March Gathering 2022

Ravenclaw scowled as she heard about Dawnhawk being spotted - again - in WindClan territory. Her claws ached to sink themselves into his flea-bitten pelt, but it sounded as if WindClan was going to get to him first. She ought to ask Bloodstar about heading them off. He was a former SkyClan member: it was only fair that they got first licks.

Then the moon went out, the stars disappeared, and everything went black. Ravenclaw stayed where she was, waiting for her eyes to focus in the gloom. There were many screams and cries about StarClan abandoning them, which made her roll her eyes. StarClan didn't give a rat's tail about them. Why would they start now?

As for Shrikestorm, he couldn't be sure why StarClan would be angry with them. Perhaps it had something to do with Dawnhawk. That seemed to be the most pressing issue. What was StarClan trying to tell them, though? What did this mean? He needed more time to think.

Icepaw was so startled at Forestpaw's sudden appearance that her claws unsheathed against the cold ground. When she registered her friend's voice, she calmed and her claws retracted. Her fur was still puffed with nerves, but she managed to return the affectionate gesture before Forestpaw pulled away.

Ratrunner. Good idea. If Forestpaw knew where he was, then they would be better off in his company. Forestpaw gave her a nudge and suddenly she could move again.

"Right. Let's go," she replied, forcing her voice to keep steady. She didn't know what was happening and the panicked screaming from several cats around them wasn't helping. But so long as she was with Forestpaw, and soon with Ratrunner, they would be alright.

They moved through the darkness, their small bodies pressed up against one another. Icepaw let Forestpaw primarily take the lead, seeing as the tom had at least some idea about where their mentor was. Her eyes nervously flitted to look at the leaders at the top of the Great Rock. Some looked unsettled, the rest looking unperturbed. Her focus went to Murkystar.

ShadowClan! Stay where you are and don't move.

Don't move...they would listen to those instructions once they reached Ratrunner. This was not the time to panic. Icepaw took another steadying breath and her body pressed tighter up against Forestpaw, to reassure both him and herself.

Icepaw and Forestpaw are hurrying to Ratrunner's side.

Morningstar snatched his allies up from the barn and raced through Windclan territory toward the Gathering. Sure, they could have gone for the easy targets in the camp and made short work of them, but what fun would that be? Slaughter at the Gathering would be far more entertaining, and as far as he was concerned, killing the softer, easier targets first was something Klaus would do, not Morningstar. At least fighting an entire Gathering would be a challenge worthy of his time and effort...

Not.

As he raced through the darkness, the shadows themselves seemed almost alive. Forms of cats began to become more apparent as Morningstar's new servants closed in on his location. Many of them. He wasn't stupid enough to bring only the Forgotten Order with him on his venture, no. These beasts were Dark forest cats who had rotted for so long  in the afterlife that they had forgotten their names and nature. They only desired one thing: To cause pain and suffering. Coated from head to toe in putrid filth, it would be hard to even make out a coat or anything beyond a silhouette. They left behind a trail of muck in their wake and perpetually dripped mud as they raced alongside Morningstar and the Forgotten Order.

As they approached the gathering at Fourtrees, Morningstar smirked, listening to the panic and the confusion in the air. There was fear-scent too. He inhaled deeply through his nose, drinking in the scent of fear like an expensive cologne. He sent a silent signal to the muddy, putrid smelling beasts around him, and they obeyed. Several of them raced to the edges of the hollow to close all of the cats at the Gathering in.

No one was leaving.

A solid wall of undead horrors closed off all hope of retreat and stood at the ready to carry out their master's orders. Morningstar and the Forgotten Order was still surrounded by many, yet another impenetrable shield. As they entered the hollow itself, the undead horrors and Morningstar slowed themselves to a casual walking pace.

"Starclan is dead!" Morningstar proudly announced. The filthy beast creatures parted just enough to let him pass between them and make himself visible to the entire Gathering. His neck would gaping and continuously pouring blood, Morningstar let everyone look at him for several heartbeats. He stood strong, tall and proud with a smug half smile on his face.

