[Fawn]

→ROOKFROST←

_{Medicine Cat of LightningClan}

---

The illness is transferred through the salivary glands into whatever creature it bites. If ever there was a 'truth' that would spark an urban legend, this, Rookfrost felt, would certainly be it. Though he had not yet come up with a more scientific name for it, the dark healer had taken to calling it the Rage Sickness, for that, in part, was exactly what it was. From many moons of observations and a fair share of hypotheses, he had come to the conclusion that there were two different types; a paralytic version that incapacitated the victim but did not arouse violent tendencies, and then the other kind, that left the unfortunate afflicted animal frothing at the mouth and actively seeking to destroy other creatures.

Interestingly enough, from what the self-proclaimed scientist had observed that such rabid violence was not fueled by some sort of sadistic enjoyment of slaughter and disease and the act of infecting others - it was more like the infected creature became a mindless machine of violence who knew nothing except pain and rage. Is there a way to cure it? Can it be harvested? Rookfrost had not necessarily considered the possibility of bringing biological warfare to the forest the five Clans inhabited but... If there was a way to harness the latent potential in this illness, to counter the pain and leave only the rage and the disturbingly high pain tolerance levels...

Then would the forest see it's first super soldier?

Briefly, the cerebral tom's thoughts flitted to the tuxedo cat under the tutelage of LightningClan's very own demonic force of menace and pain, Nightpaw. Would he make a good test subject? Would he make a good patient zero? That would require more thought, and, if he'd reached a verdict that pointed towards the affirmative, much much more planning. It was as he stared out from the shadowy hole in the earth that had been his den for nearly 20 moons now, that he realized the necessity of partnering up for this little excursion into the darkness, the animal inflicted by the Rage Sickness - a loner or rogue, whichever - having hunkered down somewhere near the outskirts of the mountains that loomed over the forest.

Such an adventure, for the purpose of science, would require another set of paws - and his own apprentice had neither the ambition nor the stomach for this sort of work. Snowpaw need not know what went bump in the night, and Rookfrost planned to (pun intended) keep him in the dark indefinitely. Snowpaw simply didn't hear the siren song that Rookfrost did, that ever-present noise that urged him forward, let him break down the barriers of morality and see what lay on the other side. That let him cross the camp clearing to approach the white demon with a mission of the most nightmarish of sorts.
"I have a proposition for you, Whiteshade. You and your apprentice are the cats for this particular task, find him and we can speak elsewhere."

Not in the den, not even in camp. They would step outside of the boundaries of LightningClan's camp, as if to step out of any chains that bound them to any lingering sense of morality - though between the three of them, Rookfrost was of the opinion that there was scarcely enough to make a whole warrior.

As if to toss out one last fishing lure, the ice gray eyes of LightningClan's medicine cat met with the bloody oculars of the albino senior warrior.
"We're going hunting."
And not after the kind of prey you thanked StarClan for.

[Phoenix]

If one had asked him what he was doing in the middle of the night in the middle of camp, he would have replied, somewhat sardonically, that he was simply admiring the stars. It was, after all, a fairly clear night; surprisingly cool given their streak of hot weather. Had he actually cared about the distant specks of light beyond creating a reasonable explanation, he would have acknowledged that it was not a bad night to be out admiring the stars. Despite having an excuse for his actions, which in itself was unnecessary, since the number of cats who would challenge the red-eyed demon at this hour was nearly nonexistent, any feline who cared to watch him from a distance for a while would find it clear that he had not left the den to simply admire the stars. In fact, red eyes barely flicked toward the sky, intent as they were on some distant sight as the senior warrior’s mind churned inside his skull.

Nearly glowing in the moonlight, an alabaster tail curled through the air, idly weaving intricate patterns as the tom became absorbed in his thoughts. Yet, as expected of a senior warrior of his experience and ability, he managed to retain a sharp awareness of his surroundings. It pleased him to no end that he did not betray a flicker of his surprise at the sight of an ebony shadow crossing camp. Crimson eyes locked on the figure as he rose to his paws in a fluid motion, turning so the medicine cat had his full attention. If only because of their similar dispositions, he had come to almost appreciate the other tom’s presence; despite his position, the medicine cat’s heart was just as dark as his pelt. As a result, their conversations never failed to disinterest him. He was not disappointed.

Intrigued by the promise of the cold-hearted tom’s words, Whiteshade did not hesitate to dip his head in response. Even without the added bait, curiosity would have driven the tom to accept. ”Smart of you to come to us, Rookfrost,” The tom responded smoothly. ”Hunting is our specialty. We shall return shortly.” Tail curling through the air, the demon silently made his way across the familiar camp, paws leading him toward the apprentice’s den. Upon nearing it, he was greeted by the sound of heavy, rhythmic breathing, and while he located his apprentice, he briefly entertained himself with imagining the reaction of the group should one of them wake and come face to face with a grinning, red-eyed monster. It was far too easy to scare the apprentices, though acting on his thoughts would be counterproductive to say the least.

”Nightpaw,” The senior warrior muttered into the den, spying the black and white form of the younger tom. ”Wake up.” He would not deign to prod the apprentice awake, trusting that frequent nighttime training sessions had made the feline a light sleeper. Waiting until the tom had roused himself and joined him, the albino began to pad back toward the medicine cat, knowing without looking that he had a black and white shadow. By way of explanation, he stated coolly, ”We are going hunting.” That in itself was far from a declaration, for Whiteshade had ensured that his apprentice was both capable of hunting and fighting by the light of the moon. However the silky, almost delicate tone with which he had delivered the information, suggested something further, noticeable only to those who spent long hours every day in his company.

