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Post by achromatic on Jun 29, 2022 14:05:15 GMT -5
Aren't I, aren't I the one?
The tom had been terrified going into SummerClan. He was everything that represented the enemy. He was a NightClan cat, a loyal guard to their colonizer, the cat who had hunted them down and gone after their most vulnerable...he was the butcher among the livestock who suddenly found himself outnumbered, out-powered, begging on his knees for help he didn't deserve. He had been terrified of their anger, their fury, their rage, and yet there was a determination within him to find them, to do anything to save his own brood. He chalked it up to SummerClan's kindness, their ability to see logically, their ability to forgive, that he might have a chance of survival.
As he entered the league, he knew he had none of these chances. If he had been terrified going into SummerClan, he was now resigned, marching into the League. Entering this place was a death wish. Perhaps news had yet to spread across the league of the severity of his crimes, but he knew the second he stepped into the place, there was no turning back. There was no such thing as mercy within the league, and Kier certainly had counted on it. He could almost admire the other cat's clever thinking, to force him into a mission that would cut every tie, every possible bond he could have anywhere, so that the moment he was expelled he'd not only have nowhere to go, but be actively hunted for sport. How clever, he thought dryly.
Of course the other cat would never think that he'd walk straight into the jaws of death, launching himself into the den of the lion he had prodded with a burning tong. SummerClan couldn't help him, and he was certain the league would kill him before he could even speak. He hadn't just stolen their leftovers are traipsed into their territory; he had stolen their leader's kits.
Their forest whispered loudly, of his crimes and his fate, as he slowly made his way through. It was as if the forest was alive, enough to know that he was doomed, and yet not allowing the kindness of being found first, as if waiting in anticipation for a more satisfying demise. As he found himself at the mansion, he closed his eyes for a moment, steading his breathing as he marched forward.
"Primal Instinct," he shouted as loud as he could, "I've come to bargain."
Post by simplylight on Jun 29, 2022 18:47:14 GMT -5
"Why are you yelling? You'll disturb the spirits."
An eerie, low voice came from behind as an equally eerie-looking cat stepped out of the shadows to inspect who this intruder was. Charon's ears pricked as the wind blew through the trees and his eyes narrowed. "Oh, interesting. They do not like you." He prowled a bit closer, whiskers twitching as he heard the pawsteps of more Primal Instinct cats making their way to the scene.
Edited Jun 29, 2022 18:49:11 GMT -5 By simplylight
The second Eshek heard the voice, she was out the door. She hared down the landing, down the stairs, across the marble entry hall — and she didn’t stop as she sped down the outside steps and threw herself at the tom from the fifth step. She smashed him back against the flagstones, claws digging in either side of his collarbone. She didn’t wait for Bermondsey, didn’t want for anyone — there was no one. There was only her kits, and they weren’t here. Because of him. She would have climbed into the goddamn sun.
“Bargain?” she hissed, clawing into his pelt just so she could slam him back down harder, jerking her face so close to his their noses brushed. Her icy eyes were worse than wild — they were sharp, they were clever; Eshek was checked out and only her kits’ mother was left. “What do you possibly have to bargain with, thief? Your life? That’ll be worth nothing in about ten seconds, no matter what we are to you. I’ll leave you out for carrion, boy.” She pressed her face impossibly closer, so close he would have been able to feel the heat of her gums against his fur. “Where are they? With NightClan? Hm?” She slammed him back again, jerking her head to the side violently. Her eyes were little more than slivers of hateful blue. “Why? What does your runt of a leader want with them? Why is any of this happening? Do you have no loyalty to your kin? The tom who kept you alive? Your mother? Would she be proud of you, you pathetic little twerp?” There was genuine bewilderment, because all of this was so inexplicable when she hardly listened to any of the intel Elizabeth brought back, when she paid no attention to what little spy Bermondsey went off in the early hours to meet, when it all went over her head. But mostly there was just rage; she didn’t need to know why she was doing it to rip his head off, didn’t need to know the reason she was burying him. He’d betrayed her — she’d given him honesty and he’d given her nothing back but a kick to the face and three — four — stolen hearts. She was hurt, she wanted a reason — but more than any of that, she wanted him dead.
Cats appeared over the edge of the rooftop, slinking down like slick, featureless shadows to peer down at Moonblight with curled lips and glinting teeth. No one stopped the Nemesis’ attack dog; they just watched and salivated at the proximity of blood, of a show. Eshek was a second away from tearing into Moonblight like he were a ragdoll toy.
