wondering shadows // joiner

Shadow

nightlife gig
Jan 15, 2024
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1

For the first time in a long time there was a warm feeling in what otherwise was a cold cat. Hope would be the right word for it but there was just something not right about the whole thing. A group of cats- out in the forest- just- existing together? It was rather- strange. For the majority of life that hadn’t been a case or very far from it. Cats went at each othes throats at all times and no one could be trusted. To think that death would’ve been the only out if it hadn’t been for an annoying ball of cream-colored fur.

Though as he stood there, he didnt know how far to walk into the forest, he heavily debated turning back. Surely these cats had some sort of sense? They wouldn’t just accept a military-like cat into their midst. Or- would they? They way that Honeysplash had explained it these cats loved and cared for one another. They didnt let the other go hungry, didnt try to murder them in their sleep, and over all sounded like a utopia compared to his home- the Coalition.

A heavy sigh left a black nose as large paws crunched down white snow. Amber hues moved around the barren trees and the cold was sharp against his eyes. This was asking for it wasn’t it? Standing in the middle of this Skyclans territory as he just waited for someone to come by. The large black cat shook snow flakes from his fur as he brushed past a bush with a layer of thick whiteness on it.

This was insanity.


  • Speech
  • IMG_0182.jpg
  • Shadow he/him, loner, 40 moons
    A large, pure bred black furred mainecoon with striking orange eyes. Stoic, calculating, cold, annoyed easily, wants to help
    peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking ↛ see battle info here
    penned by wolf@wolf_1997 on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

 
Drizzlepelt finds himself close to one of the boarders, a place he tends to come to out of impulse nowadays. Paranoia lies in every single cell in his body, and now with rogues becoming a problem once more, here he sits. Every little sound sends him into overdrive, eyes shifting around for any sign of unknown cats.

Unfortunately for him, today was just the right day for his anxiety to get the better of him. He almost mistakes the large figure for Slate, but a familiar smell of Twolegplace he knows well quickly shuts that down. Drizzlepelt’s heart beats quickly, reluctant to make his presence known. But he has to do his duty as a warrior.

His tail lashes around as he stops hiding, staring the stranger down to not seem too submissive. “Why are you here?” Drizzlepelt asks quickly, ready to pounce if things go south fast. “You better not be here to hurt more of us.” A threat, but what else can he do? Hopefully he’s proven wrong and the black tom is innocent, just another curious face.​
 
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Figfeather was still on light duty, but she trusted herself to not get into trouble. After the medicine cat’s den had been cleaned by Howlfire they’ve been low on moss, an apprentice task Figfeather would usually not lower herself to, but idle paws were about to leave her to madness.

With unforgotten skill, she rips moss from the snow covered tree flawlessly. Not a rip could be found as she rolls it up into a transportable ball. That’s when an unfamiliar scent washes underneath her nose… then the threats of a clan-mate. Abandoning her ball she hurries through the pine forest, it’s only seconds before she’s upon the scene. A stripe forms across her back and she raises her tail dominantly, a hiss rises from her throat.

He reminds her of the Tom-cat who pinned her, large, burly with talons for claws. Even days after the battle she can still feel thorns seeping into the back of her head, cutting deep as unrelenting pressure was applied to her skull. She remembers the torn and tattered bodies of the apprentices, of Wolfpaw.

”Get him, Drizzlepelt!” Figfeather practically demands, fury burning in her eyes. This was no time for questions, they tried to reason with the rogues and warn them off with words. It had gotten the patrol no where but their youth half-dead.
  • » Figfeather
    » SkyClan Warrior
    » She/her . AMAB
    » Mentoring Wolfpaw
    » Mate to Fantastream
    » A red tabby she-cat with a mangled leg.
    » "Speech"thoughtsattack
  • » A foe in battle whose ability to strategize can shift tides.
    » Excels in strategizing and pre-planning her battles.
    » Fights defensively and aid to her clan to victory.
    » May powerplay minor harm. Can powerplay healing
 
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The snow was quiet and there didnt seem to be a soul out there. Shadow felt like he ahd been played by that skinny cat and he was going to turn around to leave with a huff. Then pawsteps could be heard and he turned sharply, fur fluffing up out of instinct but he had to forced it down. No need, he was here with a purpose. The first cat to approach him was grey in color, and questioned why he was here.

