Private Dark Forest WindClan THIS IS ALL BECAUSE OF YOU || DEADWOOD

[Merrystalk Merrystalk]

{$title} Occurs the night following Owlbear's asthma attack, Merrystalk gets a rude awakening that night, realising he's not where he's meant to be...

—————————————— Dreaming along in a pace you'll understand. ✦

As Merrystalk reluctantly settled in his nest, he couldn't seem to settle his mind. That guilt still writhed in his chest, like a sickness that wouldn't unhand him. He wanted to find the apprentice, try and apologise and set things straight. But she deserved space and he needed to word things [/i]better[/i] this time. He had been harsh when she was just trying to voice her concerns, and he didn't truely listen to her. Merry knew that now, and he would try to make amends. Or... Make a start.

For now, he would rest. Wake up early, get his head straight and own up to his mistakes. The tortie curled up in his nest and tried to rest. It was usually something that came to him with ease, more than known as a far too lax cat who could fall asleep at a moment's notice. But even now, it was fitful, restless. Like he could feel every lump under his nest, every stray bit of moss poking into his skin. He writhed in his nest, trying to fall asleep. Whenever he would, he knew it would be awful...

---

Merry didn't know when he fell asleep. Did he at all? He never felt that comforting tug of nothingness that came with sleep; instead, he pried his eyes open and felt a jolt of panic. He hadn't hesitated to jump to his paws, realising he wasn't in his nest. He wasn't even in Windclan. No, not anymore. Instead, everything was blanketed under a thicket, dark and cold. So, very, cold. The comforting heat of greenleaf nights had faded, and this place had sapped the warmth from his paws.

The gale guard's eyes scanned around the place, and it seemed vacant. But his heart thudded in his chest, terror beginning to grip him. Where the fuck had he ended up? He looked up, hoping to find some semblance of time passage. It was still dark so it couldn't have been that long, right? He tentatively padded along the frigid, dead grass underpaw, looking through the branches overhead. But a lump grew in his throat; the night had been clear, and it was here too, but the sky was empty. Hollow. No moon, no stars.

His mouth grew dry, and dread gripped his whole form. Particularly as a noise caught his attention, it was small, almost unnoticeable. But it was enough to send a chill darting down his spine, fur stood on end as the tortie looked around like a cornered animal. "Who's there?" His voice was a low snarl, trying to seem far more in control of the situation than he really was. Eyes flickering between the trees that felt as if they closed in around him. "Where the fuck have ya' taken me to."

— And it's harder than you think,

Telling dreams from one another. —

• 
  Merrystalk
  ✦—Windclan Gale Guard | 28 Moons
  ✦—He/Him
  ✦—"SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  ✦—A skinny, tortoiseshell cat with bright green eyes and pelt speckled with hay.
  #9D6E46

 

[Deadwood]

——————————————— Skin and bones, and brains and blood ☾

His rage always tended to fester. Even when he was alive, even when he didn't know it, his soul was rotting. It built over time, battering at some place right behind his eyes for as long as he could remember. For the most part, the tom could quell it. He could store it away some place and forget it existed, as though it never happened in the first place. But not this time, just like so many times before.

It had been a long time since he had wrenched some poor soul to the sullen forest he called his home. It wasn't exactly hard, though it did take a fair bit more effort and focus that he often didn't have to spare. He wasn't doing much with it in the first place, but it was few and far between when he had a target for his focus. With his new place beside Meadowpaw though, he got to witness far more cats than he ever did in the Dark Forest. Deadwood was used to a cat irking him, but at least he could always get back at them. He could always fight it out with the unfortunate cats he shared his space with, but at this point he had grown used to their jabs. Only so many got through in the first place—Froststorm often took care of the problem long before it ever started.

But this time, this time—he couldn't burn that anger away with some fight. His shouts and jeers, while satisfying in the moment, just didn't hit quite the same with no reaction. He couldn't even go on for that long, the look that damn brown cat gave him was enough to scare him off for the moment. It was strange being seen again, and yet he couldn't help but revel in the attention at the same time. With luck, Merrystalk would give him a reaction to scratch that certain sort of itch. The want to be feared, and by the stars he was going to be. He spent his entire life ensuring that, and now he'd spend his death too.

