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Post by Littlepaw on Nov 20, 2011 16:35:19 GMT -5
Littlepaw
I feel it deep within, it's just beneath the skin,
I must confess that I feel like a monster.
I feel like a monster… Big moment. Big chance.
A chance to prove you’re worth something more than you’ve been told. The blood on his pelt felt cold, chilling him to the bone. The lifeless, shapeless lumps that had once been cats of WindClan lay not too far from wher4e he sat. As cold as he felt. Unmoving. Unblinking. Their sightless eyes staring into a vast nothingness that lay beyond the world of the living. Littlepaw seemed as no more than a statue, dead to the world himself. His chest hardly rose to breathe, and his eyes were as unblinking as those of the cats who lay slain behind him.
The air was cool against his fur, and he watched as his breath materialized and then vanished in front of him. For the first time in a long time, he moved, rising to his paws and turning in a slow, precise circle. His eyes, like chips of the coldest ice, stared down impassively at two cats that he once called Clan-mates. It would have been only one, had Hawktalon not been unfortunate enough to hear the cries of Kestrelflight as she lay dying. His face remained impassive as he nudged the limp body of his mother with one small, delicate paw. He knew he should have felt something, remorse or guilt, for killing two cats that were as part of his clan and life.
But he felt…nothing.
Just an empty blackness that seemed never-ending, and welcoming at the same time. Kestrelflight had pushed him to become a murderer, a killer, a ‘decoy’ as she called it. Her hatred and her fire had fueled his own, turning him into the thing she had desired most. But in the end, her own creation had been too difficult for her to handle. So consumed was she ins molding him to be a perfect ‘destroyer’ that she didn’t see what was in front of her until it was too late. Littlepaw had always resented his mother, hated her even, for what she did to him. It seemed only fitting that what she took, he took in return.
She had stolen his happiness, his kit-hood, and any semblance of a normal life he could have had the moment he was born. In return, he stole her life, her ambition, and her dreams and made them his own. Kestrelflight had killed his brother, Fogkit, for being inadequate. Littlepaw had killed his mother, Kestrelflight, for being much the same. “There is nothing left for you to teach me,” he had told her, silently, and impassively reveling in the shock that skittered across her angry, twisted features. It felt liberating, destroying something that had held you in thrall for so long.
Liberating, freeing.
It was everything he wanted, but yet still not enough. His eyes strayed to Hawktalon, but his face remained cold and impassive, unwavering even with the magnitude of his crime. It was the tom’s unlucky misfortune to have stumbled upon the scene, to see Littlepaw covered in blood, and Kestrelflight on her last legs. Littlepaw had made the only rational choice he could have; Hawktalon had to go as well. It wasn’t anything personal. He was just in the way.
And he had made sure Hawktalon knew it.
“It’s nothing personal, you know,” he’d said as he’d darted in to deliver the killing blow. “I think you just have remarkably bad luck. You could’ve lived if you’d only kept away a while longer. How unfortunate.” Hawktalon hadn’t known what was coming. Neither had Kestrelflight. Littlepaw turned, padding away from the bodies as if they were no more than a pile of unused or unwanted rocks left lying scattered on the forest floor. He needed to get cleaned off and back to camp before a ThunderClan patrol found them.
After all, it wouldn’t do to be caught so early on in the game, now would it?
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Post by [Nettleleaf] on Dec 2, 2011 11:28:06 GMT -5
Nettleleaf Nettleleaf sighed. The simple thought of the day made him tremble like a freezing little kit in leaf-bare. He hadn’t made much contribution to the fresh-kill pile like the other members of the hunting patrol. Despite his efforts to be a great warrior for his Clan, the ginger tom might have been unlucky enough to catch but one young rabbit when the others had managed to hunt down a warren full of prey. He can’t be the best among the rest if these kinds of things continue to happen. Wait, fame from being a good hunter wouldn’t be needed when decoys take over.
A sudden breeze carrying a faint scent of fresh blood caught the attention of Nettleleaf, not too strong for the other members of the patrol to recognize though. His nose had grown more sensitive to the distinct scent of the red liquid since had seen various murders done by different decoys in all four Clans, though he had never tried killing some random cat. Judging by the strength of the scent, the murder had happened somewhere far away from the patrol’s location. “I-I’ll try to hunt somewhere else,” he told the patrol’s head, giving his rabbit to an apprentice. “Please bring this back to camp,” he whispered to the ‘paw’.
Estimating where the breeze had come from, Nettleleaf had concluded that the scent was from the Clan’s border with ThunderClan. “Who is it now...?” the ginger tom grumbled, fearing that the numbers of his Clanmates would diminish in a fast rate. He liked some of his Clanmates as his friends, but what needed to be done should be done. Besides, the grudge wouldn’t be his, but to their murderers. Nettleleaf gave another sigh of depression. This is one of the things he hated for being a decoy: knowing that somewhere, out there, there would be cats trying to kill innocent and nice cats.
“Littlepaw?”
Two of his Clanmates, Hawktalon and Kestrelflight, lay dead in the apprentice’s paws. The two warriors were drenched in their own blood, thanks to Littlepaw and his revenge or something. He knew that Kestrelflight had been a bad mother to the black and white apprentice, but how about Hawktalon? He was fond of the younger cat since he was kind and friendly, so why kill him so early? It was already five moons of decoy experience for him, but he still isn’t used to all the killings. Some may consider him to be slow-witted, but it wasn’t easy with his conscience and all.
