|| hearing voices || {havoc's nine lives}

[Dusk]

LIE AWAKE IN ED AT NIGHT
AND THINK ABOUT YOUR LIFE
DO YOU WANT TO BE DIFFERENT?

watch me carefully
my thoughts are still my own
if i speak, it's likely important

It was evening already. The sun had long since bid it's final farewell to the world for that day and sunken below the horizon; not even the hues of twilight remained in the sky. Overhead, all was a sleek, inky darkness of indigo broken only by the faintly coloured specks of stars embedded in the canvas. Strange, glowing things - some would call the stars, it was still preferable to think of them as the spirits of warrior ancestors. Silverpelt. Havocflare dearly wished for them to be dead warriors keeping a diligent watch over earth-bound kin, especially that night. He would need their strength, for Starclan could be closest to him no other time than this. Paintedstar - Paintedwing now - had stepped down from her post as leader, and it was his duty as deputy to fill the now empty role. Duty or no, the small Zephyrclan warrior could not help but feel anxious and even regretful. He'd never been the sort of tom to look for power, and he was getting on in age. Fifty moons now. Fifty moons of service and blood, sweat, and tears given up to the cats he considered his closest family. Becoming deputy had been a shock, and not necessarily wanted as he'd replaced an age old friend. The feline had expected to retire to the elder's den long before Zephyrclan would need another leader. A rueful smile tugged on his maw as he considered the ironies of his life. He could not simply refuse the place of leadership, and if he died for his clan by giving up many lives, then so be it.

I'm hearing voices all around
I'm hearing voices calling out

The deputy froze at the snow-littered entrance to the glacier cavern. Suppose Starclan refused him. After all, he had no clan blood, though few, if any, recalled the fact besides himself. Who would be there to greet him? Thoughts flew to two particular she-cats, Swishstar and Slatestar, two leaders cut down in their prime, and younger than himself. He hoped they'd be there. He had no kin in Starclan, at least he didn't think so. The brown tabby shook his head at his own kittish fear. There was no point in waiting and wondering, he would have to venture down and accept whatever happened. For all he knew, they would reject him and force him to give a message to Paintedwing. Or, and he hardly dared to think of this, Starclan might not appear at all. Silence was the worst type of denial. Steeling himself, he resumed his journey into the underground, branching off instinctively at a fork in the main tunnel. White paws padded quietly against the stony ground, chilling his his paw pads with every step he took further into the darkness. Lacking star, sun, or moon, it was impossible to tell how far he wandered down the narrow path. He hardly recalled the one time he'd ventured to the crystal cavern as an apprentice, it seemed so many moons ago. A vague sense of awe was all that rose when he attempted to dredge up the memory. Eventually, he stepped into the cavern, breath catching in his throat as ocher eyes took in his surroundings. The cavern couldn't have been too large, but the shining crystals embedded in the walls and the light reflecting off the frosty pool in the center of the rocky hollow made the room feel far larger than it was. It was almost as though he were stepping into a living being, the place brimmed with an unseen energy and unearthly glow. His own fur was bleached by the light refracting off the gems. Havocflare walked cautiously over to the pool, crouching down against the chilling stone and craning his neck to better reach the water. He froze, moments from lapping up the liquid, once again doubtful and cautious. Was this the right decision? He could still turn back, tell Paintedst-wing to appoint another cat for the role. 'Cowardly tom, face what you must face.' With chiding thoughts echoing in his head, the deputy scooped up a tongue-full of the light-filled water.

What would they say?
What would it change?

A wave of cold whipped through his body, vision darkening as he felt everything fading away. A moment of terror filled the older cat, and his eyes sealed shut until he felt warmth seep once more into his limbs. At first, he could only open his eyes a crack, but the narrow slits widened as he took in the new scene. He'd never seen such a place, but it seemed oddly familiar at the same time, like something he'd heard of in a story. It was a forest glowing with the same light as the crystal cavern, a silvery-blue sky overhead filled with countless stars; far more than he'd ever seen any night on the moor. 'Odd,' he thought, contemplate the vision coolly. Leveling his gaze, the cat's brows rose as he realized he was far from alone in the place. All around, cats were emerging from the forest, looking almost solid, but with an eerie light shining from their pelts. Many faces were familiar, and more than once he felt a twinge as he spotted old friends lost in battle and age. A cat stepped forward. Havocflare looked on in shock as he recognized the calico.

