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.
The weather was changing. The warrior could smell frost on the air most mornings. Today, Curlycloud was driven by the need to feed her Clan now that it was getting colder. There was a noticeable decline in the availability of prey. She had been hunting for most of the morning and had, so far, only managed to catch one mouse. Frustration burned in her belly as she cast about for more scents. For StarClan's sake! She wasn't a bad hunter! She was capable! She certainly shouldn't be having this much trouble simply finding food.
The gray tabby paused and took a deep breath to draw herself from her self deprecating thoughts. It wasn't her fault that prey was scarce. Anything that she would be able to bring back would be appreciated by her Clanmates. Adequately soothed, she continued her search. Finally, a scent tickled her nose. Squirrel! Curlycloud's heart pounded as she dropped into the hunter's crouch. She couldn't afford to miss this opportunity.
Slowly, the tabby crept forward, being extra careful about where she was putting her paws. The squirrel would never hear her coming, she was sure of that. Finally, she spotted the flash of tawny fur as the squirrel rooted around in the leaf litter. She was so focused on her quarry, she didn't notice as one of her paws distrubed some particularly crispy leaves. The squirrel sat bolt upright and for a moment, time seemed to freeze for the warrior. Her heart sank and the squirrel bolted away. With a grunt of effort, Curlycloud propelled herself forward with all the power she could muster in her hind legs and tore after her prey.
The chase felt frustratingly short before the squirrel finally swarmed up a tree trunk and comfortably out of reach of the curly eared she-cat's claws. Irritation sparked in her pelt as Curlycloud paced around the trunk of the tree, staring up after the rodent as if it might convince it to give up and come back to her.
As the haze of the hunt cleared from her senses, she froze. The forest here was not so familiar and the smell was distinctly wrong. She winced as she looked over her shoulder and saw the creek that marked their border with ThistleClan. She had leaped the creek without even realizing it. The she-cat scolded herself for being so focused on the hunt that she had trespassed. Maybe that's why the squirrel had escaped her. She may be trespassing, but she wouldn't have to add prey stealing to her list of wrongs this day.
Lowering down almost to her belly, she crawled back towards the creek. With luck, she would be able to get back to her own territory without anyone discovering her mistake. When she heard pawsteps behind her, she jumped and whirled around to face the cat that had found her.
Yewthorn slid beneath the underbrush, his stare focused on the forest that surrounded him. The deciduous woodland had already turned into a dull and listless brown, leaves crackled and dead, while the coniferous forest, which Thistleclan called home, remained as vibrant and steadfast as ever. The thistles and needles, however, beneath his feet were as dry and barren as the rest of the island and cut into his skin like teeth. The brown tom was more than used to the needled forest floor, but the cold air had turned the once flattened needles into carnivorous claws, and with each stride, he winced from the sudden stab. As the forest moved around him, the tom inhaled the usual woodland scents. Since his encounter with the weird loner, Yewthorn had chosen to scour the land as much as he was allowed in an effort to assist his clan.
While Yewthorn knew that he would be screwed if he found more than one outsider within the trees, he also knew that he could outrun them to earn some time and call for assistance. His exotic stare narrowed. He could easily take a lone outsider on his own. The tom hesitated for a moment as the firs thinned and the lull of the creek reverberated in the distance. It was weird, however. He inhaled once more. The recent outsiders did not attack them. There was no bloodshed. His mind flashed to the adolescent black and white tom from weeks earlier. The loner never made a threat or raised a claw. He only wanted information. Yewthorn shook his head and continued onward. And the information was about the war...what did the loner want with the war? It was too odd to make sense.
The stark decline toward the riverbed materialized as the trees vanished behind him. Instinctively, the brown tom slithered into the closest underbrush and settled onto his haunches to watch in silence. Cats rarely drank from the lake, its waves too treacherous and fickle in the winter winds to brave; so if a loner needed water then they would visit the creek. That made sense. He settled onto his stomach and let the cold earth cool his warm coat. The tom dozed for a bit beneath the thorn bushes for a bit, when a sudden thud of footsteps woke him from his rest. Mouse dung! He inwardly cursed. Yewthorn hastily leapt to his feet and looked for the source of the sound. Curiously, it was not a loner.It was a familiar Redwoodclan she-cat who was known as Curlycloud.
