I walk a lonely road~ (revived, youth loner, open)

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If you'd like some free FeralFront memorabilia to look back on fondly, see this thread from Dynamo (if this message is still here, we still have memorabilia): https://feralfront.com/thread/2669184-free-feralfront-memorabilia/.

    Ooc: this is a continuation/reset of the following thread : http://feralfront.com/index.php?topic=2065168.0
    Due to inactivity of others I have to reset this plot, and any and all who want to join; feel free to do so. I'm currently in Italy so my activity won't be majorly high (plus i'm 6 hrs ahead of the US east coast , my normal time) but I'll actively post whenever I can with my best quality work. It's been awhile since any threads have gone far and I'm immensely eager to start RPing again.


    IC: A lone tom shambled along the ground, injured, yet somewhat bandaged. He seemed aimless, merely wanting to find shelter from the harsh elements to live...yes, living would be nice. While his wounds were partially bandaged, the repairs were makeshift at best. The tom's fur, albeit ragged, was brown with a tabby pattern underneath the blood that soaked and dried in his fur. Suddenly, as if on queue, he stopped in his tracks and collapsed on the ground. I-I can't move anymore...no...I can't die here, not now...I have to keep going... The tom thought despairingly as he tried to lift himself back to his paws. However, it was fruitless; he was too injured and weak from hunger to move on his own. Is this the end...?

    [fancypost borderwidth=0px; font-size: 20pt; color: white; text-align: center; margin-bottom: -33px; letter-spacing: 6px]★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★[/fancypost]
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    [fancypost borderwidth=0px; width: 500px; height: 15px; background-color: #303030; font-family: georgia; color: white; letter-spacing: 2px; text-transform: uppercase;][align=center][b]trying to cross a canyon with a broken limb[/fancypost]
    [fancypost borderwidth=0px; width: 500px; height: ; background-color: #838383; overflow: ; text-align: justify; color: #0D0D0D; font-size: 8pt]Is this the end? It was interesting, how easil people accepted their fates. If they caught a glimpse of what could be death, it instantly haunted them, plagued them with doubtful thoughts of their own demise. It was rather sad to watch them give up when only slightly injured, when older cats of up to twenty years were still clinging desperately to the fringes of their weathered lives. The bot reason they had survived so long was because they fought for it- if you were going to give in so easily, it was no use living any longer. Life presented you with obstacles because you were supposed to overcome them.


    Enthrall had been faced with death hundreds, thousands of times in the memories of the dead. She had been burned alive and staked through her ribs, roped herself up and been roped up. She had seen so many inventive ways to end her own life, and yet she still trod the same earth as other living creatures without a scratch. Why? Because those deaths were only memories. They could be hours old or decades old, but she had lived and died through them all, pacing through the remnants of souls and experiencing their lives as if they were her own, understanding and then setting them free. Ghosts. They were ghosts.


    The hagard creature in front of her was not an uncommon sight. His prominent ribs that jutted out from beneath his blood-clotted fur and half-hearted, blood soaked wraps around deep wounds that smelled of infection were the raw mark of death upon him. People often create an image of death to better understand it, creeping up on them, disguised in a cloak of agony and pain, raising it scythe to bear down upon their exposed souls. But sometimes death didn't quite hit its mark, and that's where Enthrall came in. The ivory and black cheetah cub was a self-proclaimed "Prophet of the Dead," and similar to the Prophets of God she was the ghost's mouthpiece. She delivered messages and memories and was an outlet for their pain. She received in return, pieces of their souls infused into her own, to harvest.


    [b][i]"Show me your wounds," Enthrall ordered, attempting to breathe them telepathically to the male. Her bleached white jaws would never break open to speak again as she had towards Solarkit, that ha been a naive and reckless decision. She would not make it again. Her electric green eyes bore into him like razors as she moved towards him, silent as death itself, face apathetic. She came in peace, and proved so with an outstretched paw, to help him. [b][i]"I will clean them and stop the blood, but I need you to help me."[/fancypost]
    [fancypost borderwidth=0px; width: 500px; height: 15px; background-color: #303030; font-family: georgia; color: white; letter-spacing: 2px; text-transform: uppercase;][align=center][b]So I'd reasoned I was drunk enough to deal with it[/fancypost]

    What happened there felt like a dream; an apparition. Was he dreaming? No, this was real. But the voice he heard...was not from this other cat's muzzle. He discarded the thought; it mattered not. "My sides are injured greatly, and I have more wounds on my stomach, closer to my chest..." The tom managed to speak. The she-cat's green eye'd glow made his own green seem like a match in the middle of a black hole. This was beyond anything he had ever experienced; yet where was his fear? The tom felt...oddly calm. As if he knew what would transpire like he knows what had already transpired—yes, this was peace. His bandages fell at his will, strangely enough, as if some force had pushed them off for him. Blood spurted shortly thereafter from such wounds, but the flow was not constant. What this tom had yet to offer was so far unseen.

    [align=center][fancypost borderwidth=0px][justify][size=8]Approaching shortly after Enthrall, Burnt Alexandria came up alongside the cheetah, crystalline blue optics falling on the unfamiliar male. Casting her gaze briefly toward Enthrall, the War Chief simply nodded in encouragement for her to heal the male's wounds. The Tribe itself wasn't doing so hot at the moment: with the volcano having erupted, the sun working against them, and activity at an all-time low, Burnt Alexandria was more than willing to bring in a newcomer and nurse them back to health. "What is your name?" The War Chief inquired, light blue optics fixing on the tom. "I am Burnt Alexandria, the War Chief here."


