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.
[attr="class","sbox"]Monarchmask wondered if this was his final punishment for denying StarClan’s favored prophet her will.
It had been like countless nights prior. She had been begging for his touch, to curl into his side and wait out the storm together. The steady, pittering of rain had been a siren call to him, promising that a stroll out in it would save him, for when he returned, he would be wet and cold and she would not want his touch. (Though, Monarchmask had a feeling that if he came back in that state, she would merely lick the rainwater from his coat until he was dry.)
And so he had yielded to it, shaking free of her clasping paws and going to sit along the path where the thin striped birches gave way to the shore in one direction and then to the redwoods in the other. All had been good and well. He had not minded the drizzling, even as it soon turned to heavier rain and then to a downpour that he could not shelter from beneath such pitiful canopy. And by the time it had become like that, he had accepted that he could stay no longer, that if he did, Perchwhisker would send a search party to drag him back by his whiskers.
Then, the water came.
It came, crashing and hurtling down and roaring and spitting. It came in waves and torrents and all too soon and there had been no time at all to prepare nor think before it was upon him and dragging him away in its talons. The current vicious in its path, unbothered by the flailing of long, tortoiseshell limbs and the gagging and choking of one young LichenClanner trying to expel water from his throat as he was swept off with it. At some point, he lost all sense of direction, only knowing the dark and unrelenting pull of the water. He knew not where it was going to leave him nor if he would ever be found. He tumbled and twisted a great, long distance until finally he felt the rush of water around him begin to soften.
Eventually, he felt it release him. Left with his furs plastered to his skinny frame, Monarchmask laid where he had been left, bleary eyes making out the dark blot of a thick canopy above him.
Dandelionbite was a one-man search party, separated from his original patrol for the sake of clearing more area more quickly. He might have succumbed to the reality that he wasn't a good fighter, but that didn't mean all that practice was for nothing, always garnished with well-toned muscles and brawniness to match. If there were truly any stragglers on their territory needing saved, he knew he would be an immense help. He also knew he would be an immense help pushing any stranded rogues back into the floods where they belonged.
And speaking of stranded cats, he saw almost a familiar mottled pelt being tossed and churned by the rushing water of the river lining RedwoodClan's borders. Dandelionbite blinked, trying to recognize the cat as he quickened his pace. It didn't seem familiar enough to be a RedwoodClan cat, but he absolutely swore that pattern of apricot streaks was stubbornly stained in his memory. It wasn't until the foreign tom was sloppily spilled onto land that he recognized the cat.
"Monarchmask?!" Dandelionbite shouted in disbelief, catching up to the collapsed warrior with an urgency more intense than he expected before he gave Monarchmask a hearty shake with a forepaw. Pull yourself together but the words didn't find his tongue, instead feeling the weight of the words himself. he realized he was panicking. pushing down his gut and slowing his rapid breathing, he collected himself, wary of his own distress over a LichenClan cat, out of all warriors.
Just because they had become sparring partners, didn't mean they had fledged a bond. And yet, as he stared down at sodden, dulled autumn colors pathetically smeared on once a strong and standing form, the anxiety of this being the last image he would see of Monarchmask made him realize how much he would actually miss him. This warrior from another Clan had been the only one to seek out his company, and the only one that wanted to help achieve his goals. Maybe he took their relationship for granted.
He didn't have time, though, to process all these complex and new feelings. He just knew that if Monarchmask died on his paws right here, right now, it would be a streak of blood stained on his consciousness more darker than any regret in his life. He was no Clanmate, but he was his first...friend.
Something jostled him and slowly Monarchmask’s eyes attempted to peel themselves open. Blearily, they parted only a tiny sliver of the way and he was greeted with shadowy shapes which soon evolved into blobs of color. A pale, pleasant cream which seemed to belong to the limb which kept roughly shaking him. His vision was streaked still with darkness and while it would have been nice for whoever was disrupting him to leave him to the darkness, something tugged at him to heed the voice.
It was a familiar voice, he had to admit. He searched his mind but each time the answer to why it was slid from his grasp and back into the blurry darkness. Whoosh, whoosh whoosh. The darkness seeped into and around him too, but the streaks of pale fur kept barging in and interrupting and finally, his eyes could make out details and foggy clarity washed over him. Oh, it’s just Dandelionbite. That RedwoodClanner. Monarchmask’s eyes slid closed again. Then they opened wider. What is he doing here ? In LichenClan territory ? That was weird and odd, wasn’t it ? And the other tom seemed nervous. Another jostling, this time especially rough, and he rolled onto his side and abruptly spat up a few mouthfuls of river water. Ungracefully excess water trickled from his mouth and onto the ground. His chest quietly heaved as air slowly came back to him and the world stopped swimming around him.
Dandelionbite, furs plastered to his form, all slicked down by the terrible onslaught of rain. A wild, frenzied look in his eyes. Monarchmask swept a paw up to wipe at the water at his mouth and then finally he shook his head and spoke.
“You look like shit.”
