Ok...it felt kind of nice to NOT write 2020 LMAO. Welcome to 2021! To kick off the brand new year, we're introducing a round of updates, including new bio and forbidden romance rules, our Secret Santa reveal, OTM winners and nominations, our monthly patrols, and a fun new infectious disease! So make sure to check out the January Announcements for all of the new content! As we leave 2020 behind us, we hope everyone is able to put themselves first this year and practice self-care! Here's to another one! Let's write some cats!
The Apostles is a warrior cats roleplay based in northern Wisconsin. On Lake Superior, the wild cats have made the Apostle Islands their home. It is on these islands - Rocky Island and South Twin Island - that the clan and tribe cats have lived in a peace and harmony that ebbs and flows with the tide.
But as the tides turn, so does the truce that binds them to one another; and as the water raises, a darkness follows, an evil that will end in bloodshed and violence.
Disclaimer: I will try my best to post in this thread every two days as I am able. If you're interested in joining, please feel free to jump in at any time! It can be assumed that your Warrior is participating and benefiting from the instruction if you contribute a post. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Context: This Open Thread takes place shortly after the September Meeting, after which Beavergaze approached several prominent Warriors, all of whom know that today's exercise has been organized without Finchstar's express approval. ------------------------------------------------------------------
“I need some Bodies!”
Beavergaze had waited until just before the sun was at its highest to usher his call. He stood where he knew he would be seen clearly, and raised his voice until it carried across RedwoodClan’s camp. “Clan, if you call yourself fast, if you call yourself brave, if you call yourself a Warrior and want to perform a service for RedwoodClan, gather on me!”
He had a feeling that he knew of several trusted warriors that would respond to his call out of a sense of duty, and he knew of some that would respond out of sheer curiosity. He hoped that they would all stay; he had a lot of work to do, and a lot of ground to cover.
“Hurry now, like your mothers depended on it! I want to see who of you live up to your names, let’s see it!”
Beavergaze paced and continued his call- those that knew him could trust that he wouldn’t stop until he had gained either a satisfactory following or the sun set on the day and his call to action.
“Apprentices! Warriors! Any cat with an able body and a will to defend your livelihoods will do, if you love your clan then gather on me!”
He could see those whose steps were made hesitant or hurried by his calls, both to and from his voice, and he kept his deliberations to himself. Redfox stirred the wills of those in the Clan with her speech and rallying cry, and Beavergaze hoped to continue her momentum and move the impassioned to answer an even more demanding call: join him and blaze a path for RedwoodClan's furious return.
He knew that not all who heard his call would answer it, but he hoped that there would at least be enough to complete the day's task. Perhaps if warriors began to see his work, it would draw them to the cause like bears to honey.
Post by fallenreaper on Sept 17, 2020 13:09:54 GMT -6
Barkpaw clenched the moss between his teeth tightly. He could faintly taste the earth soil on the fine roots as they rubbed against his rough tongue. A notable pungent, rotten taste edged into his attention. His muzzle scrunched in disgust over it. Regardless, the young apprentice continued to navigate over the tangle roots then into the nursery. Other apprentices had placed down new moss with their paws so the Queens would have clean bedding lining their nests. The placed felt more empty now that Flinchstar and Redfox’s kits grew into apprentices and assigned to mentors.
Obediently, he set down his mouthful of plants onto the growing pile. He caught a bit of gratitude or sarcasm from his fellow apprentices before he darted back outside. Barkpaw took this chance to stretch his large body across the open area. His muscle made a veiled protest with arch then settled back down. He confidently strutted into the sunlight that stripped along his red pelt. The light flooded him with renewed warmth as he began to dart to the fresh-kill pile. It looked pitiful compared to past seasons and guilt swept over the young tom.
When a deep, call for bodies bellowed nearby, Barkpaw’s head perked. His ears swayed side to side then finally located the origins. Beavergaze.
The apprentice frowned in worry and confusion. He knew there was only one way to discover the reason. He needed to answer the call and investigate. Besides, Beavergaze likely had some insight from his years of experience. Far more than what Barkpaw held in his own lifetime. With a soft flick of his tail, the large ruddy tom ambled over to the senior cat. His eyes examined the brawny, bi colored feline. If not for the reputation he had heard, most might’ve thought Beavergaze was an oversized hairball.
“What’s going on, Beavergaze?” Barkpaw kept his body language respectful when he drew nearer.
He hoped nothing happened at the border, his mind trailed to Rowanpath’s experience. The apprentice regretted not being there when the attack happened and aided his mentor. His figure sat down with his tail curled against his paws as he waited for Beavergaze’s answer.
“—If you love your Clan, then gather on me!” The sound of his voice took the pain of age from his bones.
Raggedthroat rose to his paws and abandoned his coveted patch of sunlight, and the wild-coated tom cat strode purposefully to the source of the rich call – his prodigy, his most beloved of apprentices… his greatest success; Beavergaze. Pride hummed in his chest as something between a satisfied growl and a purr twisted inside of his scarred throat as Beavergaze’s call continued, emanating eagerly. He’s perfect, Raggedthroat’s bristling jowls hoisted themselves into a prideful grin.
Settling himself at the edge of those gathering, Raggedthroat’s critical yellow eyes shifted and swept through the clearing. Who was worthy of calling themselves a RedwoodClanner? Who among them would spill blood – their own as well as their enemies – for their homeland? A bushy, bristly tail curled itself around his paws. Ancient claws flexed and pricked at the soil beneath him… and Raggedthroat found himself thinking that it might be nice to rake them through another’s flesh once again. With any luck, his prodigy’s plans would let him do just that – and more.
