Ok...it felt kind of nice to NOT write 2020 LMAO. Welcome to 2021! To kick off the brand new year, we're introducing a round of updates, including new bio and forbidden romance rules, our Secret Santa reveal, OTM winners and nominations, our monthly patrols, and a fun new infectious disease! So make sure to check out the January Announcements for all of the new content! As we leave 2020 behind us, we hope everyone is able to put themselves first this year and practice self-care! Here's to another one! Let's write some cats!
The Apostles is a warrior cats roleplay based in northern Wisconsin. On Lake Superior, the wild cats have made the Apostle Islands their home. It is on these islands - Rocky Island and South Twin Island - that the clan and tribe cats have lived in a peace and harmony that ebbs and flows with the tide.
But as the tides turn, so does the truce that binds them to one another; and as the water raises, a darkness follows, an evil that will end in bloodshed and violence.
Gullheart’s tail twitched in anticipation as the young tom before him lowered into a defensive crouch. This situation wasn’t sitting right with him. He didn’t want to fight an apprentice, especially one that didn’t reach his shoulders. No matter how sharp his claws were.
Curiously, the large tabby's ears perked as the lilac tabby faced him head on. His eyes narrowed in confusion as his words echoed in his ears. Didn’t he know? Or was he completely oblivious about what happened? A long low waul broke the tabby’s train of thought, just in time to noticed that his opponent was moving in for an attack.
However, he was too slow to defend the attack and felt a sharp pain in his chest start to flare. Gullheart stumbled back from the Lichenclan cat, noticing him taking on a defensive stance once more.
Not only was his chest wound stinging, but he was beginning to feel the deep marks on his back, as the initial adrenaline rush was beginning to waiver. Still, he didn’t want to hurt him, at least not too bad.
However, his accusation didn’t settle with Gullheart. He narrowed his eyes, ”Of course Lichenclan would play the victim.” He murmured lowering his large frame close to the cold ground. ”Are all of you really that oblivious?” He charged the short distance between them and rammed his shoulder against his opponent’s. A dull thud had the tabby turned back to the lilac tom that was now laying on the floor, Gullheart stared down at him, ”do you yield?”
Attack move:Use Windpaw's head to reach surface with her back claws. Attack Roll: UNdjHXKo1d20 Damage Roll: 1d12 Character HP: 40-9= 31 HP
Hardly had Rosemarypaw cried out her required words of confession to ease her soul of sins against StarClan, was she shoved under the water. As she broke under the surface of the icy liquid, she choked in a good mouthful of the holyness, filling her lungs rapidly. Her eyes stung from the water hitting her eyes and instinctively she shut them tightly. Heartbeats later, her opponents claws got a good grip in her face. Claws entered above her left eye, dragging down her face to below her maw. Her opponent went limp with the grip in her beautiful face dragging her further below the waves. Did this cat not need to breath as well? Desperately she thrashed her head back, releasing her head from the grip of the cat next to him. Lungs burned with the combination of water and lack of air. She needed to get to the surface. Kicking upwards, Rosemarypaw attempted to kick the other apprentice down further. Missing any contact with her, the calico broke surface gasping and sputtering out water. She could feel her the RedwoodClan filth surfacing behind her and she braced herself for the next attack. Blood dripped into the sacred water, turning the surface a deep crimson red. Sinners! Polluting this water. She would pay, even if it meant killing her in this very pool. Drowning her and watching her life escape in bubbles from her nose.
With the choked gasp that ripped it's way from Petalshade's throat, one might have been forgiven if they thought that her jugular had been ripped out right then and there. But no- her muzzle beaded just a little red, her fur slightly disturbed. She had almost, almost gotten that damned heathen to cleanse herself- unfortunately, some sinners didn't want to be saved, and apparently this was one of those cases. She snapped her gaze back onto the infidel, eyes somehow full of ice with a burning fire behind them, a rage so steely it seemed to contort her entire expression.
"How dare you," she spat, almost shaking with anger. "How dare you desecrate Starclan's good name in such a way- you- heretic!"
