Graces and Glory [Deputy Announcement, Apprentice Ceremony]
Oct 31, 2020 7:13:59 GMT -5
KARAZHAL likes this
Post by Deleted on Oct 31, 2020 7:13:59 GMT -5
TREECLAN LEADER |
48 MOONS |
THE PROBLEM IS YOU THINK YOU HAVE TIME
He had returned from the Moon Tree, though the mountainous, chocolate-black tom clung to the Ancient Stump like a cloud heavy with storm. There was a fresh nest inside. Just one.
“Have an apprentice fetch some more bedding and set up another nest.” He murmured to one of the lingering warriors from the patrol they accompanied back to camp. It was uncanny scheduling. All of TreeClan seemed to be turning for home, which meant the timing of his departure, and non-coincidentally his arrival, was exemplary.
Except, his neglect the night before would no doubt demand caution.
Timberfrost felt ill against Falconstorm. Although she was swollen with his sons, he had little reason to believe she would find comfort, or even condone, to being in such close quarters with the tom who abandoned his clan, only to return on Lionstar’s deathbed with LightningClan scent on his fur.
It wasn’t quite accurate, but Pumafang also had little reason to believe she would be in so late a stage of pregnancy. From what Falconstorm and the other fathers had told him, Timberfrost would be more volatile than normal. Though he couldn’t discredit her, when her feelings were deep-set in truth. He would welcome her to the Ancient Stump, and hope that his dire leave didn’t break the solder that mended them together.
He wondered if there was a name for it, that thing that bonded him to his mentor’s daughter.
Pumafang walked beside Mossheart towards camp, amber gaze searching casually for his red stand-in. Foxfire no doubt enjoyed her temporary rule. It was intriguing, how the crimson she-cat and him had such a mutual distrust, yet an irresistibly predictable streak between the both of them that kept them battling for the high ground. Pumafang desired, more than anything, to see her exceed his expectations. Mossheart was her hardest test. A test to see if the throes of dissension that burned deep within her would surface. Pumafang saw her draw near from the outskirts of camp, her power tempting his superiority.
The throngs of TreeClan welcomed Pumafang home with somber, sullen eyes.
He had returned.
Nearly his same self, but with elevated standing, higher standards, and a perspicuous mind: it would be a new era for TreeClan, where prosperity will resound by the profitability of Lionstar’s last act, and by the prudence and reign of their new leader. It was fascinating, how his head cleared slightly after his ceremony at the Moon Tree. Goldenflame’s influence felt weaker, and his confidence was beginning to be restored the more distance he put between himself and his walled emotions.
“Foxfire.” Pumafang received her. “I see status has been sustained.”
Good. He mused. Lionstar’s body came into sight, lying in the same place it had been when he left the evening before. They haven’t buried him yet, per my request.
“Mossheart, grab a couple of cats to help you move him outside.” Pumafang noted quietly before addressing the clan, voice thrumming rhythmically throughout camp. “For those capable and inclined, gather beneath the Ancient Stump.”
It felt more natural now, saying the words knowing Lionstar’s body had been stiff and unmoving for almost an entire day. Yet his rotting skin still held authority and respect in the eyes of the clan. Which is why he wanted to consolidate his passing.
Make it official.
Pumafang exited camp and lumbered possessively towards the Ancient Stump, mounting the icon’s throne with renewed strength. He watched as TreeClan oozed from the hollow tree they called home, pooling before him like blood from a severed vein. He sat, closing his eyes in respectful silence. It seemed like an eternity to those in wait, but when he felt the clan’s silence deep in his marrow, Pumafang spoke, like thunder among the heavens.
His round, amber eyes opened, the evening light softer, warmer than it was yesterday, though the sun couldn’t heat his gelid, untenanted soul.
“I say these words before the body of Lionstar, that he may hear and approve of my choice.” Pumafang’s sonorous, deep-rooted words resonated through the clearing, commandeering respect from most through sound and substance alone. “The new deputy of TreeClan is Mossheart, and he will solely assist the elders with Lionstar’s burial, subsequent to our next ceremony.”
Pumafang watched Foxfire, sadism rushing through his body, circulating through his entity and pumping his heart.
“Shrikekit.” Pumastar began in a husky, curdling throb. “Harekit. Mottledkit. You have reached the age of six moons, and an era of apprenticeship awaits you. From this day on, you will assume the titles Shrikepaw, Harepaw, and Mottledpaw. Should the time come where you prove yourselves capable, you will be granted the status of a TreeClan warrior, as your mentors have, and receive your warrior names.”
