TW: Sensitive Content PAFP Border WC GOD KNOWS HOW I'M SHAKING NOW ✟ dual joining

[SANCTITY SANCTITY]

{$title} CONTENT WARNING: Mentions of imagined child murder, human sacrifice, and general religious fanaticism.

SANCTITY
SHE/THEY
40 MOONS
LONER

PENNED BY DEJAVU

Rolling hills of gold emerge over the horizon, sloping away from the jagged mountains Sanctity can see clawing into the sky. The color of the burnished grass nearly matches the wide eyes of the silent child at her side. They have not exchanged a word since they left the bounds of the abandoned church. She can feel the rust in her throat from lack of words. She weighs this, and considers it good: silence is holy.

In the silence, though, she can feel her god's eyes on her. You have forsaken me, she can hear ringing around in the quiet, sinner. She can feel the pressure right down to the toebones of her claws, the itch to wrap around a throat and squeeze, to let the warm hot blood flow and call it good. Every moment of her life had vaulted her towards the chambers of the heavens… and at the last, she had turned her cheek to her god.

She could repent. She could do it here and now. She does not think they would even struggle.

Instead, she motions with her tail for them to still, fearful to touch them. There is a thorny line of catsmell here that she dares not cross. They wait for a time, until bodies begin to crest the nearest slope.

" Hail, strangers! " she calls, thick and hoarse with disuse. She waits for the strangers to draw up short of them before she speaks again.

" We seek shelter. Would ye be so kind as to permit us refuge within thy moor? " she asks, stone-still. They will see her for a sinner and deny her, or they will not. She has no paw in it. She is a lost sheep at the mercy of a godless paw. " I am able of body and willing to work, and the… the child will soon be of an age to work themself. " The child, she says. Not the sacrifice.

​

OOC: Please wait for @NAMELESS to post!

 

[NAMELESS]

x

They do not understand.

Unsheathed claws catch on strands of grass as they walk, and walk, and walk. They do not understand. This is not how things were supposed to go, they know this much. Their home is a towering place, one that smells of woodrot and mildew. Cats snake along rafters and pews, swarming the dying church like termites; the child had never seen the outside, and they were never supposed to. They kept little glimpses of it like secrets, dead leaves squirreled away in places the fractured light did not reach.

There was something living in that place, in its hallowed walls, for the wiser cats to whisper to. A god, they said. The child's teeth tore into mouseflesh when they were offered it, and they were told it was a gift from their god. They, too, were a gift. One meant for their god, not from it. They were to be dressed in flowers and offered in gratitude, that it would not think any of its disciples impious. It was good, and it was right, and they were scared.

They are scared, still. They could run - or try, at least. They do not know if the towering cat beside them would allow it.

They still, when they are beckoned to. Their fur stands on end. Strangers. They are not supposed to go near strangers. They are supposed to hide, but here there is no cover. She speaks to them, and they are supposed to follow her lead. Their voice is a seldom-used thing... Not that anyone ever minded. All they offer is a simple addendum to their would-be-executioner's words: "

Please.

" Flat, quiet. They do not look the strangers in the eyes.

OOC //

ONLY THE YOUNG ONES DIE GOOD

???

LONER KIT
they / them, nonbinary
5 moons old, ages on the first day of the month
semiverbal, primarily communicates nonverbally
rescued(...?) by sanctity from a rogue cult

"

SPEECH

" & ACTIONS & INTERACTION

penned by saturnid.

 

[DIRGEFROST]

x

There is only so much 'weird' that Dirgefrost can handle on a day to day basis. He was well past that point by the time the sun rose high enough to highlight the hulking mass of a woman who resided by WindClan's border. It drew his curiosity though, maybe just this once he could be into weird? Invested, that's what he could describe it as. Either way it draws them closer, mismatched eyes alighting with curiosity at the sight of some scrawny kid next to her. "This uh, this little weed next to you, yours?" Their gaze settles on the quieter one for only a little longer, it seems like they didn't have much to weigh in.