"There is only the Dark Forest left, and we rule over all of you! Clans, you will surrender. You will comply, or you will die!" His eyes then went to Bloodstar in particular, the only leader not perched on the Great Rock. He smiled, revealing only the tips of his fangs beneath his lips. "You berated Spottedstar for retreating from the Righteous Few for most of your life, no?" He licked the points of his fangs and his smoky, shadow-laced fur began to bristle. "Well here is your chance Bloodstar... are you going to fight, or are you going to lay down and surrender like a whipped dog; like Spottedstar?" Oh he was baiting the proud tom... hopefully Bloodstar wouldn't choose to be boring in the face of such impossible odds.

---

Bloodstar smelled the undead approaching before he saw them... and he cringed inwardly on himself and began to gag. The scent was even more unbearable when they surrounded the clearing. He couldn't make sense of what he was looking at, but the little bit that he did make out caused his fur to stand on end. This... these things... were not natural.

"Skyclan! Group together and get into a defensive position, now!" He barked an order, knowing an impending attack when he saw one. He readied a defensive fighting stance with his elbows and knees bent and his paws spread evenly apart in a solid rectangle. He dropped his chin low over his throat to guard it and pinned his ears back to protect them.

Then Dawnhawk's voice called out above the panic in the Gathering. His eyes snapped in his son's direction, immediately noting the open wound pouring blood and his blood-soaked neck and chest that ran down his right foreleg. He blinked, unable to make sense of what he was seeing still. The dark smoke radiating off of him was unnatural... Then Dawnhawk finished speaking and everything made sense.

Bloodstar's heart pounded in his chest and he focused on forcing back bile in his throat. He didn't know how much longer he could stomach the smell of these creatures that Dawnhawk had brought.

"I've never been a fan of Starclan but this..." He gagged again, a wet coughing noise that caused spittle to drip from his lips. He was going to get sick. He heard Dawnhawk's challenge loud and clear and he locked his green eyes on Dawnhawk's blue ones. He hesitated, not sure what he was going to do just yet.

---

Bearspirit bristled at the sight of both Dawnhawk and the foul creatures that he brought with him. So this was him... he had shown his true colors again. He actually aligned with the Dark Forest? He wasn't necessarily surprised, but he was sickened all the same. "He's not going to let us retreat... I'll fight if I have to. He's not harming my clan or you." He said to Swiftspirit. He meant it. He'd take on the entire Dark Forest army, the Forgotten Order, and Dawnhawk to keep everyone safe.

---

Darkpaw hissed at the undead things that surrounded the clearing, but there was no hiding his trembling. There was no hiding his fear scent. "I know I'm just an apprentice but I'll protect you, mom! I promise!" His voice was shaking and he hated that about himself. A gold and white tom with a fatal wound to his neck appeared and began to talk. Starclan was dead??? What nonsense was that? Starclan couldn't die! Could they?

"Come near my mom and I'll rip your ears off!" He growled at the alleged leader of this whole charade. His voice however, was barely audible and his body was wracked with tremors. He'd never been so scared in his whole life.

Unruly and unkempt fur sticking out in every imaginable direction, blood oozing from her countless wounds of varying depth and severity, a dark shape slowly materialized at the edges of the clearing. On every side of her were loyal, beastly creatures ready to rip whatever she pointed at to shreds, should she give the slightest indication she wished them to do so. Muddy, vile creatures, they were, soaked in the dredges of the nastiest concoction the Dark Forest could brew up. Far too long of a time had passed for them to be remembered ok earth; all they were reduced to was slightly feline-esque creatures full of unfettered rage. A smug look painted the she-cat’s face as Morningstar and his crew crowded the gathered cats, relishing in their unbound screams and shrieks of terror. Tail flicking, she stoof to her paws and slowly circled the perimeter, watching as cats ran yo and from, in search of their friends and loved ones. Her eyes locked onto one particular tom who was of particular interest to her, but seemed to stand out. Another cat was leaning into him for safety and comfort in their time of uncertainty and fear.

