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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.
Monarchmask rarely spent time at the creek. Too much dust or sand or otherwise unworthwhile dirtying of his paws. The last time he’d come near the ThistleClan border, he had paid for it. That tom was more trouble than he was worth, he scoffed silently. Despite this the haughty way he’d thought of him after, still, he came by on occasion. Perhaps hoping to pick another fight or to find another enthralling conversation. Usually, he found neither. Cats coming by the creek did not stop for long, which Monarchmask found to be particularly irritating. Today though, he hoped his luck would be better, as his gaze caught on peeks of bright orange fur in the gaps of the weaving underbrush just across the way.
“Hey!” He called out, voice sharp and jagged. “Come on over, let me run my claws through your pelt, send you home as an example.” Monarchmask’s patchwork face was turned up into a delighted sneer. “Come on, I thought you ThistleClanners were all tough and don’t care about borders or rules.” The tortoiseshell tom slunk close to the creek’s edge, to better shoot his petty jeers across at the tom who’s face now peered out of the brush. An orange tabby tom, caught off guard if the look on his face were anything to go by. “Don’t tell me you’re scared ?” He taunted further.
notes: Characters / Members: monarchmask (soot) vs sparkspirit (silver) Dice?: yes Modifications: earned stats = monarch has a +1 for age, +2 in strength, +1 in accuracy & a -1 in defense. sparkspirit has a +2 for age & +1 in strength Scars?: ask first
Well you think that you can take me on? You must be crazy!
‘This is a very, very stupid idea, isn’t it?’ Sparkspirit thought as he padded towards the LichenClan border.
Alone.
Very few cats were willing to go to the border alone now. War was on the horizon, and tensions between the clans and LichenClan were growing on a daily basis. Lily and her rogues dwelt on the shores of LichenClan, and it was clear from the last battle where the one rosette tabby had gone after Rainflight that they were more than willing to kill ThistleClan cats for absolutely no reason.
So far, the boarder had been safe. No one had been attacked. No one had been mauled. No one had been killed.
Yet.
It wasn’t a secret that there was worry in some cats that LichenClan and the rogues wouldn’t hesitate to pick warriors off one by one. That they were just waiting for the right time to catch someone alone to kill them for no reason other than just because they could.
Despite this, Sparkspirit found himself padding closer and closer to the border. Why? He didn’t know. Was he desperate to catch a glimpse of Songbird? Was he himself looking for a fight? Was he just so used to patrolling the borders that he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving it alone? He had no clue.
All he knew was that he was approaching the Sandy Creek. He paused before he exited the tree line, lifting his muzzle to scent the air before he froze. He wasn’t alone.
He could smell a LichenClan cat on the other side of the border. Narrowing his brown eyes, the tom crouched down and stalked closer to the border. If he played this smart, he’d be able to observe whoever was on the other side of the border without even alerting them to his presence.
“Hey! Come on over, let me run my claws through your pelt, send you home as an example.”
Welp. There went that plan. ‘Stupid ginger fur,’ he thought, already knowing what gave him away. There was a reason he tended to roll in mud when he was hunting after all. Sanding up straight, the tom unsheathed his claws. He couldn’t walk away now.
“Come on, I thought you ThistleClanners were all tough and don’t care about borders or rules.”
“No, that’s your clan that doesn’t care about borders or rules,” Sparkspirit shot back as he stepped out of the bushes, claws digging into the ground. His eyes widened ever so slightly as he saw the tortoiseshell tom in front of him. He was younger than the ginger tom had been expecting for sure. He didn’t think many young LichenClan cats would try to pick fights at the border.
Flicking his tail, he narrowed his eyes at the tom. “Why don’t you go home? I’d rather not claw up an apprentice today,” he shot back. Was it hypocritical to judge a cat’s age on how they looked? Absolutely. He was still mistaken for an apprentice from time to time, though he hoped the way he carried himself showed off a confidence that apprentices wouldn’t have.
“Don’t tell me you’re scared?”
The ginger mackerel tabby tom let out a laugh as he stared at the tom. “Scared? No, just smart enough not to pick fights with a clan that tensions are already high with. You’re not worth starting a war over, ‘paw,” he said. His claws dug into the ground. “Though I’d be more than happy to indulge you if you come over here.”