Red eyes locked on gray as he neared the midnight figure. Inclining his head slightly, he intoned, ”Lead the way.”

[BlooRey DVD]

[smear:000000]Nightpaw[/smear:6f6f6f]

~~~~~~~~~

The black and white shape that was curled up in his nest near the front of the den was roused by some feeling that arose in his chest. He kept himself curled tightly, his tail wrapped around his body, but he allowed a single eye to open ever so slightly. The single gold orbs focused upon the entrance to the apprentices' den, his breathing becoming shallow and quiet as his senses focused. He realized then that what had forced the light sleeper into a state of awareness was the scent of his mentor drifting into the den. He could hear approaching paw steps, which made his ears snap up slightly in surprise. What does Whiteshade want? Are we going out for training? It's been a while since Whiteshade has taken me out this late for anything...

The familiar voice hissed out his name, and demanded he wake up. Whiteshade didn't need to know that he was already awake. Allowing his body to unravel from its tightly curled position, the LightningClan apprentice gave his stiff muscles a quick stretch. White paws flexed, claws slipping out momentarily before he rolled to his paws. He cast a quick glance towards the sleeping form of Palepaw where she lay in her nest. For a brief moment, he was captivated by the way the moon played upon her pale coat. But the tuxedo tom remembered that Whiteshade was waiting for him.

He shouldered his way out of the den, tall, lithe but muscled form breaking into the moonlight, which turned his coat almost silver. Nightpaw did not question his mentor as the albino warrior turned and padded away. He followed silently, steps quiet yet confident as he moved. His amber-ish eyes noticed the LightningClan medicine cat, Rookfrost seated not far away, and it seemed that their trajectory was right in his direction. With a slight tipping of his head, interest sparked in his gaze. The fire was only fuelled when Whiteshade told him that they were going hunting. There was something different about the way he said it that told the tom they weren't going after any sort of small prey. Nightpaw knew his mentor well enough now to hear the subtle difference in his tone.

As the mentor-apprentice pair closed in on the black figure waiting for them, Nightpaw gave a respectful dip of his head the the LightningClan medicine cat, but didn't speak a word. He was interested in what this hunting of theirs would entitle. But he was patient. He would wait until someone was ready to explain just what they were doing. As the group departed, Nightpaw stayed near the back, allowing Rookfrost to lead with Whiteshade directly behind him.

[Fawn]

⇒Medicine Cat of LightningClan⇐

---

The reappearance of the white devil with a tuxedo shadow stirred the midnight tom from his thoughts. At Whiteshade's verbal cue, the healer set off into the forest, the darkness swallowing each of them whole with only the moonlight and their own distinctive scents to offer any sort of differentiation between the three shadows. As was likely the case with the mentor and apprentice pair keeping pace nearby, Rookfrost could navigate through the moorland in the pitch blackness with almost the same ease of movement as exhibited in the daylight; stepping around brambles that would otherwise catch in his inky black pelt, Rookfrost kept up a reticent air until they reached the edge of LightningClan territory before it ran up into the uncharted wilderness of the mountains. It was enthralling how one so fluid of movement could be so stiff and sharp in behavior, pivoting with such rigid speed to face Whiteshade and Nightpaw it was as if he'd been staring at them the entire time, and had arrived long before a single hair on their hides could even be seen.

Rookfrost had not given much thought to the words he would use to explain this peculiar expedition; one side of the coin revealed that they were not average Clanmates who required the watered down, syrupy mess of politeness mixed with pretend emotions like concern and kindness. On the other side, it was difficult to say how much information was actually all that crucial to their part of the job. ”I have been keeping an eye on an unaffiliated cat afflicted by what I've come to refer to as the Rage Sickness. It is a disease passed from one creature to another through the saliva, and those afflicted show an unprecedented preference for violence. To avoid an infestation, putting this creature out of it's misery is an absolute necessity.” It had not been his intentions to speak in a dry, lecturing tone – so he didn't. In fact, by contrast his voice carried a chilly note of intrigue, as though so fascinated by his own subject that he could not allow his usual cut-and-dry approach. The icy gray pools of his eyes had been reduced to mirrors of moonlight, rest of the jet black body difficult to see within the shroud of night, Rookfrost seeming almost disembodied, adding a sense of unearthliness to the rest of his words that gave them more of a dramatic feel than he would've liked.
”I believe I do not need to stress the importance of avoiding getting bitten.” This time, the cold-blooded tom fixed his gaze upon Nightpaw, not so much calling into question his courage as he was the smaller cat's preference for self-preservation. ”If you feel this is too risky an endeavor, go home.” No verbal cushioning whatsoever, Rookfrost flicked a tall black tufted ear, as though he might be able to hear the tormented animal's agonized howls over the thick moors of LightningClan. ”You will recognize the infected creature by the noise, the foam along the muzzle, erratic, aggressive behavior, and a sickly odor. If you can see the whites of it's eyes, then you are too close. If your nerve hasn't failed you, Gentlemen, then let us begin.” Rookfrost refrained from outright saying the word 'monster', as he did not believe in such a childish label, having always attributed the world to those creatures belonging to make-believe – that is, until he had become an acquaintance of the albino right in front of him. It felt...almost ironic, to speak of monsters to one who could very much be called one himself; Rookfrost had seen the bloody mastery of murder by the red-eyed tom in front of him on the battlefield. He had been present, and he had been both appalled and intrigued, though he dared not say so.

Looking at Whiteshade now, the tom the picture of courtesy and coolness, the apprentice of a similar demeanor, it occurred to Rookfrost that the definition of a monster was like the definition of beauty; it was entirely up to the eye of the beholder.

[Phoenix]

Where the prospect of wandering into the mountains with only moonlight illuminating the way might have chilled others to the bone, the alabaster tom did not pause in his deliberate strides as he stepped beyond LightningClan territory. Uncertainty did not exist in his world as, with every step away from the familiar landscape, he delicately stripped away carefully cultured layers that shielded the monster within. The transformation manifested itself in his appearance. Precision surrounded his motions, as though he had thoughtfully decided where to place his paw to take the next step, in order to refrain from wasting energy. Crimson eyes darkened even as they shone in the moonlight, and he quietly unsheathed his claws. The atmosphere around him seemed to emanate danger, as if to ward off the weak. No longer did he have to keep up the charade of a warrior loyal to the code; here he became a predator.

The medicine cat’s words broke the silence that had fallen between the three toms, and for a feline as experienced in reading others as he was, the senior warrior had little trouble in catching the anticipation lurking in the informative words. It was clear that the gray-eyed speaker was fascinated by his subject, intrigued by the knowledge to be gained on this outing; he had studied this disease enough to know how it spread and the effect of it on its victims. He had given it a name. Rage Sickness. Even as part of the predator’s mind collected the information delivered in those quiet tones, the other kept a keen awareness of his surroundings. Previously unbroken, the alabaster expression, ghostly in the moonlight completed by the scarlet eyes of a demon, came to life as lips curled upward in a sneer. As if he would flee to the safety of his den when there was such intriguing prey, such potential for a challenging hunt. Unprecedented preference for violence. As if. Ears twitched in distaste of the mere suggestion.

Listening to the signs identifying a carrier of the disease, he noted idly that in all his moons, he had yet to encounter a creature such as this. He had seen the symptoms separately, of course, with foaming at the mouth being a sign of death by a poison found in a certain area of their territory – water hemlock, he believed – but never together. Anticipation and eagerness thrummed through his veins, joined by a slight impatience; the entire sensation was akin to that of a kit waiting for his apprentice ceremony, which would occur at sunset, hours away for the sun still hung high in the sky. Parting his jaws to scent the air, the tom suddenly turned and sent a brief glance toward his apprentice, as if only just remembering his presence. In the next moment, his attention was reclaimed by another observation: a foreign scent lingered in the area, a couple days old, perhaps.

”If we do not want to follow a faint trail through the mountains,” The white feline predominately addressed the companion who was shrouded in shadows as dark as his pelt, though crimson eyes flicked over to include the tuxedo tom nearby. Unconsciously, he found himself using Rookfrost’s terms to label their prey, almost falling into the analytical speech pattern. ”Might I suggest that we set a trap for the infected creature, using one of our own as bait?” It was not that he had anything against tracking the other all night, but rather the psychology involved with his suggestion intrigued him. In that situation, the hunter became the hunted, and such a startling change was always pleasant to watch. Over the course of mere moments, as awareness settled over the victim, the fight or flight instinct battled within the cat, giving his opponent ample time to use to his advantage. Of course, he knew not whether an animal infected with Rage Sickness still had the mental capacity to appreciate such a transformation, but the idea made the night all the more interesting.

Was he overconfident in his own abilities? Perhaps. Was he inviting death to dance with him? Of course, but he was the devil, was he not? The devil had nothing to fear from death.

[BlooRey DVD]

[smear:000000]Nightpaw[/smear:6f6f6f]