Panic painted his gaze, eliciting a grin from Vixenstar. With one swift bound, she leaped toward the tom with a wicked snarl erupting from her maw. In a sickeningly sweet voice, she said just loud enough for those nearby to hear, ”So sorry about this, love. My claws have been itching for a stretch for moons.” Razor sharp claws pierced the tom’s pelt as she pinned him to the ground, and finally, with little warning, teeth plunged into the tom’s neck. Crimson poured out onto the ground beneath then, and Vixenstar eventually felt the tom go limp underneath her grasp. Tail flicking as she admired her work, Vixenstar looked back to the she-cat that had clung to his side. ”Pardon my manners, dear. Vixenstar,” She said with a smirk. ”That must’ve been a good friend of yours, hm? Loudnose, was it? I suspect you’ll wish to join him, then?” Without giving the molly a chance to respond, Vixenstar launched herself forward, blood spattering from her wounds. Pinning Swiftheart to the ground, Vixenstar looked down upon her, smug look portraying all the words she didn’t say. For a moment she simply soaked in the terror on the she-cat’s eyes, missing being able to bury her claws into the warm pelt of ShadowClan carrion-for-brains.

Over the sound of the terror that flooded through the hollow, Pebblepaw could barely pick up the voice of his mother even though the queen sat beside him. He felt her fur brushing against his and suddenly felt like a scared kit again, and he ducked down to press himself into her shivering form.
He looked over to Flurrypaw with wide eyes and reached out to her with a paw, digging his claws into her fur as if she’d be ripped away any moment now. “Flurry, stay close. Don’t leave us,” he breathed, flattening his ears to his head as Swanmist let out an uncharacteristic wail beside him. He’s never heard her raise her voice above a murmur and now she was screeching-- a terrific thrill ran up his spine and raised his fur.
From out of the darkness came a voice that rose above the din, and then came the awful scent-- rot and decay and blood flooded his nose like rancid water running into a ravine. His stomach turned and a bile rose up in the back of his throat. He shut his eyes tightly and tried to keep himself from retching.
StarClan is dead? What the fish does that mean for us then?

It wasn't long before Comfreypaw had found him, bundling Daypaw towards Waterlily and Darkpaw. The lanky tom staggered as he followed his sister's push through the crowd, muttering apologies as he bumped into cats. He felt he'd barely caught up to them when a horrible stench flooded his nose, and with it came the pounding of heavy pawsteps... and sleek, dark-wreathed form, blood pouring from a gash in his throat. Daypaw shuddered and retched at the sight of him, buckling against Comfreypaw's side as he tried to hold in the mouse he'd had earlier. "What– why's he bleeding like that? And still talking? And– and StarClan's not... really dead, right?" The words were shaky, cracking with terror and the threat of oncoming tears. Even as Darkpaw beside him leapt to the defense, Daypaw couldn't bring himself to feel comforted by his family's presence as cold fear gripped his heart.


Newtspring had followed Spottedfrog hastily to Bloodstar's side, with a silent prayer that Orchidmask had been behind them. His father ordered them all to leave, but... SkyClan remained in the hollow, crowding around their leader as he muscled himself into the crowd. Then the smell of rot flooded the tabby's nostrils, and he recoiled against it; then the thick stench of blood, and mud-stained gold fur stepped into the clearing, heralding himself Morningstar, murderer of StarClan. Newtspring crouched, claws flexing into the earth, tail whipping as he squinted into the darkness at the ghastly figure of Morningstar.


Ironic. With a grimace, Shrikestep kicked her way through the snow lining Fourtrees; she had no urgency in her pursuit of tormenting e Clans. For the moment, they weren't going anywhere; she would reach them in due time. Frost clung to her legs, to the thick fur around her neck, and the dark molly wasn't sure how much of it was the perpetual ice embedded in her form, and how much was actually physical, caught against her pelt as she journeyed through the forest. Still, despite the season, the air was warm with life. Energy courses through her limbs, and she picked up an eager canter, and by the time she made the decision to descend into the hollow, she was sprinting.