The brown tom watched in a bewildered amusement as the silver she-cat chased a squirrel into a tree and then circled it in obvious frustration. Does she know where she is? That seemed to do it. Like a blow to the head, the she-cat winced as she realized she was on Thistleclan soil. Yewthorn had seen the she-cat a few times under the full moon, and had remembered her because she was both attractive and a bit...unusual in appearance. As her namesake suggested, the redwood she-cat had distinctive ears the curled outward from her head. While some cats might turn their nose at such an unusual trait, Yewthorn considered them unusual as a beautiful bird was unusual. Unnatural colors and distinct silhouettes drew him like a crow to carrion. As the she-cat lowered onto her stomach and sneaked back toward the redwood border, Yewthorn decided to make his move.
"The Redwood border ends over there," he meowed. As the stunned she-cat whirled on her feet to face him, the brown tom smiled and motioned toward the sandy creek with his shoulder.He then moved toward the she-cat and closed some distance between them. "Don't worry," he continued. "I won't tell." His distinctive voice held no malice, only a charismatic friendliness that matched his smile. "I did see what happened with the squirrel, however..." The tom shook head head in feigned disappointment. "You might need to explain that. Even my apprentice can catch a squirrel, and she's sort of a mouse-brain." Yewthorn added another smile to show that he was not serious. Yet -- there was a mischievous flint in his verdant stare.
Curlycloud's pelt flushed hot with shame and anxiety. It took her a moment to catch on that there was no hostility in the statement. She'd seen this warrior at gatherings before. She thought his name was Yewthorn... and it hadn't escaped her notice previously that he was rather handsome. But that didn't matter.
Gradually, she relaxed as she rose closer to her full height. If this warrior wasn't going to attack her for trespassing, she didn't need to instigate a fight by being sarcastic in response. After all, she was in the wrong here anyway. It couldn't hurt to be friendly.
"Don't worry. I won't tell." Mildly surprised, the tabby searched the dark brown face of the other warrior. Why would he spare her like this? Well she didn't have long to dwell on the question before he pointed out her lost squirrel. Her jaw dropped and she gaped at him for a moment in amused shock. Lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders, she snorted at the question. "Like you've never lost a bit of prey before?" she challenged. "I guess I didn't realize that ThistleClan had such flawless hunters." Her brown eyes mirrored the glint of mischief and humor in Yewthorn's own eyes. "I guess I was too into the chase, though, hmm?" Her curled ears flicked back towards the border she had so thoughtlessly crossed.
It suddenly crossed her mind that it was kind of strange that they had found each other alone. Suddenly wary, she took a small step back and looked over the tom's shoulder as if she expected his Clanmates to emerge and run her off. "You're here alone?" she asked. "Er... that is... you're not on a border patrol?"
Yewthorn rolled his shoulder blades as he watched the she-cat melt from one emotion to the next. First, her cheeks blushed a faint red, a reaction he coined as embarrassment, and then it slowly faded into a careful shield as she realized he was not a threat. The tom raised a friendly brow as if to ease the tension, and then settled into a sit, his tail curled over his white feet. Might as well waste an hour or two, the brown tom mused. While the she-cat was from another clan, the distinction bothered him little. Thistleclan cats rarely followed the warrior code down to the ancient word, and Yewthorn was no exception. He liked the bits about honor and an aversion to outsiders, but the code sailed over his head when it came to attractive she-cats. Curlycloud was attractive. Her silhouette was lithe but well-muscled, and she carried the usual redwood coat that was as silver as the moon under a sheet of clouds.
The tom tilted his head as he studied her form, his stare veiled under a faux concentration. Raised from her crouch, the silver she-cat’s full stature carried an almost aristocratic air, a noble nimbleness that his own den-mates lacked. Not that he did not find his clan-mates attractive because he did. Their demeanor, however, was all teeth and claws, not this airiness that beckoned him forward like a bird to its nest. The she-cat seemed to recoil then at his comment then, and he echoed it with a chuckle. Ah, she did have claws. This he was used to. With another smile, the brown tom meowed leisurely. “We actually learn that as kits.” He raised from his sit and moved closer to the she-cat. “Flawlessness.” Yewthorn teased as he crossed the redwood warrior and flirtatiously flicked his tail over her nose.
He looked over his shoulder then. “Does Redwoodclan not teach that?” His smiled broadened. Then he turned back toward the riverbed and observed the creek. Near the shoreline, the water had hardened into a solid sheet of ice, while the current traveled sluggishly toward the lake. Few fish swam beneath its surface. He wondered then how a creature could even survive the cold without fur. His stare flicked over the ice, sure that it would buckle under his feet, and then turned back toward the silver she-cat. Her hesitant voice suddenly carried out into the woodland as a cold mist bellowed from her mouth in the wake of her words. Yewthorn moved from the river and back toward the redwood warrior. “Yes, I’m alone.” He raised another brow. “My clan-mates can’t stand me…” His teasing voice faded into the chill, and then he added with a hint of seriousness. “No, I’m actually out on the hunt for rogues, loners, outsiders…”
His nose was a few inches from Curlycloud. “And I wouldn’t want someone as pretty as you to get hurt.”