A pit of fire burned in his belly and the monster inside of him curled zealously around it.
They would bring the fury of hell to LichenClan; they would make them pay for each and every loss suffered… they would cast their bodies into the tides and watch as every trace of LichenClan was swallowed and washed away – his breathing began to rasp with excitement at the idea of a vengeful dream made real.
“What’s going on, Beavergaze?” came the voice of an apprentice whose name Raggedthroat had never bothered to learn.
“Glorious purpose,” Raggedthroat murmured quietly to Barkpaw, “Listen closely and learn from him, lad; if you’re lucky and tenacious enough, you’ll find yourself where he stands long moons from now,” the ancient tom cat told him quietly, his rasping voice full of pride.
The blue, battle-scarred tom wasn’t one to loaf around at daybreak. The possibility of an attack always played on the back of his mind, even when he wasn’t out instigating such events… Now was time for preparation. It was a relief to see the cats amongst them finally kick into gear, or be kicked into gear for a coming skirmish… or more, that had been waiting for far too long. They’d rested on their laurels long enough for LichenClan to stomp all over them, and something finally had to give.
Ears pressed back to his head as he strode through camp, mind swimming with thoughts, he couldn’t ignore a call to arms. At least… It certainly sounded like a call to arms, given the tom’s booming, thunderous voice and the seeming strength in his words. Beavergaze… Of course. He regarded the tom with curiosity for a moment, ears pricked at his words. That’s me… I’m a body. A brave body. Though he would’ve been apprehensive to join in on the call coming from any other cat, there was no doubt that the brown-furred tom held a certain authority about him; the kind of authority Gullystorm wished to someday hold. Seeing Raggedthroat, an even bigger name amongst the crowd regarding the bulky tom with pride, the blue tabby approached rather hastily afterwards, dipping his head at the elder and curious apprentice that he’d noted was rather bemused by Redfox’s words of inspiration. Perhaps Beavergaze would knock some sense into him… If Raggedthroat hadn’t already gotten through with his words.
That is, if apprentices are still respecting their elders.
“You’ve got me,” he noted boldly with a nod, head held high as he glanced downwards at the apprentice for a moment. No more hesitation. At the smaller tom’s age, he would’ve already been spilling LichenClan blood… He’d hoped that their new youth wouldn’t already be becoming soft.
Post by Egotistic on Sept 20, 2020 12:19:43 GMT -6
ACORNPAW | RWC
[attr="class","next"]Leaf-fall had already taken hold of the island. She could feel it in the breeze that teased at her fur, the coolness and intensity of it, see it in the very boughs where leaves once green shouldered on a less uniform conglomerate of oranges, reds, and browns. Even the prey had changed. There was a new urgency to their movements as they foraged, and they grew fatter—fatter even than they had been, gorged on the bounties of the warmer seasons. But now that it grew cooler, they grew more frantic, plumper, and more hopeful for their burrows, which they would retreat into once the first snows fell. It was a time of significant change, and Acornpaw knew she, young as she was, was not the only one who understood such things.
Perhaps that was what roused Beavergaze, that great change. Perhaps in the altered nature of prey, the nipping winds, and the threat of war, he felt compelled for even more change. Perhaps that was why it was his voice that beckoned her ear from where she sat, gnawing insatiably at the stiff carcass of a vole, rather than that of Redfox or Finchstar.
“I need some bodies!” loud, sonorous—everything a leader’s voice ought to be… and one they had been deprived of for so long. Even Acornpaw acknowledged it, found herself urged from her lazing to stir alongside others who felt themselves equally impelled by that call of service and settle alongside a ruddy-furred apprentice whose name she knew to be Barkpaw. Though only a moon her senior, he still loomed over her runty proportions, but she stifled her pride and let her head turn aside to overhear what Beavergaze had to say.
Now there’s a tom I wouldn’t mind as leader. Large, thick of fur and darkened by lustrous seal points, he struck a fine figure there in that clearing as he swept lambent blue eyes over all that gathered, drilling them into stillness with the booming of his voice—a voice so loud it seemed to echo off the very redwoods that encircled their camp. “Apprentices! Warriors! Any cat with an able body and a will to defend your livelihoods will do, if you love your Clan, then gather on me!”
And so they gathered, settling, admiration and curiosity alike painting their features. Some muttered, others whispered excitedly amongst themselves. Acornpaw only watched in silence, though Barkpaw’s words of questioning beckoned her ear.
“What’s going on, Beavergaze?” a question spoken softly, respectfully, though it was not heeded by the tom it addressed, but rather another, more fearsome shape, one whose very presence instilled in her a sudden and involuntary apprehension.
Puggish features peered down, amber eyes glowering beneath a thick jut of brow smoldered as a voice equal parts low and scathing murmured an answer. “Glorious purpose. Listen closely and learn from him; if you’re lucky and tenacious enough, you’ll find yourself where he stands long moons from now.” What does he mean by that? Her eyes narrowed, but rather than speak, she took his advice: she turned her gaze, and she listened. Tags: beavers , fallenreaper , dumpster Wordcount: 516
Beavergaze’s call did not need to continue much longer. With a swell of pride, the senior warrior watched as Warriors and Apprentices began to investigate his beckoning. He knew many of these faces, and still others were unfamiliar to him.
