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Post by Fawn on Feb 12, 2013 18:50:10 GMT -5
♠BLACKWOLF♠ of NightClan
I am the Sin Called Wrath.
Today was not a good day to be a frog. With the camp flooded and relocated to the Pine Needle Clearing, the apprentices had been instructed to start building structures and places to sleep for the queens and the elders. With both Grimpaw and Applepaw occupied, their arrogant ebony mentor had made use of himself elsewhere, choosing not to sit around bending semi-thawed brambles around into some sort of den, preferring to employ his claws to something a little more meaningful.
Sure, sure, shelters were important, but that was...apprenticework.
Spitting another frog onto the muddied ground, Blackwolf made a halfhearted shaking toss of his coat, as though he might somehow dislodge some of the mud and dirt that had been caked onto it. The flooding had made the marshlands that much marshier, and he was having an unpleasant time in terms of keeping his coat clean, and had pretty much abandoned any hope, instead he crept through the mud and the water-logged plants with all the willingness of his namesake, amber and blue eyes gleaming, brawny shoulders tensing, body naturally sliding into a hunter's crouch as he spotted a grackle stopping to take a drink.
With the experienced finesse that came with doing this a hundred times over, Blackwolf's haunches wriggled, and he launched himself out of the mud, sending up a light spray of mud-water in his wake, spattering his coat once more as he descended upon the unknowing bird. The grackle barely got out a squawk of surprise, wings mid-unfold when he delivered a swift killing bite to the back of it's neck. The prey had started to return after the flooding, the bigger birds of prey going after the frogs and toads and snails that had come out when the weather warmed up, and Blackwolf was wholeheartedly taking advantage of this recent stroke of luck.
Sure the camp was moved and he hadn't had a dry place to sleep in a few days, but at least their bellies would be full, and anyone who had felt the hunger pangs this winter more than ever before would concede that this was a blessing indeed.
Wiping grim off his whiskers with a hasty paw swipe, the muscular black tom turned around with a muddy squelch, noting a familiar dappled pelt standing out amongst the still semi-barren landscape. "Oh it's you," he mewed upon recognition, shaking a back paw free of a dirty puddle. "What's happening back at camp, anything worth reporting?" Said the leader of the posse, having carried the grackle back to where he'd stashed the frog (having by now created a small cache of assorted fresh kill) and addressed Poisonleaf after he'd set it down.
The scourge and the anger.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 18, 2013 19:00:23 GMT -5
. : p o i s o n l e a f : . they say pride comes before the fall...Poisonleaf was leaving the temporary camp after tripping over a bundle of kits, out playing like nothing was wrong. An angry hiss and a stern glare caused the bunch to skitter off to the edges of the clearing, prompting a smirk to cross her face. The calico she-cat was almost at the edge of the Pineneedle Clearing when a sharp yowl caused her to pause. One of the many apprentices working on the temporary dens for the elders and queens had tripped and now lay tangled in a bundle of brambles. Poisonleaf rolled her green eyes and turned her back on the temporary camp, making her way into the pine forest beyond.
Without much direction from her mind, white-tipped paws carried the she-cat's lithe from toward the Muddy Pools, not exactly certain what she'd find there. As she padded through the territory, a wren lighted down close by. Poisonleaf froze and crouched, light green eyes fixed on the small, brown-speckled bird. Two quick steps and a pounce later, and the small bird lay limp in her jaws. Poisonleaf carried on, the small bird doing little to hamper her movements.
She arrived at the pools with little fuss, first spotting a stash of fresh-kill. What? Green eyes narrowed and scanned the area around her. It didn't take her long to spot the familiar shape of Blackwolf falling onto a grackle. Poisonleaf shook out her fur and settled her paws, watching the bulky black tom with narrowed eyes.
In her mind, Blackwolf was a challenge. The pretty she-cat could have any cat she wanted in all five Clans and beyond, but the proud female didn't care for all those who swooned over her pretty fur. Sure, it was nice that any male took an interest in her, but there were those few who weren't so easily won. Blackwolf was one of those cats. Her was the leader of his little posse, and took little interest in any cat aside from their use to him. It was this distance he kept that caused Poisonleaf to be attracted to him. He was a test of her abilities, and she was determined not to fail.
Poisonleaf smirked behind the wren as Blackwolf made his way over and dropped the grackle onto the pile at her paws. "Oh it's you. What's happening back at camp, anything worth reporting?" Poisonleaf dipped her head and dropped the wren on top of Blackwolf's grackle before lifting her head to speak.