Pumafang watched the doubt flash behind the seas of eyes, of those who were intelligent enough to recognize his change. Warriorhood was earned through self-enlightenment. TreeClan’s leader felt the power burn deep. Sitting atop his oaken pedestal made him colder, a darker shadow with no light to resist him as he engulfed his subjects, unintentionally wrapping them in his blanket of despair to shelter them from the freeze.
Lionstar coddled TreeClan. The majority knew nothing but entitlement and sought out reprieve with the absence of grounded justification. They yearned for the pity of others in hopes to make a living without true pain and hardship: without resolve. Laying claim to opportunity and success without an army to back them up, then crying out with indignance when crushed into the dirt by a merciful foot.
He would help them in their becoming.
“Cinderstream, Robinflight, and Smudgenose.” Pumafang noted, empty, amber gaze shifting indifferently over the three names he had called. They were already aware of who their apprentices would be. He confirmed it before he left for his leader ceremony, swearing them into secrecy pending the moment at last. “Until that time, you will institute your ethics and incite growth within the bounds of the Warrior Code. I urge you to take pride in your strengths, to recognize your weaknesses, and then encourage your apprentices to do the same. Act within your powers to honor TreeClan with an upstanding warrior, and do not be unwilling to seek aid.”
Pumafang glanced towards Mossheart.
Such an approachable, meek cat as deputy. He did it to give the clan a therapeutic avenue, one he so often neglected. He did it to separate them from the hypocrisy that he momentarily embodied, to separate them from their savior and solidify his influence through compassionate translation, but to also bind them to his will by embracing their own. In turn, to have an unquestionable rule through loyalty regarding the Warrior Code and the affluence of TreeClan.
To elevate conformity into power through welfare and security.
It was what the clan wanted, for their sorrows and discomforts to be acknowledged and eased. To be able to live and love the life of their dreams. Their dreams. Not the dreams of their kin. Pumafang’s eyes darkened. Not the dreams of their mentors.
“Mentors.” Pumafang addressed with a hollow hum, yanking the word right out of his ashen soul. “Acknowledge your apprentices to conclude this ceremony, by the graces and glory of TreeClan.”
“Have an apprentice fetch some more bedding and set up another nest.” He murmured to one of the lingering warriors from the patrol they accompanied back to camp. It was uncanny scheduling. All of TreeClan seemed to be turning for home, which meant the timing of his departure, and non-coincidentally his arrival, was exemplary.
Except, his neglect the night before would no doubt demand caution.
Timberfrost felt ill against Falconstorm. Although she was swollen with his sons, he had little reason to believe she would find comfort, or even condone, to being in such close quarters with the tom who abandoned his clan, only to return on Lionstar’s deathbed with LightningClan scent on his fur.
It wasn’t quite accurate, but Pumafang also had little reason to believe she would be in so late a stage of pregnancy. From what Falconstorm and the other fathers had told him, Timberfrost would be more volatile than normal. Though he couldn’t discredit her, when her feelings were deep-set in truth. He would welcome her to the Ancient Stump, and hope that his dire leave didn’t break the solder that mended them together.
He wondered if there was a name for it, that thing that bonded him to his mentor’s daughter.
Pumafang walked beside Mossheart towards camp, amber gaze searching casually for his red stand-in. Foxfire no doubt enjoyed her temporary rule. It was intriguing, how the crimson she-cat and him had such a mutual distrust, yet an irresistibly predictable streak between the both of them that kept them battling for the high ground. Pumafang desired, more than anything, to see her exceed his expectations. Mossheart was her hardest test. A test to see if the throes of dissension that burned deep within her would surface. Pumafang saw her draw near from the outskirts of camp, her power tempting his superiority.
The throngs of TreeClan welcomed Pumafang home with somber, sullen eyes.
He had returned.
Nearly his same self, but with elevated standing, higher standards, and a perspicuous mind: it would be a new era for TreeClan, where prosperity will resound by the profitability of Lionstar’s last act, and by the prudence and reign of their new leader. It was fascinating, how his head cleared slightly after his ceremony at the Moon Tree. Goldenflame’s influence felt weaker, and his confidence was beginning to be restored the more distance he put between himself and his walled emotions.
“Foxfire.” Pumafang received her. “I see status has been sustained.”
Good. He mused. Lionstar’s body came into sight, lying in the same place it had been when he left the evening before. They haven’t buried him yet, per my request.
“Mossheart, grab a couple of cats to help you move him outside.” Pumafang noted quietly before addressing the clan, voice thrumming rhythmically throughout camp. “For those capable and inclined, gather beneath the Ancient Stump.”
