If You Want Peace: Chapter 1

A quavering exhale, a faint murmur caught on his hoarse breath. His lip twisted upwards in a vague upturn reminiscent to that of a smirk; however, bitterness traced his maw in a way that suggested otherwise. As his heavy paws ploughed through the scruffy undergrowth, flaking mud clotting his greasy fur, he could barely restrain the searing snarl that simmered in his throat. Stepping into the moon-touched grounds, rays of lustrous illumination casting dancing sparks onto their pelts, he raised his broad head to the canvas of vast space. The star-speckled sky - scintillating sparks that were once fabled to guide one's paws - was now so distant, muted. A haze had obscured his vision, a flimsy veil dulling his ire, luring his fire into the relentless grasp of grief. Fallen, deep into a pit of irreversible murk, that had masked him from his spirit. Shackled, shattered, and swallowed by the deluge... until someone had rekindled that inferno within. All it had taken, was that flickering spark... to set a flame to his heart. Morningpaw, this young apprentice, who had once been a mere speck in the crowd that night... had reopened his eyes. He'd been shrivelled for too long, falling into the gaping trap these devious monsters had opened. And now, vision free from obstruction, of the dizzying vertigo, he could see. Smokepaw could now gaze upon Silverpelt with a new light in his eyes... and a promise for vengence. They had never been there for them to follow, lest they blindly stagger into their cursed malice. They spoke of truth, yet their tongues hissed lies. Peace, war... it was all so far. How dare they preach themselves, when all that their presence welcomed was so distant from what they sought? Oh, they were cunning for sure. Using nothing but manipulative lies to get their way, nothing but the foulness that they desired to eliminate. Their honey-coated words, disguising the monsters of which they came, were intended to bring horror to all of these cats. This so-called Righteous Few bore a name that ignited false promises; what was righteous at all when they worked towards their ambitions with callous ruthlessness? Inflicting death upon innocent cats, inflicting torment upon those who grieve.

There was nothing to admire about the 'Righteous' Few.

His focus promptly shifted at the rustling emitting from the clearing's borders. Wispy tail fluttering, grazing against the bleak soil as he surveyed the assembly, Smokepaw offered an earnest blink in the vague direction of these warriors. He wasn't alone tonight, and however rare it would have been for him to wish for something so foreign, Smokepaw's taut demeanor eased substantially at the sight of company. These were all cats familiar to him. These were all cats that had spoken true words against their foes on that fateful night. And in the centre of it all... the cat who had ignited this scorching blaze... to which he raised his head. Her certain stance in these troubling times, her powerful charisma, and her impactful desires, her devotion to equity... would be recognised by all. That Gathering had striked them all with a realisation, it seemed: StarClan was not one that they could trust.. Having settled, his transient moment of doubt alleviated, the imposing tom lingered by the outskirts of conversation. He'd always been one to sit by and observe, to allow everything to transpire before him, to gain an insight on the situation at hand. Soundlessly, he listened. Each suggestion, each expression of these cats' thoughts or ideas, persisted in his mind. The proposals, the agreements, and the advice that would surely fortify their plan... they sparked in his mind until fireworks were clapping in his ears. Musing in silence, reflecting on the notions that would be so critical in achieving their ambitions, he gave his steady focus to each of the cats. Ravenmist, Redwolf... warriors who he would trust with his life, who had earned his reverence, Clanmates who had reaffirmed his beliefs, hopes and confidence in this cause; Ferretdance, Clovertwist... the warriors of WindClan who had sparked his respect, experienced cats who offered their own rewarding ideas, with logical views that would secure their scheme; Batbite... collected and composed, with valuable thoughts to share, whose knowledge was a potent tool; and Morningpaw, the one who had initiated this all, their leader in justice, whom Smokepaw had granted his faith. Each of them spoke with such conviction, and their passionate words instantaneously weaved reassurance into his rigid posture. Morningpaw had selected well - and with shared intentions... unity would blossom between all five clans. "A leap of faith: a leap towards freedom. It's without a doubt that we won't be alone in this battle. Count me in."

The poison that he had grown to despise, the bile sprouting in his throat, the contempt, revulsion and disgust that spilled from his maw... it could have been enough to send shivers down one's spine. There was a gnawing thrum ever-present in his voice, a humming growl that contributed to its disturbing quality... that truely communicated his raw, unrestrained fury. "They say they're in pursuit of purity - but at cost are they so willing to achieve it? They're ready to murder, to shatter all that we've ever known... just to eliminate a superficial 'foulness'?"

"They don't care about us. They don't care about our lives. However much they praise themselves as the all-superior, they can't disguise the fact that they're going against all the morals that they're trying so hard to enforce." A realisation of which reverberated in Smokepaw's brain, his nerves tingling with pique, his stomach lurching ceaselessly. Unsettled and perturbed... and yet, how could genuine tranquility, genuine serenity, ever crawl back into their lives? If not for this rebellion slowly trickling into action... if only they had all stood by, cowering in the name of these StarClan imposters... the satisfaction, the superiority, and the smugness of the Righteous Few would only be amplified. No... there had to be a protest, a riot, their hearts connected as one, as they revolted...

An uprising to eliminate the true foulness.


"Actions speak louder than words."
A guttural huff, resentment glistening in his dismal depths.

"Perhaps, they've realised this. Beyond their lies, they've taken matters into their own claws."

Razor claws sliding involuntarily from their sheathes,
spiteful venom residing in his spitting words.
He lowered his even gaze,
scanning over these ranks

...of those that he knew he could now trust.