Most cats were already cowering, wailing their terror as great beasts of mud swelled up around them, corraling them in their holy clearing. A few of the faces, she flashed a smile too, all leering teeth– she even snapped her jaws at one cat that looked determined not to be shaken, but she didn't stop for a moment, weaving effortlessly through the crowd like an apprentice experiecing her first Gathering. Then by chance– or by fate, either way –a familiar face caught her attention. A web of scars marred her pale pelt, and she was missing an eye.

Eagerly, Shrikestep rushed over to Beechfang, colliding with her blindside in an attempt to roll her into the earth. "My favorite bear hunter!" She yowled, giddy, as her paws pressed into the SkyClanner's side. "Oh, isn't it great to see me, like this? I'm certainly happy to see you, Beechfang! We're going to have so much fun."

Loudnose could hear yowling, something he couldn't make out. There was that smell though, that awful smell. He sat up from his ball of sadness, twisting his neck to see forms surrounding the gathering. Were they under attack? By who? It was too dark to see. The tabby tom could sense danger and fear, it was the only thing that clung to the air. With watery, yellow eyes he turned to Swiftheart. His sister. He held her in a tight embrace and licked her forehead gently. Something told Loudnose he wouldn't be leaving this gathering. He wasn't sure if he could be heard, but he meowed into her ears with the happiest tone he could muster, though his words were full of tears.

"Do not grieve for too long please. I love you. Tell everyone that. I love you."

It all happened so fast, one moment Loudnose and her were holding each other close unsure of what was going on with the dark sky all around them.  Their father was nearby as well and he told them to be careful she nodded and looked around in the dark but it was pointless the darkness portrayed nothing yielding no answer to what was occurring.  hmm odd, usually the shadows belonged to them yet it felt as if they were being used now against them.  Her ears twitched trying to listen for anything as the shadows gave away nothing at all.  Even the shadows it seemed were betraying Shadowclan tonight. Then out of nowhere dark figures appeared throughtout the gathering.  She gasped in horror as a loud voice rang out pronouncing starclan as dead.  This unknown beast and Bloodstar were squaring off as Bloodstar called for skyclan to defend.  

Swiftheart didnt have time to think about that as another dark creature of the most unruly of fur darted at them blood oozing out of her open wounds.  It was something out of a nightmare! suddenly a small amount of this made sense... the shadows betrayed them right now... because they belonged and yielded to whatever these things were...

She tried to squeal out a warning... but it was too late as the cat... no more so it was a creature! as the creature pinned her brother Loudnose to the ground in one fowl swoop and bit into his neck.

Swiftheart's jaw dropped hearing his final words as she ripped him apart right in front of her... It all happened in a couple of seconds, there was no time for Swiftheart to have reacted even if she was completely prepared and with ill lighiting and getting caught off guard, Loudnose was dead before she could raise a paw to defend him.  She looked down at his body in pure shock. His last words rang in her ears.  A Noooooo whimpered from her mouth. as she couldn't believe what she just saw.

The next thing she knew she was being pinned to the ground by Vixenstar no doubt she was about to have the same fate if she did not act quickly.  She squirmed hard and put her chin down to her chest not letting her throat be exposed and she kept squirming keeping a moving hard to hit target for Vixenstar as she positioned her hind legs under the large undead she cat creature in an attempt to toss her off... it didn't work... "Ratrunner!" she cried tears running down her face as she tried to get his attention, realizing this could be the end for her. "anyone... help me" she wailed.

