Open Camp SkyClan Shadow in the Sun | Nap Time FAILED

[Victoryscorn Victoryscorn]

Victoryscorn -- 101 moons / skyclan senior warrior
an old chocolate lynx mink with blue tabby patches and a permanent scowl, fur usually stained by blueberry plants.
no current relationships
has a very "grumpy grandpa" personality, stoic and blunt in speech, not afraid to voice unpopular opinions!

---

The world announced itself to a certain grey-muzzled warrior not through sight, but sound. The incessant whisper of the wind through the tall grasses, a gentle caress that stirred the very air within the warrior's den, was his first awareness. It tickled his whiskers, brushed against his ears, a subtle awakening from his afternoon slumber. His eyes fluttered open, a grumpy pout gracing his scruffy features as he registered nature's gentle alarm.

VictoryScorn, a cat whose age seemed to transcend the boundaries of time, stretched languidly, a great yawn rippling through his frame, a silent announcement of his consciousness to the den's inhabitants. He rolled onto his side, blinking away the lingering remnants of sleep from his ancient, crow-footed eyes. The daily afternoon nap was a non-negotiable ritual, a balm for the aches and pains that settled deep within his bones, a temporary escape from the relentless demands of his duties. He would spend some of his most productive hours in the back of the warrior's den- sleeping away his worries.

Who could fault him? Though time had etched its passage upon his frame, leaving streaks of white amidst his otherwise dark fur, his strength and agility remained remarkable. Yet, the relentless march of years had tempered his spirit, leaving him weary and prone to bouts of grumpiness. He made a move to rise, but the allure of his flattened, dry moss nest proved too strong. His paws sunk into the earth, and he surrendered to its comforting embrace. Was there any compelling reason to rise again today? His self-imposed duties were already completed– the usual chores attended to, the younger warriors assisted, and even the extra effort of carrying fresh-kill to the caregivers' had been fulfilled.

He was still so profoundly sleepy. A few more moments of blissful slumber, he reasoned, could hardly be considered detrimental. VictoryScorn exhaled deeply, the breath rustling the leaves and berries clinging to his fur like miniature brambles. He settled onto his back, his front paws tucked neatly against his chest, the others splayed out, already drifting back to sleep, his eyes drooping with exhaustion.

It would be a truly calamitous event, a most unfortunate turn of circumstances, should something – or someone – dare to interrupt this hard-earned nap...?

 

[Swirlpaw]

Swirlpaw, -- 8 Moons / Skyclan Apprentice -- Ages on the 5th
Brown and orange tabby chimera she-cat with mismatched eyes.
Daughter of Milkheart, sister of Creampaw and Chestnutpaw.
Apprentice of Mousefang

Tagging @Victoryscorn

---

Swirlpaw was impatient. She had been helping the caregivers reorganize and clean out the nursery all morning. Now that the last batch of kits has been apprenticed, and there was only Ptarmigankit to worry about, they decided it was the perfect time to clear it out and make it spotless. It was dull work, and Swirlpaw was incredibly bored. Her legs were restless and she wanted to go out and train, run around, climb trees, do anything other than move moss around and dust and remake nests! UGH!

When they finally let her go, she went to sit outside the warriors den, waiting for @Mousefang to wake up. Or had he already woken up and left camp without her after seeing that she was busy? She hoped not! She was dying here in camp! She wanted ouuuutttt! Letting out a sigh, she paced a little, back and forth in front of the den. Paws padded against the dirty earth, ears flicking as she listened to the birds sing above. She wishes she were a bird. It would be so fun to fly. If she could FLY she could get OUT of here!

She knew it was rude, but as time ticked by, she just couldn't wait any longer! Turning her head and lowering it, she made her way into the warriors den, squinting at the sudden change in lighting and trying to navigate her way through the nests to see if her mentor was even in here. She tried her best to be quiet, but when her paw accidentally landed square on a cat's torso, she squeaked a little and stumbled, almost falling on top of them!

