Warning: I might randomly dissapear from the forums and stop replying, posting or whatever, it's because I'm either grounded or taking A L O N E T I M E for an overly long time
Hey! Don't leave yet! I've got a Hogwarts RP just for ya. Still no RP thread but once we get members in the Sign ups, I'll make a RP thread. Link: Click or else Avada Kedavra
Twitching rigorously as he awoke, Owlthroat’s eyes shot open. Glazed for a second before focus and a typical yellow glint returned. His muscles ached, rippling with tension as if he had sprinted along every Clan border in his sleep. It was a combination though, his own poor sleeping habits and the strain of moving. His large frame never went unnoticed, and had been worked hard. Assisting the elderly, den building, moving stores. His body could support it, the physical weight of the clan that was. Mentally it had become taxing, leaving him more restless than usual. The new camp unnerved him. It hadn’t been uncommon for him to awake as he had done moments before, twitching, hubris shattered from sheer embarrassment. Owlthroat had always been a bitter cat. A forged over confidence with a sickening smile always playing on his maw.
He stretched his pads out as he unfurled, calloused but not painful, they had hardened moons ago. Upwards from his paws ran striking white fur, meticulously well groomed. Intertwining with thick splodges of charcoal black, he was handsome and he knew it. Sauve, but too bitter and it lingered around him like acrid smoke.
Warm light caressed the dirt floor, filtering through the two boulders abreast of the entrance. Breaking through a spattering of cloud cover. It felt like warmer times were on the way, Owlthroat lusted for the days filled with the greenery and abundance of fresh kill. He had no quarrel with gulping down a toad where the clan couldn’t see when prey was plenty, heck he had no quarrel with it when prey was sparse. But he felt the guilt far less and his brother had always turned an eye then. His pale lips curled humorously at the thought of the time that his brother Flytail had carved open his cheek back when they were apprentices. It had been Leafbare and prey had been scarce. He knew it was selfish.
Loyal Flytail would never tell a soul, passing it off as a quarrel to the clan. The one thing they did share was their talent for a proficient lie, bar that and their height they may have well been strangers.
It still cut through his face, pinkish in colour, a sweet reminder not to be too careless.
Twitching rigorously as he awoke, Owlthroat’s eyes shot open. Glazed for a second before focus and a typical yellow glint returned. His muscles ached, rippling with tension as if he had sprinted along every Clan border in his sleep. It was a combination though, his own poor sleeping habits and the strain of moving. His large frame never went unnoticed, and had been worked hard. Assisting the elderly, den building, moving stores. His body could support it, the physical weight of the clan that was. Mentally it had become taxing, leaving him more restless than usual. The new camp unnerved him. It hadn’t been uncommon for him to awake as he had done moments before, twitching, hubris shattered from sheer embarrassment. Owlthroat had always been a bitter cat. A forged over confidence with a sickening smile always playing on his maw.
He stretched his pads out as he unfurled, calloused but not painful, they had hardened moons ago. Upwards from his paws ran striking white fur, meticulously well groomed. Intertwining with thick splodges of charcoal black, he was handsome and he knew it. Sauve, but too bitter and it lingered around him like acrid smoke.
Warm light caressed the dirt floor, filtering through the two boulders abreast of the entrance. Breaking through a spattering of cloud cover. It felt like warmer times were on the way, Owlthroat lusted for the days filled with the greenery and abundance of fresh kill. He had no quarrel with gulping down a toad where the clan couldn’t see when prey was plenty, heck he had no quarrel with it when prey was sparse. But he felt the guilt far less and his brother had always turned an eye then. His pale lips curled humorously at the thought of the time that his brother Flytail had carved open his cheek back when they were apprentices. It had been Leafbare and prey had been scarce. He knew it was selfish.
Loyal Flytail would never tell a soul, passing it off as a quarrel to the clan. The one thing they did share was their talent for a proficient lie, bar that and their height they may have well been strangers.
It still cut through his face, pinkish in colour, a sweet reminder not to be too careless.
To preserve the victor.
[OPEN]
Newtbelly - he/him - 13 moons
The young tom licked his paw and ran it over his head. He prided himself on his cleanliness, and he wasn't about to let the past couple days of mayhem ruin that. In the mornings time seemed to pass far quicker than he'd like - he'd been sat here cleaning himself far longer than necessary. Quickly he wiped his sleep-filled eyes and scanned the den. Thankfully only half of the den had cleared out, many cats were still sound asleep, no need to worry.
A small grumble escaped his lips as he stretched. Recent events had almost been exciting for him, though stressful. He longed to prove himself, but every day he himself patching up walls. Not only that, but he feared other cats underestimated his abilities. He was rarely asked to lift the heavier stuff, often finding himself searching for something to lift or drag into camp, just to make a statement. It grated on him a little, but he tried to push it down. Surely he'd find a patrol or something today. Something far more interesting.
He stood up and shook the dirt from his legs. Just as he was skulking toward the exit, he noticed an unmistakable face. "Morning old man!" He flicked his tail and yawned. "How's the new place treating you?" He tilted his head, wondering if maybe that wasn't the best question to ask right now..