~~~~~~~~~

The tuxedo tom had been padding silently at the back of the group, ears attentive to not only what both older toms were saying, but their surroundings as well. With every word uttered by the black shadow of a cat leading them, Nightpaw's interest grew. He didn't say a word, however, feeling strangely as though this were a conversation meant for the two older LightningClanners, and not the apprentice that was tagging along behind them. He didn't regret coming, oh no. He simply would not speak unless addressed. He found that such a behaviour had been developed the longer he trained with the white demon ahead of him. There was never anything to ask the tom. His instructions were always as clear as his eyes were red.

Dual-colored eyes blinked slowly, evenly meeting Rookfrost's gray gaze when the medicine cat looked at him. When the black tom mentioned going home should the task be considered too risky, the younger tom found himself snorting slightly. The steadiness with which he met Rookfrost's gaze should have made an easy answer. He continued padding forward, keeping up rather easily to his mentor and LightningClan's medicine cat, his muscles shifting with every step. As the shadow cat began listing off the symptoms by which to spot the subject in question, Nightpaw's attention was once again fully diverted to Rookfrost's voice. Identifying the creature was of the utmost important. Though, by the way the tom was describing it, Nightpaw didn't think that picking out the infect creature amongst a lineup of other cats could possibly be difficult at all. This Rage Sickness sounded like quite a terrible disease to be contaminated with.

A prickle of excitement coursed through the young tom, his eyes brightening fractionally with a dark desire. His tail tip twitched, a movement that was hardly noticeable against the darkness. Still, the tom refrained from quickening his pace at all, remaining behind Whiteshade. When his mentor began speaking, Nightpaw found what he had to say intriguing indeed. His plan seemed to make sense, but once more, the tom didn't feel as though it had been directed at him. Instead, he turned his part-turquoise, part-yellow eyes upon Rookfrost, awaiting the other tom's reply.

He was ready.

