Post by Fernpaw on Aug 31, 2006 16:07:02 GMT -5
Maluuni stumbled into the den, panting with relief at the welcome scent of her neat nest. She hurled herself into the nest, her blind eyes knowing exactly where it was. She curled herself into a small, wiry ball, squeezing her blank eyes shut---though it made no difference whether they were open or closed. The white feline was trying to forget the terrifying incident in the Dark Cave. Maluuni took deep breaths, calming herself. It was over now, nothing more to be afraid of.
Maluuni listened intently, hearing the soft sounds of the other cat's settling into their nests for their sleep. Slowly, night was creeping upon them, along with a dark cloud. No one noticed the cloud, probably because they couldn't see. No mortal could see something a spirit had made.
And a spirit had made that cloud. A hideous demon was back for a second try at Maluuni's soul. She had been so easy to terrify before because of her terrible past, and the demon was not about to let a StarClan warrior keep him away.
Maluuni tucked her nose under her tail, squeezing her eyes tight shut. Slowly, her breathing evened out as she settled into a peaceful slumber.
Large paws paced silently towards the entrance to the Warrior's Den. Striped tabby pelt and red auburn one rippled smoothly as burly legs stepped forward in a slow, easy pace. Two large, chiseled heads looked over broad shoulders at the still camp.
But the visitors did not percieve with their eyes only. Even the beauty around them could not dispell the growing feel of unease that weighed heavily upon their spirits and minds. They could feel it: restless, strong, growing, very designed and purposeful . . . a very special kind of evil.
It was not unlike them to ask questions, to study, to probe. More often than not it came with their job. So they naturally hesitated in their business, pausing to wonder, Why here?
But only for an instant. It could have been some acute sensitivity, an instinct, a very faint but for their discernible impression, but it was enough to make them vanish around the corner of the Den, melding themselves against the beveled siding, almost invisible there in the dark. They didn't speak, they didn't move, but they watched with piercing gazes as something approached.
The night scene of the quiet camp was a collage of stark blue moonlight and bottomless shadows. But one shadow did not stir with the wind as did the shrub shadows, and neither did it stand still as did the shadows of the stone outcroppings. It crawled, quivered, moved along the camp's floor towards the Warriors Den, while any light it crossed seemed to sink into its blackness, as if it were a breach torn in space. But this shadow had a shape, an animated, creaturelike shape. As it neared the Den sounds could be heard: the scratching of claws along the ground, the faint rustling of breeze-blown, membranous wings wafting just above the creature's shoulders.
It had arms and it had legs, but it seemed to move without them, crossing the camp and ducking under the brush that blocked the entrance. Its leering, bulbous eyes reflected the stark blue light of the full moon with their own jaundiced glow. The gnarled head protruded from hunched shoulders, and wisps of rancid yellow breath seethed in labored hisses through rows of jagged fangs.
It either laughed or it coughed---the wheezes puffing out from deep within its thraot could have been either. From its crawling posture it reared up on its legs and looked about the WindClan camp, the black, leathery jowls pulled back into a hideous death-mask grin. It moved closer towards the Den entrance. The black paw passed through teh door like a spear through liquid; the body hobbled forward and penetrated the den entrance, but only halfway.
Suddenly, as if colliding with a speeding wall, Rancour was knocked backward and into a raging tumble out of the Den, the glowing yellow breath tracing a corkscrew trail through the air.
With an eerie cry of rage and indignation, Rancour gathered himself up off the ground and stared at the strange entrance that would not let him pass through. Then the membranes on his back began to billow, enfolding great bodies of air, and he flew with a roar headlong at the Den, into it---and into a cloud of white hot light.
The demon screamed and covered his eyes, then felt himself being gnabbed by a huge, powerful vise-like grip of large jaws. In an instant he was hurling through space like a rag doll, outside again, forcefully ousted.
The wings hummed in a blur as he banked sharply in a flying turn and headed for the Den again, his talons bared adn poised for attack, a ghostly siren of a scream rising in Rancour's throat. Like an arrow through a target, like a bullet through a board, he streaked through the Den---
And instantly felt a searing pain in his front paw.
There was an explosion of suffocating vapor, one final scream, and the flailing of withering arms and legs. A great clapping of wings as Rancour soared up into the sky, disappearing into his cloud of darkness to recuperate and brood. Then there was nothing at all, except the ebbing stench of sulfur and the two strangers, suddenly inside the Den.