"Sorry, sorry! I was looking for Mousefang!" she yelped.

 

[Victoryscorn Victoryscorn]

Victoryscorn -- 101 moons / skyclan senior warrior
an old chocolate lynx mink with blue tabby patches and a permanent scowl, fur usually stained by blueberry plants.
no current relationships or family tree.
has a very "grumpy grandpa" personality, stoic and blunt in speech, not afraid to voice unpopular opinions!
@Swirlpaw

---

It felt as though a heavy stone had slammed into his gut, the breath torn from his lungs in a sharp, wheezing gasp. His eyes flew open just as Swirlpaw stumbled back from the bristling wall of dust-laced fur and plants that was Victoryscorn.

His first instinct was to roll sharply onto his side—nearly crushing Swirlpaw beneath him in the chaos. His tail lashed, slightly puffed from the rude awakening, and his expression darkened into a hardened scowl. Those piercing blue eyes locked onto the apprentice like twin blades of ice, glaring down with a gaze that could've frozen rivers. It was like staring into the maw of a mountain bear…! Well—surely bears were this enormous, weren't they? "Hmph. You're Mousefang's apprentice, aren't you?" Victoryscorn rumbled, his voice gravelly with sleep and irritation, muscles rippling as he heaved himself from the partially trampled nest.

Though his flattened ears and rumbling chest suggested he wasn't pleased about being used as a climbing post, he didn't look ready to tear the young she-cat's ears off—despite the obviousness of her blunder. He gave a slow shake of his great head, like an old hound dislodging rainwater, sending bits of dried leaves and two stubborn blueberries tumbling from his thick pelt. Was this what all warriors were like? So…disheveled?

"You'll tumble into a fox's den one of these days with paws like that," he growled, lifting a broad paw—tufts of fur jutting between each thick toe, claws unsheathed and gleaming.

Was he about to strike?

No—of course not. The grizzled warrior was simply plucking her arm from the tangles of his fur where it had been half-buried moments before, fangs flashing not in threat but in effort. One berry, squashed and stubborn, had wedged itself between her paw pads. Victoryscorn bared his teeth and gently worked it loose with surprising precision, then gave her muddied fur a swift, rasping lick—rough as bramble bark—likely to ward off any insects drawn by the scent by licking the mess clean off.

 

[DUSKPOOL]

DUSKPOOL​

He'd been on his way to find Sweetpaw, already settled on a huntin' lesson for the day, followed by a lengthy huntin' patrol, when the commotion reached a mangled ear. A hard brow raised, chest rumblin' with a low-soundin' grunt, heavy paws bringin' him toward Swirlpaw and Victoryscorn. "Rude awakenin', eh, old man?" He remarked dryly, watchin' with a deadpan expression as the berry-stained tom plucked the apprentice's paw from his coat.

His gaze slid to Swirlpaw, wooly plumage sweepin' the ground lazily, collectin' more than enough dirt and the wayward leaf to tangle into the obsidian wool. His nose wrinkled subtly, jerkin' his chin, "Best get goin' pipsqueak before Victoryscorn comes and eats ya." He teased lowly, molten iris flashin' in muted amusement. "Mousefang's around here somewhere. Don't want to make the scout wait." A hard brow raised, shiftin' his bulky stance, watchin' the apprentice idly, not without the curled amusement of havin' caught the tail end of the tussle.

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

ooc

information

main ref

• @sweetpaw
• 

  DUSKPOOL he/him a storm carved in flesh and smoke, duskpool towers with the bulk of a maine coon and norwegin forest cat. his wooly black pelt bristles with ghost-stripes and scars—old wounds etched like lightning through dusk. one copper eye burns like molten steel and the other a mangled ruin of war. every step is heavy, thunderous—war-born, death-burdened, and unflinchingly alive.
  