She lurched forward, her usual swan-like grace abandoned, a new, dangerous, hulking gait to her step, locked on to her target like a fox to kits. She felt it- the strong pull to hurt and tear apart. No-one should even dare to spit upon Starclan's name like this... Shrewfur was, in her rejection of confession. No-one should dare, like their ancestors had. Only Lichenclan was pure. Only Lichenclan deserved this honor, and this entire show of a battle was only further proof of it.
With another lurching, winding movement and a roar, Petalshade slammed her weight into Shrewfur's side, taking grip with her claws to shove her down, firmly, paw at the other molly's throat to keep her on her back. She climbed gruffly atop the sinner, and flashed the claws of her free forepaw now, to rake them harshly down Shrewfur's chest. "You will repent." The first blow was perhaps too harsh, but it followed with more long, quick, deliberate slashes. "If you won't confess, then you'll repent with your blood and your pain instead. It's a pity that you didn't want to be saved," she sneered triumphantly into Shrewfur's ear as she hacked away, "because I'm sure that would have been a better option than this, wouldn't it? But you've made your choice now, heretic."
Emotion wasn't one of Shrewfur's strong suits. Often, expressing herself was a process that had to be worked through with backwards words and metaphors that could only approximate the specificity of her feelings. Her eyes were usually the most reliable indicator of her state to others, as even she could fail to understand them herself. Fear however, was separate from petty things like anger, melancholy or happiness, a reaction in response to dangerous environments. It's presence was known even in the basest of animals, and Shrewfur's eyes filled with fear as her foe spat out her words.
She had seen the crazed look in the Lichenclanner's eyes before. In they eyes of dangerous animals of the wild.
Shrewfur realized just how dangerous her environment had become when her vision became lopsided and she no longer felt the ground beneath her feet. Petalshade's claws felt like vices, clamping her side and neck. As much as she tried to break free, all she felt was the elder cat clambering atop her.
There were many kinds of pain that Shrewfur had felt over the course of her lifetime. Each type had been carefully categorized by sensation, location, and possible cause. Mental pain had a kind of heaviness eninating from the bones. Emotional pain sat dull in the pit of her stomach and in her paws. Physical pain had a sickening pulse behind the eyes, followed by a tingling of various intensity.
Never before had she felt so much, all at once. The claws of her enemy sliced a lane from her neckline to her heart. Parts of her mind tried desperately to asses the damage to her body, but it was of no use. The blow was devastating, and any attempt to focus on sensory input was evaporated by the burning wounds in her chest. It was too much to even call for help. All she could do was utter a desperate, guttural wail that rattled each stalagmite and reverberated off the ceiling.
Swipe after swipe, unrelenting, flung bits of her fur, blood, and flesh away from her ribs, and her legs as Shrewfur tried in vain to defend herself. Soon, a fatigue began to creep up. The pain began to dull, though it was reaffirmed with each new blow from Petalshade. She could no longer keep up her struggle. Before her vision faded entirely, she turned her head and caught sight of Hemlockheart's paws ripping away from her own leader's face, then her outstretched left leg.
"I'd better learn to wrap my own cobwebs better. Sorry for wasting them, Orchidshade. Didn't know you'd be needing so many."
Suddenly, everything was cold, and growing darker. Especially biting was the cold, enveloping all of her consciousness and being. She felt like she was floating.
"It's cold like the mooncave water. At least I got some blood in her precious cave...huh...what a weird though for me to think."
"....."
"She's trying to drown me."
She didn't know her orientation, but to do nothing would be worse. She flung her legs straight in front of her and felt a renewed sense of energy when they bent against the floor of the pool.
"I love being tall!"
Breaching from the water, she sucked in a full measure of air, and turned to face Petalshade, still wrested in her iron grip.
It was now clear, no more mistakes would be tolerated.
Baring her fangs, the fur along Honeysnap's back rose, the she-cat snapping her head around to glare at the other. Pain shot through the colourpointed cat's tail, but to Honeysnap, it was hardly more than the bite of a particularly annoying flea, or a kit accidentally catching the end with their claws. It hardly phased her.
Springing up with energy, Honeysnap rocked forwards onto her front paws, whacking Swansong hard in the right shoulder with both of her back paws to force the she-cat away. In doing so, the teeth of the LichenClan cat dragged a little, making the pain ever so slightly worse, but still nothing to bother her. With a little less than a graceful scramble, Honeysnap leaped away from the other, turning to face her to take in Swansong, figuring what to do now. The she-cat still seemed shaken up, which left one thing to do - just go for it.