A creaking sound foretold his appearance, like a gnarled tree swaying in a galestorm. It seemed to come from inside him, as though his very bones cried like stressed wood. Deadwood's pale eyes followed not long after, peering lifelessly out of the underbrush. The undergrowth seemed to fight his exit, thorns digging unnoticed into rotting flesh around his legs. Dark blood bubbled at his nose, dribbling down his chin and mixing with the oozing, festering wound that split his next in half. It was a wonder his head hadn't fallen off. It almost seemed like it might as he tilted his head to regard the brown and orange tom in front of him, pale eyes that looked as though they belonged to some long-dead cadaver focusing on the gale guard in interest.

"Well, that's no way to greet your host." The tom barked a laugh after a moment of silence, a cruel grin splitting his face in two. He whistled a low note through his missing tooth, the smile still clear on his face as he looked the tom up and down. "The lighting doesn't do you any favors here, now does it, Merrystalk?" The forest always had a way of pointing out the worst in a cat, illuminating their vices and flaws in a way the normal light never did. The tom looked... well, downright scrawny in a way he didn't seem before. His scars were shadowed, seemingly as deep as the river. This was not a welcoming place, and it would suck the life out of the unfamiliar tom as fast as it could. Well, if it could before Deadwood did something about it first.

With an awful limp, the tom slithered further from the thorny undergrowth. His tail dragged on the floor, smudging the ever-dripping blood from his neck into some awful trail. The tom chuckled darkly at the living patch-y tom in front of him, sitting back on his haunches in one motion and bringing a paw up to his ear in another. The tom mimed listening carefully, a look of almost surprise on his face. "Surprised the entire forest didn't hear you grumbling." Deadwood cackled a laugh, far louder than Merry had made a noise. "I'd quiet down if I were you. The trees has ears... and I'll tell you—" He cocked his head at him, an almost playful gesture if it wasn't for the gore-y display that was his neck. "—There are things worse than death, and there are things worse than me."

They followed us into the trees

Wearing crowns of twigs and leaves

• 
  Deadwood
  ☾—Dark Forest Warrior | 19 Moons
  ☾—He/Him
  ☾—"SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  ☾—A thin, dark brown tabby tom with pale eyes
  #A68040 #ACAB9C

 

[Merrystalk Merrystalk]

—————————————— Dreaming along in a pace you'll understand. ✦

Creeking like a tree threatening to fall made his ear flicker, gaze shooting towards the noise, a deer in the gaze of a monster.

It was the smell of blood that foretold his approach. Rotten and foul, rich and sickening. Glassy eyes met his own as a visage of a shambling corpse emerged from brambled undergrowth, thorns catching at his flesh like it was trying to pull him back underground from whense he seemed to have come from.

A nauseous feeling clawed at Merry's stomach, mouth watering as he tried to stifile a wretch from the bottom of his stomach. It wasn't Merry's first run-in with death, but oh, Starclan, this was like stumbling on a rotted corpse abandoned in the sun for days. The tom walked awkwardly, shambling and limping, a missing leg and enormous gouge through his neck and chest like his innards were barely held within. His voice like a bubbling groan, blood trickling down his face as he laughed at Merry.

Stumbling back, eyes wide in horror as he tried to cover his face from the death scent. "Dear Starclan, what are you?" The gale guard choked back a heaving feeling in the back of his throat. He wasn't squeamish, but fuck, this was too much for him to stomach. But the blood drained from his face, terror meeting hollowed eyes. "How do you know my name- I-" He tried to move further back, this thing stumbling towards him, but the sharp sting of brambles behind him stopped him in his tracks. He was trapped.

The crackling laugh rumbling from his throat made the tom shrink back, wincing at the noise. His heart raced in his chest; it had been a long, very long, time since he had felt such a primal fear. Merry was used to being the hunter, the provoker, but for once, this thing had his paws shaking like a pinned rabbit. He swallowed hard, trying to steel the nausea that wouldn't vacate his churning stomach. "What the fuck else is here I-"

He shook his head, snarling, he wouldn't let this thing take him down so easily. "Why the fuck did you bring me here, you freak." His fur stood on end, scowling. This cat was taller than him, horrifyingly so, but he seemed weakened and - as awful of a thought it was - with a missing leg, his balance was surely easy to disturb with a good swipe if needed. He would rather be let out of the place without a fight, wherever he was...

— And it's harder than you think,

Telling dreams from one another. —

• 
  Merrystalk
  ✦—Windclan Gale Guard | 28 Moons
  ✦—He/Him
  ✦—"SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  ✦—A skinny, tortoiseshell cat with bright green eyes and pelt speckled with hay.
  #9D6E46