Open Territory 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐍𝐒 ── .✦ water fight

[DUSKPOOL]

DUSKPOOL​

He ought to know by now just how mischievous the youngsters were the second he felt somethin' cold drip down his thick fur. Only for another to come smackin' him upside the head, yet Duskpool barely batted an eyelash. He turns his scarred muzzle toward the culprit with a flat, unreadable expression, practically stone-faced, yet a trickle of annoyed amusement dances within a molten iris. "...Really, now?" His voice dragged like gravel across the stone, though now there was the faintest curl of amusement tuggin' at the corner of his mouth.

They'd been on a huntin' patrol, havin' stumbled on a babblin' stream cuttin' through SkyClan's territory, except he hadn't expected to be dragged into an all-out war, splashin' each other and Duskpool bein' a prime target due to his sheer size. It ain't like he couldn't move out of the way, frame too large if he hadn't wanted to be caught up in the mess, but given the playful expressions decoratin' some of his clanmates, it made the old warrior heave a weary sigh. "Reckon huntin' is out of the question now, eh?" He mutters.

In one powerful movement, Duskpool slams a paw into the shallow edge, sendin' up a wall of spray that drenches anyone near. His chest rumbled in amusement, molten copper glistenin' with muted amusement. "Tryin' to get me soaked, are ya?" He remarked dryly, not outright angry, at least, not yet, though it was hard not to find the thing amusin', even with water drippin' down his scarred muzzle to splash at his feet.

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

ooc

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  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
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