Honeysnap lunged towards the left, moving to circle the other, yet at the last moment, feigned it. Pushing off of her back legs, she twisted round, sliding under Swansong's jaw and pushing up, grasping the other with her claws. Her back legs pushed up, claws sliding out and raking across Swansong's vulnerable underbelly, bringing forth blood. Honeysnap then let go, pushing her off and away, towards the trees and closer to the battle. That ought to sting.
Attack move: Belly scratch and push Attack Roll: FOukiYIM1d20+2 Damage Roll: 1d12+2 Character HP: 60 - 3 = 571d20+2·1d12+2
Honeysnap was both fast and clever, wriggling from Swansong’s grasp, batting her away, and then faking her out with a fictitious circle that ended in vicious claw marks.
Letting out one final yowl of pain, Swansong collapsed and lay stunned, breathing heavily. Warm blood seeped from the many gashes on her belly, soaking the ground beneath her pelt, while her shoulder smarted from the bruise blooming beneath her fur. In the distance, the grey feline thought she heard Finchstar scream out in far deeper agony, as if his senses were being ripped from his body. A shudder rippled through her, tightening her spine.
Swansong could not, would not give up yet. Her drive was not for the Mooncave -- but to spare Honeysnap from her clanmates, who were far better fighters... with far worse motives.
Forcing herself upright, she hobbled after the ginger-she cat, her paws dragging on the dusty rocks and snagging on every tussock of grass. If she were lucky, her opponent would have taken her cry as one of defeat. It was this hopeful thinking that perhaps allowed her to catch up.
The pair was still some distance from the battle -- they had tumbled far -- but this meant that her words would not be heard by her superiors. "Please," the silver Bengal meowed in desperation. "Trust me, you’re up for much worse than me with that lot!" With one final effort, she swiped out and hooked a claw in Honeysnap’s hind leg, holding her back.
he fighting spirit had always been strong in Loudstorm. Seasons of training left the lynx-point confident in his abilities not only to fight well, but to regain control when things fall out of his favor. Sandbriar's sudden weight on his back caused the tom's legs to buckle, but he forced himself to remain standing. Her sharp fangs sunk deep into his shoulder, and he winced as he felt his blood leak from the wound. The iron scent filled Loudstorm's senses, and he felt his heart thump with the thrill of the fight. Let in to the thrill. Let go of control.
A red haze enveloped Loudstorm's vision, the rush of adrenaline through his views sent his muscles to work. Without hesitation the tom reared back on his hind legs. A yowl roared from his maw. Battle raged on around the pair. Loudstorm knew that this was just one of many to come. LichenClan may believe they were protecting their home, but the Moon Cave belonged to no Clan. It was neutral territory. For the lake shore Clan to claim authority over the cave overstepped the very ideals their ancestors had established. With the fury at the injustice of the situation, Loudstorm tipped back even further. He allowed his body to succumb to the effect of gravity, falling backward and crushing the tan she-cat beneath his heavy frame.
He allowed his weight to press Sandbriar into the rough stone of the cave's floor. With a twist Loudstorm further ground Sandbriar into the rocks, feeling her grip on his shoulder release. Flipping himself back around Loudstorm reared his forelegs up, preparing to pin Sandbriar and gouge his claws into her stomach.
Attack move: Crushing roll Attack Roll: L3Gki2bn1d20+2 Damage Roll: 1d12+2 Character HP: 57 - 5 = 52 1d20+2·1d12+2
∙ cinderface ∙ mistflower ∙ fog that hangs in air ∙ loudstorm ∙ sun that shines above ∙ aspenpaw ∙ aster ∙ eaglefang ∙ leafdapple ∙ orchid that blooms by night ∙ sparrowheart ∙ frostkit ∙
loyalty is still the same, whether it win or lose the game; true as the dial to the sun, although it not be shined upon- samuel butler
The attack had connected but then before she could manage to pull away Loudstorm was crushing her. She dug her fangs in a bit harder but then had to release in order to get air, his fur muffling any pathway to fresh air she had available. She winced as some rocks beneath her dug into her more but she didn't have time to dwell on that. He was attacking again.
