The Dark Knight [open]
Jan 2, 2014 17:36:57 GMT -8
Jan 2, 2014 17:36:57 GMT -8
Batfrost
It's not who you are underneath, but what you do, that defines you.
He was a creature of fear. The ultimatum. A beast, peeled from a nightmare, his very gaze carved from some fiery oblivion, narrowed into daggers as they engaged the scene with a glacial cold and piercing intensity. Obsidian claws sliced into the snow, ebony fur bristling against the frigid winter air. He was a wraith, a silent entity of dread, merging with the evening darkness as only a distorted, ragged form. Any gaze would pass right over him, unless they were purposely searching, or adeptly trained. A stray strand of twilight struck his coal dusted fur, alighting ragged scars carved into the tom's heavy frame and setting it glowing for a brief second before a tremulous darkness returned.
The shadows were attracted to his pelt in such a way that they formed a greedy black cloak, draping over broad shoulders to flutter around his sides and spill out upon the ground in hungry tendrils. Batfrost watched the camp in silence, his tall, triangular ears standing tall upon his head as he listened, vigilant and brooding, a deep scowl plastering his foreboding features. His eyes were narrowed into optical razors, a firm, sharp glare that didn't miss the slightest of details. His mind was machine like and ever calculating, drawing up solutions to a million different problems in just seconds. Painting up a dozen possibilities as to how ThunderClan might progress. His thoughts were tangled on one particularly stressing topic. Promotions.
He certainly didn't approve of the gaping hole that was left in ThunderClan's ranks. But Batfrost wasn't entirely certain of the potential felines that the leader might pick from the crowd for the job. He knew he was paranoid. Knew he was overly suspicious. But it had saved him and others countless times before. It was for these reason that Batfrost didn't fight his instincts. Didn't fight the memories that flooded him, or the eerie thoughts and futuristic visions that flashed behind his eyes both good and bad. He would keep watch. It was all he could do for now. A fiery avian sang above his head, the Cardinal flapping it's fiery wings as it hitched upon the warm air currents for a quick, ascending ride into the sky. Batfrost grunted acknowledgement, but little more. The plump bird made his mouth water, and he slid out his barbed, pink tongue to swipe it across his jaws. Batfrost didn't usually eat until most others had been fed. He hadn't eaten last night. He supposed this evening would be as good as any, and there was a vole at the top of the pile that had been harassing his sight for awhile now.
The frightening, massive warrior tugged away from the enveloping darkness, cool, black, and trembling fingers reaching after him in protest. The gray light struck his sharp features, outlining firm muscle beneath his black fur, and as he brought himself up to full height, Batfrost truly was a magnificent and terrifying sight to behold. He was a horrid creature, molded by fear, his skeleton a powerful base, sheathed in thick, rippling muscle and hidden by a sleek, obsidian armor, fortified by platinum razors. Batfrost was much larger than most other warriors, in fact, he was monstrous, a wall of savage power supported by great pistons. He was fluid in both body and mind, though his mental health was somewhat questionable at times, and surprisingly agile, though it's his adept tactical mind that makes him such an asset in battle.
His large jaws parted to reveal rows of deadly incisors, glinting in the low, tremulous light, and his body shook with strength with every step. He drew nearer to the pile, his face stoic, masked by a scowl, and despite his large size, he made not a sound, every paw step mute upon touching the earth. It took many moons to reach such physical perfection. If only he had the time to go for mental perfection as well. His maw widened, revealing the black pit within, and plucked the vole from the peak of the pile, teeth sinking deep to unleash a spray of juices that tasted salty in his mouth. Batfrost carried his food back towards his dark corner to dwell in solitude, and began to dissect his prey with obvious self control, for while he ate sloly, his stomach was a ravenous carnivore.
The shadows were attracted to his pelt in such a way that they formed a greedy black cloak, draping over broad shoulders to flutter around his sides and spill out upon the ground in hungry tendrils. Batfrost watched the camp in silence, his tall, triangular ears standing tall upon his head as he listened, vigilant and brooding, a deep scowl plastering his foreboding features. His eyes were narrowed into optical razors, a firm, sharp glare that didn't miss the slightest of details. His mind was machine like and ever calculating, drawing up solutions to a million different problems in just seconds. Painting up a dozen possibilities as to how ThunderClan might progress. His thoughts were tangled on one particularly stressing topic. Promotions.
He certainly didn't approve of the gaping hole that was left in ThunderClan's ranks. But Batfrost wasn't entirely certain of the potential felines that the leader might pick from the crowd for the job. He knew he was paranoid. Knew he was overly suspicious. But it had saved him and others countless times before. It was for these reason that Batfrost didn't fight his instincts. Didn't fight the memories that flooded him, or the eerie thoughts and futuristic visions that flashed behind his eyes both good and bad. He would keep watch. It was all he could do for now. A fiery avian sang above his head, the Cardinal flapping it's fiery wings as it hitched upon the warm air currents for a quick, ascending ride into the sky. Batfrost grunted acknowledgement, but little more. The plump bird made his mouth water, and he slid out his barbed, pink tongue to swipe it across his jaws. Batfrost didn't usually eat until most others had been fed. He hadn't eaten last night. He supposed this evening would be as good as any, and there was a vole at the top of the pile that had been harassing his sight for awhile now.
The frightening, massive warrior tugged away from the enveloping darkness, cool, black, and trembling fingers reaching after him in protest. The gray light struck his sharp features, outlining firm muscle beneath his black fur, and as he brought himself up to full height, Batfrost truly was a magnificent and terrifying sight to behold. He was a horrid creature, molded by fear, his skeleton a powerful base, sheathed in thick, rippling muscle and hidden by a sleek, obsidian armor, fortified by platinum razors. Batfrost was much larger than most other warriors, in fact, he was monstrous, a wall of savage power supported by great pistons. He was fluid in both body and mind, though his mental health was somewhat questionable at times, and surprisingly agile, though it's his adept tactical mind that makes him such an asset in battle.
His large jaws parted to reveal rows of deadly incisors, glinting in the low, tremulous light, and his body shook with strength with every step. He drew nearer to the pile, his face stoic, masked by a scowl, and despite his large size, he made not a sound, every paw step mute upon touching the earth. It took many moons to reach such physical perfection. If only he had the time to go for mental perfection as well. His maw widened, revealing the black pit within, and plucked the vole from the peak of the pile, teeth sinking deep to unleash a spray of juices that tasted salty in his mouth. Batfrost carried his food back towards his dark corner to dwell in solitude, and began to dissect his prey with obvious self control, for while he ate sloly, his stomach was a ravenous carnivore.