[Fawn]

⇒Medicine Cat of LightningClan⇐

---

Though they had since left behind the formalities and intellectually stifling expectancies of Clan life, Rookfrost's expression still radiated some surprise at Whiteshade's suggestion – for there could be no other 'bait' than the one wearing a tuxedo trailing in their wake. Like the hypnotic glint of a firefly, this emotion had happened and then vanished, the part of Rookfrost that had fallen into habit of responding with all the 'normalcy' expected of an average Medicine Cat thoroughly abandoned, the analytical aspect of his brain (which was arguably all of it) seeing the sense in the white devil's suggestion.

Like the occasional spot of rain on an otherwise clear day, a dry kind of humor appeared within Rookfrost's conscience, the Medicine Cat all too aware that he should not be encouraging such a dangerous endeavor, not when his business was apparently healing the wounded, but the scientist within him chortled more-so at how willing he was to break a code he did not care for then by how quick he was to accept Whiteshade's commendation.

”We will need another kind of bait to further the incitement. Nightpaw can feign the consumption of fresh kill, whereas the smell of blood and the sight of an opponent he can physically overpower will entice our prey into the open.”

Even at the cost of an apprentices' life, this opportunity was not to be wasted – he would flay the first creature who dared tamper with so perfect a night for hunting, with so perfect a quarry and so masterful a hunting party – killers all, though their morals and methods were all in vast contrast with one another, they were united by a single truth, perhaps the most important of all the traits that these three cats shared.

Curiosity.

A thirst for knowledge, for understanding; while Whiteshade desired the blood of a victim, Nightpaw the blood of an opponent, Rookfrost hungered for the foreign, contaminated blood of a monster in the most fantastical sense of the word. While walking step for step with the devil dressed in white and the demon in formal attire, Death with his dark dressage would point the way to this offspring of pestilence, and together they would make a night of it.

If Nightpaw's bravery (if it could be called such a thing, the tom having been conditioned for the unnatural since he had first been given to Whiteshade on a silver leaf) impressed the shadowy healer, he made no verbal effort to say so, and regarded the tom as little more than another tool – arguably more interesting then your run-of-the-mill apprentice, but not so high up that he felt the need to physically engage Nightpaw in a conversation like he would so quickly do so with Whiteshade.

Different levels, though Rookfrost could not claim to know what the exact nature of Whiteshade's particular 'plane', and was not entirely sure he wished to know.

Even for the scientist, some things were better left unknown.

”A mouse or a hare will do, though catch whatever the night is willing to give.” With few prey he knew to be nocturnal, Rookfrost did not have enormous hopes for great efficiency from Nightpaw – it wasn't a matter of the tom's skill so much as it was up to chance. If there was something to be caught and killed, then they would take it without no room to be picky about the size or the shape of it.

If that prey happened to take on the form of a smaller, unknown feline whose lineage could not be traced through any Clan, then so be it.

His patience would only last as long as his ability to distract himself, keep himself occupied with a dozen algorithms concerning the set up and execution of tonight's plans – though he was not above an impatient flick of the tail and intent look in Nightpaw's direction.

Like a trickle of runoff from a nearby creek, a thought entered the head of the death bringer, icy gaze gripping Whiteshade in an enigmatic embrace, revealing nothing in their brilliant vacancy, though so much lurked beneath the surface; so willing you are to sacrifice your own pupil for the good of the hunt. Such lack of hesitation. What are you then, Whiteshade? You are danger wearing a cat's skin, yet we are not enemies.

He was at once the most perfect companion, and in the same hide dwelt the most dreadful.

OOC: Insidious & BlooRey DVD!

[Phoenix]

Whiteshade
my secret side i keep
hid under
lock and key

- - -

An owl hooted in the distance, the sound echoing off the mountains and shattering the temporary silence that had fallen as those present considered the merits and weighed the risks of his suggestion. Appearing otherworldly as the silver moonlight illuminated pure white fur, the tom barely reacted to the sound, for a mere flick of the ear acted as the only indication that it had existed at all. Crimson eyes remained unmoving in their focus on cold, gray counterparts, an expectant glint hardly visible in their blood red depths, as though their owner were simply counting down the seconds until his equally sinister companion would agree to his suggestion. There was hardly any other truly acceptable course of action, and as free as they were from the useless morals that bound so many of their fellow felines, any qualms about sending an apprentice to possible death were nonexistent.

Expression betraying little more than polite satisfaction, the alabaster specter turned his pitiless gaze upon the third member of their party, who had been offered up to slaughter by the one intended to protect him from such danger, as if daring a single hair on the younger tom’s body to protest against the position he had been assigned. Ghosts of victims long gone swirled in those scarlet eyes, which seemed to glow red with the life essence of those felled by the devil’s claws, promises of fates far worse than the one he had been given. There was no mercy to be spared for one far younger and far more inexperienced than his companions, no compassion or offering of an escape route to be found.

”Go.” With an imperious flick of the tail, he gestured for Nightpaw to begin the hunt for a companion who would accompany him into the jaws of danger. Little thought was given to the additional challenges that would impede an otherwise simple hunt, the scarcity of prey and the night which hid various kinds of creatures in the shadows, for the apprentice had long since been introduced to the darkness that was a true hunter’s best friend. Obeying the instinct that told him to level whatever creature whose gaze currently drilled holes in the back of his head with a similar look, the alabaster tom returned his attention to the medicine cat beside him, unflinchingly meeting the emotionless eyes and noting idly the irony of the other tom’s particular profession.