It felt more natural now, saying the words knowing Lionstar’s body had been stiff and unmoving for almost an entire day. Yet his rotting skin still held authority and respect in the eyes of the clan. Which is why he wanted to consolidate his passing.
Make it official.
Pumafang exited camp and lumbered possessively towards the Ancient Stump, mounting the icon’s throne with renewed strength. He watched as TreeClan oozed from the hollow tree they called home, pooling before him like blood from a severed vein. He sat, closing his eyes in respectful silence. It seemed like an eternity to those in wait, but when he felt the clan’s silence deep in his marrow, Pumafang spoke, like thunder among the heavens.
His round, amber eyes opened, the evening light softer, warmer than it was yesterday, though the sun couldn’t heat his gelid, untenanted soul.
“I say these words before the body of Lionstar, that he may hear and approve of my choice.” Pumafang’s sonorous, deep-rooted words resonated through the clearing, commandeering respect from most through sound and substance alone. “The new deputy of TreeClan is Mossheart, and he will solely assist the elders with Lionstar’s burial, subsequent to our next ceremony.”
Pumafang watched Foxfire, sadism rushing through his body, circulating through his entity and pumping his heart.
“Shrikekit.” Pumastar began in a husky, curdling throb. “Harekit. Mottledkit. You have reached the age of six moons, and an era of apprenticeship awaits you. From this day on, you will assume the titles Shrikepaw, Harepaw, and Mottledpaw. Should the time come where you prove yourselves capable, you will be granted the status of a TreeClan warrior, as your mentors have, and receive your warrior names.”
Pumafang watched the doubt flash behind the seas of eyes, of those who were intelligent enough to recognize his change. Warriorhood was earned through self-enlightenment. TreeClan’s leader felt the power burn deep. Sitting atop his oaken pedestal made him colder, a darker shadow with no light to resist him as he engulfed his subjects, unintentionally wrapping them in his blanket of despair to shelter them from the freeze.
Lionstar coddled TreeClan. The majority knew nothing but entitlement and sought out reprieve with the absence of grounded justification. They yearned for the pity of others in hopes to make a living without true pain and hardship: without resolve. Laying claim to opportunity and success without an army to back them up, then crying out with indignance when crushed into the dirt by a merciful foot.
He would help them in their becoming.
“Cinderstream, Robinflight, and Smudgenose.” Pumafang noted, empty, amber gaze shifting indifferently over the three names he had called. They were already aware of who their apprentices would be. He confirmed it before he left for his leader ceremony, swearing them into secrecy pending the moment at last. “Until that time, you will institute your ethics and incite growth within the bounds of the Warrior Code. I urge you to take pride in your strengths, to recognize your weaknesses, and then encourage your apprentices to do the same. Act within your powers to honor TreeClan with an upstanding warrior, and do not be unwilling to seek aid.”
Pumafang glanced towards Mossheart.
Such an approachable, meek cat as deputy. He did it to give the clan a therapeutic avenue, one he so often neglected. He did it to separate them from the hypocrisy that he momentarily embodied, to separate them from their savior and solidify his influence through compassionate translation, but to also bind them to his will by embracing their own. In turn, to have an unquestionable rule through loyalty regarding the Warrior Code and the affluence of TreeClan.
To elevate conformity into power through welfare and security.
It was what the clan wanted, for their sorrows and discomforts to be acknowledged and eased. To be able to live and love the life of their dreams. Their dreams. Not the dreams of their kin. Pumafang’s eyes darkened. Not the dreams of their mentors.
“Mentors.” Pumafang addressed with a hollow hum, yanking the word right out of his ashen soul. “Acknowledge your apprentices to conclude this ceremony, by the graces and glory of TreeClan.”
[attr="class","pftag"]TAGGED Fawn Ghost the Undead Goddess Katara Justice Abyss Hellion Fae Magic Gemini ♛ 𝔽𝕒𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 | [attr="class","pfwc"]WORDS 1251 |
PLEASE NOTE: Pumastar did not receive any lives from StarClan, though this is not known by anyone yet. He is a non-believer and will casually omit any acknowledgement of StarClan or faith from all future ceremonies until otherwise posted. He accepts the title and status of Pumastar for the sake of traditional rule and higher standing, but internally still keeps his warrior name close as he holds it to the highest standard, which is why he is and will be referred to as Pumafang in everything but dialogue in his posts. I hope you enjoy the fun plots we will have together! TreeClan has some interesting things brewing with Pumastar's Reign and I can't wait to RP with you all. If you have any plot ideas and want your character closer to Pumastar as either a nemesis or an ally, please message me or DM me!
