Open Territory 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 ── .✦ watching the sunrise

[DUSKPOOL]

DUSKPOOL​

The gorge yawned below, a hungry thing gnashin' its foam-flecked teeth, and for a long while Duskpool only listened to the rapids roar beneath their paws. A soothin' thing he supposed, takin' comfort in the rumblin' sound buzzin' beneath his wooly fur. It was one of his favorite places to be when Honeycombsplash hadn't been corralled into the nursery. The two of 'em curled beneath the gapin' void above 'em till sunrise broke against the horizon in some grand display. A quietness they shared with Honeycomb's smaller figure tucked against the curve of his stomach, eyes alight with mischief and hope, while Duskpool remained a hulkin' shadow of grievances and adoration for the molly beside him.

"We're out before the sun ought to rise. Why don't we take a break?" He mused to the clamberin' huntin' patrol with a raised brow. His bulky figure twistin' slightly to where the sun was just pokin' awake, almost shyly. His lips quirked in muted amusement, lowerin' himself at the edge, unafraid of the deep chasm just a length from his obsidian hide.

Maybe he really was turnin' into a sentimental bastard. Nothin' wrong with it, but he ain't got forever. Not like he hoped. Death peekin' around the bush waitin' to sink its icy claws into his scarred flank and drag him to the depths of hell. His chest heaved with a rumbled chuff, head shakin' subtly at the thought, cruel as it was, it ain't nothin' but the truth.

He watched as dawn crawled up the world in slow strokes of gold and rose, it bled slowly across the sky like fresh claw marks. The stone flared copper beneath the sun's slow ascend, makin' the rapids below 'em spark with molten light, makin' the river itself look like it's been caught aflame. "Pretty, ain't it?" He mused to the huntin' group with a slow flick of his tail, massive paws outstretched before him, body curved slightly. "Reckon I haven't settled down to watch it for some moons." He chuffed lowly, "Makes life a little less barren." Not to say his kids didn't give him the same joy, but it was nice knowin' to everythin' was wracked with death, even if he was layin' close to the edge.

Reckon it was worth it, remindin' 'em all they made it another gruellin' day of clanlife.

we're only haunted by the things we refuse to accept

ooc

information

main ref

• no need to wait, but tagging @TAWNYBEAM @Fujimoto @Maplemouse @Victoryscorn
• 

  DUSKPOOL stands like a storm given flesh, broad-shouldered and unyielding. His frame was built from the bloodlines of a Norwegian Forest and Maine Coon, every inch steeped in the weight of a life hard-lived. His pelt is a wooly black smoke mantle, thick as winter fog and marked with faint mackerel stripes. Old scars score his flanks and shoulders like lightning carved into the night sky, with each one telling a story that was paid for in blood.
  
  One molten-copper eye burns fierce and unblinking, sharp enough to cut through lies, while the other is nothing but a hollowed ruin. A sunken relic of a battle he walked away from when he shouldn't have. His tail is a heavy, swaying banner of shadow, and his paws are silent despite their size, measured by someone who's learned patience the hard way.
  
  He carries himself with the gravity of an old war-chief, regular in ruin, yet brutal in beauty. His very presence is a warning that some storms don't pass. They wait. And they return.
  
  

  "there's two kinds of cats in this world. those who learn from others' mistakes, and those who are the mistake."​

  
  senior sun guard of skyclan during coffeestar and hawkstar's reign (mentor to sweetpaw)
  eighty-four moons; ages on the 1st of every month
  brother to outlawbite & thistlestrike; half-brother to flowercloud; father to almondpaw & cinderpaw (wolfstorm & lostmoon)
  his voice is a low, gravel-rough baritone, measured and deliberate, carrying the weight of old battles and unspoken truths
  his scent is a deep grounding mix of cedarwood and patchouli, laced with the sharpness of pine and a lingering curl of smoke
  pinterest | playlist | theme song
  speech thought action
  peaceful/healing powerplay permitted
• ​

 

[Victoryscorn Victoryscorn]