Ah, seeking shelter. He supposes that made sense, gingerly gnawing at the skin inside his maw he frowns in thought. Tufted tail flicking lazily before his shoulders sag, he wasn't really the guy who should be speaking to others at the border. Glancing over at the rest of the patrol gathering he dug the back of his pawpad into the soft earth beneath them. "That's... not really my call" groaning the realisation dawned that they would need someone to look after them while they waited for someone more capable. Oh and lucky him... he's the only one foolish enough to immediately start talking to them.... great. Closing their eyes momentarily to suppress the urge to roll them they straighten up ever so slightly "I'll wait with you here for now, so everyone knows you're cool." He couldn't really attest to how 'cool' they are but he wasn't dead yet so clearly they must not be out for blood. Besides, It seems like the least they could do. These two didn't seem to be from around here, that much is obvious.

OOC //

∗ ⸼ ❆ ⸼ ∗

DIRGEFROST

TUNNELER OF WINDCLAN
he / they, male
45 moons old, ages on the 1st.
npc x npc, littermate to ashbird

SPEECH // THOUGHTS // INTERACTION

penned by ouijeejuice

 

[Jaymoon]

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ Jaypaw ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☽⋆⁺₊⋆-

Jaypaw found himself being glad to join so many patrols lately - he welcomed anything to get out of camp, the place where he almost lost his life and Merrystalk almost lost his too was still too painful at times. Of course, Jaypaw would not let it show, (not usually at least), but the weight on his shoulder was heavy. A burden he refused to share, only for him to bear.

Today he found himself on a border patrol with his mentor, the one not bordering any clan nor the fourtrees, led by none other than Goldenroar. Jaypaw hoped for an ordinary patrol, check and mark the borders, perhaps hunt some prey, then return. He's had enough surprises lately, he didn't need even more. But the world did not care for one young cat's needs and to nobody's surprise, the patrol was not an ordinary one.

The tall apprentice lowered his ears at the sight - a dark stranger, though polite, with a child. Almost old enough to be an apprentice, were it a clan cat. Almost. But Jaypaw saw the way the child looked down at its paws, avoiding their gaze. There was something strange about this child, though Jaypaw could not say what.

Unlike Dirgefrost, Jaypaw did not approach the strangers. He stayed back, letting either his mentor or the deputy decide what the best course of action would be - he would just follow their lead, do what was asked of him.

Yet he could not tear his gaze away from the child. What was it that bothered him, itched the back of his mind?

OOC: Mentor ping @Sunnyspring, deputy ping @GOLDENROAR ​

 

[GOLDENSTAR]

A patrol. He lead these often enough, even trading off with other warriors to let them get a taste at the mantle of responsibility. That was nice, to let go for a minute, to let someone else make the decisions. To turn his brain off. Goldenroar exhaled, not really paying attention as he directed Dandelionpaw's attention towards something- but Dirgefrost is speaking to someone, and an unfamiliar scent is on the wind. He turns, brushing past his sister to stand next to Dirgefrost. Eyes traveled up, and up, to meet the avoidant gaze of what his mother may have once called a holy-doer. (Well, he was exaggerating a little bit, but holy fields were they tall.)

Goldenroar's head tilted. He stares up at Sanctity. His head turns and he looks down at the youngun next to Sanctity's paws. Wide-eyed, smelling of fear scent. They smell of something else too- both of them. Mildew, perhaps? Maybe the way the barn used to the smell before the raging fire. He takes them for loners, not for rogues, and ones that look to be running from something. Well, that's the way he took it anyways. "Work would be appreciated." He finally rumbles out, ear twitching in Dirgefrost's direction- giving the signal to relax. "Leafbare is tough on us all, but I won't deny an extra set of paws to catch food, or to mend dens." The deputy's head tilted back towards the taller.

"My name is Goldenroar. I'm deputy here- Windclan." The southern twang pulls at his words like harpstrings. The easy confidence he bears takes the place of something more wary that left moments after he made up his mind. "I ask of you your names while we go to speak to the leader, yeah?" He says. His tail flicks, urging his sister and Dirgefrost to stay on their guard while they headed for camp.

_______________________ I KEEP RUNNIN' BUT ☼ I'M STANDING STILL _______________________

• "speech"
  // @Dandelionpaw apprentice tag
  

• 

• GOLDENROAR he/him, windclan deputy, fourty four moons.
  ☆ a lh golden red marbled tabby with low white and glimmering aqua eyes. often seen with a smirk, confidence oozing from him in heaps, but always the ever-helpful guy.
  ☆ mentored by no one / mentoring dandelionpaw
  ☆ older brother to merrystalk and sunnyspring
  ☆ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ☆ penned by dallas ↛ dallasofnines on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  
  ☆ mini by tasmagoric, ref image by laevatein (yours truly!)

