Open Prompt Territory like, zoinks gang! [strange fog/open patrol]

[WOLFPACK]

AND I AM SORRY MY CONSCIENCE CALLED IN SICK AGAIN​

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OOC- takes place near the burnt sycamore!
PROMPT- while on patrol, a fog begins to surround your character(s) and they are overwhelmed by the scent of rot

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Shadowclans territory was proving to be a lot more interesting than Wolfpack had first anticipated. Ever since the night of that storm, odd things had been happening in and around the territory, marked by that first night when the camp had been flooded by the sound of pawsteps storming through it. To this day Wolf was convinced what he'd heard wasn't just the wind and rain, but with no tracks or scent to prove otherwise, he was forced to accept that there was nothing he could do but move on with his life.

Ever since then, though, the reports of strange things kept coming in; voices in the wind, bones scattered around the territory, cats swearing up and down that they caught glimpses of someone in the distance or in the reflection of the ponds. Needless to say, it had Wolfpack on edge. He didn't know what was going on, but this was his clans territory and he wasn't all that fond of it being tread on by anything short of prey or Shadowclan themselves.

And today would just be another day to file away under 'times when something fucked up happened'.

"Alright, spread out and see what you can find. We'll meet back here at-" his words died in his throat as eyes of blue and gold caught sight of something, face scrunching up just a bit in confusion. "What the hell…?"

Fog, but not acting in any manner he was used to. It seemed to manifest out of nowhere, rolling, lazy clouds that slowly rose up on all sides of the patrol. Wolf had seen mist countless times in his life, and yet, he'd never gotten the unnerved feeling he did in that moment, as if solid walls were closing in on him and his clanmates instead of harmless vapor.

And that's when the smell hit them.

A heavy, pungent odor or rot so thick he could nearly taste it in the air around him, heavy enough to hang on his tongue and make him want to gag. "Ugh, it smells like an entire horse was left to rot on the thunderpath in the middle of greenleaf."

​

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shadowclan deputy - male - a large, monochrome chimera with mismatched eyes and several scars​

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[Lowlight]

☼ ✧

Let it not be said Lowlight is a coward. He does not flinch away from fights or strange noises in the night, and though he'll let a delighted shiver run up his spine at rumors and overblown stories, he's not going to let them scare him off doing what he's been asked to.

But he is starting to think that perhaps he is a little more superstitious than he previously thought. There's just been a lot of ghost stories lately, hasn't there? And far be it from him to doubt Sablestar, but… hey, it's worth wondering whether this part of the forest wants them around! A little questionment, perhaps, and some wariness in the meantime, just in case, because he's definitely not feeling a warm and fuzzy feeling of welcome from all those unexplained spooky events.

Wolfpack's abrupt pause has him slowing immediately, ears pricked for what got the tom so surprised. It's not exactly a mystery for long; at least not the source of the surprise. The explanation... Well, he gets a feeling they won't get one of those for a while yet. Maybe not ever. He scrunches his nose at the fog that rolls in, fur puffing out--but his bravado is soon replaced by disgust, and he gulps hastily around the urge to dry heave.

"What's happening?"

He mutters, frowning harder. He swipes hesitantly at the wall of cloudy carrion smell, watching how it moves, as if not entirely affected by his movement, definitely not in the way normal fog would be. It's thick, too--opaque.

"Is it… safe, do you think? Should we even be breathing in the stuff?"

✧ ° . ☼ . ° ✧

ooc Information

• ooc: —
• 

  DUNNY — HE/HIM･ 33 MOONS ･ SHADOWCLAN WARRIOR ･ PENNED BY @Kangoo

  A solidly built flame point/red tabby chimera with golden eyes and a small nick across his lips.

 

[Flamerunner]

FLAME OF THE COLONY

Hackles slowly rose as the sharp scent of rot hit the flame-pelted cat's nose. He shook his head sharply, trying to rid himself of the unsettling smell. Blue eyes flicked to Wolfpack, the deputy's figure standing eerily against the backdrop of the fog. ShadowClan's troubles seemed to be growing, and even though he wasn't one to believe in superstitions, there was something gnawing at him. A shiver ran down his spine, and his fangs flashed for a brief moment as his mind raced, voices echoing through the night, a sudden stampede into camp with nothing to show for it, bones scattered around, and now this choking fog, thick with the scent of rot. It was all starting to add up, and none of it felt right.

" Where's it coming from? " he muttered under his breath, eyes scanning their surroundings. Though he hadn't been eager to join the patrol, this eerie atmosphere made him wish he was anywhere else. He was grateful he hadn't eaten yet, something told him he wouldn't have much of an appetite after this.

RUN BOY RUN ——･ﾟ✦​

･ﾟ✦ —— THE SUN WILL BE GUIDING YOU

 

[Smogmaw.]

Under the pretense of sweeping for abnormalities in their borders, ShadowClan's deputy has wittingly forced a small cadre of clanmates out on some diversionary errand. Whether it's to be productive or not lies entirely beyond their prerogative; paranoia regarding the supernatural or otherwise runs rampant, and it's dragging the clan into an ineffective, fretful loop. Smogmaw has little patience for the unknown, and even less for the unexplained. Inaction is what irritates him most of all, but venturing headlong into the heart of their pocosin - on a whim and hunch alone - strikes him as nonsensical. Something a conceited cat would suggest for the sake of upholding their own fantastical perceptions of self, to make themselves look as though they're doing something worthwhile.