Good, this is good.
As the veteran color point’s eyes swept over those gathering, one face in particular gave him a moment of pause. It wasn’t pride or dizzying respect that gripped his gut when his eyes landed on Raggedthroat. His old mentor’s appearance wasn’t unexpected; he’d certainly counted on his old mentor to answer his call, but a tumble of emotions both sharpened his sense of urgency and purpose. Beavergaze’s claws sank into the soil beneath his paws in a grounding exercise and he continued to scan the crowd with only a skipped heartbeat.
“What’s going on, Beavergaze?” A young voice, one seeking direction. Direction that he could show the young aspiring warrior, a blazed trail that he’d found himself. He noted Barkpaw’s quick and ready response and flicked the tip of his tail in count.
He didn’t even have to answer Barkpaw, though he would have. He allowed Raggedthroat’s response to the promising Apprentice to bolster his resolve. His old mentor had a way with words, one that he grew to appreciate over many long moons.
“You’ve got me,” an unequivocally recognizable voice called back. He had both dreaded and anticipated this voice. The intrepid voice of Gullystorm answered his call as well, and he shared a long and pointed stare with the young tom.
A worthy patrol had gathered. With a chattering bark, Beavergaze commanded the Warriors into a loosely interspersed double-file alongside him. To the sentries at the entrance to the camp he offered an explanation for the destination of the unusually large patrol, one that they seemed ready to receive with only a hint of apprehension.
Beavergaze led the gathered warriors for some time- but not quite to the border. The senior warrior called his double column of Warriors, Apprentices, and younger to a fairly recognizable tree- one they’d all passed once or twice in their patrols.
This will do.
“Who recognizes this place? Very good. Now, begin marking.” He waited for the recognition. He saw it among some, but not quite enough. “Begin marking; we’re going to establish a secondary border here. Follow me now, you didn’t come all this way to balk.” The hulking tom demonstrated by turning away from the tree and quivering his tail, creating an olfactory starting point for a border. As he sprayed the beginning of the closer border, he explained.
“We are forming a secondary border in preparation. Some of you may have been a part of the Apprentice Fleets,” his eyes settled on a few young cats in particular, “you have much of the knowledge that I am about to tell you. An incredibly resourceful Warrior can attest to my following words, a Warrior that many of you know well.” Beavergaze’s eyes settled on a cat that bore the likeliness of Raggedthroat.
“Trios and duos of Apprentices can carry information very quickly, and many of you are loud enough to wake the dead. This border that we are marking is our second border, the border that we will fall back to in the event of an assault or suspected infiltration. By shrinking to this border that we are creating, we can better protect our territory by giving us a smaller area to sweep for intruders.” Beavergaze paused, taking the time to mark a second point of the boundary with his stare focused on the cats that had chosen to gather. “It is called Closing the Border, and it will be relayed as an order to anyone in earshot. If your patrol is attacked and under threat of being overwhelmed, the fastest among your patrol will act as a scout and will fall back while ushering this command.”
The color point paused, spotting potential hesitation among those gathered. He had to make them understand. A united clan was a strong clan, a clan that could no longer be threatened without hellbent purpose. “I am about to reveal for you all a plan that I have been contemplating and seeking guidance on, a detailed protocol for us all to follow in the event of an attack. A protocol that will keep us protected and strong, and allow us to finally turn the tides in this ages long damnable war so that we may turn the tide and break our enemies’ claws and fangs.”
Post by fallenreaper on Sept 21, 2020 16:48:10 GMT -6
Shortly after Barkpaw uttered the question, another voice answered him. His ear flicked toward the raspy, strangled voice at his right. The young apprentice's muzzle scrunched, and he twisted his head to his side. He immediately located the source.
Beside him sat a thick coat and flat-faced elder, the older tom's attention fixed to Beavergaze. The cat oozed ancient from his posture to his furrowed forehead which added to his stern glare.
A small shiver wavered down Barkpaw's spine. As he failed to understand the reason, he turned back to Beavergaze and waited for an explanation.
This time, a long furred cat with a bluish pelt interrupted. His three-word answer supported Beavergaze's call and the two toms locked eyes. A small length of time stretched across the air before they broke it. Uncomfortable and distracted, Barkpaw's gut stirred. His attention drifted for a moment into the camp. Bright eyes searched the feline shapes, but he didn't see Rowanpath or Elmpaw. They were likely busy hunting fresh-kill during the sparse season. He sighed inwardly to clear the disappointment away.
Before he returned his attention to Beavergaze, he noticed two familiar faces. Acornpaw and Larchpaw. He immediately relaxed once more. He sized up Larchpaw as she held a stiff posture and attentive to Beavergaze.
"I'm going to sit over by Larchpaw." Barkpaw told Acornpaw in a friendly, but hushed voice. He didn't want to interrupt Beavergaze's and Gullystorm's staring contest.
He meandered around the group's outer edge to the gray and white patterned she-cat. Compared to her siblings, Larchpaw had been shyest of Curlycloud's kits. She often hid it with displays that were overdone in his opinion. Maybe she might relax with a known face around.
Without an invitation, he sat beside her. His eyes looked at her then he flashed her a reassuring smirk. He hoped the small gesture would calm her before he returned to see the interaction end.
When Beavergaze barked, Barkpaw stood up and his tail flicked for Larchpaw to encourage her close to him. He slid into the line as directed. While the group walked, his eyes wandered. He absorbed the usual scenery within the borders of their territory as well as the less familiar. They reached a tree Rowanpath and him had passed many sunrises over. It stood out among the rest because of its twisted trunk growing into another tree.