This attack was different. Loudstorm seemed to be different. He was stronger, filled more with rage which made his scratches sting a bit more. The move was impressive, no doubt. Had she been a spectator rather than on the receiving end of the blow, she would have commended him afterward. But here she was under him, his claws ranking into her soft underbelly. She yowled out angrily and in pain. She needed to get out of this and quickly.
She glanced around then back at the tom. He had pinned her so scratching out at him wouldn't be ideal. But she could use her size to her advantage. As they rolled, she squirmed and managed to break free of his grip enough to latch on herself. It was weak, her breath coming to her in large puffs but with her claws now in his fur she attempted to bite. The bite missed a bit but managed to grab some looser sin and held on. She turned her head sharply aiming to get him to at least stop and listen to her. "Loudstorm! Please!" she forced out around the fur in her jaw, her voice only loud enough so the tom would hear her, "I don't want this."
Word Count: 277 Tags: moony Notes: sandbriar is tired
[attr="class","next"]Bodies intertwined in the interweavings of battle, Riverpaw held fast to his adversary, though he felt his grip falter at the fervent jolt he received—at the jarring impact of stone as it clashed against the full of his back and bade him release his grip. And so he did, winded, enraged, and perplexed, to instead crouch upon the cave floor, where the stone underneath sang cold and unloving beneath his paw pads. It was there that his eyes flickered uneasily towards his opponent as he rose to his paws, stumbling until he felt the embrace of granite at his rear; only then, presented with that small comfort, that he allowed himself to look at the opponent which he faced. But of what he saw, he could speak little of RedwoodClan’s supposed merit, for the creature that loomed before him, though larger than he and, similarly, thicker of coat, possessed a mien more accustomed to a mouse than the ferocious and conniving warriors he had been led to believe he faced. Rather, the cat before him looked more stupefied by the bellows of war than enlightened and emboldened by them… and above all else, he seemed shaken—afraid. He is weaker than I, despite all that he possesses. And yet, though gripped in the throes of their own trepidation, they did evoke enough courage within themselves to lunge towards him as their eyes met, their great bulk heaving slow and cumbersome into the air… only to land just as profoundly and far from its mark as before. For in their hesitancy, Riverpaw permitted himself to move despite the rattling of his lungs, and in doing so, he avoided the assault of his assailants vast bulk.
Upon their landing, he turned, quickly and without equivocation, not opting to leap upon their back as he had so boldly done before, but barreling into their flank outright at full sprint, plowing them over and onto their back. It was there, looming, eye emblazoned with the spark of battle, he rose, small though he was, to reel his paws back and deal a grand procession of blows to his assailants face where his claws were met with the tangle and pull of hairs grown thick during the colder season. But though they tangled with his claws and made slow his attacks, he only seemed to grow in his ferocity as he held his foe fast to the stone, ears ablaze with the cacophony of wrestling shapes as they writhed about him in otherworldly tandem. Tags: wish Wordcount: 418
[newclass=.next::-webkit-scrollbar]width: 5px;[/newclass][newclass=.next::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background: #000;[/newclass] Attack Move:charge into face wallop
Ruefeather hit the hard basalt with his claws unsheathed, cursing as the smaller tom easily avoided his attack. But, and his stomach sunk at the realization, he was sickly thankful that his nails, his teeth never met flesh. I don’t want to fight for something I don’t believe in! His mind screamed as he turned to face the spotted tom, a snarl rippling across his wide, redwood jowls. Ruefeather wanted to screech -- to ask the tom to think about his actions, his motives, to understand the blood he tasted, to learn the names of those who died before them, all for a senseless cause.
But, in a sicker sense, he knew his words would only fall on deaf ears. So when the Lichenclan cat barreled forward, Ruefeather stood, rigidly still, to take the hit, knowing his paws could never outrun his sprint in the first place. With a resounding crack, his skull slammed into the rock, and as the holy Mooncave swam around him, venomous claws raked across his flesh, over and over, blood and stars, Starclan and the Dark forest.