A large tabby stood, looking down at the sleeping occupants as the white light that surrounded him faded away.
"What do you think he was going to be this time?" Tigerpelt asked, "A spirit of harassment?"
His companion, the large jovial tom called Dragonfang, shrugged, a grim expression his usual happy-go-lucky face, "Or doubt . . . or fear. Who knows?"
Tigerpelt sighed in exasperation, "Curse the monster that killed Rancour! What do you suppose he was doing here? We've never seen such concentration centered on one cat before, at least, not here."
Dragonfang shrugged again, "It's probably because Rancour had such an easy time terrorizing Maluuni before. She's in such inner turmoil with herself, she doesn't know what to believe. Let's go see her."
The two warriors padded silently between the nests of slumbering cats, invisible to their eyes. Suddenly, the two were in front of her, Maluuni's white frame coiled tightly together.
The two couldn't help but just stand there for a moment, watching, studying, pondering.
"The little warrior," said Tigerpelt.
Dragonfang formed the words himself in silence, looking down at the sleeping feline.
"Yes," he finally mewed, "She will be the beginning. She will be the first one subjected to Rancour's actions. And she will be the first to fight it."
"But she's the only one. She's alone."
"There are many of them here," Dragonfang mewed, looking out across the still forms. "But they have yet to be tested in their faith in StarClan."
Tigerpelt looked down in admiration at Maluuni, before turning amber oculars brimming with sorrow towards his companion, "She's going to be hurt, you know that."
"So will every other cat who is subjected to Rancour's terror. And so will we."
"But will we win?"
Dragonfang's eyes seemed to burn with a rekindled fire.
"We will fight,"[/b] he mewed in a strong voice.
"We will fight," Tigerpelt agreed.
The two stood over the sleeping feline, on either side; and at that moment, little by little, like the bloom of a flower, white light began to fill the Den. It illuminated the back wall of the Den, slowly brought out the colors in the earthy room, and rose in intensity until the once plain and humble Den came alive with an unearthly beauty. The walls glimmered, and the nests glowed.
And now the two toms were brilliantly white, their former pelt colors replaced by a brightness that seemed to burn with intensity. Their faces were bronzed and glowing, their eyes shone like fire. They each placed a paw upon the back of the young cat. Together they ministered peace to their young charge, preparing her for the many spiritual battles she and every other cat Rancour targeted had to overcome. [/i]
Maluuni listened intently, hearing the soft sounds of the other cat's settling into their nests for their sleep. Slowly, night was creeping upon them, along with a dark cloud. No one noticed the cloud, probably because they couldn't see. No mortal could see something a spirit had made.
And a spirit had made that cloud. A hideous demon was back for a second try at Maluuni's soul. She had been so easy to terrify before because of her terrible past, and the demon was not about to let a StarClan warrior keep him away.
Maluuni tucked her nose under her tail, squeezing her eyes tight shut. Slowly, her breathing evened out as she settled into a peaceful slumber.
Large paws paced silently towards the entrance to the Warrior's Den. Striped tabby pelt and red auburn one rippled smoothly as burly legs stepped forward in a slow, easy pace. Two large, chiseled heads looked over broad shoulders at the still camp.
But the visitors did not percieve with their eyes only. Even the beauty around them could not dispell the growing feel of unease that weighed heavily upon their spirits and minds. They could feel it: restless, strong, growing, very designed and purposeful . . . a very special kind of evil.
It was not unlike them to ask questions, to study, to probe. More often than not it came with their job. So they naturally hesitated in their business, pausing to wonder, Why here?
But only for an instant. It could have been some acute sensitivity, an instinct, a very faint but for their discernible impression, but it was enough to make them vanish around the corner of the Den, melding themselves against the beveled siding, almost invisible there in the dark. They didn't speak, they didn't move, but they watched with piercing gazes as something approached.
The night scene of the quiet camp was a collage of stark blue moonlight and bottomless shadows. But one shadow did not stir with the wind as did the shrub shadows, and neither did it stand still as did the shadows of the stone outcroppings. It crawled, quivered, moved along the camp's floor towards the Warriors Den, while any light it crossed seemed to sink into its blackness, as if it were a breach torn in space. But this shadow had a shape, an animated, creaturelike shape. As it neared the Den sounds could be heard: the scratching of claws along the ground, the faint rustling of breeze-blown, membranous wings wafting just above the creature's shoulders.