I'm hearing voices all around
I'm hearing voices making sounds

"It's been awhile, hasn't it?" Frostswirl mewed, blue eyes as jolly as ever. Words formed in the deputy's mind, but failed to make their way out of his jaws as he observed his former mentor. "Shocking, I know. Still, hold yourself together for a while longer. Are you ready to receive your new lives?" He nodded, still unable to bring himself to speak. Frostswirl smiled gently, stepping forward to close the gap between himself and his old apprentice. "With this life, I give you joy. May you use it to see light in the darkest of times," he mewed, touching his nose to the other tom. Pure, uplifting happiness filled Havocflare as he received the life; it warmed him and left him brimming with confidence. The life was oddly pleasant to receive, elating, in fact. Nothing could bog him down, and though it was painful to see his beloved mentor slip back into the ranks of Starclan, Havocflare also felt ready and willing to be given the next life.

The next cat to step up was a ginger and white tabby, familiar to the tom, though the sight of her didn't tug at his heartstrings like Frostswirl's image had. A companion from his earliest days as a warrior, a small crush he'd once had; Littleflame. "With this life I grant you compassion. Use it wisely to understand and sympathize with all cats, be they from your clan or another," she murmered as she touched her nose to his. Once more, the life was gentle. Flowing into him like like a warm wash of water, but, unlike the last life, it left the tabby feeling somber. A third feline stepped forward, another she-cat. Sootshade, a gray cat who'd been and elder when Havocflare was an apprentice. She looked over him with cold, blue-gray eyes, and eventually gave a grudging nod as though she only just approved of what she saw. The tom resisted the urge to smile, she'd always been picky. "Loyalty,' she mewed brusquely and leaning forward to make contact quickly. "Use it to make decisions best first for your clan, and for you only second." This third life came as a shock after the rather mellow first two, with a painful shock rippling through his body. This was true loyalty, suffering pain for the good of others, even if it meant his own death.

He gritted his teeth to resist yowling, only vaguely aware of the one-more-young she-cat stepping away and being replaced. A tom smaller than himself looked up at Havocflare with wide copper eyes. It was Tornpaw, an apprentice he'd lost in a border skirmish one hard leafbare. The deputy tried to look away from the dark furred cat, but Tornpaw held his gaze with eyes as fierce as though he were in battle. The head-strong apprentice was practically daring his former mentor to break the stare. "I give you valiance. May you use it to never shy from battles and adversity." This life swept through him like an angry tempest, a whirlwind of battle and bloodlust and pain seeping into every pore. For a moment, it felt as though he would keel over, his legs threatening to buckle under his weight. Too quickly the next Starclan cat stepped forward to give out the fifth life. It was his adoptive mother, Harespring. He hardly recalled his foster mother, though she'd always been kind to him and happy to take him in with her final litter. She looked restored and young, a warrior in her prime. "Havocflare, with this life I grant to you protection," her voice still sounded old and wise, even if her face was that of a cat hardly thirty moons. He'd expected a warm life, one to restore him and give a respite from the painful lives he'd received. Rather it was the opposite, the life surging through him, raw and sharp. This was the love of a mother, ferocious and angry at all that threatened her kits. "Protect your clan, for they are your children now."

His next life came from a grim-looking tom, oddly familiar, yet not. Havocflare stared at the light brown tabby with strangely dark stripes. "Still living in havoc, I see," he mewed in a low baritone. Realization struck Havocflare like a wave. His father. But... Aarti had been a loner. How could he be in Starclan. A slight smile lifted on the dead tom's face. "When I first came to the clan, they called me Buzzardflight. I suppose that made me part of the clans, if I am only allowed in here on rare occassions." Aarti-Buzzardflight leaned down to touch noses with his smaller son. "I grant you the gift of fortitude. May you use it to never give up, never fail, and never run from something you think you can't face." It was an oddly mixed life, stinging, but not as painful as the previous three. Mostly, it left him feeling weary and burdened, as though he had to bear world on his shoulders.

What would they take?
What would they say to me

The tom glanced around as he waited for a seventh cat, searching the crowd for movement. There was a moment where the warrior thought they might refuse to grant him anymore lives. Perhaps while Paintedwing still lived he would lack the lives she had. Soon, though, a massive, long-furred cat stepped forward; Havocflare stared as he looked up at the familiar face. Ripplesurf looked as bright in Starclan as he had back in Zephyrclan, perhaps even more so now that the burdens of a warrior life were ended. He grinned at his old-friend, purring, "Havoc-hare, I grant you vitality. Use it to find strength to carry out your duties until your last breath." The life soaked into him like sunlight, leaving him brimming with what felt like boundless energy. He could run across the entirety of Silverpelt and still not be worn out. Too soon, the former deputy slipped back into the ranks of other cats. Havocflare looked about curiously. Who would be next? He had a hope of who it might be, but the spiky-furred tom dared not imagine if only to have his hopes dashed.

If only I was listening?