A sudden burst of heat exploded beneath the muscles in his face, and with an audible yowl, Ruefeather shrieked into the cavern, unable to withhold the brutal burn that snaked from cheek to forehead. Another blow cracked against his crown, then another, and another. With clenched teeth, the black and white warrior surged his hind legs into his assailant’s soft under-belly and then he kicked, sending the spotted tom back into the slick rock with a thud. Around him, the sounds of battle raged in a cacophony of horror: the sinewy hiss of claws tearing through fresh, the resounding smash of bodies hitting the floor, the sickening screech of startled screams echoing across the cavern like an endless hell.
With a haggard breath, Ruefeather pulled himself onto his feet, his mangled face, bloodied and torn. One eye blinked profusely, trying to rid his vision of red. As his bared fangs faced his rising attacker, a loud roar swelled in his throat, much like the thunder that crackled above. “Why are you doing this!” he screeched, his voice hardly audible above the cries of war. “Do you even know why you’re fighting!” He knew it was pointless, stupid even, to try, but as his breath heaved beneath him in his chest, Ruefeather knew that he’d rather stick to his own convictions than ever fall to the level of those who took control of this cave.
Hemlockheart hissed through gritted teeth as enraged claws met flesh, his sharp daggers sending pain through his shoulders. Blood oozed from his sides and darkened his long, pale fur. The searing only worsened as the two tumbled throughout the cave, his wounds grazing against unforgiving stone. Of course the seasoned warrior paid no mind to the concoction of pain that accumulated in his sides and ear.
Tigerpool again. He couldn't say that he was particularly excited, but was shocked to see the foolish tom attacking him again. Especially after the hell he had unleashed upon the tom during their last encounter. Hemlockheart certainly had no intention of holding back this time either, his claws cutting through anything it could as the two were intertwined in combat.
Instinctively, the deputy raked his hind claws through whatever stomach he could purchase as he wrestled under Tigerpool's grip, paying no mind to his delusional words. You heathens walk in sin yet expect to be granted this holy land! He growled inwardly. "StarClan doesn't want you here."
Deciding to use his disposition to his advantage, the lithe warrior rag-dolled. With great effort, he manipulated his weight so the two rolled out towards the rocky shore. In a matter of movements, the lanky tom was free from the tabby's grip. He stood upon darkened, slick rock, the storm made clear by the rain and thunder. Terrain such as this was familiar to Hemlockheart and he'd be a fool to not use it. As he had said, he'd drown them all himself.
Swift as lighting, Hemlockheart lunged for the tom with unsheathed weapons. He struck out against Tigerpool's already bleeding chest, utilizing the damage Minnowstar had already done. Using all the force he could muster, the tom aimed to throw or at least shove the colossal tabby into the roaring waters where Tigerpool could drown for all he cared.
Tigerpool had little time to process the lackluster gaze that slapped across his rival's mask. Within a heartbeat, their bodies coalesced into a fusion of screaming teeth and claws, the lanky form of Finchstar took the opening, and skidded from his prison with hungry claws across the cavernous slag.
Too late. The tabby hissed as he bore the pain of needles. They ruthlessly grazed across every surface. Like a weasel, the lynx-points pelt fell limp and in a perfected stride, he loosened beneath Tigerpool's grip. They locked and released, to turn their bodies towards the shoreline and slink towards the moonlit rocks. Tigerpool chased in hot pursuit, his strides bringing him to the deputies heels.
Inclement were the skies as they punished them all. Tigerpool donated a wary glance into the air and felt the rains pour across his cheeks. This is...not what starclan wants. It doesn't take a medicine cat to read the signs in front of your nose., the tom thought as his erector pili stood beneath his pelt. A redwood clan cat of pure blood, his body felt unaccustomed to the fronting winds. Winds mixed with the drops of chilling and rain, and even amid the hug of green-leaf, he felt a coldness. It did not last long. Within moments, his previous wound was assaulted and blood re-poured with an unstinting spurt. The hot blood gagged then spewed down his pelt, hot crimson cries. The tabby yowled. His eyes flickered from slits to quivering orbs while he breached towards the light. Within the same moment, the Redwood clan warrior's form flopped, his body hitting the lake's surface with a massive splash.
The tom sunk until he bumped across the sand and rocks. His reopened wound shrieked against the frigid waters as the clouds rolled to bore no relief from the abysmal dark. Tigerpool outstretched his limbs and allowed his belly to grace the surface. The waves did little in jostling his weight. In these moments, he relished in the swooning push and pull of the tides. The world beneath the surface was much more tranquil than the exasperated echoes above.