The wan hour of evening was shaded with the tumultuous throb of blood, an all-consuming roar of motion and noise slipping across the moon and all those who dwelled beneath it with the silent ease of venom descending upon vital circulatory functions; shock seizing every well-tuned band of musculature of each and every onlooker with all the exceedingly finite grace of a sudden seizure. The milliseconds that lapsed in seminal wake of Jaystar's parting detriments at the behest of the secondary tree-dwelling Clan, infinitely infinitesimal in all the ways that it was just as agonizingly long, were characterized by an abject calamity- the world rendered down to little other than a newly-hatched chick thrown from its nest with little regard. Death. Decay. Darkness. The stench that curdled atop the terse darkness was one that encircled the throat with a choking intensity, the intent to destroy and suffocate so terribly imminent that little could be done other than drawing a haphazard inhale towards collapsing lungs. Death of the unreachable and death of the reachable, all the same.

All at once, there were too many thoughts blossoming across the hot waters of his roaring consciousness, tangible like spidery webs of algae, greedily stifling all the necessary oxygen and nutrient.

Watching as the newly-christened Morningstar leered about prophecies of awaiting doom within the sanctimonious crowd of both known and unknown, watching as shapes seemed to web about into thin air from the yawning darkness fringing all about. Watching, watching, watching. There was much Jaystar was bound to say in such infernal moments, obligated to instruct those who held the misfortune of his ownership, yet the uproar of stimulus pouring into his puzzling brain kept him thoroughly occupied. Death. Decay. Darkness.

Well, until a particularly familiar shape in the crowd just happened to catch his attention.

"My lovely, lovely Vixenstar," Jaystar's melodic voice rose above all the ensuing calamity sparked by the ghostly creatures sudden tearing of all things living flesh, angular features illuminated in an uneven washing of muddled red lighting, the similarity to his particularly troublesome forbearer exceptionally visible in such a terrible revelation, "you did not speak of your intended arrival when we last visited!" Though the thunderous platitudes were formal, there was just the faintest hint of honey-like welcome simmering low beneath his words; as though he was being made to converse with one who was familiar, not one who had just cruelly struck down another cat for the simple offensive of existing. It was as if... they knew one another. Well.

Angular chin tilting upwards in a meaningful deliberation for careful consideration of the evidently dire circumstances, Jaystar's preliminary reaction was one of muted curiosity. Like he was merely puzzling over an unanticipated visit from a companion who rarely had time for the luxury of niceties, and not the arrival of the shambling undead beckoned at the urgency of partially visible ghosts. Dark pupils slipping across the honeyed surface of his wine-dark gaze, the dark-furred Leader of RiverClan merely cocked his head at the sight of ghastly Vixenstar absolutely tormenting innocents within the choking confines of the warbling crowds. Though it was certainly an undeniable surprise to find his mentor roaming about within the crowd, it was not entirely unwelcome. Like the shock of touching a partially healed wound, tension rippling out across the skin as the nervous system made a frantic attempt to categorize information within the clinching grasp of damaged nerves.

"Had I known, I could've likely arranged some more.. decorum on RiverClan's behalf."

Frostgaze bore witness to the stars blinking out of existence with nary a sound. They were simply gone in an instant. Suddenly there was a small collision with him, and pale blue eyes glanced down to see Snowpaw huddled within his fur. He made no move to shoo her, allowing her to stay, for a time. This was a... curious situation. At least Murkystar had already given an order, and Frostgaze was not inclined to add much. Then there were noises, and the sharp scent of... decay? Looking down to his adopted kit, he slowly articulated, "Snowpaw, put yourself up against the Greatrock and stay behind me." He quietly glanced to the other deputies, exchanging a nod with them. Whatever was happening, this would require the leadership of the clans to be together. To work together. They could not be divided now.

Then a form made its way into his sight... Dawnhawk. The one who had raided his clan... sat on his unconscious body! Cold fury welled up in the deputy's chest, but he made no move, other than sliding out his claws and ensuring Snowpaw was in a safe position. To his fellow deputies, he simply stated, "I am not planning on surrendering to this... this thing. Respectfully, if you are planning on surrendering, I recommend moving away. I will not be giving up without a fight." A low growl made its way onto the tail end of his words, piercing eyes staring only at the cat who had brought the stench of death to a sacred gathering. Who seemed to have defiled the stars themselves.

