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Post by Fawn on Oct 17, 2016 16:34:24 GMT -5
ROOKFROST Icy gray eyes competed with the sky above for colorlessness, the dawn light seeming to spill through the opening of the fox den, pricking his eyes like thorns, hard enough to make them water. The medicine cat was slow to rise; he felt both chilly and hot, burning with a fever yet too cold to be logical. Rookfrost heaved himself to his paws, looking disdainfully at the alarming amounts of fur he had left behind.
Vanity had been a weakness of his, once. Inherited, no doubt, from his pompous father and preening mother. Rookfrost’s haunches folded, for once finding the scents of so many herbs in such close proximity to be dizzying, with the urge to retch trying to claw it’s way up his throat. With all the compassion of a ragged looking shadow, Rookfrost gazed around the medicine den as he washed, running a neat paw over his stern, prominent features as though he still had time to care about such things.
But time was running out for the jet black healer.
It had been a maddening experience; to be ill, to realize you are ill, and to be able to come up with no cure for that ailment. Rookfrost was torn between frustration over failure, over being thwarted by an illness that had crept up on him like an otherworldly mist, and being agitated that the one life he seemed unavailable to save should be his own.
Being surrounded by useless herbs was a kind of torment in and of itself. The black healer looked around in the darkness at his stores, derision curling his lip. Feeling an ache in the body and a burning thirst in his throat, the medicine cat walked stiffly from his den, treating his startled Clanmates as if they did not exist.
The kill pile was ignored. He had no appetite. Food was necessary to maintain normal life-sustaining functions, but it was water he craved; he would attempt to mitigate his other symptoms as soon as he found some damn water!
The Crystal Creek and the Flooded Grasses felt too far to reach. Infuriated by the weakness of his own body and his self-preservationist’s reluctance to venture far from his herbs, the black healer forced his weakened legs to move, his body gliding over the ground like a broken shadow, injured darkness, though dangerous because of it.
There was a ginger cat following him. Kindleflare. Rookfrost pivoted, glaring at her with such dislike that it was a miracle the ground around her had not been scorched. ”I don’t need your help,” he seethed, face ghastly and gaunt. His head and ears were beginning to look bigger than his body, with so much of his black coat missing. Instead of thickening for the winter, he was getting frailer. Fading away like black smoke on the wind. Even now, the chill bothered him, and it blew his soured breath back in his face.
I am Death none can excel, I'll open the door to heaven or hell 6/31 Used |
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| Conquer the monster in your head, and then you'll fly |
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GaleClan Medicine Cat
INVENTORY
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Post by BlooRey DVD on Oct 21, 2016 22:18:19 GMT -5
 Even a kit could work out that Rookfrost's health was failing. Considering she'd trained under him, and now shared a den with him, Kindleflare most certainly had noticed the changes. To begin, she'd passed it off as her imagination. It had been a wince here as he rose to his paws, or a stiff shift there when he sat for too long. Now, his mood had passed from unfriendly to sour as his breath. The once specter-like tom had devolved into just plain ghastly, though Kindleflare knew better than to feel sorry for him. The last thing Rookfrost would ever want was for anyone, especially her, to pity him.
That didn't stop her from wrapping up a mixture of sorrel, ragwort, juniper and chamomile leaves. Once certain the bundle of herbs was secure, she padded her way to the freshkill pile, smiling timidly to anyone who happened to make eye contact with her. Dark amber eyes perused the fresh-kill pile, eventually picking out a small-sized rabbit; anything larger, and she doubted she could juggle it all. And Rookfrost had barely been eating recently anyway. There was no point in bringing him anything larger. Noticing the black tom skulking his way (slowly) out of camp, the she-cat picked up her pace to follow him out.
Despite his failing health, neither his senses nor temper seemed to be failing just yet. Wheeling on thin black limbs, the LightningClan leader bared his yellow-tinged fangs at her, spitting that he didn't need her help. The shock of his outburst was enough to cause her to stumble slightly, hesitating a moment before she bent down to set the rabbit and herb bundle near her paws. He wouldn't like what she had to say. She didn't even like what she had to say. She wanted nothing more than to squeak 'okay' and scamper off to hide in the medicine cat den.