After a moment's pause, the tabby brusquely pushed his large mitts into the floor. He rose. The waves continued to jostle against his form but they did little damage, mollifying the screech of his opened flesh. But, he could not stay here. The tom was not the most witted, but intelligent enough to avoid striking against a Lichen clanner in their prized terrain.
"I don't want to end this." Tigerpool yowled across the whips of wind. "But I will if I have to. It's not above my conscience to kill you." Tigerpool, had never killed anyone before. But according to the warrior code, an honorable warrior did not kill other cats to win their battles. That was, unless the other party themselves, was outside the code. Hemlockheart was infringing on their rights with his bastardly reign beside the conniving heretic. Each clan had the right to be proud and independent, but each clan must help the others so that none will fall- here, this, was Lichen clan's attempt to dismember their connections with starclan and rid them from their values and traditions. Tigerpool did not need to justify this to himself, his mind had been made many moons before that he would sink with this stone. He wished he could say the same for each around him.
Tigerpool opened his maw to perpetuate the trickles of lake water and blood that dissipated into the hungry mere below. With closing steps, he hiked onto the sand and looked at the lithe tom, whose body was adapt to challenge the stars, perhaps...as was his intention. For a moment they sat in this eye-locked stillness. As Hemlockheart made to move in any which direction, the tabby watched the subtle flex of his muscles, that revealed kindly beneath his silky, drenched fur. Tigerpool mirrored him with his forward steps, ready to sprint if Hemlockheart's gave any signs to dart. He continued in this manner with a quickened pace until backing the fellow tom against a rocky wall. He would have to move, and now, before the tom slunk beneath his grasp.
With a deep inhale, the tabby stretch his nose wing's like that of a take-flight gull. He straightened himself and flexed forward, to exhale, and crash onto Hemlockheart with the crunching dip of his shoulder. The tabby drove his cheek like a wall to block the opposite direction, claws outstretched to tango in his mitts, and pierced his teeth into the opponent's scruff. Hemlockheart was in a hold, the tabby's jowls locked and fastened on the nape of his neck. The blood came slowly but pooled in hiccuping gurgles before tarnishing the glinting creams of Hemlockheart's pelt.
The massive redwood brute arced beneath her venomous teeth, his blood-curling caterwaul echoing the resounding clash of thunder that threatened them above. Lightning rattled the cave, illuminating his red, bleeding neck, and then as she reared away, her words like an extra set of teeth in his flesh, the cave returned to darkness. Only the sound of gnashing jaws and claws against rock filled the shadows. Recovering, the tom denounced her stare with his own, and then his maws moved, heretical drivel she deflected with the mere flick of her ear. You’ll die for that, she breathed, tensing her muscles for another strike. When the beast suddenly drove past her, his weight thudding barbarically over the basalt. Her eyes flashed over her shoulder, watching as the tabby bowled over her deputy, cracking his skull over the rock with a resounding hit.
Her maws flared as another strike of lightning lit up the unruly skies, casting a luminous flash into the cave. Him. She saw the heathen rise from the cave floor, his face bloodied and torn, his body trembling on weak, flimsy legs. The matted fur along her back roused into an enraged bristle, daring the foolish tom to make a move. Their eyes met across the cave, her disheveled silhouette illuminated by the ominous glow of the sacred waters behind them. The redwood leader lunged, his feet faster than she had anticipated. With a hiss, she endured the hit of his teeth as they sunk viciously into her shoulder, his cowardly threat lost in the thickness of her fur. Like a snake, the she-cat reared back, using her claws to drive his face from her chest before she turned on her heels, forcing the tom to move where she once stood, the shimmer of the water behind him.
With a screech, she rushed forward, her claws unsheathed as she hit the heathen like a thunderous wave, the brunt of her force striking him in the center of his throat. Her claws scoured into the soft skin of his shoulders, plunging him back toward the holy pool. His spine hit the basalt with a crack, as her hind-legs moved to pin him into the earth, so he couldn’t move. Arching her paw, the disheveled she-cat drove his head beneath the sacred pool, letting him drink the sanctimonious waters for the first and last time. Lowering, she steadied her weight as the tom thrashed wildly beneath her, his head struggling to raise above the water. With a snarl, she bent forward, so her barred teeth were inches from his ear. “Then die,” she growled, remembering his foolish vow.