In silence, he studied the ebon tom with the same intensity. How long the two had been aware of the other’s presence, each of their darker natures lurking just beneath the façade of normalcy that remained impervious to all but those who shared a similar interest in dabbling in the morbid and sinister arts. He, who sought the thrill that came with holding a creature’s fate in his claws, and the medicine cat, driven by a desire for knowledge which could be gained at any cost, bound by their separate goals and connected by the unconventional means with which they would accomplish them.

”You and I are unburdened by the moral compunctions that plague the rest of our species.”

He stated the observation freely, hardly expecting a reply from the tom who could become as reticent as a tree if he believed the statement unworthy of a response. There was no mind-blowing truth hidden in his smooth words and carefully neutral tone, but rather an acknowledgment of true nature of the tom whose company he shared.

”It is a similarity that never ceases to fascinate.”

- - -

i feel it deep within
it’s just beneath the skin
i must confess that i feel like a monster

[BlooRey DVD]

[smear:000000]Nightpaw[/smear:6f6f6f]

~~~~~~~~~

So easily dismissed by the older toms, the LightningClan apprentice stalked away, his movements fluid and oddly silent as his tuxedo form melted into the shadows. He could hear the murmur of their voices behind him, but didn't care enough as to decipher exactly what they were saying. Whatever it was, it was obviously not meant for him. None of it seemed to have been meant for him. He was nothing more than a third party observer, the outcast eavesdropping on a conversation without really meaning to.

Dismissing the feeling with a flick of his tail, Nightpaw's eyes focused on his surroundings. It was dark, and even when Nightpaw squinted his gaze, he couldn't see much further than a few tail-lengths ahead. But the beauty of the night was that you didn't need to see. The darkness heightened your other senses. Black ears were pricked, fully alert to his surroundings. Once he managed to block out the low rumbling that consisted of Whiteshade and Rookfrost's conversation, the tuxedo tom felt as though the forest was his.

He was the ultimate predator in this darkness. Most of his coat vanished into its depths. And what didn't only confused others. He was some sort of bizarre creature, half white, half dark demon. And his eyes, glazed with a burning need, added only to the fear that his prey would face. He was an angel of death.

Jaws parting slowly as he moved, Nightpaw drew in the scents around him. Most of them were stale, though he did succeed in picking out the scent of a vole who had stayed out too late after dark. Ignoring it for the time being, Nightpaw focused upon finding the scent of a hare or a mouse, like Rookfrost had suggested.

It was his ears that picked up on the signs of life first. A soft scrabbling sound alerted him to the presence of a hare not too far away. What it was doing awake at this time, he wasn't sure. When his slim, hunter's frame slipped through the undergrowth, remaining downwind from it the entire time, he noticed that it appeared to be scraping dirt out of its burrow. A cave in, perhaps? How unfortunate. For it. His jaws split in a grin, misplaced amongst the darkness. For a heartbeat, he resembled a feline from a twisted story, with an ever present smirk upon its features.

His mouth didn't stay open too much longer. That twisted grin was disrupted when, in one firm leap, the LightningClan apprentice sprung forward. Paws landed hard upon the rabbit's shoulders, immobilizing it immediately before it could dart into the safety of its burrow. The hare breathed, preparing to sound its squeak of alarm, but Nightpaw's claws were suddenly in its throat, disrupting the flow of air and rendering its lungs useless. As it squirmed, unable to draw in any air, Nightpaw could only laugh, thinking of how pathetic a creature it was.

Biting its neck to end its life, Nightpaw gathered the dead hare in his mouth. Having grown into a larger tom, he was able to lift it with relative ease. When Whiteshade had first begun training him, much of his prey had returned in questionable condition, having been dragged across countless fox-lengths, victim to the hard ground below.

Picking up his pace slightly, Nightpaw headed back in the direction he had come from, the rabbit swinging from his jaws, neck limp and propped at a bizarre angle. Not caring what sort of conversation he might interrupt, Nightpaw padded right up to the two figures of stark opposite coloring, dropping his kill at his feet, his tail sweeping around him as he halted in a sit.

[Fawn]

⇒Medicine Cat of LightningClan⇐

---

Why Whiteshade chose to interrupt his deliberations with an observation they had both been aware of for a long time now, Rookfrost would never claim to know. If that was the alabaster devil's way of opening up a conversation, he shouldn't hold his breath. Concentration broken, his eyes came back to focus, icy pools radiating slight agitation directed at his partner - did he have any idea how difficult it was to come up with a hypotheses on a medical subject he had not yet gotten his paws on?

Running over his vast knowledge of his field, eliminating the aspects of his understanding of the disease that were faulty at best, coming up with the right combination of herbs that may combat this sickness or at least lessen the chances of passing it on (though containment may never truly be possible) - and Whiteshade wanted to discuss their complete lack of morality?

Rookfrost accepted the other tom's words with the same kind of dismissal he gave to the buzzing of an insect - conscious of it's presence while other, more important deliberations took up the majority of his gray matter. Whiteshade didn't need to be humored with a response; he was not one of their Clanmates of a lesser intelligence who would be offended by his continued silence. It wasn't as if there was anything to say in response, was there?