And then he swiveled his head, taking in the scenery. Tall looming trees had replaced the slender, dainty birches of the grove he was used to. “Are we in your territory ?” The tortie asked, not looking at the other. Instead, his gaze was watching as the river thrashed past them, dark and murky. Fleetingly, he wondered who else it had taken in its war path.
Relief flooded Dandelionbite when a sliver of sun burnt yellow peeked from the darker hues of Monarchmask's face, even the faintest sign of consciousness enough to calm the tension in his muscles. He's not dead. For a moment he felt embarrassed, jumping to such raw and dramatic conclusions without even taking into account he was dealing with another fully grown warrior. Of course he was alive. Maybe not okay, who knows. He still looked a little half dead. But before he could prod the issue any further, wide yellow orbs met his. The tom was fully awake now.
“You look like shit.”
Dandelionbite's frown reached the depths of his jawline in response, only just a moment before he was insulted he watched the warrior unceremoniously spit out chunk fulls of water. He rolled his eyes, before replying back, "At least I'm not an idiot." Truly, there was really no high ground Monarchmask could take here, even if Dandelionbite really did look like shit. They were in his territory now, both literally and figuratively, and he was going to make sure that Monarchmask would owe him a debt.
Yes, he would help the poor sucker. Sodden and exhausted the fool was, there was no way he was going to make it back to his clanmates in this rain. And he obviously couldn't go back from where he came. Dandelionbite sighed, before Monarchmask's question suddenly pierced the air. "Yeah." The pale amber tom spoke simply, deciding not to follow the tortoiseshell tom's gaze toward the rushing river and instead seeking the trees beyond, towards his camp. He wondered briefly whether to take him there to warm up, but decided against it. He would rather be a corpse than be seen aiding a LichenClan cat in camp. No, he knew where to go instead.
"Come on." he said gruffly, already heading away from the river and into RedwoodClan territory.
His savior did not seem amused. Monarchmask did not seem to hear the tom’s words as he merely hummed in response and then shook his furs again. Amazing, wasn’t it ? However short they were, it seemed he could not get dry, couldn’t shake the feeling like he was drowning. Ah. So we are. “You got nice trees here,” The tortoiseshell said at last, finally pulling his eyes from the looming shapes. “Bet it’s real nice to walk under this canopy when the world isn’t ending.” And it was, wasn’t it ? The water was rising up to swallow them all whole. It must be the cost of a lifetime of sinning. Whatever had riled up the golden tom seemed to not be an issue anymore and now his attitude had soured, eyes gone tempered. If Monarchmask was aware of the vulnerable position he was in, he seemed unaware of it. Or perhaps, maybe that was just what it was like at the end of the world. Who had time to care about rules and morals when there was going to be nothing left ?
His gruff voice pulled him aware from the rushing, wild water. Monarchmask turned his head and then followed Dandelionbite in comfortable silence. “You takin’ me home ?” He asked. “Does pulling me out of the river count as a second date in RedwoodClan ?”
Dandelionbite was glad to hear the rustle of paw steps behind him, confirming that Monarchmask was doing what he loved the tom doing most: obeying him. But as soon as he started savoring the silence between them, the persistent rush of rain drowning out their travels as the duo persevered forward, the storm's rhythmic performance was broken by obnoxious inquiries perpetrated by his fellow companion. A drawn out sigh sliced the air more aggressively than the rain pounding through the forest trees. "I'm taking you to safety" Dandelionbite replied, not looking back. "You're stupid if you actually think you'd make it home like this."
At the mention of a 'second date', Dandelionbite was quick to interject. "It counts as saving your life," he huffed, taking offense to Monarchmask's light humor on the situation. Did he not get that he could have found him dead instead? "And you better not forget that." Dandelionbite finally looked over his shoulder at the tortoiseshell, before turning back and silently trudging on forward to secure shelter they should recollect themselves in.
Fortunately for them, it would not take long for them to find just that, and for once Dandelionbite was glad his pride had talked sense into him for once and they had not walked all the way to camp. In fact, their trek was relatively short, the silver-ginger warrior bluntly stopping with no warning in front of an ordinary bush. With careless force, he nosed his way into the web of twigs and branches, creating an open tunnel for Monarchmask to easily follow.
Before long, he was through the bush, only to be welcomed by another circle of bushes taking hostage of the area it embodied, and a large tree centering it all. Confidently, he strode forward, uncovering a tree hollow deep enough for both of them, but just barely. With a sigh, he dived in, shaking his pelt and giving it a few, drying licks as he waited for his companion to follow. I'm going to have to do this to Monarchmask, he thought crossly to himself as a mouth full of pale ginger swiped through his tongue. He's soaked to the bone, and warmth won't be worth shit if he's this wet. But as logical as that conclusion sounded, he couldn't help but feel a flutter of nervousness, suddenly hot when he should be cold. And suddenly, he felt distrustful. Not of Monarchmask, but himself. I'm saving his life. I'm saving his life. He reminded himself. And he successfully hardened.