  ᯓ★ sun guard of skyclan during coffeestar and hawkstar's reign
  ᯓ★ father to almondpaw and cinderpaw
  ᯓ★ brother to outlawbite & thistlestrike, half-brother to flowercloud
  ᯓ★ eighty-three moons; ages on the 1st of every month
  ᯓ★ speech thought action
  ᯓ★ peaceful/healing powerplay permitted
• ​

 

[Mousefang]

A rake of claws against a mirror - grazing pelts we all once wore.

He is drawn to the sight of Duskpool lingering in the warrior den entrance in a way that made clear something was happening in there worth pause. With swift strides the scout made his way over, strong limbs making short work of the distance as he brushed in alongside the scarred elder warrior and spotted the unmistakable shape of his apprentice being smothered by the berry-stained pelt of one of their clans senior warriors; Victoryscorn. A name he really wasn't sure how to feel about the meaning of but is sure his mother thought it was 'pretty cool right?'.
"Why are you disturbing the senior warriors?" His voice is a low drone of a tone, his dappled head peering into the den from outside and the bundle of moss dropped at his paws explaining his brief absence - someone had thought it funny to put a thorn in his nest and he was replacing the material before patrols. Which apprentice dared he did not know, but he would cuff them the second he found out but for no he didn't have the time for such trivial searching. Mousefang dipped his head to enter, mint green eyes narrowing as they adjusted to the shift from light to dark and he uttered a sigh so quiet it might have been missed entirely, "I am sorry for her bothering you, Victoryscorn, I hope she hasn't caused you too much trouble?" A thin brow arched, he regarded his patchwork apprentice with a neutral expression that was neither annoyed not amused, something inbetween with no strong feelings either way. If the older warriors gave her a swat to the ear for being a menace then it was a lesson, though part of him bristled at the idea. That was his apprentice to train and scold as necessary and letting anyone else do it ruffled his pelt the wrong way.

Ooc- ooc info here.

x

Mousefang

— SkyClan Warrior (Scout)
— He/Him
"SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
— A black rosette tabby with high white & mint green eyes.
#84ba64

 

[Swirlpaw]

Swirlpaw, -- 8 Moons / Skyclan Apprentice -- Ages on the 5th
Brown and orange tabby chimera she-cat with mismatched eyes.
Daughter of Milkheart, sister of Creampaw and Chestnutpaw.
Apprentice of Mousefang

Tagging @Victoryscorn @DUSKPOOL @Mousefang

---

"Sorry!" she repeated, "I'll be more careful..." she mumbled at the comment that she would tumble into a fox den some day. No she wouldn't! Fox dens and warrior dens were way different! She would be able to tell one from the other! Swirlpaw allowed Victoryscorn to gently take her paw, muttering a thank you when he fished out the blueberry, before being licked like a kit who couldn't groom herself. Huff. Embarassment heated up her face as she realized Duskpool was in here too! They were probably going to talk about this! Hopefully Chestnutpaw doesn't hear, or she'll never heard the end of it...

She cringed even further, head dipping down when Mousefang finally appeared. Oh she was never going to hear the end of this, once her sisters found out... Looking down at her paws, she repeated her "Sorry," before explaining with a brief, "I was trying to find you..." Swirlpaw then fell silent as Mousefang apologized for her bothering the two senior warriors.. Hopefully Victoryscorn wasn't too upset that she disturbed his nap.

 

[Victoryscorn Victoryscorn]

Victoryscorn -- 101 moons / skyclan senior warrior
an old chocolate lynx mink with blue tabby patches and a permanent scowl, fur usually stained by blueberry plants.
no current relationships or family ties.
has a very "grumpy grandpa" personality, stoic and blunt in speech, not afraid to voice unpopular opinions!

---

He worked his barbed tongue over the stained skin of @Swirlpaw 's wrist, slow and deliberate, before dragging a few rough rasps over her crown, taming the unruly nest of curls that had burst free during the scuffle. The fur, once jutting out in every odd direction, began to lie more neatly, at least by his standards. Truly, he had never seen a cat with such peculiar coat lengths—silky in some places, wiry in others—but when had there not been an odd one out among their ranks? SkyClan had a way of birthing the unconventional.

