#grebewing

Aliases / Nicknames: Father’s Son, Bad Seed, Monster, Kit Killer

Gender: male

Sexuality: pansexual

Family: Redjay (father), Marblegaze (mother), Grebeglade, Blacksong (sisters), Lightstream, Greydusk, Swanmist (brothers), Myrtlewing (nephew), Tadpolekit, Songkit (nieces)

Other Relations: Drizzlespots (mentor), Runningpaw (apprentice), Redjay (haunter)

Clan: Shadowclan

Rank: warrior

Characteristics: haunted by his father, not all there in the head

Number of Victims: 8

Number of Murders: 2

Murder Method: drowning

Known Victims: Grebeglade, Lightstream, Swanmist, Tadpolekit, Songkit, Birdflank, Blacksong, Greydusk

Victim Profile: nieces

Cause of Death: killed by Myrtlewing

Cautionary Tale: ??

Story:

Brokenwhistle pushed his way into the nursery, frowning when he saw his sister. Grebeglade- once so large and happy- had withered to almost half her size. Her fur was dull, and there were bags under her eyes.

She looked up and smiled. “Hey kiddo. Did you come to see the kits?”

Brokenwhistle reluctantly nodded, shuffling his paws anxiously.

Grebeglade moved, and the sight made Brokenwhistle recoil. These were not kits. That much was clear. They were shaped somewhat like kits, but their fur was patchy and thinning, and their still-closed eyes bulged out.

“Those aren’t kits.” He whispered.

“What do you mean?” Grebeglade asked, but her brother was already gone.

His head felt like it was full of wasps. He knew that those kits weren’t right, why couldn’t the others see it? What were they?

He slept poorly that night, dreaming of golden eyes and a smiling tom.

“Those kits bring death.” The darkness hissed. “They’ll kill you and your kin.”

The next morning, he went straight to the medicine den.

“Myrtlewing, I have a question.”

His nephew looked up, confused and surprised.

“Brokenwhistle, right? What do you need?”

Brokenwhistle’s ears flattened. “First I need to know that you won’t tell a soul I asked this. Swear it on Starclan.”

Myrtlewing took a step back, ears flat. “What’s this about?” He asked. Brokenwhistle saw his fear, smelled his fear, like a sulphur haze.

He would tell, he would tell, he couldn’t be trusted.

No one could be trusted.

Brokenwhistle went to his favorite place to get away from all the noise, all the horrible noise.

He wandered and wandered further and further away from camp until he came to with a small Windclan patrol staring at him. The scent of blood was thick in the air, but he couldn’t remember what the blood was from. All he heard was the smiling tom, whispering in his ears.

The Windclan warriors escorted him back to camp, speaking kindly- almost like they were trying to calm a confused elder.

After that incident, he was put under watch. Not formally, but everyone watched him. He could feel their eyes on him. And the things in the nursery were getting bigger, while Grebeglade was getting smaller.

The breaking point was when cats started dying. Fleetsong, Bluefeather, Fallendust.. after each death, The monsters grew bigger, as thought they had eaten the very souls of the missing cats.

On the night of the gathering, he stole the creatures, carried them all the way up to the Two-leg farm. He dropped them in the small lake that horses drank out of, then fled the clans. He didn’t want to be around when his siblings learned what he did.

Additional Information:

--Submission by @ambitiousauthor​

--The kits were normal, just premature.

--Myrtlewing not even knowing his name is so in-character.

I think I got it right @ambitiousauthor

He would take charge, whether or not Stormstar was still leader. He would send out several patrols and announce that although they can't prove it was Brokenwhistle, he is their number one suspect as of that moment. Following his scent would be best in finding the kits, so one group does that, the other groups goes in different directions, every available cat looking, under stones, grass, what have you, and don't come back if.....