At mention of recognizing it, Barkpaw's body perked. A definite yes from him to Beavergaze's question. Then the older warrior commanded they mark a new border.
Barkpaw hesitated immediately.
He debated on the usefulness of applying another border. If only they knew of it, he worried it might confuse the other cats and result in less of their territory being patrolled. Lessening their territory during bare-leaf risked lessening their fresh-kill hunting. Besides, if Lichenclan ignored the first border... wouldn't they ignore this one too?
However, the young apprentice kept his thoughts to himself. He glanced to those he knew and observed their reaction toward Beavergaze's last words.
Raggedthroat’s eyes scanned the trees and their branches as Beavergaze led them to a familiar clearing… all were familiar to him after nearing two hundred moons spent within their Clan’s forests, but it was beside the point. As Beavergaze explained part of his plans, Raggedthroat’s yellow eyes narrowed and he shifted them throughout the small crowd that had gathered. Had others not been training for battle, their patrol may have been grander, but information was easily relayed – by sundown, every cat within RedwoodClan would have heard of the plan concocted by their senior warriors.
Shrinking the border… temporarily. He was not a fan of the idea of relinquishing any part of their lands, but even a cat as stubborn as Raggedthroat could see the merits in the ideas. It would force their attackers into lands unfamiliar to them; to a place where their Clan had already prepared for them a punishing defensive position… into their forests where their fighters who lived and breathed among the Redwoods would harass, cripple, and destroy them. “The branches here are strong and broad,” Raggedthroat contributed, his rasp echoing out through the trees that surrounded them, “Perfect for our warriors to plummet onto pursuing cave-dwellers… I can hear the crack of their bones, now...” the old cat grinned in a way that was decidedly unfriendly.
He supposed that he would grant the sea-lickers the honor of dying beneath their canopy… they had been foolish and brazen enough to infiltrate their forests before; he could still recall the offensive stench of cave must and rank lake water as it permeated within their very camp… He felt again the same rage he had experienced then as beloved RedwoodClanners were slain mere fox-lengths from their nests… he knew that there were others who felt it, too – perhaps not to the same all-consuming, purposeful degree that he did, but there was enough anger there… enough anger and pain to swallow up the inadequacies of their leaders and to achieve vengeance and victory for their Clan.
They had merely to fight – to strike them… cripple their youths, destroy their sacred grounds, poison the waters of that cursed Mooncave— his breath took on its excited sort of rasping as all thoughts turned with sincere delight to the total annihilation of their enemies.
The massive warrior eyed the creature, it's tantalizing musk filling her nostrils. Amber orbs traced over the vole as it continued on despite the nearby predators. The rodent couldn't see that she was fuming, refusing to lash her bushy, black tail in frustration. This is awful! She wanted to groan. Yet with the reddened leaves making her battle terrain all slippery and having to train in the dark more often, Sycamoreclaw began to understand the benefits of maintaining the clans food supply. If she couldn't eat, she couldn't fight--not that she couldn't rip apart a LichenClan cat on an empty stomach. So she had to hunt. Of course that didn't mean she still couldn't hate it.
Even if she despised the tedious task, she had to be perfect for her apprentice who was still honing his own skills. The calico took a step forward, drinking in the scents of the forest. Along with the appetizing scent of her prey, she could still smell Cinderpaw nearby, who she prayed wouldn't interrupt her hunting.
Bringing herself closer to the vole, Sycamoreclaw readied herself to pounce when the ground began to rumble. The booms of marching paws and roar of valiant words filled her perked ears, and inevitably sent the vole scrambling. The huge warrior rose to her full height, head whipping around to see the cause of her lost fresh-kill. "Hey!" She barked, stomping towards the source. Beavergaze lead a loud group of warriors through the forest, screaming about... Something.
After deciding she wouldn't pounce on the tom for interrupting her hunt, she listened with half raised ears. Though upon spotting the legendary Raggedthroat himself, she found herself perking with interest and truly taking in the color-points words. "Listen to them." She grunted in some sort of awe as she addressed the apprentice who had likely followed. Cinderpaw was just as eager for strength as she was.
Though as Beavergaze continued on, she wondered how his tactics would really help them. "Closing the border? How is that gonna help us?" She questioned out loud. Though if she was being honest, she didn't really care, as long as she got to fight. Raggedthroat's words seemed to reassure her, long claws working into the soil at the mention of such brutal tactics. She had never attempted such barbary, but couldn't deny the skip in her heart at the thought of destroying a LichenClan cat. Regardless of whether the seal point tom's words made sense, she'd follow him. If only to participate in the chaos that was soon to come, and perhaps teach Cinderpaw more about what it meant to be a warrior.
Sycamoreclaw then silenced herself, stepping forward boldly in a silent signal that she was with them in whatever the hell would come next.
Rockjaw was no senior warrior, but a feeling in his gut told him that something was off as Beavergaze's summons rang out across camp. He had noticed Beavergaze pulling aside some of his more experienced comrades for discussions over the past few weeks, but didn't question the tom's motives. The stoic veteran hadn't asked anything of him personally, and his training with Elmpaw and the other apprentices had the highest priority.
But this... this was... unusual.