It had arms and it had legs, but it seemed to move without them, crossing the camp and ducking under the brush that blocked the entrance. Its leering, bulbous eyes reflected the stark blue light of the full moon with their own jaundiced glow. The gnarled head protruded from hunched shoulders, and wisps of rancid yellow breath seethed in labored hisses through rows of jagged fangs.
It either laughed or it coughed---the wheezes puffing out from deep within its thraot could have been either. From its crawling posture it reared up on its legs and looked about the WindClan camp, the black, leathery jowls pulled back into a hideous death-mask grin. It moved closer towards the Den entrance. The black paw passed through teh door like a spear through liquid; the body hobbled forward and penetrated the den entrance, but only halfway.
Suddenly, as if colliding with a speeding wall, Rancour was knocked backward and into a raging tumble out of the Den, the glowing yellow breath tracing a corkscrew trail through the air.
With an eerie cry of rage and indignation, Rancour gathered himself up off the ground and stared at the strange entrance that would not let him pass through. Then the membranes on his back began to billow, enfolding great bodies of air, and he flew with a roar headlong at the Den, into it---and into a cloud of white hot light.
The demon screamed and covered his eyes, then felt himself being gnabbed by a huge, powerful vise-like grip of large jaws. In an instant he was hurling through space like a rag doll, outside again, forcefully ousted.
The wings hummed in a blur as he banked sharply in a flying turn and headed for the Den again, his talons bared adn poised for attack, a ghostly siren of a scream rising in Rancour's throat. Like an arrow through a target, like a bullet through a board, he streaked through the Den---
And instantly felt a searing pain in his front paw.
There was an explosion of suffocating vapor, one final scream, and the flailing of withering arms and legs. A great clapping of wings as Rancour soared up into the sky, disappearing into his cloud of darkness to recuperate and brood. Then there was nothing at all, except the ebbing stench of sulfur and the two strangers, suddenly inside the Den.
A large tabby stood, looking down at the sleeping occupants as the white light that surrounded him faded away.
"What do you think he was going to be this time?" Tigerpelt asked, "A spirit of harassment?"
His companion, the large jovial tom called Dragonfang, shrugged, a grim expression his usual happy-go-lucky face, "Or doubt . . . or fear. Who knows?"
Tigerpelt sighed in exasperation, "Curse the monster that killed Rancour! What do you suppose he was doing here? We've never seen such concentration centered on one cat before, at least, not here."
Dragonfang shrugged again, "It's probably because Rancour had such an easy time terrorizing Maluuni before. She's in such inner turmoil with herself, she doesn't know what to believe. Let's go see her."
The two warriors padded silently between the nests of slumbering cats, invisible to their eyes. Suddenly, the two were in front of her, Maluuni's white frame coiled tightly together.
The two couldn't help but just stand there for a moment, watching, studying, pondering.
"The little warrior," said Tigerpelt.
Dragonfang formed the words himself in silence, looking down at the sleeping feline.
"Yes," he finally mewed, "She will be the beginning. She will be the first one subjected to Rancour's actions. And she will be the first to fight it."
"But she's the only one. She's alone."
"There are many of them here," Dragonfang mewed, looking out across the still forms. "But they have yet to be tested in their faith in StarClan."
Tigerpelt looked down in admiration at Maluuni, before turning amber oculars brimming with sorrow towards his companion, "She's going to be hurt, you know that."
"So will every other cat who is subjected to Rancour's terror. And so will we."
"But will we win?"
Dragonfang's eyes seemed to burn with a rekindled fire.
"We will fight,"[/b] he mewed in a strong voice.
"We will fight," Tigerpelt agreed.
The two stood over the sleeping feline, on either side; and at that moment, little by little, like the bloom of a flower, white light began to fill the Den. It illuminated the back wall of the Den, slowly brought out the colors in the earthy room, and rose in intensity until the once plain and humble Den came alive with an unearthly beauty. The walls glimmered, and the nests glowed.
And now the two toms were brilliantly white, their former pelt colors replaced by a brightness that seemed to burn with intensity. Their faces were bronzed and glowing, their eyes shone like fire. They each placed a paw upon the back of the young cat. Together they ministered peace to their young charge, preparing her for the many spiritual battles she and every other cat Rancour targeted had to overcome. [/i]
