Google dot com says the traditional gift for a four year anniversary is fruit & flowers?? How festive! In honor of our fourth year on the world wide web, we are requesting bouquets and fruit baskets or cash donations to the whip-a-rain-fund 😌 Oooooorrr we guess...alternatively...we can put on a big, month-long celebration featuring a warm-and-fuzzy event, scavenger hunt, a raffle drawing, and a freakin' prize wheel??! See the September Announcements for more information, and don't forget to check out the September Patrols too!
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.
...I'm Hollow like a corpse, babe, full of no remorse, babe...
His silver and black-tipped furs leaned off, a dead trunk crusted over with soft moss. Hollowheart watched with trailing eyes after the hazy descended smoke-colored clouds which the graveyard was always known to be coated in. He loved the nighttime and wondered if anyone else would be out at this time with the light of the moon still in the sky.
But Hollowheart couldn’t rely on anyone to show up and talk for the night. However, he did know the one cat he wanted to see. Hollowheart sat up and leapt off the overgrown surface. Cooly swiveled his head to make sure he wasn’t watched as the warrior padded his way over to the border. Eyeing the obvious scratches on trees and the smell of a patrol that must have marked the border not too long ago with their stench.
Left and right his eyes flicked, and he smiled at which he had already overstepped before. He ducked his head and trotted through and into their birch forest. He paused, having second thoughts. Duckpuddle was most likely tucked in her nest and LichenClan camp was a little off-limits. He shrugged and lifted a paw to take another step. However, not without noticing the blue visage of another tom’s face watching him.
Hollowheart smirked and lifted his top lip at the top to give the LichenClan cat a flicker of his sharp teeth. “Hi there.” Hollowheart breathed as he walked over to the blue point tom. He had sharp features to his face, but his posture was terrible, and he seemed to tremble slightly as Hollowheart approached. His tail tip flicked, with amusement to tower over him in height. Duckpuddle was the only cat from LichenClan that Hollowheart found closely matched him in height. “Hmm. Can you help me find someone? She’s about this tall. Very pretty.” Hollowheart meowed and lifted a paw near his eye to mimic Duckpuddle’s height.
[attr="class","sbox"]Breamfur often could not find sleep at night. It seemed whenever he wished to rest, the depths of his mind opened and permitted Storkwing’s memory to seep out from where he had locked it away. The sounds of the tom’s wretched cries, the wild and frantic look he gave his son as Breamfur ran. He thought I was coming back. The ruthless, clutching of talons upon the column of his father’s pale, vulnerable throat. Breamfur had not seen it take place, but he knew without needing to have been there that that RedwoodClan scum had slit his father’s throat open wide. It had never been a fair fight, the tall, pointed tom knew that. This was what he repeated under his breath as he slid from camp and out into the open, where the world was much bigger and wider than LichenClan camp. Where Storkwing’s ghostly face could not follow so easily. He could spend most of the night wandering and outrunning and eventually he would tire enough to drown out that part of his mind entirely. It was beginning to faintly show, the violets beginning to blossom under his sharp and flat-blue eyes.
Tonight was different though, as Breamfur rounded through the forest of thin-striped trunks and was met with an appalling sight. A tall, dark tabby stood boldly upon LichenClan soil. The very sight of such cool and calm confidence rattled the blue pointed tom and Breamfur’s face soured and turned weary. “You’re trespassing.” He said dumbly, unable to think of much else to say. His eyes lingered upon the tabby’s thick tufted paws, surely holding sharpened tendrils, and his rippling coat of muscles. Eyes narrowing, Breamfur’s mouth twitched up into a snarl. He dared not move, watching as the other seemed to only grow more comfortable and showed no signs of leaving.
“Our mollies do not need the likes of your ilk to warm their nests. I’m sure she is happily in camp with her mate, thank you very much.” Breamfur spat, his whiskers quivering as he did. “You’d be best to find your way back to your own nest.”
...I'm Hollow like a corpse, babe, full of no remorse, babe...
Characters/Members: Hollowheart/doge vs Breamfur/soot Dice?: yes Modifications: age + stats Scars: ask first
Hollowheart snorted. “I took the eye of the last one of you to tell me that… Only he wasn’t as attractive as you." A purr sang in his throat and he leaned in, attempting to make eye contact with Breamfur. "Look at me, do you find me attractive?" Holding his neck to lower his head to attempt to put his muzzle to the same level as the LichenClanner. Why is his face pointed so low? Is he scared? It was no use. Breamfur seemed very used to keeping his head pointed to the ground, giving Hollowheart the chance to keep his gaze fully trained on him. Noticing his scrawny build made him more sure that he didn't have to worry about this warrior being his competition when it came to Duckpuddle. Only when he captured a snarl from the other did Hollowheart straighten and pick up his chin slowly. It had been a shot in the dark to even expect to recruit the help of the warrior.
And when both toms were stubborn enough to not yield to the standoff, Hollowheart growled in frustration. Feeling every doting glance at the tom’s downy eggshell fur and small paws creeping into his mind. Flicking his tail once before figuring out if he was going to deal with Breamfur, just like Sootpelt. I better get started then. Lunging into Breamfur with his paws in front of him and knocking them both off balance. “I could warm your nest. Have you ever been with other toms before?” Hollowheart asked, puppetering a warmth of curiosity. How oppressed were they? Appetites hushed until they were forgotten by the mind and soul? The silver tabby wasn’t attached to any of these questions, but would certainly make the blue tom wish he never encounter him.
[attr="class","sbox"]Breamfur’s head remained ducked, tilted low and near-pressed to his chin. The other tabby, tall and striped and smirking, could lean close all he wanted, but the other’s serene-blue eyes were flat and cast away. His ear tips smoldered with heat, face turning lavender at the sweet cooing which singsonged from the RedwoodClanner’s upturned mouth. Such words….why, they had never been spoken to him before. In LichenClan…toms did not speak to other toms in such tender voices, did not say such mawkish words which cloyingly stuck to his furs and made him glow lilac in the face and force his eyes away from the blues which struck him like the mighty, rippling waters. He became aware, in a sort of hazy fashion, of how his own form was slender and built for the crafty catching of fish and nothing like the other’s. The tabby was stocky and even his paws were massive. RedwoodClan cats were formed of rock and thick trunks, their claws like brambles. Perhaps, if he truly had to, Breamfur could slip away and his lithe form would provide him a solid start. Though, he peered at the tabby’s long legs and knew that no head start would prevent the other from catching up and shredding him proper.
He suppressed a shiver. “How dare you-” Breamfur began, voice crackling and running high and flustered. He was not awarded the chance to finish, for the tabby knocked easily his feet from the ground and uprooted him. Breamfur’s back hit the ground awkwardly and the wind was swept from his chest. His face still blundering, thinking of the words which were practically treason in camp. “Gah-” An undignified noise came from him, followed by the trashing of his limbs. “You-” The tom spat weakly. “You heathen, release me! You brute!” A hindleg of his broke free and kicked upwards, into the soft and vulnerable stomach of the tabby.