---

Ashfall blinked, and the stars were gone. It took a moment to register, but then the shouting started. The panicked rushing of apprentices and warriors alike. No. That was all she could think, simply staring up at the starless sky. Then a stench filled the air, and the sounds of cats moving toward the clearing put her on high alert. She moved into a defensive stance, moving closer to any unaccompanied apprentices she could see. No cat would be injured tonight on her watch, whatever was happening.

Then she heard his voice.

Immediately Ashfall whipped around, twisting her bad ankle in a strange way. "Dawnhawk!", she yowled, rage filling her voice. This is what she had trained for. All those nights, all those wounds. The time she had spent, she could finally deliver justice. Limping toward her father, she got closer and closer to the threshold where clan cats ended, a gap, and then Dawnhawk's forces. As she reached the edge, she could see just beyond the wall that protected cats within a cat whose face she had only seen in her dreams, her nightmares... "Slatethroat?" She whispered, staring with her one eye across the gap, rage dissolving into confusion that made way into a sudden understanding of the grim possibilities that awaited her. All movement stopped as she watched across the divide, ready to fight if her father made any movements toward her.

She would have to wait until Slatethroat approached her... she was confused. Angry. She wanted to kill her father but it looked like he was already dead... how could she kill the dead? Would Slatethroat keep his end of their bargain? Maybe. That's all she cared about, the power to punish him. To serve justice for his crimes. For all his crimes. She would be justice.

---

Ares lumbered after his father with a clenched jaw and stern gaze. He was not his father's son right now. He was a soldier of Morningstar. That's all he was, there was nothing but that fact. Golden eyes watched the undead that went with them carefully, fully ready to protect Morningstar if it was required. Soon enough, they had entered the area in which the clans held their "gathering". Idiots, they were easily caught and would be easily killed. No tactical sense. His gaze slowly made its way to his grandfather, who was already in a defensive stance. Ready for round two already old man? he thought, eyes narrowing. It was tempting to go and assault now... but no. It was unwise, and would only get him killed. No, he would wait for orders. Good soldiers follow orders.

---

Hawkpaw had been grumpily sitting, silent, unmoving. Then the stars disappeared from the sky, and chaos broke loose. Immediately Hawkpaw was on his feet, sprinting through the gathering to Coyotepaw, weaving through warriors as best he could, though he shoulder-checked a few. "Coyotepaw!" He yelled, barely heard through the shouting that was already occurring in the clearing. Finally, green eyes landed on her pelt, and he quickly moved next to her. "You're alright, right?"

The apprentice, though stoic, couldn't help but be slightly shaken. The stars had just.. disappeared... just like that. Then there was a stench and the sound of movement from beyond the outer edges of the clearing. Eyes straining, he could just make out movement, and cats... a lot of cats. He moved in front of Coyotepaw, but he could hear them everywhere. A cat began talking. A dead cat, with a huge wound in his throat and blood pouring from it proclaiming the death of Starclan. It wasn't as if he had ever felt beholden to them but... dead? Really? A growl rumbled in Hawkpaw's chest as he lowered into a defensive crouch. No cat would hurt Coyotepaw if he had any say in it.

Frostgaze is speaking to the deputies and protecting Snowpaw.
Ashfall has gone to the edge of the gathering to watch Morningstar like a hawk.
Ares is guarding Morningstar.
Hawkpaw is protecting Coyotepaw.

One singular, ice-blue eye peered out from the shadows surrounding the clearing just seconds before the she-cat emerged. She was somehow ghastly pale, and yet simultaneously draped in shadow, tendrils of dark smoke rising from her sleek, pastel pelt as she stepped from the crowd of mud-soaked ghost soldiers. All around her, the air tasted of fear... it was intoxicating.

