[size=8]His father had stood here many times before, and before him, another, as well. But his entire life had been lived with Permafrost on the throne, stood here, paws pressing into the warm, smooth, worn stone, gazing down and out, calling out announcements with utmost confidence. Since being a small child, Imperialstar had envisioned doing the same. He had dreamed of mimicking his father, dreamed of following in the white phantom's footsteps. It had consumed his life, this dream, and, hellbent on achieving it, a younger him had made unrealistic promises that had encouraged his cynicism.
Bullies had marched across the fruitful soil of his childhood. They had withered the budding flowers of hope and joy in his life and replaced them with weeds. They had cornered him, surrounded him, beaten him, ridiculed him, jeered at his loud and brash and whiny crybaby behaviour. And he'd shrieked. He'd shrieked and yelled and howled and yowled and declared that one day he would be leader. And when he was, he'd cut off their heads. He'd decapitate anybody who'd ever wronged him! He would get his deserved revenge, and he would bathe in their blood.
They'd laughed at that, of course. They'd not believed that a tiny little tiger cub, rare and beautiful in his golden pelt but hardly in his personality, could ever get anywhere in life. He'd be stuck at the bottom of the ladder for all eternity. Cannon fodder.
Cannon fodder.
Another body to feed the war, not a tactician. He'd kept the words to heart, and had admittedly viewed everyone at regular rank, including himself, as such a thing. Stepping free of those confines had been a relief. It had done little to deflate his false ego, but it had eventually taught him how valuable even the norm was. All the same, he lost none of his original desires, original goals. Climbing steadily into mid-apprenticeship, he'd still retained the belief that he'd one day take over the clan and sever the heads of all who'd ever opposed him.
Reaching Captain-ship, he'd started to have doubts. Learning more about the clan gave him a sense of personal love towards it, and he'd started to mature. Understand that that wasn't the best way to go about things. Lieutenant-Commander for a day, and he'd abolished the idea. Commander, and as entertaining as the notion was, as amusing as the dread on Impavidimagination's face had been at Permafrost's announcement had been, and it had only crossed his mind for reminiscing purposes.
And here he was, now. Finally where he'd wanted to be. At a year old, he was inexperienced. With no knowledge of how to lead a clan he relied on his elder advisors to teach him how to do things. If he missed something out, they'd add it in. If he got something wrong, they'd correct him. And he'd remember their changes for later to alter himself so one day, they'd perhaps not have to baby him.
Stood on the rock, he felt a momentary flare of anxiety, before he wrestled it down. This, he told himself, was where he was meant to be. This was what he was destined to do, this was what he was designed to do. As he'd climbed it, he'd felt some form of doubt. A little hesitation. He'd not been entirely sure if this was who he wanted to be, how he wanted to live. But now, set with an even stance and overlooking the clan- Imperialstar couldn't quite describe it. It felt right. He felt close and personal, but detached and alien, simultaneously. He took the ghostly essence of his emotions and revelled in it.
His father had called these meetings with such bluntness, such disregard, such confidence. But he wasn't his father. He wasn't trying to be his father. He was himself. A change. Perhaps not better, perhaps never better. But he was something, someone, and he'd been trusted, so ... That had to count for something.
The olive-eyed serval exhaled, blinking once, shifting his position somewhat. " ... ColouredClan, gather for a meeting. " he called. Well, no stopping it now.
( announcements made further in the thread'll be quoted here for convenience! )
[color=transparent][size=1pt] #rabimperialmind