Post by achromatic on Jun 30, 2022 20:53:45 GMT -5
*cracks neck* here i go
Moonblight had given Charon a wary look, ready to speak when suddenly, he felt himself get knocked to the ground by a flash of white. His head slammed to the ground, and suddenly the world was swimming again. He had never felt so exhausted as he was right now. Sunveins had stopped the bleeding, fixed him up as best as she could, but there was nothing that could heal such wounds but time, and he had disappeared into the night without that commodity. If SummerClan couldn't help him, there was only one more choice.
The said choice was dependent on the cat who had her claws deep into his pelt now. He felt the guilt of it all, a shame deep inside his chest. He didn't think he could feel anything else. The only thing he feared more than Eshek killing him then and there without letting him explain was to see the disappointment, the rage and hatred in his former father figure's eyes. He could barely remember being a kit, but he could remember the nights in the barn, the kindness the tom had given him. Eshek was right. He didn't deserve any of it.
He coughed, feeling his throat tighten as Eshek slammed him down again. "I–" he started, feeling the sting of his cuts, possibly reopening, "I–he has them, Kier has them, and I know how you can get them back," he hissed, "he keeps them in the back....his mate, she wanted the kits, your son's there with him. Druzyprince...I mean...Laertes, was it? He's there, he's with his siblings."
"Eshek, don't kill him," a voice cut through the crowd, as the cats parted for their nemesis. Bermondsey E'tan's thin frame was a silhouette in the darkness, his green eyes glowed, whether in contempt or disappointment, one couldn't be clear. Moonblight couldn't meet the tom's gaze. The nemesis turned to Charon. "Are there any others?" He couldn't be certain that this wasn't a trap, and surely, the hellhound would be able to tell.
He turned to the mother of his kits, his gaze meeting hers, an understanding, before they turned back to Moonblight, narrowed in the way a scientist would observe a specimen, emotionless and scrutinizing. "You expect us to forgive you for what you've done? Have you come crawling back to hell for simply penance?" the tom's voice was ice-cold, "do you expect us to come willingly like sheep to the slaughter to a trap you've set?"
Moonblight immediately looked up, and for the first time, meeting the tom's gaze, holding it for a moment before looking away in shame. "No," he admitted, "I don't expect anything. Not forgiveness, not even help...but I know where the kits are and I know how to get to them, and I know how you can free your assassin too. The deputy...she and Kier have been fighting for a while, and if you can topple enough stones you might be able to...to take over NightClan. Subjugate them the same way they did to SummerClan, conquer the forest like Aspenstar wanted...isn't that what you want?"
Bermondsey's eyes gleamed but his expression remained emotionless. "–and what do you want?" he returned. This was a desperate man's plea, not a sign of goodwill.
Moonblight shook his head frantically. "Nothing, just...." he swallowed thickly, "just....a chance. I'll get your kits back for you, and I'll help you bring NightClan to its knees, if you give me the chance to get my own kits out too."
A scoff left the nemesis' mouth, as he turned to Eshek. "What do you think, dear?" his voice filled with a dry amusement, his gaze now turning to the others around him. "What does everyone think? Shall we drink the blood of the fools who dared to send us a message?" Was it time? Eshek was pregnant, and Bermondsey wouldn't hesitate to burn the forest down to its cinders, to tear each life from every leader, to weigh every cat in the forest with a chain and an anchor, if only to keep his family safe, this time without any chances of failure.
Post by simplylight on Jul 1, 2022 10:38:29 GMT -5
He heard her coming before she arrived. It looked like more than just the spirits did not care for this sad scrap. Charon's gaze was humorously curious as he watched Eshek's performance. He did not know Moonblight well, so the rage she felt he did not return, but it looked like he deserved it. He simply sat back and observed, tail curled neatly over his paws, until Bermondsey E'tan's arrival.
"Mmm. Only one of his scent, many of us, and a few curious spirits." He responded with a cool half-smile to the gleaming eyes above them. "He is greatly outnumbered."
He listened on to the conversation, whiskers twitching at the talk of bringing Nightclan down. His claws were itching for some excitement so the ghastly tom gave a dip of his head to Bermondsey's words. "I'll dispose of the bodies."