 

[NAMELESS]

x

Cats approach, and they do not run. The first question that is asked - not of them, but of their companion, gives them pause. Little weed. Their nose wrinkles in distate. They suppose he is not entirely off-base that they are the executioner's, and yet the words make their stomach turn nonetheless. Still, all they can do is wait.

More arrive. A cat with a coat like the wheat-fields they passed speaks in measured tones. He seems exactly the sort who belongs out here, bright and bold. Not much like their companion they travel with, her pelt draped in all the gloom of their home's hallowed walls. Their own pelt, in contrast, seems both dusty and almost sunwarmed - despite their unfamiliarity with such light. For a moment, they are lost in staring at the strangers, at their own paws. They feel impossibly far on the other side of the scent line.

And then - he addresses them. The both of them. They give a sharp shake of their head at the deputy's question. He is a stranger. He does not understand, just as they were told he would not. "

No name,

" they mumble around the lump in their throat. They have never had need of one. Names were for those like Sanctity, not for little kits scurrying about underfoot. A quick glance to their shepherd; perhaps they should have waited for her to speak first. No changing it now.

Their paws move hesitantly towards the scent-line, awaiting her lead.

OOC //

ONLY THE YOUNG ONES DIE GOOD

???

LONER KIT
they / them, nonbinary
5 moons old, ages on the first day of the month
semiverbal, primarily communicates nonverbally
rescued(...?) from a rogue cult by sanctity

"

SPEECH

" & ACTIONS & INTERACTION

penned by saturnid.

 

[Wrenwhisker]

Wrenwhisker's first thought was: stars above, that's a big'un. Her second thought was: I don't think I've ever seen a less happy kit. Her third thought was: today just got a lot more interesting. A patrol with her Clanmates, eh, that felt pretty par for the course, though she was enjoying the fresh air and (admittedly weak) winter sunlight after some hours in the tunnels. But this? This was something new. Her coat was still thickly dusted with dirt as she gamboled up to stand by her fellow mole-cat, attempting to bump one shoulder against Dirgefrost's as words were exchanged between the WindClanners and the strangers. The tortoiseshell-tabby's blue eyes moved thoughtfully over Sanctity and then Nameless, softening slightly at the obvious fear in the child, the way they seemed to want to disappear deep underground. How can you not have a name? Everyone's got a name.

"You didn't name 'em?" She was unable to keep herself from asking in a somewhat scathing fashion, fixing Sanctity with a doubtful stare. Whether or not the utter beast of an animal had actually birthed the kit, it seemed obvious that they were connected - at least sufficiently so that the big stranger felt comfortable enough to speak on the kit's behalf. Though she didn't have far to go, the rumpled she-cat hunkered down so she could be at eye level with Nameless, offering the sweetest smile she could muster (which was, in truth, likely too snaggle-toothed and wild-whiskered to look especially comforting). "Hey, kid. You wanna name? We love givin' out names here. We could give you one, no sweat, if y'like."

 

[nutmegpurr nutmegpurr]

It seems that Nutmeg shares a sentiment that a few of her other clanmates held when she looks at the oldest: she's tall. My age, she briefly thinks as she does a once over of the tall stranger. She feels a bit small just standing her, she was tall, but nowhere near as tall as the other was. Her brows furrow in an unnamed emotion, noting the way the taller one speaks. The child will soon be of an age to work themself, her eyes are drawn downwards to the tiny cat besides her. "The work isn't that hard, really..." she lurches to mumble, feeling some sort of pull to try to say words of comfort after Goldy mentions that the work would be appreciated.

She glances at Wrenwhisker as she crouches next to the little one as they get a move on, a curled ear flicking as she returns her gaze back to the nameless child, and then towards Goldenroar, trying to search for any emotion he'd display on his face. "'M gonna run ahead n' let Dustystar know we're coming." she finally says, breaking out in to a sprint across the moors and towards their camp, where hopefully (if stars allowed it, she knows her luck is horrid) Dustystar was.