Rainstrike breathed in through her mouth, the bitter cold sharpening her senses like a claw against her skin. She was used to the cold, but this was different, this was fresh, rather than the muggy, stale air of the Dark Forest... this felt like home. The former ThunderClanner slipped through the crowd, expertly ducking and weaving around the masses of terror stricken cats. The scent of blood permeated the air, and she glanced over to watch Vixenstar spill a ShadowClanner's lifeblood upon the ground. Getting straight to the fun, I see, her breath quickened in excitement, and the ground beneath her blurred as she accelerated, kicking up snow in her wake.

She had a goal here - most of the cats who retained some form of sentience did, she supposed. But that could wait, surely... there was time for a little wanton bloodshed. Finding a target in the crowd, Rainstrike's claws slipped from their sheaths as she maneuvered her way towards the pair, a large spotted tom and a smaller, paler, she-cat. "Well," she purred, moving around them in a half-circle. "What is it we have here?" Her nostrils flared as she drew in their scents... "RiverClan..." her eye curiously met the tom's, and then flicked downward, "WindClan..."

A wry smile painted her lips. "Tsk tsk tsk. What a shame... it seems the forest hasn't changed all so much in my absence, after all." Her head shook sadly, but it was a mocking, ingenuine sorrow. "I guess the lesson needs to be RE-TAUGHT," as the final word left her, Rainstrike was leaping forward, claws outstretched towards the she-cat, face twisted into a horrifying, shadowed visage, her teeth stark white against an opened and snarling maw of swirling darkness.

Calypso had followed her father without a second thought. Even with his appearance change, even if his personality seemed to shift just slightly, she followed him without question, but now.. seeing all this in front of her she wasn't sure.. The death.. while some of it could be justified, it seemed unnecessary.. She wanted to say it was cruel.. but she couldn't really speak on behalf of that considering the things she had done over the past few moons under Klaus. The clans deserved it didn't they? Skyclan at least did that she knew, but the rest? Would they try and fight when they would lose? Or would they accept their fate?

A single cat caught the attention of the gold and white rogue. She was alone, separated from the rest. Alone.. this She-cat might try to put up a fight and die in the process but Calypso could prevent it maybe. She weaved her way down among the crowd, ignoring the gross looking creatures around her. Eventually she halted from her quick pace right in front of Mintpool. "Don't move.." Calypso warned, her tone harsh and demanding. "Comply and you will be safe." She didn't know if that was true, but she wanted to believe it was, though she couldn't say the same for the other cats the She-cat was calling for.

--

Starlingflare's single eye had turned to the interupters that had shown at the gathering. The gray Tom remained in his spot, but a smirk slowly made it's way onto his maw. So it was finally time? Yellow eyes flicked around the crowd taking in the.. well the weird smokey cats that littered the clearing now. Some even going as far to kill some of the warriors in the area. Good, those who weren't strong didn't deserve to stick around. One thing he didn't see though was Flintfang.. where was his mentor? Was he somewhere lost in the crowd? Or did he not want to show his face after all. Either way it didn't really matter. There was more than enough cars here that could pick up where Flintfang left off if the time didn't show himself.

Yellow eye turned to Vixenstar. His tail lashing behind him in excitement. Finally, Thunderclan could be strong again, and with their help they would finally make it there.

--

Dovefrost sat frozen. The overwhelming stench made him want to gag, but fear gripped his heart and muscles like a vice. If he moved.. would they kill him too? Stars.. would they straight up get rid of him now since he was a medicine cat? A direct link to Starclan who they claimed was dead? The large white tom didn't know what to do. Green eyes flicked towards the leaders, focusing on Stoatstar in particular. What should they do? What would Thunderclan do?

--

A mist seemed to spread with every paw step, rolling low and clinging to every blade of grass below it, as another decomposing cat had stepped in the clearing. Her body, while somewhat whole, was fading in and out of existence, switching from being solid to the transparent must that surrounded her. Her form, while not without it's death wounds, didn't bleed on a constant like the others did. It seemed her last visit to the living realm took it's toll.