As Moonblight spoke, Eshek growled all the way through, her throat vibrating endlessly with a dangerous wildness, like she was both the scale weighing his story and the executioner. Her face was still close to his; her claws still dug in, deeper and deeper, ushering him on in his bargaining. Druzyprince. “Druzyprince,” she echoed in a mournful half-whisper, her brows suddenly rising from their glare like she’d been shot in the chest by some tragic, lovesick dart. She rose, standing over Moonblight more fully, eyes drifting unseeingly to the pale, dreary sky. So part of her son still loved her, loved them; he’d kept that name she’d given him, that name that had been so silly, that his father had railed against, but that had meant so much to her. It sounded almost like an apology, stretching silently from NightClan’s pines to them in the League. A coded carrier pigeon of I’m still here that was as melancholy as it was hopeful. She hardly heard the rest of what Moonblight said, still staring off into the white sky.
Eshek, don’t kill him. She curled her lip, looking back down at Moonblight and renewing her growling close to his face without looking at Bermondsey. It was a ’you’re lucky he showed up when he did; you’d be dead if it were up to me’. She growled all the way through Bermondsey’s speech, eyes leaving Moonblight’s only to briefly meet the Nemesis’; she always knew when he was looking to her for a silent word, she could feel it. When Moonblight began to speak, Eshek growled louder, shoving him more forcefully back against the cobblestones like he were overstepping his bounds by answering Bermondsey’s question. “Take over NightClan,” Eshek sneered in a high, mocking voice, tilting her head from side to side as she pressed her face into Moonblight’s. Spit dripped from her teeth onto his fur like a rabid dog; she longed to kill him. Only Bermondsey was holding her back, and if he changed his mind, she’d snap this whelp’s neck before he had a chance to cry out for his mother. This turncoat was a disgrace to Safiya.
As Moonblight went on, speaking of bringing NightClan to its knees, Eshek stepped off him and stalked over to Bermondsey in disgust, tossing her head from side to side and hissing wildly. There were few things she liked less, respected less, than treachery — to betray his Clan, even if she herself hated it, was unacceptable cowardice. “Traitor,” she hissed to Bermondsey as she padded up to him and passed him by, like she was warning him the whelp wasn’t to be trusted. “Filthy little traitor.” She stalked around to stand close at the Nemesis’ side, looking down at Moonblight with her chin up and her lips drawn back in a sickened, hateful sneer, like the stench of him curled her belly. What do you think, dear? She didn’t turn her head to return her ma— her Nemesis’ coy look, just kept sneering down at the NightClan exile. They held his life in their claws. Bermondsey was the judge; she was the weapon. “Pathetic, is what I think,” she hissed. “But I can work with pathetic.” She suddenly snapped away from Bermondsey, pacing back and forth on the cobblestones behind him with her tail lashing and her anger spitting.
“What hold does he have over our son?” Eshek ranted behind Bermondsey. She meant Kier. “They didn’t know each other in the League — Laertes was just a kit. He can’t be there by choice. He wouldn’t do that. Laertes is a good boy.” The words were so emphatic, aimed at Bermondsey like he would back her up as she suddenly whirled about to face him. She suddenly shook her head again and renewed her pacing. “He must be being held. It’s the only explanation.” She sounded like a general pushing for war at Bermondsey’s counsel table. “I vote to listen to the whelp. But if he puts a paw wrong, if this is a trap,” she turned her head slowly back to Moonblight, her growling starting up again and her glare poisonous as it found his, “he’s dead, blood of yours or not. Our kits come before this miserable Judas, grovelling on his knees.”
Bermondsey didn't need to be an empath to see the rage radiating off of Eshek; it was practically visible, like cartoon waves floating around her. Her rage was loud, filled with curses and snarls, threats and violence...his rage was quiet. A simmering rage underneath a calm facade, one that sat underneath his skin, vibrating, ready to burst out at any moment. He and Eshek shared the same sentiments, even if his was a little softer, only because of their shared history.
He could remember the boy. Aleksy, one of Safiya's. He was glad she wasn't here to see this; she'd certainly have his head if he dared to harm her young, but alas, she wasn't here, and he had this cat's life in his paws. Had they met in another time, Bermondsey might've looked at him with a softness, a kindness for the tom he had raised so briefly...but for now, there was no sympathy, no mercy left in him.
He'd raze the forest and tear every tree down for his kits. He'd commit genocide for his kits. He'd burn the world down and dance on the graves for his kits, and soon enough, he'd have a second litter to protect. Perhaps moons ago, he had little vision of what he wanted to do in this role; he was simply taking over after Regulus, trying to rebuild an empire his father was once proud of...now, he knew exactly what he wanted to do.