The snaggletoothed tom heaved himself up to his paws and padded briskly over to another pair of warriors he knew he could trust. "Hey uh, Thornfall? Loudstorm? Ya wanna see what this is about?" He cast his head in the direction of the camp entrance, after the trail of cats, and began trotting after them, his two companions not far behind.
As the large group gathered around the tree, Rockjaw positioned himself toward the back of the throng to tune in to Beavergaze's instructions. He was too young to remember the meaning in the older tom's words, but the longer he listened, the more his stomach churned. After Sycamoreclaw called out her question, he decided to speak up.
"Hold on just a tick," he objected, stepping forward with his head cocked to one side. "Pardon the interruption, Beavergaze sir, but does Finchstar know what yer up to?" Though he had started at the back of the group, his paws kept him moving, past the apprentices and other warriors, until he was at the front of the small gathering. He held his tail loosely with his whiskers relaxed, speaking in a neutral tone. "Markin' new borders and suchlike? I know I haven't been 'round as many moons as some of ya, but ta my knowledge, RedwoodClan hasn't used tactics like this before. Not in my time." There was not an ounce of aggression in his voice, but it was laced with concern nonetheless. "Why ain't Finchstar here? Or Redfox? Did they ask ya to put this together?"
Sets of paws came forward – at first confident and assured of the cause, of their collective purpose as warriors of RedwoodClan… he could even feel a small spark of pride for these others threatening to glimmer in his gut; but then another with stepped forward, complaints spilling from his protruding, crooked maw.
“Hold up just a tick,” came the start of words that set that thing that coiled inside of him to bristling. The prompt, impatient and seething ringing that lit up in his ears drowned out all but the finality of Rockjaw’s question, “—does Finchstar know what yer up to?” the snaggle-toothed young tom cat said as he strode forward, past the others who were more deserving, and to a position among them where he had no business being.
“And why do you give an oozing fox-shit what the molly-minded, one-eyed coward has to say?” came the rasped demand. Yellow eyes settled on Rockjaw as Raggedthroat pushed himself to paws that ached–not from age, but for lack of conflict—and strode to stand before the young tom cat, arching his neck to let his furious scowl loom before those that had gathered. Keeping his eyes trained on Rockjaw’s as he began, the old tom cat eventually let them depart from the target of his ire to sweep through the rest of those gathered as he let them taste his ancient rage.
“Finchstar said everything he needed to when he turned tail and fled to his den like a frightened kit as Redfox rallied us,” Raggedthroat’s tone dipped into a venomous growl, “He has done nothing but continued Heatherstar’s legacy of failure,” furious eyes settled with spite on Thornfall’s powerful form… he was perhaps the only decent thing to come from Heatherstar, he’d decided, “The seasons upon seasons of inadequacies our Clan has suffered under Mothstar, Heatherstar, and now Finchstar has led to nothing but death, despair, and pending ruin—what of Emberheart? Of Gorseheart?” his eyes flicked to another cat—the son of that fat molly that Beavergaze held such peculiar affections for, “Of Gulchstone?” again his eyes moved, this time to Loudstorm, “And your father, Blacktail?” the grizzled old cat challenged each of them.
Eventually, his eyes came to settle back on Rockjaw, “and what of Vipergaze and Berrytail? Poor Mousesong’s been left lacking,” the last word was accompanied with a small curling of his scarred lips.
“Have none of you grown tired of digging graves? How many among them would still be here with us, were we allowed to act as we must?” Raggedthroat glowered and sneered as he turned to face one of the redwoods that they had gathered beneath. With a growled grunt of effort, the ancient tom cat scaled its heights to a sturdy branch and took his place atop it. “I would still have Lionpelt—I would still have Tigerstripe and Dawnblossom; perhaps Rushtail might have seen his fifteenth moon! So listen to him! Listen to Beavergaze and lead them here, I say, to this place that we mark—lead them here so that those willing to act might take from them what was stolen from so many of us,” he snapped from his perch atop the tree.
Lead them here so that I may destroy them, his breathing rasped as his claws crept into the bark beneath him.
As Beavergaze marked, he stared out at the crowd of faces that had joined. He could see very few that were on the same leaf, and fewer still that understood what he was doing.
"Closing the border? How is that gonna help us?" Sycamoreclaw’s voice was the first objection. Beavergaze turned his cool stare to the lionhearted warrior and pushed his whiskers forward in greeting, hiding his surprise at not only her appearance but her dissent.
“Sycamoreclaw, welcome. And Cinderpaw there, too. Please join us. I was about to relay battle plans that have come to ideation-“
"Hold on just a tick," Another voice objected, the distinctive voice of Rockjaw. The hulking warrior stepped forward into the clearing made by those gathered with his head cocked to one side. "Pardon the interruption, Beavergaze sir, but does Finchstar know what yer up to?"
Finchstar. The weakened, wounded, and weary excuse for their Leader. Of course he hadn’t known, though Beavergaze had fully and deliberately neglected to include the details of today’s outing to the younger cat. Perhaps he hadn’t confidence in the young leader, or maybe he believed that revealing his intentions would cause immediate upset and palpitations. Beavergaze stifled a sneeze and met Rockjaw’s gaze as the warrior continued to speak.
"Markin' new borders and suchlike? I know I haven't been 'round as many moons as some of ya, but ta my knowledge, RedwoodClan hasn't used tactics like this before. Not in my time." There was not an ounce of aggression in his voice, but it was laced with certain concern nonetheless. "Why ain't Finchstar here? Or Redfox? Did they ask ya to put this together?"