But she was a medicine cat now. And if Rookfrost taught her anything of value, it was how to appear even a fraction more confident than she felt inside. Straightening her posture, she flicked her tail to the side and cleared her throat. "Oh... Okay, fine. I won't help you." She mewed simply, focusing her darker gaze on his silver-white one. "But I will walk with you. We will... Get you water.. And then we will take a break, where you will eat both some food and the herbs."
With a flick of her ear, she stooped to pick up her two packages and padded right by him. L-Leave him no chance to argue. She thought to herself.  |
Words used: #13 - ghastly Note: 37 moons old. |
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Post by Fawn on Oct 24, 2016 18:11:47 GMT -5
ROOKFROST The look Rookfrost gave Kindleflare's back as she passed by would have sent a far braver cat mewling back to the nursery. His face terrible to behold, his lips pulled back from bile-yellowed fangs, he hissed a single, spine-chilling note. You dare order me around? With a herb bundle of juniper to soothe his stomach, ragwort to lessen the ache in his joints and strengthen his wasted muscles, sorrel as a strengthening additive and chamomile to soothe his agitated mind, his teachings had not gone to waste.
However. Chamomile was worthless to a mind that was precisely aware of what was wrong with it (as precise as the mind could be when it could not very well open up its body to see where the sickness lied), and knew no herb could undo the damage. Only slow it. Rookfrost recalled, in the darkness of his den under cover of night, watching his father succumb to something similar.
Like coat color, length, facial structure and eye color - there were certain things that could be inherited. Physical disabilities, physical advantages, and inexplicable illnesses seemed to be among those heritable features. Rookfrost, it seemed, had drawn the short straw when it came to health and longevity. That did not mean he was under orders to accept his own fate; not yet. Not while his mind was still sharp, though the body that housed it was failing more and more every day, determined to decompose and break down while still in use.
Though he reviled her attempts at turning his own techniques against him, there was the heavy, measured pace of painful steps behind her, Rookfrost following eerily in her wake like a ghoulish, hungered phantom promised a fresh corpse. The scent of the crystal creek made his mouth water; no rabbit or quail-scent could enchant him any longer; it was as if he left behind his appetite, as if his stomach has shriveled, compacting itself to make room for his skin to stick to his ribs with greater ease.
On trembling limbs and with a fast-flicking tail, Rookfrost stooped over the creek and drank his fill, the water chilling his teeth and throat on the way down. He drank and he drank and he drank, breathing hard when he was forced to raise his muzzle for air, flecks of crystal clear water droplets on his jaws and beaded along his whiskers, until he gave a sudden flick, and the droplets were no more.
"The food I will take. You will prepare for me traveling herbs." Rookfrost rasped, turning his back to the cat he had once trained, the anger burning his throat raw, his gaze sharp with frustration and resentment. I cannot heal this. I cannot cure myself. The black tom's talons sank into the grass, digging deep furrows down to the black soil beneath, his teeth bared in a look of savage vexation. my name is Death and the end is here 487 Words Halloween Words Used:chilling, eerie, enchant, fangs, phantom, spine-chilling, terrible (7/31) |
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GaleClan Medicine Cat
INVENTORY
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Post by BlooRey DVD on Oct 26, 2016 20:00:46 GMT -5
Dark ginger ears swiveled backwards, listening to the sound of labored paw steps trailing behind her. Not daring glance over her shoulder for fear of meeting his spine-chilling stare, this thrumming tattoo was her only indication LightningClan's ghostly medicine cat was following her at all. Though she moved with as much conviction and purpose as she could muster, her mind continued down its path of grave thoughts. The speed with which Rookfrost's health had deteriorated was undoubtedly alarming to the ginger medicine cat. Even more so was the idea he'd not found a way to stop it yet. Kindleflare had always thought her mentor's knowledge of herbs to be unbounded.