Though then he said something curious and had the large tomcat tilting his head to the side. Hurt them more? He- hadn’t hurt anyone? What- though he didnt have time to question it before another cat joined them with a rising hiss. She said they where kind cats He thought to himself sourly, and his long tail lashed back and forth.

I am not here to hurt anyone,” He spoke evenly and took a large paw to smooth down his chest fur with, “I have hear stories- of this Skyclan? I had helped one of your own- Honeysplash- and she talked highly of the clans” He swallowed thickly and gave a soft breath, this felt so stupid. Yet he couldn’t return to his home otherwise he would merely be murdered for being a traitor.,

Shadow shifted a bit and lifted his head, “She had said you take in cats? I-I would like to join your ranks, i can offer my fighting skills” It wasn’t a lot but it was all he had. He was a terrible hunter and he didnt have kits or a mate to bring with him- just an offer of protection.


 
What the hell — was he seeing double?

Slate had never run into another cat who looked so much like... well, him. Duskpool was the most similar to him in size and appearance, though they still possessed characteristics that easily differentiated them. This tom could practically be his twin. It was weird; almost like seeing a younger version of himself with an intact eye and ears.

Either way, he was standing well within SkyClan borders without a clue as to what was going on. Cats never learned how to respect borders, and Slate was so irritated that he nearly launched himself at the tom and sent them both into a tumble. Like Figfeather, his fur was bristling and orange eyes were ablaze with ferocity as he advanced forward toward the stranger. Before they could make a move, the Maine Coon had opened his maw to explain himself. He plays innocent, pleading a case for himself and even dropping the name of a SkyClan warrior.

A sigh of frustration expels sharply from his lips, irked gaze sweeping over the other cats present and gauging their reactions. He already had an idea of his own; assess this stranger before leading him straight into camp. SkyClan needed to be far more cautious now, especially since those rogues had brutally mauled their new apprentices. He glances down toward his apprentice, "@Cherrypaw, go fetch Honeysplash. Your mother or Blazestar, too." They might as well see if Honeysplash actually recognized this male.

Sharp gaze whipping back toward the other dark Maine Coon, Slate straightens his posture, trying to size up the opposing tom. His hairs begin to flatten slightly, though he makes it clear that he is still on his guard. "You're lucky to still be standing unscathed. We'll see if you speak the truth." The lead warrior almost wishes that he was lying. Slate was itching to sink his claws into a rogue. "If not, I'd suggest you turn around and run now. We won't hesitate to rip you into shreds." He grunts a warning, kneading the snow below with his claws.

  • SLATE
    —— he/him; lead warrior of skyclan; former rogue
    —— bisexual; single; not looking
    —— hulking, scarred charcoal-black colored maine coon with amber eyes
    —— "speech", thoughts, attack
    —— link to full tags; @ on discord for plots.
    —— penned by beatles
 
Drizzlepelt's demands, hidden behind the fronds of a low-slung pine, inspires her fur into bristles. Cherrypaw pulls into a faster trot, though always a step behind her behemoth of a mentor, who doubtless heard him too. She emerges with halfway-flattened ears and a preemptory yellow glare, only to be jilted back into neutrality at the stranger's visage.

There was nothing particularly special about being a large, black cat, but Slate had somehow staked his claim on the appearance in her mind through sheer imposing-ness, or what she's always thought of as arrogance. She glances back towards him, just to confirm he hadn't magically lost his scars and darted to the other side of the border between blinks. The tom seems to be just as surprised, as much as one could be with a face made of obsidian. Whatever emotion had plagued his face quickly devolves into anger. Orange eyes, raw with burning, roll down towards her with a dismissal.

It feels like a dismissal anyway. Cherrypaw resists the urge to flatten her ears at him. Sending her away from a potential fight was one thing, but infighting in front of the enemy would be definitively worse. "Fine." The apprentice turns primly on a heel and begins the slushy jog back towards camp.

ooc: @Honeysplash @BLAZESTAR @orangeblossom sorry this is so late!​