He was certain more than a few eyes had pegged him as the odd one out once upon a time, though he'd never spared it much thought. Just as there was no shame now in doling out this brief, parental grooming—however begrudging it might seem—despite the guaranteed whining Swirlpaw might earn for it later when teasing tongues began to wag. A fitting punishment, really, for the apprentice who'd all but rabbit-kicked him square in the ribs.

A low chuff, warm and rumbling, escaped him—his only concession to amusement at Duskpool's earlier taunts. "Don't go worryin', runt," Victoryscorn muttered, his voice low and dry as cracked bark. "Ain't got near the appetite that ol' tom's got. If I had to guess, I'd say you'd charm a badger right outta its den if we was talkin' hunger." He spoke to @DUSKPOOL as he said this, with the brief glash of a smile beneath that stash of grey fur.

With that, he finally peeled himself away from the she-cat and rose to his paws, any hope of returning to sleep now thoroughly trampled. The tom arched his back, stretching long and low with a cavernous yawn that curled his tongue and made his joints creak in protest. Standing tall once more, he raked his claws through the edge of his nest, nudging the flattened bedding back into something resembling order. He was one of few warriors who truly guarded their nests like a denmother—a constant source of complaint from apprentices, who found his grousing over "improper fluffing" unbearable. Perhaps that was why he'd grown used to sleeping on bedding as flat as frost-dried moss.

As he smoothed a final edge of moss into place, Victoryscorn's gaze lifted—just in time to catch a slender figure weaving between shafts of sunlight, leaving a ripple of shadow in their wake. @Mousefang . A younger warrior he didn't know particularly well, but he'd caught glimpses during the last apprentice ceremony. Always looked rather… composed. Victoryscorn respected that. In a clan like theirs, composure was worth more than claws.

"Ain't nothin' to fret over, Mousefang," he said, tone steady like a stone wall. "Couple stumblin' paws don't call for barin' our teeth… though I reckon a good talk on patience wouldn't hurt none." His frosty eyes cut back to Swirlpaw, narrowing thoughtfully. She had barged into the warriors' den without a whisper of hesitation—an action usually forbidden to all apprentices. Entry here was a privilege hard-won at the tail-end of training, not something to be claimed in reckless haste.

Settling down once more, Victoryscorn tucked his paws beneath his thick tail, curling it tight as he began to groom the tousled cowlicks that dotted his chest. His tongue rasped harshly over the wayward fur, flattening the mess until he looked more soldier than shrub. Was this the source of that odd, ever-present aroma that clung to the warriors den? A curious blend of fruit and wildflower—tart, sweet, and utterly unnatural. His fur bore such a dusky blue hue, one might half-believe he was kin to a bluejay!

His ear gave a flick as he turned his attention back to Swirlpaw, studying her with clearer eyes now that the golden glare of the sun wasn't obscuring her frame. Stars above, she really was small, wasn't she? Smaller than most, even by SkyClan standards. He swore the litters were shrinking by the season—another moon or two and they'd be hunting beetles to fill a belly.

"How's the young'un holdin' up, Mousefang?" he asked, his voice scratchy but carryin' the weight of old kindness. "Hope y'been teachin' her right these past moons. Ain't no shortcuts worth takin' when it comes to Clan ways."

There was no sarcasm behind the words—only the weathered concern of a cat who had seen too many seasons slip through his claws. It had taken many lifetimes for the older generations of SkyClan to accept Victoryscorn's oddities—his sharp tongue, his obsession with training, his strict adherence to tradition—but there was no denying his loyalty. After all, it was those very traditions that shaped SkyClan into what it was. And if he seemed like a fossil clinging to the stone—well, so be it. Better a stone than drifting dust.