He wanted to destroy any idea that these idiotic clan cats had, that anything to do with the league would be easy prey. No, he'd colonize every clan before he'd allow things to go this far again, and this time, he swore on his lives for it. He'd quickly destroy NightClan before allowing them any chance to stand, and this was what he was good with. Opportunity.
"I think we should go and destroy NightClan," a voice rose, as a dark tabby licked her lips. Rhiannon was always eager for violence. Slowly, others crept out of the dark, murmurs of agreement coming from the crowd. His lips spread into a smile, a snake's grin, as his eyes fixed onto the mottled tom again.
"So what do you have for us?" he chuckled, "how do you want us to raise hell?"
Moonblight was still on the ground, crouched low, his ears flicked back warily, eyeing Eshek as he swished his tail, using a paw to wipe the blood and spittle upon his cheek. He didn't care what these cats thought of him; he knew Eshek would've done the same thing for her own kits. That was what he was relying on, after all.
"SummerClan has a grudge on NightClan, one they're wary to fulfill because of their sparse numbers," he rasped, "but if you bring a patrol to them and discuss a plan, I think they'll be willing to go for it. My sister will guarantee my safety there, and Foxstar would be diplomatic if you came around...for NightClan, their deputy, Snowblister has become friends with their little captive. Kate, your assassin, she's being held in one of the tunnels. Most of them are opportunists; if we can get Snowblister to 'lead' the charge, they'll start turning towards him the moment they begin to lose."
Bermondsey hummed. He didn't think much of this cat–Moonblight didn't look like much at all. Perhaps a fighter, surely, but he looked as dull and dumb as every other NightClan cat, just waiting for instructions from their leader, but the plan wasn't half bad. It wasn't nearly as thorough as he'd prefer it to be, but there were other cats he could use. He already had spies in NightClan, after all, even after Elizabeth returned to the league.
"What do you think?" he turned to Eshek, before turning around for his warden, proxies and assassins. They'd surely discuss this before going in headfirst.
Hovering in the back of the gathered crowd, blue eyes wide and unblinking as they characteristically were, Merlin watched the proceedings with rapture. He’d joined Primal Instinct shortly after the battle — the morning afterwards in fact, in the dazed wake of it; he’d fallen in rank with them with hardly a question posed. He was asking questions now, internally — who were they speaking of? What did they aim to do? Most of it he could piece together with context clues — Druzyprince was these two’s kid, and this fluffy tom’s group had kidnapped him. So, they were going to raise hell … a tad zealous, though justified in the circumstances; this was personal after all.
Gee, he mused whimsically, I wish my parents were that devoted. Fighting a war over some kit though… the ginger-furred wanderer hadn’t signed up for that. What have you signed up for? he wondered, stealing glances at the cats around him. He’d had it good with The League so far — they were organized, but still loose with the rules and expectations. Like easygoing mercenaries. He liked it here. And he had been living under their roof and eating up their prey for a few weeks… I suppose rescuing the kit is the least I can do to repay the debt, he conceded reluctantly.
Verne had been one of the cats to murmur her agreement at Rhiannon’s declaration. She didn’t care much for war, but a part of her, even as dreamy and sidetracked as she was, couldn’t resist the primal burn of vengeance. One of these Nightclan fellas had stuck her with a poisoned needle, after all! Granted, they hadn’t succeeded in killing her, but the idea of an attempt made her spiteful. Plus, taking over the forest would mean more land to explore. She liked the sound of that. “We should do it,” she chirped, her voice a drop in the pool of voices. She was not used to speaking in these gatherings, and neither were her clanmates, judging by how a few of them looked back to see who’d spoken. Their blinks filled her with conviction. “We should destroy Nightclan!” Raising hell was her whole thing, after all.
I think we should go and destroy NightClan. As Rhiannon spoke, Eshek whipped around to her with a vicious snarl that hissed and gurgled. She was well and truly asserting her place as the League’s queen now. “Maybe you should go do it yourself,” she snapped at the dark she-cat, voice torn through with senseless accusation. She had never said anything, but she wasn’t blind. “I saw you with him, when he was still here — your kit has mine. You can sit down and shut up — whatever you did as his mother, you did this. With him not here, you’ll do fine as an enemy.” It was nonsensical, but so was the proxy; right now, her hate stretched far and wide, encompassing the whole League and all the forest — everyone who wasn’t Bermondsey and their kits. She had closed in on herself; there was only her family. Still hissing, she lashed her tail and snapped away from her again.