The she-cat raised her head almost level with Blackwolf, a subtle hint of challenging his leadership, and opened her mouth to speak. "Nothing of interest. The kits are tripping up warrior paws, and before I managed to leave, one of the apprentices found himself on the wrong end of a bramble bundle. Other than than, it's pretty uninteresting." Poisonleaf's words slid off her tongue like liquid poison, her voice smooth and elegant.
The black, orange, and white cat flicked her tail, gesturing to the fresh-kill pile between them. "Looks like you've had a successful day." Poisonleaf fixed Blackwolf with a somewhat approving smirk, eyes, as always, narrowed slightly. Though eye contact, to some, would be considered a defiant move, Poisonleaf held her pale green eyes to the tom's mismatched gaze, her smile and slightly challenging posture unwavering. A spark of electricity flashed down her spine, anticipating something.. physical. Be it a paw swipe, a snap, or some other physical altercation, Poisonleaf didn't mind. Her senses switched to high alert, waiting for whatever Blackwolf might throw. She wasn't concerned about being injured, no, in fact just the opposite.
Despite what her pretty exterior and challenging nature might say, Poisonleaf quite enjoyed pain, relishing it even, especially when a tom like Blackwolf was the deliverer. no matter how violent he became, she'd always turn back to him. He was a drug to her, a high she couldn't live without. Not that he would ever know that, of course. She was very talented at hiding her true nature, so no matter how much his distance and violence attracted her, she still maintained her facade of a cold, proud bitch.
...but I am pride, and I am the fall |
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Post by Fawn on Mar 7, 2013 3:38:31 GMT -5
♠BLACKWOLF♠ of NightClan
I am the Sin Called Wrath.
If it weren't for the fact that he had been dealing with Poisonleaf's behavior for over 10 moons now, Blackwolf likely would have picked up and retaliated against that arrogant simpering smirk all over her tricolor features, as well as the challenging gleam of his eyes. In response to his words, however, Blackwolf's were response was drawled with it's usual arrogant inflections, "Clearly. How goes hunting for you? Not very well if that's all you've got to show for it." He gestured to the wren she had brought upon arrival with a lazy flick of the tail.
Abruptly, it occurred to the muscular black tom that right here was an opportunity for something interesting. It wasn't that Blackwolf was afraid to go over the TreeClan lines and hunt on his own, it was simply easier for him to go with someone to keep an eye and ear out. Obviously he was a perceptive feline who, when in a proper hunting or fighting mood, could be incredibly attentive to his surroundings and anything that might be approaching. Still, two cats were better than one when breaking the warrior code, he'd always thought.
With a narrowed, cocky gaze of his own, Blackwolf let out a low, raspy purr, as though he had just thought of some funny joke he didn't feel like sharing.
"Care for a trip across borders, Poisonleaf? I'm in the mood for squirrel." Dropping this large hint as to his plans, Blackwolf took a few seconds to groom himself, recollecting the fact that squirrels were primarily a TreeClan source of food. It's about time I went back there without Shadepaw to mess things up. Considering his last serious raid on TreeClan's food supply had ended in disaster thanks to his younger brother's apparent ability to get beaten up by a she-cat, Blackwolf was more than ready for a far more successful hunt on soil that most certainly wasn't NightClan's.
The scourge and the anger.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 24, 2013 12:55:46 GMT -5
POISONLEAFThey say pride comes before the fall... ...but I am pride, and I am the fall
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Post by Fawn on Mar 26, 2013 21:15:39 GMT -5
♠BLACKWOLF♠ of NightClan
I am the Sin Called Wrath. With full intention of taking the lead, the muscular black tom shouldered past Poisonleaf with his usual wolf-like gait, shoulder blades sharp and defined as he set a course for the TreeClan border. With Ravenstar showing no signs of giving them any orders to stop hunting on TreeClan soil, Blackwolf needed no further encouragement then his leader's permission and the chance to insult as many TreeClanners as he could. Knowing Poisonleaf shared a certain efficiency when it came to doing things other would most likely frown upon - like stealing prey from a rival Clan - he felt confident that this trip would be successful in not just riling up their tree-dwelling rivals, but in giving the kits and queens and elders of NightClan a taste of something different. It wasn't that TreeClan hoarded all of the squirrels in the valley, a reasonable amount ended up on NightClan turf every now and again, but it was fairly obvious that if one was in the mood for squirrel, TreeClan was the place to be to satisfy such moods.
If one had acquired a taste of frog, however, then obviously them turning around and heading back to skulk along the edges of the ambush pond would be ideal. In what felt like no time at all, the unpleasantly familiar stench of the TreeClan border reached them quicker than the actual landmarks did, a fallen log having landed right at the edge of their territories, as if even StarClan were trying to draw a line of separation between the Clan that flourished under cover of darkness and that which found their comfort amongst the ever-reaching trees.
