@
Silentshade
Rot really wasn't the kind of cat who actually enjoyed fighting, she was the more... Lets say,
verbal fighter, she persuaded cats to do the things she wanted and really she only ever killed young cats, cats that could really put up much of a fight anyways. When it came to battles like this though, against trained warriors {even if she held no respect for clan cats}, she was out of her element. She looked tougher than she was, and that was because of her thick, mangled coat and her piercing eyes. Her name was slightly intimidating too, but it's not like any of these pathetic clan cats would know her name.
But regardless if she was out of her element or not, she was loyal to the Dusk Syndicate and if Halite wanted them to attack the clans during a Gathering, then she would go and do it. Part of her hoped her son Nero was here too, fighting and killing and being the tom that she raised him to be. Even if he was starting to break away from her, starting to
hate her, she loved her son. She hoped that one day she could rekindle their relationship, but now was not the time to think about that.
Eyes catching sight of a grey and black tom that smelled of mud and pine needles, Rot grinned and briskly maneuvered closer through the thronging of battles that have already erupted. And without so much as a yowl of warning, the large, heavily-furred she-cat lunged at him with open jaws and outstretched, razor-sharp claws. She was coming in perpendicular to him, hoping to catch him in that blind spot and tackle him to the ground with her weight so that she could begin her work on his body. She might not be the strongest or fastest cat in the Syndicate, but she would use her mass to her advantage as well as her claws.
@
~Breadsticks~
Usually Hannibal wasn't one for massive fights like this, he preferred a more secluded, one on one style of fighting so that the clean up could be easier, but no, now he was out in the open, fighting with tons of other cats around him. He didn't like it, there were many unpredictable things that he could not account for. He could be in the middle of attacking one cat, when another comes out of no where and strikes. It's not smart in his mind to take part in something like this, but he had to show that he was still loyal to the Syndicate, regardless if he planned on leaving it soon anyways to start his life as a roaming loner with no leader to watch over his back. If he didn't fight in this battle, he would be accused of not being loyal to the Syndicate and that's not how he wished to leave the group. He wanted to leave on his own terms. It wasn't a matter of what other cats thought, it's a matter of how
he wanted things to go. His plans and desires. No other cat mattered in his mind. Not even the most interesting cats mattered when it came down to what he wanted and desired.
But I digress. The infamous dark grey cat from the Syndicate stalked around the edges of the clearing, trying to pick out a target that was close to the edge so that he wouldn't have to account too much for a surprise attack from another cat. Eventually he did pick out a cat, a she-cat with blue-grey fur that seemed to be sleek, almost as if water-resistant. Likely a Riverclan cat by the smell of it. Pausing as he readied himself, trying to plan a few steps in advance but also coming up with a few alternatives just in case, Hannibal barreled out of the edge of the clearing towards Reedbriar before aiming a swift, hard strike for her head, back paws skidding as he prepared to leap backwards should the need arise.