Warrior Cats: A RPG

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Rank: kit
Gender: male
Played By: tybaxel
Custom Title: 復讐 the tower
Joined: 5-February 18
Status: (Offline)
Last Seen: Yesterday at 10:19 am
Local Time: Apr 24 2018, 06:40 AM
43 posts (0.6 per day)
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Mar 18 2018, 09:55 PM
Lavenderfly had gone out to find some food. She'd told him to stay where he was until she returned, but when did kits ever listen - especially Nightkit of all kits? He'd taken the opportunity to explore and mentally chart the vastness of the outer moor - beyond WindClan territory, but close enough to it for him to not dismiss the possibility of there being some clan cat wandering about. That was why when he encountered the mottled tortoiseshell apprentice at the edge of a nearby gorge, he wasn't exactly surprised. In fact, he was intrigued by her presence and decided to approach her. She wasn't a RiverClan cat, but perhaps she knew something about Hollowstar.

What happened next was a blur to Nightkit. The molly, who had introduced herself as Cypresspaw, had been irritatingly condescending, reminding him far too much of his coddling mother that had often doted over him as if he were helpless. She was frantic upon seeing him, expressing her worry for his safety, exclaiming that kits like him shouldn't be out and about, asking him where his mother was, asking him for his name. She refused to answer his questions, always circling back to her original point. It had enraged him to the point of snapping in an attempt to defend himself, and in an impulsive act of frustration he had barreled into her.

He'd watched as Cypresspaw's flailing form fell hundreds of tail lengths over the edge of the gorge, landing with a sickening crack at the bottom.

Nightkit had initially felt horror and disbelief, an overwhelming surge of fear at what he'd done - but it had quickly dispersed like dust in the wind. He stared down at her mangled corpse, pale blue eyes blank - if he felt anything at that moment, he certainly didn't show it. Instead, the black kitten bounded back over the rocks, racing to return to where Lavenderfly had left him.

By the time anyone found Cypresspaw's body, Nightkit would be long gone, his scent carried away by the wind of the moors.
Mar 10 2018, 04:11 PM
Many sunrises had passed since his arrival in LionClan, and not once were the emotionally-battered kitten's spirits lifted, not even by those of his extended family, not even by his own father, who had worked ceaselessly to make him feel at home, who had told him time and time again that he was special. Torn from one life - a life that had merely been a fabrication, a tangle of lies that had been spoonfed to him and that he'd believed doubtlessly - and thrust into another, Nightkit was plagued by thoughts of the past. A past that had only been mere days before, but so distant that it felt like a lifetime had passed since.

Ratkit and Duckkit had never loved him. Not even liked him. This wasn't new information to him. The insults that spewed from their lips at every given chance rang throughout his head, the accusations of weakness and stupidity, the claims that he would never grow to be a real warrior were not those of loving siblings. Not once did they ever cast a smile in his direction - not that he could remember. They stole from him, picked on him in every form with every fleeting opportunity, and complained when they got in trouble, that Nightkit never got in trouble, that Nightkit was the bad one, that Nightkit deserved to be punished. He didn't miss them at all. They could die and he wouldn't even care. Part of him hoped they did. He didn't feel an ounce of shame.

Foxscar had told him plenty about his mother - they had both lived in BloodClan, a brutal group living in the city, shortly before he was born, and had supposedly fallen in love. It wasn't until after Arcticstorm had become pregnant with him and his siblings that she had left Foxscar - stolen his children from under his nose and taken off with them. He'd been born in ThunderClan, meant to never learn of Foxscar's name.

He'd always been treated differently by his mother, and he'd thought nothing of it. She'd often disciplined Ratkit and Duckkit, teaching them how to be strong, teaching them how to be warriors, shaping them into ThunderClan cats. Nightkit, although too afraid to even leave the nest anyway, was confined to the nursery, doted over by Arcticstorm. His weakness had been recognized, and for it Arcticstorm treated him differently. Even with her caring gaze and assuring words that had once lulled him to sleep, he now could see through her veil.

She had left their father. She thought she could erase him from Nightkit's life, a father who only wanted to raise his family. She treated him like a baby for his supposed weakness, something that Foxscar claimed to not even recognize. Foxscar said he was special.

He hated her.