TAGGED ! for who?
WORDS ! toomany
LYRICS ! a beautiful lie by 30 seconds to mars
TEMPLATE ! PANIC! ITS LAUZ @ CAUTION
NOTES ! whoopwhoop almost havocstar

[Dawn]

The forest around him was unreal, supernatural. Chills rippled throughout the tense air, and time seemed to stand still. For him, time had no meaning. For him, birth and death meant nothing; he could no more influence such things than he could take part in them. He did not worry for his friends, family, and clan mates, as he had when he lived; he did not care who mated with who. Hunger was of no concern to him; thirst was equally removed. All he knew now, though he carried much knowledge in a being that was more thought than flesh, was that everything held consequence, and every breath for the living held meaning. All of those moons before, when he had unwittingly sent his beloved sister, Dawnpaw, to an early death, he had blamed himself. The tom had been tortured by the thought that it had been all his fault. And so it had been. And so there had been a price. That debt was paid now; that blood was dry. Stormtrick had died, struck down by the claws of a lone badger. In the end, it had been fair. When it was all said and done, everything was fair. It was all in your perspective.

And now my feet won't touch the ground...

And still he watched. He could not influence, could not mend, had no special powers. He was the ever silent being, watching and accepting, unable to change. It was terrible, to be omniscient. To see what the living could not before it was too late. He saw that Paintedstar was weak- and that she would desert her post as leader, driven nearly to madness by the demands of holding such a cursed position. Many a leader would quail, like she had. But he had no such fears of this new, blessed leader. It was difficult to bear the burden of so many lives upon you, both nine hallowed and those of your clan. In truth, Stormtrick scarcely felt fear, or much of anything, these days. Time was a concept that, like Starclan, was only discussed vaguely. No longer did he distrust silverpelt; he now lived it. For this reason and more, Stormtrick knew that Havocflare had the courage to stand strong where others would bend, and in time, break. Stormtrick saw the future; he knew the past. There was no present, not in the here and now. There was only what was, and what was to be. Surprisingly, it was enough.

Swoop down from the sky and catch me like a bird of prey

The tides of energy around him seemed to change; the tree trunks appeared to glow silver despite the gloom. They were fresh and unmarked, the trees of this celestial forest. It was just as it had been for Stormtrick, when he met his end; he had been cleansed of every twinge of pain, every old injury. Not a scar remained upon his body; he was young and strong, and he rippled with the power of youth. His eyes were endless, glacial pools, their depths reflecting the starlight; his dusky black pelt seemed to shimmer, ethereal. He was spectral, a phantom reanimated, but also fiercely bright and alive, almost touchable. He stepped out from behind the trunk of a tree, graceful, every pawstep sure and unfaltering. Had he possessed such wisdom as he did now when he breathed the same breath as his friend, he would have known how terribly fate was to separate the three best friends. One, the oldest, would be driven insane by sickness and wander away, to die alone. The bridge between the two, Stormtrick, was to die before he could retire, stripped of his potential but ever supportive. He had bled out alone on the moor, too, a poor match for a badger. It was only the youngest that would become deputy when the oldest failed; it was only the last born that would become a great leader of Zephyrclan. He supposed that that was just as it should be. "Havocflare." The tabby's voice vibrated with strength in the eerie night, giving the name of his earthbound clan mate meaning. "My brother, in all but blood." He sighed quietly, and it was as if a soft wind whistled through the trees, brushing at their fur. "With this life, I give you trust." With that bestowed, he elaborated benevolently, "Trust in your clan mates, trust in yourself, and trust in Starclan. Do not allow things that must be said to wait for too long." A flicker of sorrow, a mere shadow, danced across his features. Then, as it had come, it was gone. Stormtrick dipped his head, knowing he must not speak of the things to come, or spare too many words. Sometimes, it was blessing not to know what the future had in store. With that motion, he turned and vanished into the misty trees, becoming one with the miasma.

[/font]

[Dusk]

LIE AWAKE IN ED AT NIGHT
AND THINK ABOUT YOUR LIFE
DO YOU WANT TO BE DIFFERENT?

watch me carefully
my thoughts are still my own
if i speak, it's likely important

The surrounding Starclan cats were eerily still, for death had left the spirits without need to shuffle and sway like living cats. He wondered, did they hunt? Always the clan cats talked of patrolling Starclan's hunting grounds, but was there really any need for the dead to have sustenance? In fact, how did they pass their days? There were far too many questions drifting in and out of Havocflare's mind, as always, idleness left him searching for something to keep his attention. It was likely inappropriate to speak, still, he considered speaking up and asking who would be the next warrior to approach. Just as he mustered up the courage to part his jaws, the masses of cats shifted and turned to face whoever stepped forward. The dark tabby's eye lit up with a cautious glimmer of hope as he stretched his neck to stare over the heads of taller, larger felines. Translucent or no, they still blocked vision as easily as a twoleg wall when packed so thickly into the clearing.