Brown eyes rolled so hard, she was sure she would be able to see through the back of her own head. But as she looked back to Yewnthorn, the sarcastic gesture was paired with a playful smile. "Flawless indeed," she purred with a small sneeze as his fluffy tail flicked across her nose. The gesture surprised her, and not in an unpleasant way.
Does RedwoodClan not teach that?
Curlycloud let out a laugh. "I guess we don't," she mewed. "If we were perfect every single time at every single thing, the other Clans might get jealous and we just don't have time to deal with that."
How must she look right now, being friendly with an enemy warrior on enemy territory? The thought flitted across the tabby's mind, but she quickly shooed it on its way. She didn't much care about that right now, but she couldn't really say why. There was something in the way that Yewthorn was looking at her that warmed her fur despite the cold. No one in her Clan looked at her the same way. She had her friends, like Robin-nose and Dawnlight, but this was different. There was no harm in enjoying the attention for a while.
The brown tom approached her, standing almost nose to nose with her... and he called her... pretty? The mention of rogues and loners breezed right over her head. For only a heartbeat that felt like moons, Curlycloud found herself unable to find her words. He thought she was pretty? Dawnlight would sometimes tell her she was pretty, but the words hit different when they weren't coming from her friend. The silver she-cat's heart fluttered in her chest like a trapped bird as she mentally scrambled to recover enough to act like he hadn't just caught her by surprise like he had.
She moved past him, leaving just enough room for their pelts to brush as she passed, she let out a sigh. "Sounds exciting, going off on your own to search for rogues." She paused and turned around to face him again, rounding her eyes to make herself look as innocent as possible. "But you just found me instead." Pausing for a moment, the tabby took in Yewthorn's features. Then, with a sniff, she shrugged and looked away. "How sad for you." She quickly glanced back with a grin to convey her playful mood.
There was an earnest satisfaction in his smile as Yewthorn watched the she-cat redden beneath his stare. He liked how he could wind another cat around his tail with only his words, a skill that was not nearly celebrated enough in his own clan. The she-cats in Thistleclan met his flirtations with a snort or bitten taunt. Never did their hearts flutter under their short, dark coats, and never did they return the comment with their own coquettish remark. There were few who had humored him beneath the silver moon, their own desires stronger than their hatred for him; but most, to his distaste, viewed him as some irritable vermin than a notable contender for their heart. Not that he was after their hearts. No, he had other inclinations.
This redwood she-cat, however, received his advance with her own lustful tease, a move he welcomed with a low rumble that resonated within his chest. She seemed as interested in him as he was in her, or at least she had the heart to humor him.
Yewthorn watched with a ravenous stare as the she-cat crossed him, careful to let their coats brush when she moved. The brown tom smirked, and he wondered then if her intentions matched his own. A soft exhale left her mouth as Curlycloud meowed into the wood. The silver she-cat turned delicately over her shoulder and tossed him such a coquettish look that the tom knew then what her intentions entailed. He did not have to overthink it twice. He used that moment to close some distance between them. Warmth radiated from her skin in waves, and still the tom let her make the first move. While he ached to feel her hot breath over his cheek, her silver coat intertwined with his, overcome with lust, the tom also exercised self-control. Yewthorn liked the slow burn, the satisfaction from an honor well earned.
The brown tom matched her flirtatious stare with his own amorous smirk. Then the she-cat delivered a second cheeky remark and turned back toward the wood with a flounce. “Sad?” he echoed as his stare traveled over her attractive silver form. “No, I’m sad that we haven’t had the chance to meet sooner,” he meowed. Yewthorn then threw his inhibitions to the frosted forest and closed the distance that remained between them.
He brushed his shoulder across her silvery flank and then turned so their noses were mere centimeters apart. He inhaled. “So, is there another tom back in redwood I should know about? Or?” He let his low voice trail out into the brisk air, and his verdant stare finish the sentence for him.
Too wrapped up in the moment and the attention Yewthorn was giving her, Curlycloud hardly noticed the cold anymore. She was thrilled to see him close the space she had momentarily made between them. The silver she-cat drank in the tom's scent as he stood before her and answered her teasing remark with something that seemed earnest. Something that made her heart soar.