Releasing her weight, the she-cat allowed the tom to sputter from the waves, his breath heaving above the icy pool. Around them the cavern continued to echo with the sounds of battle, teeth into flesh, blood into water, cries into stone. No one noticed as the redwood tom fought for his life beneath her claws. It was too late. They were all distracted. “No one is here to save you,” she snarled as her claws dug further into his chest. “Not your clan-mates, your precious mate, or Starclan. That’s how insignificant you are,” she breathed into his ear, and then she shoved her claws forward, plunging his head back beneath the cold, hallowed waters.
Panic enveloped his senses as Finchstar felt his back collide aggressively to the cold cave floor, the cool waters of the Moonpool welcoming his presence with its scattered droplets lining his ear tips. Somehow, in a flurry of movement and ragged fur, Minnowstar exchanged advantages, forcing her control over him as her blood stained claws drove deep into the muscles in his shoulders. Frustration and despair washed over him as similarly as the sacred water filled his nostrils, his vision blurred against the blue filter that developed over his eyes.
What an absolute failure he was. Neither LichenClan's deputy nor leader prompted much difficulty in slaying his body to the ground. What kind of leader is he if protecting his Clan meant he just sacrifice the meat on his bones while his clanmates fought bravely beside him? He was little more than a distraction at this point. There was no reason for him being here except to die. Hemlockheart would take his eye, and Minnowstar would take his life. He was nothing more than a rag doll for battle practice.
Minnowstar's vicious words circled his brain as he was allowed precious air, his lungs instinctively clearing themselves of liquid with abrupt and forceful convulsions. With a weak gaze he tilted his head to the side, letting in the chaos of images into his sight. He followed the fleeting forms of his comrades, battling with soaring hearts all for the sake of their Clan. A familiar fire rose in Finchstar's heart. He had no right to give up. Not as his warriors were risking their lives in the shadow of his orders.
Again his vision was sucked up by the waves, Minnowstar forcing his head in the depths of the pool below him. Frantically he twisted and turned, fighting against the water that threatened to fill his lungs. Another wave of panic overwhelmed the tom as he realized he was going to drown. The roar of his own frightened thrashing filled his ears as he struggled to breathe. The foam from his own wiggling blinded him. I need to get out!
Finchstar's mind cried out as his back legs forced freedom, immediately finding themselces underneath Minnowstar. With unsheathed claws, his hind legs kicked viciously at the she-cat's underbelly, raking his weapons across the soft flesh of his enemy. He felt the warmth of blood ooze between his toes, but the force holding him down wouldn't shift. He kept kicking in futile. Over and over, paired in rhythm with each gulp of water that caressed his lungs.
Post by wolfiedemon on Aug 18, 2020 20:46:43 GMT -6
Ashfrost circled his opponent, sizing him up to the best of his abilities. From his earlier observation it was obvious that this was a newly made warrior. He had yet to learn the true hardships that came with being such. Today this dark pelted tom would soon learn them, the hard way. Quickly the blue tom darted at his opponent. He was hoping that his moons of experience would aid him in this attack. He needed to knock him out quick and more on to the next.
The blue tom first was going to take a swipe at the toms face. But no that might be expected, so instead he used his claws to rake up a clump of the lose soil at their feet and flung it at the dark toms face. The soil contained small pebbles as well so they would hopefully stun and distract the tom. It had the desired effect and hit him square in the face. The dark tom looked stunned, good. Quickly while his opponent was recovering from the hit, Ashfrost knocked him over, but it wasn't in a way he was expecting. The way Ashfrost was facing it was towards the lower half of the toms body. He did the one thing he could think of in this situation, he opened his maw and bit into his right leg, into the meatiest part.
Blood flowed into Ashfrosts mouth, causing his mind to return to the last battle he fought in against his clanmate. It was sweet this blood, but underneath there was a bitterness. Almost like fear, but he couldn't be sure. Ashfrost bit down harder until he could hear the yowls of pain coming from the maw of the dark tom.