He was still wary, even as golden eyes spotted the familiar dusky pelt. He knew that fur as well as his own. It would be impossible not to, the approaching tom had been long ingrained as a major part of his life. 'Stormtrick.' He tried to say the name of his life-long friend, but the breath caught in his throat as he looked over the dark-furred cat. He was still the cat he'd known for over forty moons, but restored to the youth of a tom in his prime, a warrior not quite fresh-made, but neither forced to face the hardships of battle thus far. His features were youthful, pelt no longer scarred and grown shaggy with age. The ever dusky pelt glowed silver with the light of stars, giving him a strangely ethereal quality, but the cat was still Stormtrick. He looked oddly somber, however, especially compared to his fellow Starclan cats. His oldest friend looked over the deputy with tired blue eyes, and Havocflare recalled the discovery of the tabby's body. The memory would be forever etched into his mind; he'd waited late into the night for his old friend to return, only heading a search patrol once moonhigh had passed and Stormtrick had still not come back to his clan. The dismay, when he saw the limp form, clawed to death and reeking of badger with blood soaking into the turf around him. Havocflare had cursed himself, had cursed Stormtrick's foolishness for heading out alone, and had cursed even Starclan that day; mostly he blamed himself for not thinking to go looking earlier. Perhaps they might have been able to bring Toxicwinter, but the dusky tom's body had already grown cold long before it was dragged into camp. Losing his two closest companions in one season had almost broken Havocflare, and only the apparent, growing weakness of Paintedstar had kept the old tom going.

Words of mourning and apology formed in his throat, only to be cut off as the older cat began speaking, voice strong and not accusing. "Havocflare. My brother, in all but blood." The aforementioned tom felt his throat tighten painfully as he realized this was likely the last time he would meet with his almost-brother. "With this life, I give you trust." As their noses connected and the life flowed into him, pain once more racked his body. The tabby dug his claws into the loamy ground, hissing slightly. He would have endured far more pain, though, if only it meant spending more time with the warrior. Stromtrick was quick to dip his head as he elaborated on the wisdom that came with the life, and slipped back into the crowd. Havocflare fought the urge to pursue the tom into the ranks of spiritual warriors. 'I'll miss you, my friend, but one day we will be back together. The three of us.' There was yet one life left to receive, and the tom's ears pricked as a feminine voice demanded his attention.

The she-cat stepping up to him walked with a refined dignity that demanded attention. Her fur was cream-colored, ironically disheveled as his own and jutting out every which way. Around her ears and face, the fur darkened to a pale, ashen gray, providing all the more contrast for those striking blue eyes. In life and in death, Slatestar was a cool, distant warrior with an air that told any cat to not dare crossing her. She'd precluded Swishstar, Havocflare having been a warrior likely only in his thirtieth moon or so at the time of her leadership. He'd liked her for her like-minded nature when it came to strategy; battle had never phased the sharp-tongued female. "Havocflare, welcome to the place of Starclan," she mewed, voice steely, almost weary in some ways. "You have proven your value as a warrior time and time again, and I judge you will perform well as a leader of Zephyrclan." She was ever the analyst, Havocflare almost smiled. The pale she-cat leaned forward and touched his nose saying, "With this ninth and final life, I grant to you duty, perception, and tenacity. Use them to be ever sure of you own abilities and never falter in leading the clan." Once more the life was painful, but he had come to expect the rippling shock, and soon enough it faded. The leader sat back and took one final glance over the warrior she'd named and now made leader. "Never lose sight of the path, and bring Zephyrclan back to it's former glory."

Slatestar stepped back to be closer to the ranks of her own, strong voice ringing out across the endless numbers of ancient warriors. "I greet you now by your new name, Havocstar. We of Starclan grant you leadership of Zephyrclan. Defend our cats well; fight to your last life for kits, apprentices, warriors, and elders alike, be wise and do not foolishly shed blood. Live each and every day with pride and strength." As the former leader completed her speech, the gathered took up a chant. "Havocstar! Havocstar!" The tom felt almost giddy, like a newly made warrior all over again. He was grinning and brimming with the energy; the vision -dream, scene, it hardly mattered- began to fade away, leaving the tom in darkness once more. He woke, stiff muscled from the cold and crouching, back in the crystal cavern. The tuft-furred leader coaxed his tired legs to stand and carry his legs. Back up the tunnel, back across the moor, and back to Zephyrclan, where warriors would be waiting to greet him as Havocstar.

TAGGED ! for who?
WORDS ! toomany
LYRICS ! a beautiful lie by 30 seconds to mars
TEMPLATE ! PANIC! ITS LAUZ @ CAUTION
NOTES ! lulz, done finally