Sad? No, I’m sad that we haven’t had the chance to meet sooner.
She gave a light purr in response as he grew closer still and brushed his shoulder against her flank, leaning into the touch. Instictively, when he came close enough that their noses nearly touched, she wanted to back away, to give into her insecurities. She was just a she-cat from an enemy Clan, what had she ever done to deserve this sort of treatment? But it was nice and it was new and she did like the way it made her feel so she wouldn't let herself flinch away.
So, is there another tom back in redwood I should know about? Or?
Curlycloud couldn't explain the way the question thrilled her. It let her know that they're feelings were on the same path. "Another tom?" she mused. She held his gaze for a moment before reaching forward to touch noses, reaching further to rub her cheek against his. "No other toms, just you." Her voice was barely above a whisper as she spoke. She drew back for a moment and fixed him with a questioning gaze. "I suppose I could ask you a similar question. No ThistleClan she-cats?"
A desirous thrill swelled in his chest the second the she-cat met his stare. Another tom? Her words coiled around his ears, a throb that drew him closer until their noses touched, and he exhaled in her sweet scent: Lilac in a winter frost with a hint of amber. The smell consumed him as the silver redwood warrior brushed into him, their cheeks, brown and white, melded as one, and then she meowed, words lush from her throat, into his fur: No other toms, just you. He inhaled, his breath thick and hot, and then she drew from him, her absence as cold and bitter as the winter wind.
Yewthorn moved to feel her warmth once more but hesitated under her sudden, critical stare. No Thistleclan she-cats? A small chuckle left his mouth. “Thistleclan she-cats?” he mused. The brown tom shook his head. “No.” He leveled her stare with his hard answer, then he closed the distance between and buried his nose into her lavish, exotic coat. He continued, his voice a low rumble from his throat. “I only want you.” Other names and faces, she-cats that reddened his blood, warmed his chest with passion, faded in the moment. An innate lust bewitched him, devoured his head and heart until each breath wavered with hot desire.
Yewthorn wound his brown form around the she-cat as she melted into him, a rumble loud from his chest, and then a sudden scent overcame him, a smell that sent the fur over his neck into an electric bristle. The brown tom leapt from the she-cat and into an instinctive defensive stance, his ears flat over his head. “Mouse-dung,” he hissed at the realization. The air filled with the familiar scent of firs and dirt. A Thistleclan band was near the Redwood border. Another inhale told him that the cats from his clan were southbound, and he recalled that Hawktail had ordered a scour of the border before sunset. He cursed her need for such secure borders.
The brown tom then released another frustrated hiss and sent Curlycloud a bewildered look. “I have to leave, now.” His ears flicked in the direction of his clan-mates, and he shook his head in disbelief. This was just his luck. Fox dung! With a raise of his brows, he closed the distance between them for another brief moment and murmured. “Meet me here in three moons time.” Then with a flick of his tail, Yewthorn slid back into the underbrush and vanished. He remained downwind, low to the earth, until he was back in the thick of the woodland, his chest hot with faded lust and utter frustration. It would not be until the moon shimmered overhead, above the coniferous forest, that the hot frustration would fade, and the tom would be left with a mild, but irritable, ire at his misfortune.
It was intoxicating to Curlycloud. She relished in their closeness. She drank in his scent, musky and so unlike any cat in her own Clan. The she-cat was acutely aware of every place they touched, silver fur mingling with brown. If she could have had her own way, she would have stayed in this moment forever. She felt wanted, she felt beautiful, she felt good.
But nothing good was meant to last forever, or so she told herself. Her body stiffened as he pulled away and looked up the border where a new scent drifted to the pair. It was a scent that cleared the lusty fog from her brain, leaving nervous caution in its place. It was a patrol of Yewthorn's Clanmates. The silver she-cat looked at her companion with wide brown eyes, close to panic at the idea of being caught where she didn't belong.
Meet me here in three moons time.
For only an instant, Curlycloud felt hesitant, but some of the heat from earlier crept back into her head and heart and she nodded. Briefly, she reach out to touch her nose to his. "I will," she mewed quickly before turning back towards the stream. Without looking back, she raced down the bank, leaped the stream and only stopped once she was several tail lengths on the correct side of their border. Her heart pounded with excitement at the prospect of meeting Yewthorn again. Was that really a good idea? She shook her head. It didn't matter. She was going to follow her heart in this matter and her heart longed to be reunited with her new tom friend as soon as she could. A smile crossed her face as she turned from the border and headed back to camp for the night, her previous hunting all but forgotten as she counted down the days until she would come again to romp with Yewthorn.