Beavergaze parted his maw to respond, but found his words spoken from another's savage, snarled maw in a voice he'd once hoped would never be his own.
“And why do you give an oozing fox-shit what the molly-minded, one-eyed coward has to say?”
The brawny color point gave pause, and his eyes flicked to the wild outline of his former mentor. He daren’t interrupt the older cat, and allowed the almost-elder but still savage warrior to continue speaking. As Raggedthroat flexed his memory and listed a litany of the beloved fallen, Beavergaze used every ounce of bearing he possessed to resist flinching his gaze away. Some of those losses were still fresh.
“I would still have Lionpelt—I would still have Tigerstripe and Dawnblossom; perhaps Rushtail might have seen his fifteenth moon! So listen to him! Listen to Beavergaze and lead them here, I say, to this place that we mark—lead them here so that those willing to act might take from them what was stolen from so many of us.”
A gripping silence fell over the gathered warriors, and a mix of emotions scented the air. Beavergaze stared at where his former mentor had scaled the tree and resided on a branch within dropping range. The old ways, the old tactics that were bidden too dangerous and brutal and were forbidden under Mothstar. He could practically read the marred veteran’s mind, and was unsurprised by what he might find there.
“Well spoken with evoking words, Senior Warrior Raggedthroat,” Beavergaze spoke as he took the mantle back. “The words that Raggedthroat speaks are with an honesty and recollection that moves me. Too many of us have lost loved ones. Brothers, sisters, Mothers Fathers and comrades. All of you here have felt loss. All of you know what it is to lose, because that is the lot that has been placed on us for seasons; it is time to resist. And grip the throat of victory for once.”
Beavergaze turned his stare back to Rockjaw and took a measured stride towards the younger Warrior, “No, Finchstar hasn’t the foggiest idea of what I’m up to. If I told him, he would probably leave his skin and you would still be following a shriveled husk. Neither he nor his mate, our Deputy Redfox, know what I’m doing. They are not here because they haven’t the strength. They will not do what is necessary to turn the tide of this war. I am tired of burying my loved ones, Rockjaw. If we do battle with LichenClan, it will be on our terms and it will be with cunning and a viciousness that will break their will to fight us.”
Beavergaze swept his belligerent stare across the gathered Warriors and Apprentices once more. They were worried. Suspicious, even. Beavergaze sank his claws into the ground, feeling the earth that belonged to RedwoodClan. He would never see it slip away to another’s possession. But he also could not start a coup and had no intention of splitting the loyalties within the clan. He could see clearly that he would need his Leaderships’ blessing to convince the others.
“But if you would rather hear my plan from the battered muzzle of Finchstar, then so be it. Those of you who would find their bowels turned to mush by my proposition need not worry today. If it is from your Leader’s mouth that you prefer, then you will hear this plan in due time- perhaps when another loss of life has sharpened your resolve.”
Beavergaze spat into the dirt, his tail bristled.
“Are there any other objections before we return to camp so that I may talk sense into our beloved and feeble leadership?”
t was impossible not to have heard Beavergaze's call. His strong voice echoed through the camp, and curious bodies slowly gathered around the strong and proud warrior who lead the way out of camp. Loudstorm followed, curiosity pulling him forward, but even the curiosity didn't smother the sense of dread the warrior had been feeling after the failed battle with LichenClan, and Finchstar's hastening depression. Noticing a few apprentices tagging along behind the warrior, Loudstorm traveled beside young Barkpaw, a sense of protectiveness filling the warrior's body. Crescentpaw was off on a hunting patrol with Dawnlight, Let her get some experience from a true hunter, had been Loudstorm's reasoning. But here was the young she-cat's brother, and Loudstorm had come to know Barkpaw through his sister.
The group traveled under the familiar canopy of the redwood trees. Their branches cast a reassuring shadow over Loudstorm, but still the sense of dread in his stomach lingered. The warrior's calling words still rang in the lynx point tom's ears. If you love your clan... Oh how Loudstorm loved his clan, his family. How he yearned to protect them with his claws, to tear whatever dangers they faced to shreds. But after so many failed battles, injuries, and deaths, what could he do better? He trusted in his leader, he had to trust in FInchstar. Loudstorm couldn't trust himself to make decisions, and Finchstar was his leader. The leader's word is the Warrior Code. The tom had to trust in that, and so he waited for Finchstar to speak, to lead...yet the tom hadn't. He will...he has to. Loudstorm had to trust in his leader.
Beavergaze stopped beside a larger redwood. Loudstorm stared up into the giant wavering boughs, and Beavergaze's voice cut through the air, sharp as claws. The younger warrior's blue eyes snapped from the sky to stare at Beavergaze as he spoke. What in the world is he talking about? the warrior wondered, and he sensed a similar hesitation and unsureness in those around him. Beavergaze's speech continued, and Loudstorm listened with ears pricked to attention. A protocol that will keep us protected and strong, and allow us to finally turn the tides in this ages long damnable war so that we may turn the tide and break our enemies’ claws and fangs.
And then Raggedthroat's raspy, harsh voice bristled against Loudstorm's ears. The tom frowned. What were these tactics they were speaking of? He felt his claws dig into the ground, unsure and confused. Why are we doing this? Surely Finchstar would have said something about these. To create a secondary border was unprecedented in Loudstorm's knowledge. But the tom didn't know what to say, and so he sat on the fringes of the crowd as other, more vocal warriors took up a cry of dissent. A cry that seemed to flare the ever present rage in Raggedthroat to stormy proportions. He ticked off grievance after grievance, a loss that almost every warrior present had felt, the death of a loved one. He ended with a pointed glance at Loudstorm, and the name of a father the lynx-point tom had never known. The stare didn't cow the warrior, and he held Raggedthroat's gaze as the elder soon finished his blazing speech, and Beavergaze picked up the threads to make his own.