Victoryscorn gave only a low chuff in reply to the suggestion that they stop and rest. Hesitation clung to the sound, for though the borders were technically safe, he knew too well that safety was a fickle thing. The air was heavy with tension these days, and even within their own territory the thought of wandering unguarded set unease prickling in his dusty pelt. Not that SkyClan was helpless without a few warriors out hunting, but if invasion struck while they lingered idly…

Reckon I'm just spookin' myself with worst-case nonsense, he thought, whiskers twitching. Ain't no reason such a thing oughta happen. Clans butt heads now and then, sure—but full-on takeover? That's tall talk, not somethin' worth losin' fur over.

The massive tom, his pelt still freshly stained with berry-dyes, padded to Duskpool's side. Together they faced the horizon, where the new morning had spilled its treasure trove of color—purples and burning oranges draped across the sky, the sun peeking boldly at the edge of the world. Its brilliance forced Victoryscorn to squint, his sharp blue eyes narrowing against the blaze. Melancholy tugged at him; the world seemed dimmer these days, its beauty quieter, harder to notice without someone there to remind him it was worth savoring. He had never been one to stop and smell the blossoms, not without her gentle insistence. A certain curly-furred molly, left behind in the sands of time and the distance of lost lands, had once made that her habit, not his.

He did not offer much to the moment—only a slow blink beneath his bushy brow and the faint crease of his scarred muzzle. Memories pressed at the edges of his mind regardless. Younger days, moons upon moons ago, when he sat close to a golden-furred she-cat with ears adorably askew and a scent like fresh lavender drifting from her coat. The vision came fleeting, faint now as dust on the wind, fading with the countless seasons spent alone in cold nests and lonelier dawns. It left a bitter aftertaste, curling his lip in mild irritation. StarClan's teeth, sittin' around starin' at the sky… feels like a waste o' time if you ask me.

But he swallowed the thought whole. If Duskpool sought solace in the quiet glow of evening, who was he to steal it away? Victoryscorn busied himself instead, dragging his claws against the bark of a nearby tree to leave his mark, ears flicking to and fro to catch the whisper of prey in the undergrowth. Beauty could be left to dreamers; vigilance was his trade.

___________________ YOU KNOW THIS MOMENT, ☆ DON'T YOU? ___________________

• "speech."
  "thoughts."
  actions.
  

• 

• VICTORYSCORN he/him, skyclanner, one hundred one moons.
  ☆ an old chocolate lynx mink with blue tabby patches and a permanent scowl, fur usually stained by blueberry plants.
  ☆ mentoring no one.
  ☆ no current relationships or family ties.
  ☆ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ☆ penned by egg ↛ eggmcbaconboy on discord, feel free to dm for plots!

 

[TAWNYBEAM]

"Weird that we have this on our territory,"

Tawnybeam adds unhelpfully.

"So easy to fall in..."

Despite his own words, he shares the wonder. Dangerous, yes, but aren't most beautiful things considered that in some way? Perhaps the too-early hours of the morning are responsible for his way of thinking. He prides himself on how duty-bound he is to SkyClan, but duty could have waited until after dawn... not like he could resist the urge of joining Duskpool's hunting patrol. Evidently, it had been worth it—it's not often he sees the rising sun turn those hungry waves into fire.

Tawnybeam approaches the edge, but he doesn't manage to copy Duskpool nor Victoryscorn's confidence. He ends up flattening himself to the ground to avoid his legs shaking, and barely peeks his nose over the edge. It might just be his imagination, but he thinks there's wind blowing upwards just to caress his whiskers.

Akin to a fumbling kit, Tawnybeam shuffles backwards and into safer grounds without actually rising to his paws. He feels sheepish between the two senior warriors who have no doubt seen much more threatening things in life... but he can be comforted by the presence of Fujimoto and Maplemouse; especially with both of them being younger than him. He's not so out of place with them.

"It's gorgeous,"

Tawnybeam confirms,

"but I don't think Victoryscorn is very into it."