Nightkit sat on the edge of the Lionclan camp. His brow was furrowed, his face twisted into a foul expression far beyond his years. Between his claws was a dried leaf from the previous leaf-fall, crumpled and shredded in his grip as the result of frustrated fumbling. He was silent, pale blue eyes running across the camp with an almost accusatory glare. He'd avoided contact with anyone other than Foxscar since his arrival, who was the only cat he trusted at this point. Anyone else who tried to speak to him was sure to get either a bitter silent treatment or an equally sour, biting retort.
Mar 7 2018, 09:40 PM
Nightkit had never been a sleeper. Even as he and his siblings grew out of their mother's milk, began to eat freshkill from the pile and generally grow stronger with every passing sunrise, the little black tom often lay wide awake at his mother's side, far after each of his clanmates had retired to their nests. As of recently, there was even more of a reason to stay up - the camp was twice as crowded now that the RiverClan cats had intertwined with their ranks. He didn't know much about them, which was why he was so wary - particularly of the river cats' foreboding leader, Hollowstar. He wasn't sure what it was about the black tom that nagged his attention, but he felt almost frightened of him. He had shrunk back into Arcticstorm's fur every time he heard his voice, every time he caught a glimpse of that dark, slender form slinking across the camp. Hollowstar was the reason his eyes had been open that night, long after the sun had sank beneath the horizon.

It was because he had been awake, he had been chosen. Foxscar would have likely chosen Duckkit for her strikingly similar appearance, or Ratkit for his evident strength and powerful size - but they had been curled at their mother's flank, lost in the grasps of sleep. Nightkit's pale blue eyes had stared back out at him from the second he had peered into the den. The stronger two weren't worth risking waking their mother.

The dark form had appeared from the shrubbery encircling camp - while fear had initially gripped Nightkit like a vice at the presence of the stranger, the large brown tom's gentle voice and reassuring words had quickly earned the impressionable kitten's trust. It didn't take much for the little black tom to slip out of the nursery, tailing his father with curious and vigorous pawsteps. It was on this journey that Foxscar would tell Nightkit of his origins, reveal himself to be his father, say that Arcticstorm had ripped him and his siblings from him, that he knew her well enough to know that Arcticstorm had never truly loved her son for his significant weakness in comparison to his other siblings. It took convincing, but the emotionally battered Nightkit ultimately believed every word.

When the two clans woke, Nightkit's absence would be very obvious. All who knew Foxscar would recognize the former ThunderClanner's pungent stench, but with any attempt to trace his trail they would find it came to an abrupt halt near the edge of the territory, near a large bank of mud that had accumulated due to the nearby flooding. Beyond it stretched acres of unclaimed land, land that went on for days and days with no notable stops.

Nightkit now belonged to his father.
Feb 27 2018, 10:10 AM
Leaders only? That was unfair! Arcticstorm always taught him to share his toys with Ratkit and Duckkit, even if he didn’t want to - going by that logic, surely that meant Silverstar had to share the Highrock. It made perfect sense.

Little claws scrabbled at slippery stone as Nightkit inched his way up the side of the massive boulder jutting out from the center of camp - it was shallow enough for tiny, wobbly paws to scale, but its peak was a few good tail-lengths above ground. Not that he really minded. He was going to make his siblings so jealous, and his two moms would be so proud of him! After all, he was going to be leader one day. It only made sense to start practicing!

The fluffy black tom had finally managed to climb his way to the top of the Highrock, and awe-stricken, pale blue eyes rounded as he took in the sight of the whole camp from above. He could see everything from up here, and it all seemed so tiny! A grin splitting his features, Nightkit puffed out his white-dashed chest like Silverstar did, stubby tail jabbed skyward. “Tundercan! If you-” he paused, trying to recall the ceremonial words the leader recited, “If you can catch a food, come to wock! Hi-wock!
Feb 17 2018, 11:44 PM
Nightkit was a peculiar individual. The smallest of his siblings, he had been born underdeveloped and thus had nearly succumbed to the clutches of death before he'd even taken his first breath, and yet, as if defying the laws of fate, he'd managed to pull through, the strength he failed to develop gradually seeping its way into his tiny body with each passing day. He'd been the first to open his eyes - though the default dull blue of every kit's eyes, the striking sky blue they would ultimately come to be was peeking through - and remained to last to figure out how to properly walk, his weak and wobbly legs not yet able to entirely hold himself up, and as such had adopted an incredibly awkward and shaky half-crawl. As for his personality, he was remarkably quiet, rarely speaking and often hiding behind his mother, preferring to stay inside to create his own entertainment rather than explore the camp alongside his two siblings. However, there were times where he could be found staring blankly into the forest, as if trying to look beyond the sky-scraping walls of trees stripped bare.

Today, Nightkit was being particularly bold - still concealed in shadow, but choosing to sit just outside the mouth of the nursery rather than within its comforting walls. His legs were sprawled out in all directions as he lay flat, holding a massive feather clumsily between his forepaws. He'd found the strange thing sticking straight up like a cat's tail in the snow, and rather than batting it around or ripping it apart, he had for the past ten minutes been turning it over in his paws, round gaze locked on the faintly striped surface with intense captivation. He likely wasn't going to move either, unless someone spoke to him - the little black tom had the tendency to create his own little worlds, and it took a bit of stubborn effort to pull him out of them.
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