Paw steps slowed as the Crystal Creek drew into view, the younger of the two cats stepping aside to allow Rookfrost clear path to the water for which he hungered. Err.. Thirsted? As he drank, Kindleflare seized the opportunity to study him from behind, the prey and herb bundle safely at her paws once more. Rookfrost had once been a tom with an almost otherworldly ability to instill fear in anyone whom he set his piercing gaze upon. Though he could still petrify her with a glance now, he also just looked plain frightful.
Skin clung to his ribcage, the black phantom a mere fraction of the haunting tom he'd once been. With his fill of water obtained, he flicked his chilling stare toward her briefly, only to turn his back on her once more. Ginger ears pushed forward as he spoke, confusion glittering behind her deep amber eyes. Despite the strange request, she didn't refuse, stifling a nod upon realizing he couldn't see her with his back to her. Clearing her throat briefly, she replied. "Of course, Rookfrost." Stooping to collect the small rabbit, she closed the distance between then, depositing it at his paws before backing away again.
Keen eyes caught the look flashing through the tom's eyes, as though the piece of prey were utterly revolting. L-Likely... Lacking appetite. She thought to herself, choosing to busy herself with re-wrapping the leaf over the herb bundle carefully while he ate, albeit purposely leaving some ragwort out. Once satisfied with the herb bundle's state, she returned to sitting patiently for the ebony tom to finish. His gruesome gaze snapped to hers eventually, a clear indication he was done. Rising again, she pushed the ragwort toward him; it would give him a little strength for the journey back. She'd give him more with the rest of his requested strengthening herbs.
An indignant harumph was her only reply, the she-cat flinching fractionally at the dismissive sound. The smallest flicker of satisfaction lit in her breast, however, as the tom studied the herb and stooped to lap it up. With the herbs consumed, Rookfrost had little reason to wait any longer, it would seem. Left to quickly bury the remains of the prey, Kindleflare scrabbled to follow in his paw steps. Despite his rather dreadful appearance, the black tom could still move when he wanted to.
The return trip occurred in silence identical to that of the original trip. This time, the ginger she-cat remained behind him, the herb bundle clasped firmly in her jaws. Eventually, the comfort of the medicine cat's den greeted them, Kindleflare slipping into the the familiar darkness with ease to fetch what she'd been asked. It was as she was pulling together the requested herbs that a thought flickered through her mind, leaving her paws to slow. "...Rookfrost... Where are you going..?" |
Words used: #27 - spine-chilling #14 - ghostly #15 - grave #1 - alarming #22 - otherworldly #23 - petrify #12- frightful #24 - phantom #17 - haunting #5 - chilling #25 - revolting #16 - gruesome #7 - dreadful #8 - darkness Note: 37 moons old |
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Post by Fawn on Oct 27, 2016 20:46:12 GMT -5
ROOKFROST The journey back to camp had fatigued him more than he would admit, even to himself. Forcing down another frustrated hiss, his self disgust burned in thhe back of his throat like bile. The shadowy tom entered his den, going at once to the shelves to begin selecting herbs that would carry him through to the mountains - after one final stop at Firestar's den.
Forgetting his irksome apprentice for the moment, too lost in his own thoughts to register her presence at all, it wasn't until a timid voice batted against his ears like the annoying swipes of kitten paws, that he flicked an ear towards her.
"...Rookfrost... Where are you going..?"
"Away." It was an abrupt, unquestionable retort. Yet the moment it was out of Rookfrost's mouth, it occurred to him that his answer would leave room for assinine assumptions. "I will not die in this camp," his voice was far colder than it should have been, the carefully constructed front he had used for the past 60-plus moons falling down to reveal the brutal mind beneath. "If I am to die," he seethed, "Then it will be at the grave of my choosing. The guardianship of LightningClan is yours."
A hint of derision, a touch of relief. Rookfrost turned to face her. "I am no longer LightningClan's Medicine Cat." He did not have to waste his time and energy on treating others. Not anymore. His time and his attention would be his own; Rookfrost weighed the probabilities of his survival. Whether he lived or died within the next few sunrises, then he would die as the scientist he had always considered himself to be.