His picked up his pace and checked the two unmoving bodies of his Clanmates. He told himself to get used with it. At least he could stand the dead bodies better than his first day, he had always noted. I should really try to be a decoy instead of a regular warrior... He nosed the dead warriors, just to make sure they haven’t got any life left in them. “We should tell Snowstar about them now before others recognize your scent in their pelts,” he advised the apprentice. He told those words like he had a different objective, but deep inside him, he knew he couldn’t leave their bodies for the badgers.
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Post by Littlepaw on Dec 4, 2011 21:33:17 GMT -5
Littlepaw
That's why they call me Bad Company
I can't deny; Bad Company ‘til the day I die
Until the day I die… Littlepaw paused, his tail twitching slightly as the scent of another cat drifted over the overpowering stench of blood. He turned, his gaze hardening to chips of blue ice, before he saw who it was. “Nettleleaf,” he replied calmly, seemingly unconcerned with being caught red-handed, quite literally. “You would presume to tell me what to do.” His voice was flat, and betrayed neither anger, or resentment. Instead, it was a bold statement, a subtle threat that lay hidden beneath the monotone voice of a killer.
The warning was clear; “You do not give the orders here. And you would do well to remember that.” His gaze flashed pointedly towards the motionless bodies of his mother and clan-mate, and there was nothing in his gaze that indicated remorse or guilt. Just a cold, cool, calculating spark that said he would do what he needed to keep his secret. “I would suggest you keep your mouth shut. Unless of course, you would prefer to end up like them?” Again, his voice held no inflection, and it was as empty as his eyes, as cold as his heart. What had happened to Littlepaw to turn him into such a…
Monster.
“Imagine,” he said at last, and there was a finally a hint of something, possibly amusement, possibly morbid fascination, underlying his words, but with an unchanging face, it was difficult to tell. “How unfortunate for the two of them. I suppose it was always my mother’s fate to die by my claws. But poor Hawktalon. He was so unassuming, so naïve…so innocent. If only he’d been smart enough to stay away a few minutes longer.” He cast a pointed look in Nettleleaf’s direction, and snapped his jaws shut. A rivulet of blood ran down the length of his head, and slowly dripped from his chin.
He remained unmoving and unconcerned. He was so small, filled with so much hate, and a cold emptiness that someone so young should never have had. “From your words, I can only assume that you do not intend to turn me in.” He took a step towards Nettleleaf, prowling towards him like one of the giant cats of ages past, his cold blue eyes fixated on his prey. “But how can I be sure? I couldn’t possibly let you ruin the game when it’s only just begun. What should I do with you?” He was circling now, his paw steps silent, his eyes narrowed.
“What assurance can you give me, what promise could you possibly make, that would be enough to save you from their fate?” His eyes darted a glance towards the unmoving, sightless eyes of his mother, and a smile, slow and cruel and filled with hate, curled over his muzzle. “Tell me, Nettleleaf…Where do your loyalties lie?”
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Post by [Nettleleaf] on Dec 5, 2011 10:20:43 GMT -5
Nettleleaf
“I wasn’t giving any orders, mousebrain,” Nettleleaf grumbled, albeit inaudible with Littlepaw’s ears. “From my tone, what I said was an ‘advice', not an order.”
Nettleleaf didn’t like being a decoy, sure, but knowing the true identities of each decoy was another story. Almost all of them were wicked, bitter of their history and not to mention rude. They act as if all was theirs and everyone was nothing but a piece of fresh-kill. They don’t even have the heart to respect the dignity of others. But when they were on the sight of ordinary Clan cats, they act all nice and innocent. Nettleleaf had learned that they do those kinds of acts just to ‘blend in’ with them. I don’t need that kind of disguise, do I?
Oh, yes, continue with that monologue and see if I care! It’s not like you can beat me in a battle anyway.
Even though Nettleleaf didn’t liked having his somehow ‘other side’ of him showing up, Littlepaw’s act of arrogance and rudeness didn’t help. His tone had a prick in it, implying that he was just any ordinary WindClan cat. How can you be so sure you can beat me? I’d like to see you try. The black and white apprentice seems to forget that the two of them had started their training as a decoy at almost the same time, although he was a newly-named warrior and Littlepaw was just a kit. In terms of skill, they can equally fight each other, but when it comes to their physical frame, even Littlepaw’s swift and nimble moves wouldn’t help.
Nettleleaf’s little rant about decoys ended when the apprentice had asked one simple, yet hard to answer, question: “Tell me, Nettleleaf... Where do your loyalties lie?”
“Of course my loyalty is with Crimsonstar!”
Nettleleaf answered the apprentice’s question with the first thing that came from his mind, but was it true? He really didn’t like being a decoy ever since his mother’s friend had forced him to be one five moons ago. Their mission was too violent for poor Nettleleaf to bear. Even the simple thought of killing your best friend was merely brutal. He had to live with it, though, if he loved his life. Besides, he’s gotten used with the decoys around him. As long as they aren’t kits who don’t enjoy their youth to the fullest. Sheesh, do decoys even have life outside murder?
“If you don’t trust me as one of your comrades, we could as well end this conversation.” Nettleleaf was a pacifist since he was kitted and he couldn’t even manage to bring up a fight against Littlepaw. The ginger cat turned his back at the tiny apprentice and began walking back to the camp in hopes of reaching the hunting patrol he left. Besides, he was getting worried about the rabbit he left with the apprentice. It wasn’t enough to fill their stomach in this kind of cold weather.
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