Tensions had risen exponentially among those gathered. And Loudstorm felt the need to say something to try and smooth over the ruffled fur, but he wondered if perhaps he would be more prudent to remain silent. Guess I'll find out. He cleared his through, giving a respectful bow of his head to Beavergaze and Raggedthroat. "I think all of us present want to do what we can to protect our clan, home, and loved ones...but, I think as proud RedwoodClanners we should also stand with our leader and have his blessing." Loudstorm hesitated for a moment, fidgeting on his hind legs as he adjusted his sitting position. "If Finchstar gives his approval, I promise I'll be among those giving it my all to practice these...protocols or tactics or whatever they are, as long as they are worthy of a warrior to do."
∙ cinderface ∙ mistflower ∙ fog that hangs in air ∙ loudstorm ∙ sun that shines above ∙ aspenpaw ∙ aster ∙ eaglefang ∙ leafdapple ∙ orchid that blooms by night ∙ sparrowheart ∙ frostkit ∙
He had barely settled onto his haunches outside of the warrior’s den, his paws curled around the carcass of a mouse, when Beavergaze’s call rang across the clearing like a gull’s screach, his voice embroidered with embellishment, a hyperbole that made the tom’s skin itch. Ears flicking, the massive warrior listened in silence, an irritated curl to his lip. Brave? A warrior? The tom muzzled an eye-roll before returning to his feet, a glint in his eyes. The hushed secrets had finally ceased, turning into outright battle calls. His clan-mates were sick of it, finished with their losses. This he understood.
But, Beavergaze? His stare narrowed into slits. Who put him at their helm? The pointed tom was their most senior warrior and had faced his share of heartaches, deceased den-mates -- but hadn’t all of them? As his stare watched the older tom summon more of their clan-mates, their curious feet following him into the dense thicket without hesitation, Thornfall remained still, his face crumbled into a serious scowl. He didn’t trust him, not when that smashed-face elder snarled into his ear like a wood thrush, slander about his mother, his blood.
As he was about to turn tail and retreat into the warrior’s den, Rockjaw intercepted him, a worried look smothered across his twisted maws. Loudstorm followed closely behind. The younger tom motioned toward the woodland, an inquiry on his lips. Thornfall suppressed a haggard sigh, his whiskers twitching irritably. He didn’t want to be involved with this, not when his own heart was conflicted, torn by his own loss, his own misgivings for his clan. But, the weariness in his den-mates eyes convinced him otherwise. “Might as well,” he muttered, turning his gaze back toward the warrior’s den, when he caught the contemplative scowl of his oldest friend, Tigerpool near the mouth of hollow.
With a tail flick, he motioned the tom towards them. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but it looks like our new, self-appointed leader has some words of wisdom to share,” he meowed sarcastically, his eyes flashing as he turned to follow the two younger toms out of camp and into the underbrush. With a sun above, the small band trotted after the thinning crowd, their coats easily traceable in the sunlight. It wasn’t until the Lichenclan border permeated in the distance did the crowd slow, flocking around the two older tom’s at its helm. Near the back of the congregation, Thornfall strained to see what Beavergaze was doing, but the moment his voice barked between the trees, a bristle started over Thornfall’s neck like a smoke.
A second border? Is he insane? Thornfall bit his tongue as the snarl surfaced in his throat. Through clenched teeth, he listened in annoyance as the tom directed their clan-mates without an ounce of hesitation, as if he had been salivating about the moment he could finally lead them into war. And I’m sure he has, Thornfall thought as threaded his claws into the moist, forest dirt. He was sure Raggedthroat had been whispering in his ears about this for moons, seasons even. As his meows resonated into the trees, Thornfall glanced around, suspiciously curious of his clan-mates’ reactions, but before he could gauge their response, the older toms mentioned the trees, the old battle moves his mentor once taught him. A chill trembled across his back and into his tail. He hadn’t used those in seasons, not before he was a warrior.
There was a reason those moves were banished, outlawed, a reason his mother refused to break her vow, to let them sink to Lichenclan’s level. Redwoodclan was not cruel. With a hiss, Thornfall followed Rockjaw to the front of the crowd, too frustrated and impatient to sit idly by, Loudstorm and Tigerpool in his shadow. His eyes narrowed as he took in the hulking forms of their commanders, their bodies weathered and worn from war. A hiss on his maws, Thornfall moved to condemn them first, but Rockjaw was faster, friendlier than he could ever muster, questioning them about the whereabouts of their leaders.
Tension fizzled in the air, almost as hot and uncomfortable as the balmy heat above. It was the elder, his face scrunched into a furious sneer, who countered Rockjaw first, marching forward with a sniveling sneer. Finchstar was his first victim, libel Thornfall met with an indifferent ear twitch. None of it bothered him because it was true. Their leader was a coward, a fool, but the moment his mother’s name escaped his mouth, Thornfall bent into a ferocious snarl, a fire awakening in his blood. He wanted to claw the bastard’s face off, but he remained still, his muscles tense, his maws fixed into a careful bare-toothed scowl. Not now. But, the moment his mate’s name left the ancient tom’s mouth, as if he cared, as if he even remembered her face, Thornfall erupted into a furious bristle.