If you disregard our intentions and focus solely on our actions and the desired outcomes, then yes. We are all but brothers in likemindedness, walking down a path our consciences, no matter how small, are forbidden to follow.

Ah. And here came Whiteshade's foot soldier.

A rabbit dropped, Rookfrost's attention settled upon Nightpaw, pleased with the tom's efficiency though he made no efforts to praise him, instead addressing Whiteshade without averting his gaze.
"Turn your fascinations to the present task, Whiteshade. Let's begin."

Rising, the shadow with two icy pools for eyes made note of the position of the incoming mist, not quite as solid-looking as fog, but enough to both hinder and help this macabre hunting party. While they would be shrouded - particularly Whiteshade - so too would their prey be shrouded from them, and considering one was carrying a highly contagious disease with no cure short of death, Rookfrost was looking for a way that would see to it that this night ended with only one casualty.

"Nightpaw, you are to find an open space to begin your charade, Whiteshade and I will disguise ourselves and keep watch from a reasonable distance. If we are patient and the weather does not turn, we shall soon have our monster."

Garlic or clover or some kind of animal droppings would do to mask their scents, though he was rather not go for the latter.

[Phoenix]

Whiteshade
my secret side i keep
hid under
lock and key

- - -

The silence that stretched on in the wake of his observation did not catch the alabaster tom by surprise, and armed as he was with his knowledge of the medicine cat's behavior, even the mere look he was given was more than he expected, though the irritation visible in the other tom's unforgiving gray eyes told him the reason why he had received such a response. Brushing aside nonexistent regret at disturbing Rookfrost's undoubtedly calculating thoughts, the senior warrior eyed his companion for another moment before he lowered his haunches to the ground, hind legs folding beneath him as he sat. With the air of one perfectly at ease with his environment, he glanced around at his surroundings, the ghost of a smirk touching the corners of his lips. The medicine cat could lose himself amongst his own musings for all it affected him at the present time, either plotting out the trap they were about to spring or considering an idea of a similar fatal nature, but Whiteshade was content to simply let things fall into place. He was confident in the abilities of both himself and his companions - more so in the former than the latter - and just as he knew how to take lives, he knew how to protect his own. For the similar means with which they achieved their goals, he and the feline nearly hidden in the darkness were quite different in their motivations for hunting the feline haunting the mountainside. What he lacked in interest of the potential for scientific discovery, he made up for in his desire to have this infected creature, unusually violent, pinned beneath his claws, on the brink of death and perfectly aware of what fate awaited it, and though the desire for such thrill seemed as easily dismissed by Rookfrost as the comment spoken a while before, the medicine cat could never turn down the opportunity to examine another specimen.

Just as his thoughts turned toward his apprentice, Nightpaw appeared, a rabbit dangling limply in the air before it crumpled to the ground as the apprentice's jaws released it. After studying the creature's broken form for a moment, crimson eyes flicked upward to meet its killer's gaze, and the ghostly devil nodded his approval, murmuring quietly, "Well done, Nightpaw." Had he had any doubt of his apprentice's hunting capabilities, they would have been erased with the timely manner the younger tom had disappeared and reappeared with his catch. Their training sessions in the dark seemed to have had the desired effect, for hunting by moonlight seemed to be hardly any more challenging than hunting by day. Ears flicked as Rookfrost addressed him, and he drew his attention away from the tuxedo tom in favor of sending a slight inclination of the head in the medicine cat's direction. Having stood at the approach of his apprentice, the senior warrior glanced briefly toward the swirling mists, all too amused by how fitting such an eerie sight was for their macabre quest. It would be a simple matter for him to walk into their depths and have all but his glowing, crimson eyes be hidden from sight.

The scarlet pair turned toward his apprentice after the medicine cat finished speaking, tail flicking in agreement with his apprentice's orders. "Proceed." His dismissal was shortly followed by an uncharacteristic nod, a simple dip of the chin, that could be interpreted to be an offering of slight reassurance to his apprentice as easily as it could be a silent satisfaction that the younger tom appeared vulnerable enough to lure their prey into the trap. With his true intentions behind the motion remaining hidden within the depths of his mind, the alabaster devil turned away an instant later, pivoting on his heel and discarding thoughts of his apprentice as though he had not just sent the young tom on a mission that could lead to his premature death. After scenting the air, he flicked his gaze to the medicine cat, commenting cryptically, "Let the fun begin," before disappearing into the mist.

The nature of the trap might require them to work together, but both were far too skilled in the art of summoning death that suggestions were necessary; in truth, he would have considered any suggestion passed between them to be an insult regardless of the intention. As the mist swirled around his alabaster form making it appear as though he wore thick robes, he looped around, careful to remain downwind of his apprentice while simultaneously noting the presence of the midnight shadow in relation to his position. The trap was set. All they had to do was wait for their prey.

- - -

i feel it deep within
it’s just beneath the skin
i must confess that i feel like a monster

[BlooRey DVD]

[smear:000000]Nightpaw[/smear:6f6f6f]