Leery eyes keep pinned to the gap between Wolfpack's shoulderblades throughout the excursion, ears down-turned against his silvered crown. When their little travelling troupe halts abruptly, and the word is given to split and survey, the tom half-considers bowing out entirely, for there are better pursuits than these to follow. But, regrettably, his duty to the clan is one to uphold. Following an incomprehensible grumble, Smogmaw turns to shuffle off into the thicket—coming to a startled standstill moments thereafter, when a wall of sickly smelling fog swallows the lands ahead and encloses in around their patrol. It's miasmatic, sickening, and the surprise of it has him backpedalling instinctively, until his rump plants unceremoniously into Flamerunner's ribcage.

"Fox-dung," he barks, before assuming a more respectable distance away. He sidesteps and regards the scene warily, fur on end, teeth clenched together in a fangful grimace, hoping a stolid expression can fend off the looming gag in his throat. "I heard tell of swamp gas back in the day," he starts, referring to an elder's tale to offer an explanation, howbeit far-fetched. "Heard it'll make ya right sick if ya take it in. And I'm 'bout a twig's length from-" Hrrrk. Oh, there's the gag after all. The broad-backed tom's stern muzzle pitches, before shuddering in protest. He's going to lose his last meal if they dawdle here any longer. But he's not about to march straight into the stuff, either.

 

[WOLFPACK]

AND I AM SORRY MY CONSCIENCE CALLED IN SICK AGAIN​

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Wolfpack wasn't an easily shaken cat– he'd seen too much of the world to just at every strange thing that came along. It had left him with a healthy dose of understanding and cautions though, and right now all the signs were flashing 'caution!' and 'danger!'. Not just from the smell or the suddenness from which it had come on, but because the strange grey mist wasn't acting like anything he'd seen in the past. Didn't move naturally. The fact that his clanmates seemed equally alarmed by it didn't bode well either, and as Smogmaw stumbled into Flamerunner, the patrol slowly crowding in on itself as the fog began to engulf them, he made a choice.

"Everybody climb!" he ordered, turning to the great sycamore behind them whose trunk and branches rose above the wall of clouds. It was a safer bet then the patrol running blindly through the territory in hopes of outrunning the corpse-scented air. Especially when some of them looked like they were already about to lose their lunch. "We'll regroup once we can actually fucking breathe" he growled, pausing at the last second to let the others go first despite instinct tell him to haul ass and let the others save themselves.

​

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shadowclan deputy - male - a large, monochrome chimera with mismatched eyes and several scars​

​

 

[Flamerunner]

FLAME OF THE COLONY

Flamerunner had deduced, with great certainty, that he felt very unwell with... whatever this was.

And when Smogmaw suddenly crashed into him, he skittered to the side with a startled huff, fur bristling before he could catch himself. He barely had time to process the impact before his mouth was moving on instinct. " Listen, if ya wanted to get all cozy and sweet with me, you could've just asked. " he quipped, shooting the other tom a lopsided grin. " We could arrange a date first. " His words were lighthearted, but only half-meant, he was well aware that Smogmaw was as taken as could be.

With a shake of his cream-colored pelt, he tried to will his hackles to settle, but they stubbornly remained upright. Unease curled in his gut as his sky-blue eyes flickered over the eerie scene before him. What in fuck's name was going on here? Swamp gas? His gaze snapped toward Smogmaw as the other tom spoke, ears twitching at the explanation. Sick...? No. No, thank you. He was not about to get sick over some stupid patrol.

Instinct had him taking a few careful steps back, ears pinning against his skull as his eyes landed on Wolfpack. He was the leader of this patrol, after all. The deputy. Let him make the call to retreat, because Flamerunner sure as hell didn't want to stay here any longer than necessary.

And then the order came. Climb.

He wasted no time. His ascent up the sycamore tree wasn't the most graceful, his claws scraped against the bark, and his muscles burned with the effort, but he didn't care. As long as it got him out of that suffocating fog, as long as he could breathe again without feeling like something was creeping into his lungs, he'd take it.

RUN BOY RUN ——･ﾟ✦​

･ﾟ✦ —— THE SUN WILL BE GUIDING YOU

 

[GECKOFLAME]

geckoflame was no firm believer of spirits or the supernatural but even she couldn't ignore the recent uptick of strange events unfolding before them. it began with eerie whispers and the spotting of sillohuettes from peripherals that others swore to have been a witness to as if someone or something had been stalking them from afar. Then there was the more unsettling discoveries such as stumbling upon the skeletal remains of felines which seem to be scattered throughout the pocosin as it happened on more than one occassion.

would it really be a surprise to anyone if it was discovered that the land they settled on was cursed because that's what the signs were beginning to point to.

and as if things couldn't get worse, suddenly out nowhere a thick fog began to consume the patrol but it was the stench of decay that clung to the fine mist that had geckoflame reeling backward. her stomach lurched hard, threatening to spill its contents over the marsh but she just barely manages to keep it down. the molly didn't have to be told twice when wolfpack's voice cut through the fog commanding them to climb, body moving towards the sycamore where ivory claws sink into the sturdy bark and begin haul herself upwards until she was free from the smog.

"this is starting to get ridiculous!" she hisses.

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