“Keep her name out your mouth,” Thornfall spat, taking a step forward as the elder continued to name their fallen brethren, a listless procession. It’s all a political move, he was sure. “She isn’t some pawn you can throw around to gain sympathy, for whatever this is.” His eyes raked over his den-mates. “None of them are.” With his chin raised high, Thornfall watched as the elder scaled one of the trees before he turned to them, his voice rasping as he named off his own children. But even then, it was hard to feel remorse for the old tom, not when he knew who was, how he was like.
No one meowed. Only the forest returned his call, birds flitting between the trees, the lake murmured in the distance. It was Beavergaze who filled the silence next, his words like claws over Thornfall’s ears. Clever, he commented to himself, almost amused by their effort, but he knew them well. He had heard their snarls in the shadows, the words hissed about his mother, her failure. To him, it felt like a moment to take control, to bleed Redwoodclan for their own selfish desires. It wasn’t about loss. It was about sick retaliation.
Loudstorm’s voice careened into the air behind him. His ears twitched, catching the tom’s docile submission. No. Thornfall nosed himself forward once more, a snarl across his face. “This isn’t about protecting Redwoodclan.” His eyes raised to meet the beast within the trees. “This is about reinstating banished laws as some last ditch effort to gain control.” Thornfall’s jaws clenched. “What makes you think you can beat Minnowstar? That you can do better than what we’ve already done? You were on those battlefields, weren’t you?” He let his stare hover across his den-mates, a heaviness in his tone. “All you’re doing is dividing us further, making us weaker. You know not everyone will agree without Finchstar’s support, so get it before you make us look even more ridiculous.” His maws twisted further as he met the elder’s stare once more. “And cut the fox-dung. You don’t care about who I’ve lost.”
[attr="class","next"]The procession was moving long before she got her answer. Her eyes shifted, flitting briefly over Raggedthroat’s tattered shape, marred as it was from countless battles, legs, thick like tree stumps, shuffling with the consequences of old age. Yet his eyes glinted resolutely for all his outward stiffness, fastened on his prodigy, on Beavergaze, who led them resolutely into RedwoodClan’s hunting grounds, amongst those pale-barked trees with their vaulting branches and crimson leaves. Red like blood. Yet they heralded all they stood for. For deep roots, for family, for fortitude. Still, she drew no comfort from them, only walked on in silence as their ranks swelled into two, ungainly rows. Without meaning to, she found herself falling into step alongside Barkpaw and Larchpaw. Larchpaw…? When did she… Her thoughts were interrupted; their movements had come to a sudden halt, one that found itself settling before a tree larger than the rest, whose hulking boughs sprawled against a hard blue sky.
“Who recognizes this place?” A few voices sounded in muddled recognition. Her own barred itself, stilled to silence in her throat. “Very good. Now, begin marking.” At first, none, moved. Gazes were exchanged, even Acornpaw hesitated and flashed a look with her two accomplices.
“Who does he think he is?”
“Spoken as if he were a leader himself. Pah! What mouse-dung.”
Her ears swiveled, she waited. Still, no one. She flashed a look in the direction of her two accomplices. “Do you think he’s forgotten where we are? Last I checked, the border was over—”
“Begin marking; we’re going to establish a secondary border her. Follow me now, you didn’t come all this way to balk.” In a bold demonstration, he turned and sprayed his own scent there against the bark, a pungent warning to any who came near that they were not permitted to encroach further. The taint of it made her jaws part. She wrinkled the bridge of her nose in distaste. Ok. Maybe he really has lost it.
But there was nothing in his words that suggested the mental state of the genuinely unhinged; his pale eyes only seemed to glow brighter with a lucidity that suggested competence. Still, she did not move, only listened as he prattled on.
“We are forming a secondary border in preparation. Some you may have been a part of the apprentice fleets.” Her ears twitched in silent admission. Though she had been born long after such things, she knew of those tight-knit groups exploited during the worst of the fighting. For it to be brought up again, though, after the idea had been abolished… it left her uneasy… yet attentive.
Among the crowd, she saw similar disbelief in those gathered there. Some muttered, others exchanged uneasy glances, some turned to leave. But there were still some among them that listened eagerly while Beavergaze filled their heads with battle strategies. Once, such promises of war and fighting would have thrilled her… but then that been before she’d gone partially blind and realized how naïve and ignorant such wants were.
And perhaps others saw it too.
“Pardon the interruption, Beavergaze sir, but does Finchstar know what yer up to? …why ain’t Finchstar here? Or Redfox? Did they ask ya to put this together?”
A buzz passed through the crowd; words of agreement meshed with that of the dissenting. Acornpaw held her own tongue, listening as quietly as her accomplices, all three of them too young to have a say in such things.
She listened as Raggedthroat sounded his rattling mew, grating words expressing in brazen challenge. From him cam rememberings of a time she did not know, of names she knew even less, gone to dust, fallen by their LichenClan enemies. He spoke of vengeance, spoke of it zealously; he talked of war.
Some it emboldened, others like Thornfall countered in hot defiance. It seemed none could fully agree with the other, and in the dichotomy, words rose and fell, mutterings of war and fearful interjections fell to the wayside by regaling outbursts. She thought she might drown in the din they raised. Tags: beavers , fallenreaper , maxx + others Wordcount: 680