~~~~~~~~~

Once more sent away with a frigid, one word order, the tuxedo tom watched as Whiteshade and Rookfrost melted away into the fog. With a snort and a slight roll of his bizarre colored eyes, the apprentice bent his head to collect the dead rabbit from his paws. Hoisting it up once more, Nightpaw gave the area a quick once over, deciding on which direction he would head in. The particular area in which he stood was rather sheltered by the trees, not open enough for a task such as the one entrusted to him. He knew he had to find a more open space. Drawing in a heavy breath through his nose, the younger tom pulled in as many scents as he could manage from around the dead rabbit, not wanting to bother having to put the damned thing down first.

Eventually, he picked up the one he had wanted, the one that had smelt like fresh air. Noting that as his destination, the tom took a step forward, pausing for a moment to consider the situation. It would take him too long to get there if he began his charade now. Letting his muscles collect beneath him, the tuxedo tom exploded into a run, his dark and white frame blending perfectly with the misty darkness around him. He moved with ease, and in relative silence, careful not to disturb the foliage around him. Stupid trees, they made too much sound if you brushed against one of their low branches. Bushes too.

Deciding that he pretty much hated all types of undergrowth, because they made it incredibly harder to do anything silently, the tuxedo tom slowed to a walk as he neared a clearing. Keeping his focus on his tasks, and not trying to pinpoint where Rookfrost and Whiteshade might be, the tuxedo tom pushed through the remaining undergrowth, being almost excessively loud as he brushed against it, creating a distinct swishing sound. To add to the whole picture, he staggered slightly, refraining from putting any weight on one paw, limping as though he had injured it somehow.

Of course his paw was fine, itching to give someone a great big smack on the side of the face, to tear their skin open. Perfectly fine if you asked him. Nightpaw had experienced pain before. His mentor was a StarClan-damned devil, and had trained him to the point of breaking. He knew how to make it look as though every inch of him were in pain. The rabbit dragged on the ground, as though he didn't have the energy to hold it up off of it. His tail drooped, marking a trail in the dirt. And the paws that actually touched the ground didn't pick up all the way, marking their own little tracks in the ground. When he had limped his way into the middle of the clearing, the tuxedo tom let the rabbit fall with an audible plop.

Swaying slightly on his paw, the tom took a moment, ears secretly aware of anything that moved around him, to try and remain standing. When the effort proved (falsely) too much, he let himself fall, flopping to the ground with a grunt. Laying motionless for a few heartbeats, Nightpaw shifted slightly, moving into a more useful position, where he could stiffly bend his neck down to the rabbit and begin to pick at its hide, as though it weren't all that appetizing, or he simply didn't have the energy left to eat it.

Quite an actor, if he could say so himself.

[Fawn]

⇒Medicine Cat of LightningClan⇐

---

The cloaked figures of Rookfrost and Whiteshade did not have long to wait, hidden from the world in shrouds of mist and quiet, shallow breaths – for that which they had been expecting put in it's timely appearance.

Like a ghoul from the ambitious imaginations of the youth, a nightmarish creature made slow, lurching progress towards it's potential victim, an awkward crouching step that gave off the impression of it's owner suffering immeasurable amounts of pain. As though the only tonic, however much in vain it was, to the pain that plagued it was to keep moving, the fiend came closer in from the foggy backdrop of the mountains, filthy tabby coat loose against a thinning frame - tufts of fur falling off with every unnatural jostle of it's body, with each jarring step.

Rookfrost held his breath - or rather, breathing was no longer a function necessary in that moment, icy gray eyes piercing through the fragile fog to examine every inch of the creature that was manageable from this distance; a shiver crept along the length of the medicine cat's spine, though due not to fear or worry or even mild concern for the well-being of the apprentice playing his part so well.

He shivered because he was happy. Excited. Every nerve ending felt alive and tuned into this rare moment, the opportunity to practice his craft, and even with an audience, no need for such secrecy with his present company - not when they cared little for the constraints of a moral society, for the things that would block them from moments like these, if anyone knew the truth. As the infected tabby cat, came closer - male judging by the size and the faint musk, difficult to detect through the pungent stench of sickness and infection coming off their rabid prey – the black healer could now set his sights upon the hypersalivation, long silvery strands of saliva dripping from the cat's mouth, the jaw hanging open as though the bones that worked like hinges had been paralyzed, preventing it from closing it's mouth properly.

An primordial snarl exploded from the infected cat's mouth, the voice-box having been damaged somehow by the disease, as the sound it made was hardly feline, let alone similar to any animal Rookfrost had ever come across – heart-numbing to the extreme, even for those who had the good sense not to doubt in their own abilities to slay the afflicted creature.

With surprising speed, the rabid cat lunged straight for Nightpaw, dilated pupils registering nothing but anger – a rage beyond anything emotional turmoil or angst could ever hope to achieve, as though every other emotion had been wiped clean inside that fevered brain to leave behind the only one that would keep it alive.

Even with Nightpaw's life hanging precariously in the balance, Rookfrost's muscles shifting fluidly beneath an inky black coat as he leaped from his hiding place to observe the creature more openly, he felt his soul stir in exhilaration at the presence of so tainted a living, breathing body.

It was deadly. It was contagious. It was unnerving, and went against what he and any other healer knew of diseases and ailments.

And it was beautiful.

[Phoenix]

Whiteshade
my secret side i keep
hid under
lock and key

- - -

It was with faint amusement that he idly watched his apprentice’s performance from the protection of his misty cloak, but the entire show did little to quell the anticipation flooding his veins. Years of hunting experience prevented him from outright kneading the ground and constantly flexing his claws, but glowing crimson eyes betrayed his inner emotions as he peered out toward the trap. His apprentice had been sufficiently loud enough to alert the surrounding area to their presence, and the smell of blood from the rabbit being picked apart by the tuxedo tom would attract what the noise had not. He should not have to wait long.

With the smug satisfaction of one whose hypothesis was proven true, he focused his attention on the approaching figure stepping from the swirling mists. One look at it, and he knew instantly that this was their target; the creature before him was death incarnate. Though it lacked the regality and poise with which he had often attributed to death, particularly those which he brought about, this infected thing appeared otherworldly in a horrifying way. Tabby fur hung in tatters off of its frail skeleton, and he could easily tell by defined hip bones and ribs that, despite the unusually violent behavior of which he had been warned, the creature had not given much thought to eating and digesting those who fell victim to its attacks. Crimson eyes watched the trails of saliva dribbling from a gaping maw as it lurched closer, the medicine cat’s warning echoing in his ears. From the way it lurched, as if imbalance or not completely aware of itself, to the overwhelming stench of disease and sickness that followed it, the creature screamed weakness, awakening the predator lying just beneath the surface of the alabaster demon.