    [hr][align=center]burnt alexandria } tobe } war chief } difficult } [abbr=elemental powers, telepathy]powers[/abbr] } biography
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    A slimmer of hope seemed to bring light back into the tom's dulled eyes. "War Chief...I take it that means you run...whatever should be nearby?" The tom questioned, with a slight laugh. "Not to be rude," he said immediately after, "I just never imagined I'd find another group of cats around. If you want my name, you can call me Treepaw, would-be medicine apprentice of Thunderclan—should that mean anything." The tom's tone seemed to darken as he spoke of his title. He, however, seems to know much of etiquette, despite being driven to madness (as anyone who would sustain the same wounds in his position would go just as crazy).

    [align=center][fancypost borderwidth=0px][justify][size=8]Burnt Alexandria gave a small shake of her head in disagreement, casting her gaze briefly around and wondering if said "head honcho" would make an appearance before returning her attention to Treepaw. "No, that would be the Chief. I'm the second-in-command, to become Chief after him." The clouded leopardess explained in a bit of an idle tone, lowering herself into a seated position. The War Chief's small ears flicked back at the mentioning of "would-be medicine apprentice"; kid wasn't very prudent, was he? "It matters not here." Burnt Alexandria affirmed with a small nod of her head. "I am Burning of the Alexandria Library, or Burnt Alexandria." The War Chief introduced herself, wrapping her tail delicately around her paws. She figured if he was interested in joining, he'd say as much.


    [hr][align=center]burnt alexandria } tobe } war chief } difficult } [abbr=elemental powers, telepathy]powers[/abbr] } biography
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    Treepaw sighed with slight dissapointment, but also what seemed like relief. "Names are but as strong as a title," he stated. "What I merely wish is to...escape this, ngh... predicament...I'm in. Afterwards we could talk," he continued, reeling in dizziness slightly from a combination of blood loss and pain, despite lying down. "Perhaps we can work something out, eh? ...Help a dying tom out...?" The young tom pleaded, hoping desperately to win over this tribal cat's pity. He knew that he was being assisted, but...what after?

    [align=center][fancypost borderwidth=0px][justify][size=8]The War Chief blinked at Treepaw's mentioning of the importance of names. The kid was more self-aware then she realized. Staring at Treepaw for a few seconds, Burnt Alexandria finally gave her shoulders a gentle shrug, averting her gaze toward the thick forest that surrounded them. "I suppose so." Burnt Alexandria commented, returning her light blue optics to the injured male. Ears flicking back at Treepaw's attempt of bribary, the War Chief's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "All are allowed to join the EclipseTribe. You are welcome to stay as a member of our ranks." The clouded leopardess offered cautiously, choosing her wording as to not seem neither rude nor impeding, yet not leaving the gate totally open for Treepaw to storm either.


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    Treepaw seemed delighted by the idea of anyone joining. Typically, most clans kept their options few if at all; he figured that this tribe might need some help. "If it means to repay you, then I will join you; magic and all." The tom seemed to be unfazed by speaking of magic, as if it were an ordinary thing. It was then that he caught his own attention and spoke up. "Ah, but I never told you. I have a...gift, you may call it. Of course, it is of such that my own clan kicked me out; for they were afraid that the power to control blood would bring disaster upon them. I know...very little of it, but I know that I can heal others by offering up blood to the divines, and I say divines because I do not know who or what up there receives it." He grinned, albeit painfully. "I'll offer even that to you, should you be so accepting."

    [align=center][fancypost borderwidth=0px][justify][size=8]Burnt Alexandria listened with mounting curiosity, ears repeatedly flicking back as Treepaw continued to speak. The ability to control blood? It certainly wasn't a new concept, many had that ability now thanks to their other elemental powers- however the War Chief had never heard of offering it up to a divine being for blessings. She'd heard of sacrificing, sure, but this was a bit of an interesting twist on it. "... There is no debt that needs to be repaid: life is a privilege, not a right decided by bigots." Burnt Alexandria commented in a bit of a stiff tone, having quite a personal experience with that statement since she was killed as a cub by her mother. "If it is your desire to join, then you may do so. If not, then be on your way with the knowledge that otherwise, you are trespassing. We gladly take in newcomers, yes, but don't tolerate squatters." Burnt Alexandria meowed, trying to avoid being as strongly opinionated as she usually was but that quickly fell through. "Powers are not discriminated here, either."


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    Treepaw couldn't help but laugh a bit. "Whatever you say, a vow is a vow, and I vow to repay you for the opportunity at a new life," he answered firmly. (Assumingly now that he has been treated due to the disappearance of our other party,) He got up, somewhat shakenly, to a stand. "If a chance at life makes way to a beggar, he won't throw it away. I can say with definite fact now that my life is your tribe's; my tribe's if I may be so bold. But, uh, I figure we should worry about this when I actually get there." Although worse for wear, the tom tried his best to stand upright, as a soldier might as his superiors pass by. He seemed to ignore the pain, although he could definitely feel it.