A slightly softened grimace curled across Owlthroat’s maw as the young tom’s words echoed in his direction. Newtbelly had coined the term Old Man some moons ago now. It never failed in its ability to sour his train of thought, not that it wasn’t already sour.
He had been his first apprentice, he hadn’t taken on one since. The challenge it had provided him was entertaining, coaching and guiding. He initially didn’t think that he had it in him. It had never really been his style to nurture, much better to just watch his own back and hone his own skills. Despite this he didn’t think he’d done an awful job, instead just created his own prodigy, nurturing wasn’t quite the right word for his form of mentoring. Owlthroat taught hastily, then threw Newtbelly in the deep end and had dragged him through the rest, imparting the important bits and demanding greatness. An apprentice of his was bound to succeed in his bitter mind, no possible room for failure. So here he was, flecked fur and a fully fledged warrior. Dare he say pride almost crept into the equation, but no amount of pestering would drag it out of him.
Narrowing his eyes, he meowed abruptly. "It’s treating me about as well as any other warm nest would", he continued with a lash of his thickly furred tail. "I have food in my belly and defences are getting built." Owlthroat hesitated slightly, trying to search for a shred of nicety. "You?" The words might as well have been spat out under his breath.
It was a harsh exterior he kept, but he was sure that Newtbelly was well used to it by now.
A slightly softened grimace curled across Owlthroat’s maw as the young tom’s words echoed in his direction. Newtbelly had coined the term Old Man some moons ago now. It never failed in its ability to sour his train of thought, not that it wasn’t already sour.
He had been his first apprentice, he hadn’t taken on one since. The challenge it had provided him was entertaining, coaching and guiding. He initially didn’t think that he had it in him. It had never really been his style to nurture, much better to just watch his own back and hone his own skills. Despite this he didn’t think he’d done an awful job, instead just created his own prodigy, nurturing wasn’t quite the right word for his form of mentoring. Owlthroat taught hastily, then threw Newtbelly in the deep end and had dragged him through the rest, imparting the important bits and demanding greatness. An apprentice of his was bound to succeed in his bitter mind, no possible room for failure. So here he was, flecked fur and a fully fledged warrior. Dare he say pride almost crept into the equation, but no amount of pestering would drag it out of him.
Narrowing his eyes, he meowed abruptly. "It’s treating me about as well as any other warm nest would", he continued with a lash of his thickly furred tail. "I have food in my belly and defences are getting built." Owlthroat hesitated slightly, trying to search for a shred of nicety. "You?" The words might as well have been spat out under his breath.
It was a harsh exterior he kept, but he was sure that Newtbelly was well used to it by now.
[@sleepyyjax]
Newtbelly - he/him - 13 moons
Yep, the tom was just how he always was. Newtbelly knew he could get away with teasing him where he couldn't other cats. His cold exteror masked what he guessed could only be a soft spot. After the rigorous training he'd gone through, he could only hope.
"It's okay.." Newtbelly shuffled awkwardly, "patching stuff up sure is boring though." He sighed, sitting back down and tucking his tail neatly around his paws. He knew he was wasting precious time to stop and chat, but hopefully his former mentor wouldn't mind... Newtbelly normally wouldn't be seen dead wasting such time, but he hoped he could get away with it a little with Owlthroat. Besides, he felt kind of bad for the warriors, being thrust out of their home so quickly - Owlthroat said he was well, but the totiseshell wasn't too sure. Newtbelly had occupied the warriors den less than a moon, so he wasn't particularly attatched, plus a big thing like this was exciting for new warriors...
The black and white tom shifted, stretching himself up and sitting across from Newtbelly to meet his gaze. Owlthroat’s ears tipped slightly back, flicking. He thought carefully before he spoke, picking and choosing the right way to phrase his mind. Tensions were high, it wouldn’t be good to frighten the tail off of Newbelly when there was stuff to get done. He needed his prodigy ready and amped to perform. He wasn’t even sure if that was in his former apprentice’s nature.
”Boring, but we do what needs to be done”, he huffed loosely. His thoughts were drifting about in his head like clouds, morning pondering always seemed to infect his brain. ”These walls aren’t for nothing Newtbelly, steady yourself”, he could sense the tortoiseshells awkwardness in the way he shuffled in his seat. The bulky tom went silent for a moment more, hesitating again, a long pregnant pause.
”I want you watching my back when the storm hits”, it was thrown out aggressively as a command. His deluded mind elevated Newtbelly onto a pedestal. Perhaps his trust in him was misplaced but he followed it up with a sardonic smile none the less. A flash of his crooked fangs. Then looked away, the plan for the day was straightforward. Focus on the heavy lifting, despite his inflated ego even he knew he was better placed helping the heavy lifting and ongoing building. Hunting was never a strong suit of his, but it didn’t stop him boasting about it whenever he managed something. The others couldn’t know that now could they.
Maintenance of his appearance was top of his list, scorn the other cats and create an image for himself akin to intimidation itself. His stature helped. Fighting and his intellect was all that he proved any good at in reality, it wasn’t even broadspread intellect. Just a conniving mind fit for strategy and charm. He reckoned it's how he made it so far, if he didn’t have his claws and his size then what did he really have.
Re: ShadowClan Warriors' Den