The misty She-cat continued to move forward, grace in her steps, fire in her amber eyes. She was here again, and she wasn't going to fail this time. Smokefang, or the mist, as she was called moved towards the great walk, giving nods and small smiles to the ones she had passed, waiting to speak until she reached the cat she wanted to speak to the most.

"Stoatstar." she said, right as she stopped. "You have had the worst time haven't you?" She didn't dare make her way up on the rock right now. If she did it was likely the brutish leader would try and attack her, and that isn't what she wanted right now. "Inheriting that mess of clan, forced to pick up the pieces and make it into something strong again." Despite her mess of a form, her voice was smooth, calming. "I can help you, you know. I want nothing more to see Thunderclan strong again. It's just a shame that I had to help you in this... Violent manner, but I suppose it will have to do. Now Stoatstar, I don't want Thunderclan to suffer anymore than you do, so will you let me help you?'

A large, brown, tabby trudged through the snow in the middle of the deathly march as his long and silky fur waved in the breeze. His large, broad shoulders towered over many and he was quite alright with this. It would give him a better view. By all accounts, aside from the scowl on his face, he looked friendly and welcoming. Warm, and comforting. One a scared clanmate would seek out for comfort. He would use this to his advantage now, as he did when he was living. His appearance and demeanor allowed him to carry out his deeds for seasons upon seasons with no suspicion. Every Dark Forest cat would have a motive now that they were returning. Many, if not most, just wanted pure bloodshed. Just kill them all, they'd say. But no, not him. He already had so many deaths under his paws. Nightember, Dawncall, Doepetal, Stormsight, four or five kits, three elders... While he wouldn't be against killing again, the tom simply wanted to feel surrounded by loyal followers again. Train again. Loyal family members. He could achieve this, with ease really. He was sure he could gather some sort of followers.

They made it to the Gathering. Warm, yet cold from death, eyes scanned the clearing as he looked for his chance to make his dramatic entrance. Already a cat was murdered. Ah. Oh well. Unrivaled fear worked well for him. Ah. Two apprentices, scuttling for some comfort and guidance from some other warrior. Picking up the pace, he sprinted with ease to intercept the rushed apprentices, but he was a heartbeat too late. They made it back to, well, Ratrunner. Oh well, he had already decided on this course of action.

"Young ones, running in fear will only make you greater targets. Please, allow me to protect you. I'll protect you too, Ratrunner. None of you worry." His voice was calm and soothing. Or, in a tone, he would have used in life. Time may have chilled his tone, he was unsure of how this would affect his natural charm. He held out his tail, further blocking their path from escaping past him.

Stagshade was back.

Stagshade is speaking to Ratrunner, Forestpaw, and Icepaw.

---

Coyotepaw was calm until the scent of death hit her nose. StarClan, what was that? It was retched and she coughed as the scent grew stronger. Finally, the panic around her was settling into her own heart and it started to race. She felt exposed, alone, and scared in a way she never felt before. Frantically, she looked around for Hawkpaw. Why didn't she just sit with him in the first place? Playing it cool was harming her now, instead of helping her. A rush of relief waved over her when she spotted Hawkpaw, hastily making his way to her and plowing down any who stood in his path. He joined her side, checking in on her well-being. "I- 'm alright. But I don't know what's going on. Are you okay?" Cats were streaming into the clearing now. A strange cat she had never seen before slaughtered a cat with ease and attacked another one. They were everywhere, circling everything. Her back felt exposed, and swiftly she turned her body so that she was facing Hawkpaw's tail-end, and Hawkpaw facing hers. "I'll watch this side... We need to find a way out." They were surrounded.

Coyotepaw is guarding Hawkpaw.

Viperfang seemingly stepped out of the shadows, his green eyes gleaming with unrestrained hunger. His sleek spotted pelt was gaunt against his frame, only adding to the ravenous look that he bore. No one that would remember him was here, none of his close kin walked the earth. Perfect. He had no reason to feel guilty tearing their pretty little throats out.