GOOD NEWS FOR ANYONE ♡ WHO LOVES BAD NEWS

• in + out, grabbing @Dustystar :-)
  
•  
• 
  NUTMEGPURR ♡
  
  ( gale guard of windclan )​
  ❥ a tall cinnamon tortie with curled ears & pink-brown eyes; well-muscled & fluffy
  ❥ mentored pebblestep
  ❥ sister to meadowpaw & peafowlplume; reluctantly interested in roostertuft
  ❥ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ❥ penned by chuff
  "speech"

 

[SANCTITY SANCTITY]

SANCTITY
SHE/THEY
40 MOONS
LONER

PENNED BY DEJAVU

The child lingers, silent at their side, pressing out a flat plea between their teeth. Sanctity watches them from the corner of doe-brown eyes. They might run… they were born to run, after all. They do not, blessedly; perhaps their god has some scraps of mercy for a sinner. No, fool, she thinks, stirring herself upon hearing a coarser meow. She gives the child a quick, meaningful look; do not speak of our home, she tries to convey, not that either of them do much speaking.

" No, " she says, intently, the words pressing at her lips. Is that what every passing loner has thought them to be? Mother and… and child? Vowbreaker and broken vow? Her brown eyes narrow and she draws herself up formally. " The child is… not of my body, nor mine to claim. "

" Many thanks, " she says, shifting her weight onto her muscled forelimbs. So everyone knows they're… cool. The god above only knows what that is meant to tell her. She supposes it bodes acceptance, or perhaps she only hopes that. Truly, it is foolish of her to hope at all. There is no hope for what she knows herself to be: sinner, rings death's knell, oathbreaker, she who forsakes her god. Sanctity shivers, although the wintry air does not chill her terribly. It is a shiver of her eternal soul.

A dark child with a godskiss pressed into his forehead lingers behind a cat as bright and gilded as a sunlit altar. After a life of veiled eyes, the unabashed gold of his fur seems greedy as it soaks up the winter sun. He asks their names, and Sanctity curses herself for a sinner and a fool when the child speaks up. She does not think children normally go about without names… of course, until now, she had not really thought of the child in such a manner.

" We keep different customs whence we came. " The rumpled cat is fixing her with a dubious stare. Sanctity returns it with flat dark eyes. " Thou art welcome to name them, if it is thy custom. " Her skin crawls with the wrongness of naming the child, as if she had slipped into a purgative pit of snakes. It feels wrong to name them, yet they are at the mercy of these strangers and their strange customs.

" I am Sanctity, " she says, milk-white tail sweeping about her ankles, stock-still otherwise. She stills it at a blink. Is she so quick to falter, to forget her holy training?

" Is this Dustystar thy holy leader? " she inquires, after she's wordlessly watched the wispy-furred dapplepelt disappear across the moor. They are so inquisitive, these people, so careless with their tongues. What a gluttonous life they must have lived, gorging themselves on thoughtless words. Sanctity tightens her own lips.

​

OOC:

 

[NAMELESS]

x

There are too many eyes on them, they are beginning to realize. Never have they been the focus of so much attention; their superiors' gaze was sharp, yet always focused. Sanctity's narrowed gaze as she shepherded them away from their home was one thing. This gathering of cats is another.

She keeps speaking, parlaying the words, and there is some relief in that. It cannot assuage the way their pelt crawls under the dark young cat's uncertain stare, nor change their ill-advised correction to the wheat-pelted one's question. It is of little help when a scruffy looking cat is crouching low to catch their flitting eyes. Fangs peek out through the corners of the stranger's smile, and they step back a pace.

Their shepherd's voice blessedly comes to answer this one, giving the stranger permission. Their paws shuffle anxiously. "Um," they hum uncertainly. Their well of words has run dry, the lump in their throat becoming too constricting to ignore. They have never been asked to speak so much. The stranger asks what they want; that has never been much a factor in the anyone else's decisions, and it makes their paws feel unsteady. In lieu of answer, the child shrugs their shoulders. They try to dodge the stranger's searching gaze, as best they can. Sancitity said that they could be given a name, and that is the final authority on it. They have little say in the matter. They do not need one, but the rules of this place are all askew. What an idea - giving out names like spare prey, heedless the weight they carry. It makes their head spin.

Are they to meet the leader? It is an honor they would never dream of, yet of course she is unphased by it. They draw a little closer to her side as the group moves further towards the unknown.

OOC //

ONLY THE YOUNG ONES DIE GOOD

???

LONER KIT
they / them, nonbinary
5 moons old, ages on the first day of the month
semiverbal, primarily communicates nonverbally
rescued(...?) from a rogue cult by sanctity

"

SPEECH

" & ACTIONS & INTERACTION

penned by saturnid.