No more falseties. No more 'playing nice' to avoid incuring the wrath and horror of his Clanmates. Any loyalty he felt towards the cats he had grown up with, delivered and watched grow into functioning members of the Clan had fallen out long before his fur had started. As he began to select herbs from the shelves he had dug into the walls many moons ago - burnet, chamomile (after a second consideration), daisy, more ragwort, sorrel - that his gaze settled upon the shriveled berries in the back of one shelf.
Rookfrost's precise movements stilled, and he gazed enigmatically at the potent death berries. He could end his own pain now. Any other patient, to have reached this stage and with no cure either known or unknown to treat the illness, Rookfrost would have fed them the berries. Sent them off to their beloved StarClan without the need to hog nest space and the rest of his attention; he did not enjoy suffering that had nothing more to tell it's medical examiners.
Pain was a symptom, it was a strong indicator that something was wrong. However, when the pain and the other symptoms became stagnate, that there was no longer any signs of change and no probability of change occurring, then a swift death was all that was left.
The black tom turned away, looking at the herb bundle he had assembled, forgetting that he had already asked Kindleflare to prepare the very same thing. He had death berries in the Hollow. He would use them if the time came for him to let rational thought overpower survival instinct. my name is Death and the end is here |
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| Conquer the monster in your head, and then you'll fly |
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GaleClan Medicine Cat
INVENTORY
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Post by BlooRey DVD on Oct 30, 2016 16:48:55 GMT -5
Despite how terrible the black tom had looked in recent days, despite knowing she should have been expecting it, his words came as a shock. Ginger ears snapped back against her skull, her rump sinking to the ground as she watched him finish gathering his desired herbs, much of the very same herbs she'd been packing for him. He had never been friendly, he had never been kind. Why then, did his words horrify her so? Why was she shocked to find out he could be colder, angrier than she'd ever seen him previously. She froze for several moments, unable to formulate a response.
"I am no longer LightningClan's Medicine Cat." The words carried with them a strange sting. and dark amber eyes examined her paws as though they might hold the answer she sought. She barely noticed him walk out of the den, only roused from her stupor by the lack of his indignant muttering. Forgetting the herbs at her paws, the ginger medicine cat lunged out of the den, glancing around almost wildly. She caught sight of the frail black tom, evidently on his way toward Firestar's den. Panicked eyes alighted on the form of her tuxedo-pelted brother, and for a moment, she wondered if he would manage to stop this.
With a rabbit hanging from his jaws, Nightstep's sharp yellow gaze fixed the silver-eyed medicine cat for a moment. He took in the herb bundle, and the indomitable, crackling aura radiating from Rookfrost, and it was as though he understood. This was a cat who would not accept his fate without a fight, and Rookfrost was preparing for his final battle; Rookfrost, and Rookfrost alone would dictate a location to be his crypt, his final resting place. Without a word uttered between them, the black and white warrior let himself slide into a bow, his head dipping respectfully to the black tom.
Everything seemed suspended for a moment, until Rookfrost promptly continued his journey toward Firestar's den, and Nightstep picked up his own path. Kindleflare's paws churned the earth just then, the medicine cat taking several strides as though to give chase. She was stopped, however, by the strong shoulder into which she crashed. Startling yellow eyes met hers, and she shoved against him desperately. "N-Nightstep, what are you doing! M-Move, I have to-" She was silenced by the shake of his head, his shoulder leaning into her further and forcing her into a sit. He stared at her evenly, tail flicking behind him.
"Let him go." He said simply. Silencing any further outburst with a stare, the tom remained standing with the rabbit at his paws as his sister's body trembled. Her head leaned heavily against his shoulder, and her breath hitched as she muffled panicked sobs. ...You are too kind for a world as unforgiving as this, Kindleflare. He thought to himself, impassive gaze looking away to watch as Rookfrost disappeared from sight. |
Words used: #28 - terrible #18 - horrify #4 - crypt Note: 37 moons old |
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