"Quiet. I don't know about you, but two cats versus a whole patrol sounds like the quickest way to be stuck in Smokefur's den." He hissed out of the left corner of his mouth, stealing a quick, mismatched glance at the pretty tortoiseshell she-cat on his left, expression a trouble-causing mixture of determination and arrogance.
If they were going to break the code, then they were going to do it properly.
The scourge and the anger. |
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Post by Deleted on Jun 5, 2013 1:50:13 GMT -5
i am pride, and i am the fall
poisonleaf
The calico she-cat followed Blackwolf to the border, the fallen tree quickly pointing out their destination. "Quiet. I don't know about you, but two cats versus a whole patrol sounds like the quickest way to be stuck in Smokefur's den." Poisonleaf rolled her eyes, but returned his gaze with an excited smirk. Jaws parted to taste the air; no fresh scents lingered in the air. That could be both a good and bad thing. No recent patrols meant no cats in the area, but there might be a patrol coming soon, so one had to be careful.
Dainty white paws carried her colorful body up and over the tree, and into the forest of TreeClan. Her jaws parted as her paws ghosted the ground, seeking out any signs of prey. A couple steps into the different forest, a scent hit her nostrils, a musky, woody scent, somewhat sweet to her nose. Squirrel. Poisonleaf crouched and crept forward, bounding forward as the squirrel darted off. She followed it quickly halfway up a tree, before snagging a claw in it's tail. She pulled the squirrel closer, delivering a swift bite to the throat, while still clinging to the tree with three paws.
Taking a hold of the squirrel in her mouth, the warrior dropped down, landing softly on all four paws. She turned away from the tree, venom green eyes seeking out where her partner in crime had gone.
{twenty-nine moons} nightclan {she-cat} warrior
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Post by Fawn on Jun 11, 2013 11:09:18 GMT -5
♠BLACKWOLF♠ of NightClan
I am the Sin Called Wrath. Blackwolf had already made his skill - a plump wood thrush that he knew would interest a few kits and elders at the nursery by it's slightly exotic taste, as it wasn't a bird commonly found on NightClan soil. If anyone asked where he'd gotten it, Blackwolf fully intended to boast about it - unless it inspired a couple of mousebrained kits to go sneaking off into TreeClan territory.
Never mind.
Even if he wasn't particularly attached to any of the mewling little helpless things, Blackwolf had no intention of putting any of them in danger by giving them too much incentive to leave camp. He'd leave the story telling and the entertaining of kits to Frogsplash; she seemed to enjoy that sort of thing. Spotting his multi-hued accomplice ending the life of a squirrel nearby, Blackwolf had been about to approach when an all too potent scent reached the dark tom's nostrils.
TreeClan patrol.
Shooting Poisonleaf a warning glare, the tom quickly switched to a stealthier approach, intending to hover near the edge of their shared border should a drastic break for NightClan territory be necessary. He would gladly ruffle up some sap-hearted TreeClanners if the opportunity presented itself, but he wanted to do so with an escape route in sight. Not to mention there was the fact that giving TreeClan obvious proof that NightClan blatantly disregarded the border markings on a near regular basis would potentially make more trouble for Ravenstar down the road. Blackwolf suppressed a snort, crouching with his kill in the safety of a blackberry bush, hidden beneath the dark foliage, mismatched eyes burning through the leaves for any approaching cats.
Even if Ravenstar is confronted by the King Mousebrain himself I doubt she'd tell us to stop hunting here.
Until TreeClan proved that they weren't a bunch of weaklings, NightClan would continue to take what they could. |
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Post by Deleted on Jun 22, 2013 20:12:55 GMT -5
P O I S O N L E A F
they say pride comes before the fall, but i am pride, and i am the fall
Poisonleaf smirked around the squirrel in her mouth as she saw Blackwolf clutching a thrush. Before she could move, a powerful stench flooded her nose, overwhelming the scent of squirrel in her mouth. After sharing a glance with Blackwolf, the multicolored she-cat moved.
Silent paws carried her over the fallen log that marked the border, where she quickly dropped the squirrel, scraping a pawful of dirt over it. She carefully slipped around the log and back into TreeClan territory, using the thick ground cover to conceal herself, before joining Blackwolf under the blackberry bush.
She felt her pelt brush his gently, but she didn't shy away as she would any other tom. Blackwolf was different; he was a tom she wouldn't mind letting into her stonewalled heart. She tossed a smile in his direction, the threat of getting caught thrilling her. She felt breathless, giddy, with her heart pounding and jaws parted in a small smile.
Pale green eyes peered between the leaves and branches of the bush, idly wondering who was in the patrol that had interrupted their hunt, pushing her to be crouched so close to the only tom she couldn't resist.
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