Hidden by a mist just as pale as his pelt, the tom grinned, his lips curling upward to form a ghastly smirk that would have sent shivers down the spine of anyone who saw. Silently, he inched forward, teeth bared in that macabre smile and eyes glowing as they peered out from the mist. The creature drew closer to his apprentice – and then, letting out a horrid screech as the only warning – it pounced, leaping toward his apprentice. With the quick reflexes his mentor had drilled into him, the tuxedo tom rolled to the side, deftly avoiding the uncoordinated attack.

An alabaster blur separated itself from the swirling mists, resembling a phantom more than ever as he burst into existence, crimson eyes bright with excitement at the prospect of such a thrilling hunt. He barely noted a midnight figure emerging across from him, halting short to further study the curious specimen. Here was where their intentions differed; where Rookfrost might have had an appreciation for the creature alive so as to study its behavior, his sole purpose for accompanying the medicine cat on this morbid mission was to savor the exact moment when the infected specimen crossed the line from life to death, and for him to complete his task, the creature had to die.

And so, after the initial examination of the prey, he wasted no time in admiring the way the infection had reduced a once intelligent – probably, though he could never be sure – feline to a beast driven by violence. A flash of claws and the fighting began.

- - -

i feel it deep within
it’s just beneath the skin
i must confess that i feel like a monster

[BlooRey DVD]

[smear:000000]Nightpaw[/smear:6f6f6f]

~~~~~~~~~

He had taken the necessary precautions to ensure he would not be trapped by an attack. The dead rabbit was in front of him, not hindering his movements should he need to quickly escape a situation. He hadn't been picking at the prey for very long, letting the scent of its blood rise into the night air, when he caught scent of it. The rank odour was the first indication of the approaching creature. It swamped the apprentice's senses, nearly causing his eyes to water. It was horrid, like rotting flesh. Resisting the urge to turn all of his senses in the direction he assumed the creature was approaching from, Nightpaw felt his fur prick with anticipation. No matter how much excitement or desire rushed through his veins, the tuxedo tom kept himself calm, attention focused on the prey before him, and he waited.

And waited.

It wasn't until a sickening sound, with the faintest semblance of a snarl, erupted through the silence that the tom let his head whip around to take a look at the creature. It lurched through the undergrowth, its accelerated pace a little surprising given the air of pain which seemed to radiate from the sick animal. Though it seemed to move with the staggering gait of an injured cat, the pace was wrong. Not that it bothered Nightpaw. Sharp eyes finished their examination, taking note of its eerie, gaping jaw, plastered with the dripping strands of saliva. Narrowing his gaze slightly, Nightpaw's muscles prepared themselves for their next move.

When it lunged towards him, Nightpaw allowed his training to kick in. Rather than allowing his instincts to turn and flee to take hold, Nightpaw shoved against the ground, sending himself into a quick roll, out of reach of the creature's leap. Before the roll had really come to an end, the tuxedo apprentice was on his paws. He could sense, rather than see his mentor's approach. Surprise would be their greatest weapon here. This disease ridden creature thought this was a one on one fight against a cat much smaller than he was. Why not make it think that a little bit longer? Though he doubted the creature was relying much on its senses, Nightpaw decided in that instant that he would distract it, to let Whiteshade get closer, within range of applying the deadly power that Nightpaw knew lay just beneath the surface of the white devil's eyes.

Nightpaw was considerably faster than the sick cat before him, darting to the side more quickly than it could register. It was just finishing straightening after its failed leap, rising as though in severe pain, when Nightpaw made his first move. The creature's jaws were agape, as though permanently stuck in that position. When it moved towards him again, Nightpaw circled, daring it to follow. Driven by an incomprehensible rage, the creature did. Suddenly, Nightpaw darted forward, causing the infected thing to do so as well, in its less fluid way of moving. It's jaws opened wider, the intent clear in its gaze. However, before it could lock its jaws on the apprentice's body, Nightpaw's claws hooked into the skin of the dead rabbit he'd been inconspicuously inching towards the whole time. With a mighty heave, ending with Nightpaw springing backwards, out of reach once more, the LightningClan apprentice hurled the rabbit directly at the creature's mouth.

Satisfaction caused an almost sick grin to take hold of the apprentice's mouth. He didn't pause to admire his handiwork, however, leaving the creature to attempt to shake the rabbit, which was clamped firmly in its jaws, from his teeth. With another swift movement, Nightpaw darted sideways, muscles flexing before bunching once more as Nightpaw leapt for its back. Figuring that aiming for its spine was a safe way to avoid being bitten (not that such a thing was possible with a rabbit lodged in its mouth), as Rookfrost had reminded them, the tuxedo apprentice used their prey as a springboard. Forepaws contacted first, causing unbalancing for the diseased creature. When his hind paws hit, and Nightpaw sprang away, well out of clawing distance, the force was enough that the thing staggered sideways, the rabbit dragging along the ground as it bent its head, scrabbling for any type of hold.

Staying some distance away, resorting to stalking in a wide circle around the creature, who's side was now beginning to drip with blood from Nightpaw's most recent assault, Nightpaw glanced at his mentor, who was closing in on his prey. In a way, there was a sort of invitation in the apprentice's gaze. He recognized, however, that Whiteshade didn't need an invitation from anyone to close in on prey such as this. Intrigued by what his mentor might do, Nightpaw stayed back, assessing and waiting for the perfect moment to close in once more.