Adrift and untethered to a purpose, she can only sink to her haunches and press her shoulder tiredly to Candorpaw's unoccupied one. Fluffypaw stands silent at his other side, and still she cannot spare the young she-cat a thought.

* It could have been any of us, echoes dimly, it could have been me. And, yes, couldn't it have been? So easily? Might her teeth have missed their mark, her head not ducked in time, and Harrierstripe's claws found the softness of her throat? At times she would have welcomed it, and yet now she finds herself sick with the notion. Numbly, she lets her claws sink into the earth.​

 

[WOLFGRIN]

cw: brief description of burning alive, paragraph marked (*)

With the stench of death and rot in his nose, Wolfgrin faintly reflects that for all the violence he's witnessed and dealt with his own claws, he's never seen quite so many insides on the outside.

"Keep the kits in the nursery. They don't need to be seeing this." From the corner of his eye, he sees Chickbloom scurrying to obey, and after a moment of hesitation, he follows. As the yellow and white warrior ducks inside, Wolfgrin blocks him and his charges inside with his body, hunkering down to shore the gaps between his legs. A haunted orange gaze remains fixed on the corpses in the center of camp.

* That Dawnglare would meet such a sudden, senseless end feels... impossible, and unfair. Though, with the crowfood left in the medicine cat's place strewn across the ground before him, he can't quite bring himself to wish he'd lived to be forced into retirement. All petty, snide thoughts about the arrogant tom are gone, replaced with a dull horror. Having to watch himself be replaced would've been his just desserts. This? This is fate's cruelty. It brings him back to the slow, agonizing death Flamefeather had faced as fire licked its pelt off of its flesh with a rough, burning tongue. He can almost smell the scorched fur and meat past the rot.

If StarClan really watches over them, why didn't they do something to stop this? Could they have? What good are their ancestors if they, too, simply have to watch as the cats they left behind are taken in the cruelest of ways? A lump forms in Wolfgrin's throat, and he turns away so that his Clanmates won't see his tears. He cries not just for Dawnglare and Mallowlark, but for Flamefeather, the slowly-clotting wound of his grief torn back open.

---

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• 
  
  "speech here"
  

• 

• WOLFGRIN ☾ he/him, warrior of skyclan, thirty-six moons
  ⭃ a tall, disheveled chocolate smoke tortoiseshell with orange eyes. he displays oddly dog-like qualities, even smelling faintly like a dog after growing up with them on a farm. his smug, careless, smooth-talking outer persona masks a heart of gold. though the safety of a clan serves his interests well, he is more inclined to loyalty to individuals rather than clans. after the death of his mate, flamefeather, he's begun to privately question starclan.
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking ↛ see battle info here
  ⭃ penned by solaire ↛ @funeralscythe on discord, feel free to ping for plots.
  

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