As Moonblight began his plan, Eshek resumed her pacing, stalking back and forth behind the Nemesis with her lips curled back and her hateful, accusing eyes on the NightClan defector. She didn’t trust him a single goddamn bit. At the mention of SummerClan and Foxstar, she let out a scornful bark of laughter and turned to face Bermondsey. “We’re going to put our lives in the paws of a weak baby still wet behind the ears? We’d have more of a chance if I went in there by myself.” Hissing through her teeth, she resumed her vicious pacing, tail snapping so fiercely it almost cracked the air. But it wasn’t an argument; she’d go along with the plan — she was a follower, now a leader, not a thinker. If Bermondsey raised an army, she’d be there at the helm — even if the plan depended on a kit barely older than her own. She could already picture it, her towering over little Foxstar in the SummerClan camp as he stammered and trembled, all their soft little bodies like flowers next to the toned, scarred brute force of the League, sprites next to mercenaries. What a pair their two groups would make. SummerClan’s overthrowing of the old NightClan meant nothing to her; it was sheer dumb luck — and they had been fighting for their own homes. What did they care about a League vendetta? Even more so when Foxstar was Phantomfox’s boy, and practically Aspenstar’s; she still harboured a grudge against the former for almost killing her kits when they were still in her stomach, and now she was supposed to trust his son.
What do you think? She gave a furious one-shouldered shrug. “Fine,” she answered bluntly, eyes still on Moonblight. “First we lead a patrol to get our kits back — you’re welcome to come along,” she added sneeringly to Moonblight, jeering at him where he lay in the dirt like the filth he was; wouldn’t that be the best threat, the best prologue to terror, the best declaration of war, than for NightClan to see one of their own running with the League as they stole back what belonged to them. “Then, when they’re safely home,” she turned her head to look at Bermondsey, “we strike a deal with SummerClan and wipe NightClan from the face of the Earth.” We should destroy NightClan! As the voices rose up to join Verne’s in a frenzy of battle-hunger and indignation for their Nemesis’ stolen kits, Eshek’s ice blue eyes stayed locked with Bermondsey’s. Then, with that, she turned sharply and stormed back up the steps, heading for her room. At the top, she suddenly stopped and turned, looking back down at Bermondsey. “It’ll still be high summer then, won’t it?” she asked. For a moment, she was silent. Then, without offering an explanation, she hummed to herself in thoughtful, ominous confirmation and turned away, disappearing back into the Mansion. She’d join Bermondsey’s war councils later. For now, she was done. Done with the League, with NightClan, with the defector cowering on the dirt in front of his foster father. They could all burn. And one of them was going to.
They’d taken Laertes, and then they’d taken her daughters And now she was going to raze NightClan to the ground.
dm me if you want to listen to me ramble about the interstellar soundtrack
2,314 posts
Post by achromatic on Jul 24, 2022 11:01:25 GMT -5
Rhiannon sneered as Eshek spoke to her. "Oh, and yet only one of us has managed to take at least a life from that parasite, which one of us was that, hm?" she replied, tilting her head, her grey eyes burning into Eshek's. There weren't many things she had seen that Kier truly feared, but she was fortunate enough to have been able to witness true terror in his gaze. It was like a drug to her, to see someone flee from her that way.
Bermondsey held his tail high, telling the cats to pause as he deliberated over it. "We'll have the patrol for our kits amidst the battle one," he finally replied, "we can retrieve any prisoners first, and we can send the rest in." He'd elaborate more on his plans once he had a team with him; it'd be easier to do so out of the traitor's sight. He didn't trust the NightClan cat, not right now. He turned to Charon.
"Escort this cat to the basement, get Rasalas to take a look at him," he scowled, "we need him alive when we go into NightClan."
For now, he'd get a small patrol, and see how he'd get SummerClan to join in on their side.
winterclan's leader and mistakenly caught floaty thing
2,485 posts
Post by simplylight on Aug 6, 2022 17:05:54 GMT -5
Charon watched the flames rise in the surrounding cats eyes with incredibly hidden excitement. It had been a long time since he had been in any kind of war or spat, it felt exhilarating. While he had no personal vendetta to fuel him, just the amount of spirits alone that will come from and for this battle would be a new adventure for him. Not to mention, he would probably have an opportunity to use his...skills. It had also been some time since he got to perform one of his old jobs from before the League.
At Bermondsey's words, the smoke-furred tom dipped his head. "Will do. Come with me, cat." He spoke eerily to Moonblight and nodded in the direction of the basement.