It was not a secret passed along in hushed tones that the other clans did not linger at their borders in recent moons. LichenClan’s neighbors had long grown wary of the salt-flecked warriors themselves since Minnowstar had banished a young she-cat at a Gathering. In front of everyone. None had spoken her name since but most knew that such a scene had left a lasting impact on the other clans and in that way Monarchmask wondered if she had perhaps made such a spectacle intentionally, for that very purpose. It would have been a wise move…our borders have been quiet lately and rightfully so… Gone were the days of squabbling and disputes over claiming prey or insignificant territory markers. Now cats passing by ducked their heads and hoped not to be seen. No cat worth his claws wanted to risk being caught alone by one of the rogues who had taken roost in the caverns alongside the already fearsome warriors. They are afraid of us. Like they should be. This plucky tom before him was either stupid or too young to know such things yet. Monarchmask’s lip curled in delightful wickedness. Perhaps he’ll be a better time than the pale one. Maybe he had not been warned of the ferocity of the shore dwellers, had not yet seen the way LichenClan settled any and all minor disagreements by way of tooth and nail. In this ignorance, would lie his downfall. Slow and steady, Monarchmask crept into view and allowed his pretty pelt to catch the light. In many ways he was thankful for the unusual coloring. Many deemed him a pretty face before they did a threat.
The ThistleClanner’s face shifted, his claws springing out between his paws. Jittery are we ? It was clear, the way he was trying to stand tall and proud, back straightened. “I wonder what shade your fur will turn after I shred you up a bit,” He mused, sardonically, aloud. It was easy to brush off all of the rambling he was spouting, too caught up in sizing the other up. Wistfully, even, consider where he ought to cut into first. “Apprentice ? Oh you’re too funny.” He snickered lazily. “Sure thing though, I’ll come over and show you exactly what an apprentice can do.” And then swiftly, with no care, he was crossing the border in long strides. His paws damp from the creek water, though he did not mind the way it chilled him. His paws hit the otherside of the border and his maw was stretched into a wolfish look. “Boo.” And he wasted no time now. Claws slithered out and without blinking they made to slash. A white-spun paw struck forth and his aim was true and devious, hitting the ginger tabby in the center of his chest. For a first blow, it was light. Playful even. My next one won’t be though. And then he stood tall and taunting, waiting to watch the way the other’s face would recoil in pain and throb from a dull aching.
Well you think that you can take me on? You must be crazy!
“I wonder what shade your fur will turn after I shred you up a bit.”
Sparkspirit’s eyes narrowed as he dug his claws deeper into the earth. His ears pinned back. The tom was clearly not going to back down. He was talking far too much shit for that.
“What, are you LichenClanners not cats or something? Do you guys not know what color blood is?” He snarked as he looked at the tortoiseshell tom. His tail flicked back and forth in annoyance.
“Apprentice ? Oh you’re too funny. Sure thing though, I’ll come over and show you exactly what an apprentice can do.”
The fur on the back of the tom’s back stood up as the LichenClan tom crossed the boarder, a smirk on his face. Arching his back, he pulled his lips into a snarl.
“Leave. I have no interest in hurting you,” he said, tail flicking faster. He was annoyed. Genuinely annoyed. He really didn’t want to start something with LichenClan. Not yet at least.
Unfortunately, this tom seemed more than happy to start something.
“Boo.”
The tortoiseshell tom slammed a paw into his chest, causing Sparkspirit to stagger back. Hissing, the ginger tom shook himself out. “Well, there goes the peaceful option,” he muttered, mostly to himself.
With that, he leapt forwards, teeth bared as he attached himself to the tom’s shoulder, kicking his back legs downwards, cutting into the tortoiseshell tom’s flesh.
Springing off of the tom, the ginger ThistleClan warrior huffed. “I’m going to give you one last chance to leave.”
[attr="class","sbox"]Monarchmask laughed, dark and true and deeply. The orange tabby clung to his shoulder and though it left a slash- burning red and flush with heat already- behind, there was a sense, which was noticeable, that the ThistleClanner was hesitating. And this reluctance drew more wickedness to the tortie’s face. “Is that the best you can do ?” He sneered, a grin coming to rest across his painted maw again. “You really must be an apprentice, isn’t it obvious I’m not here for fun ? Clearly I want something.” He truly despised when these pitiful border skirmishes had to be enacted with such terrible, miserable actors. I’ve got to try my luck elsewhere, clearly ThistleClan has not a single cat worth my time.
He leaned forwards, that grin so wide and wolfish it was threatening to split his face in half. “And that something would be to walk away with clumps of your garish fur between my claws.” Monarchmask did not wait, he was eager to prove a point to the other. He leapt, claws unsheathed, at the tabby and slammed into him. The force alone knocked the orange warrior onto his back. “See ?” Monarchmask spat. “That’s how it’s done.” Prickling claws sat where they had found purchase in the other’s flesh and let pinpricks of crimson seep forth those exitways. “What was that about giving me a chance ?” He couldn’t help it, if there was a chance to rub anything in anyone’s face, he had to take it.
