Ooooky, spooky skeletons.... The creepiest, crawliest month of the year coincides with a handful of updates for the site. October heralds the winner of the art raffle, the launch of our DA group and first art contest, OTM winners and new nomination categories, new weather events, additional battle rules and new battle buddy stat, and our monthly plot upate and patrols! For more information, check out the October Announcemets. Have a fun and safe ooky-spooky month everyone!
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 want to sing like the birds sing, not worrying about who hears or what they think. -Rumi
As Mousepaw followed the black tom before her she felt her chest fluttering in excitement. Orchidshade had led her across the sandbar bridge and onto the Tribe's island territory and then onward closer to the tribe. Her wounds on her back, now covered with a salve the leader....no Teller...had made for her, had stung and screamed with a fire of their own but she had been determined to help the medicine cat with their task. They had been intercepted by a patrol of....what was it again? guards? Tree guards? No. Stone Guards. Yeah that was it....and quickly led to the center of the tribes camp. The small calico's head was still spinning. It was a lot to take in.
But now, she was alone, Orchidshade ordering her to go of with Hemlock....Just Hemlock? That's weird....and meet the other young cats. She had called them something else besides apprentices but she had missed the phrasing. As they moved along, the black tom as excited as she was, but trying to keep a slow pace as she started limping slightly from her wounds, she took in everything she could see around her. She didn't see any large dens that would hold many large cats like the warriors dens, but smaller ones that held one or two, maybe even a small family. As they passed on she heard faint mewling of kits and paused her ears perking in alert. She loved kits. But she doubted she would be allowed to visit. She quickly hurried after Hemlock and soon they reached their destination.
Before them basked two other cats. One was a smoky grey, probably closer to her age and Hemlock's, and the other much younger, probably a fresh new apprentice....no not apprentice. what was their word again? She shifted nervously as Hemlock called out to them.
Fog and Crow. Did they not have suffixes cause they were not full grown? The Teller didn't have one either. This was going to be different for sure.
As the two joined them she sat trying to will her back muscles to relax. She purred happily in greeting, her plumed tail flicking some behind her. "Hello. My name is Mousepaw," she said confidently as Hemlock allowed her to introduce herself, "You all have a beautiful home here. I'm kind of jealous you all have a whole island to yourself. It would be much easier to know where Borders stop and start." She giggled a bit at herself remembering her first outing as an apprentice. That seemed so long ago now.
Word Count: 420 Tags: wishmoonyKenny Notes: time for some young cat interactions!!!
ike fire that spreads through dry summer grass, the arrival of the two clan cats spread through the tribe. Fog was lounging in the rising morning sun. His bright orange eyes closed to the world around him. He had only vacated his den when Moth ushered him out. They're here again. She had said. Fog had huffed at the statement. How kind to come at the crack of dawn. But Moth wouldn't let him return to his nest. instead he was forced to wait in readiness Just in case they turn hostile. Yeah, Fog through Two cats will turn hostile against an entire Tribe. But the rumors were circulating. Invasion. Battle. Clans (emphasis on the plural). All Fog knew for sure was that something significant had occurred when the two clan cats had trekked across the sand bar path. Just as long as it doesn't force me to work rocks can start dancing for all I care.
Fog was more testy than usual. The lingering effects of the mysterious illness that had swept through the Tribe still held fast to the tom. While the herbs the cat named Orchidshade had provided in her last visit had ease most of the symptoms, Fog knew he was not fully healed. Orchidshade had promised to return with something stronger. Well, at least we know they keep their promises.
Crow, his fellow to-be, had joined him in soaking in the brightening sun rays. Hemlock had gone off, to curious to wait for the news to come to them. Fog could wait, he was in no hurry. Besides they'll probably be bombarded with questions from other cats, I won't learn what I want to know. Although Fog tried to contain it, he was immensely curious about the clan cats. How they were different, how they were the same, how their knowledge of each other would forever change the way they lived. This was proving to be the most exciting thing Fog had ever experienced (Except perhaps they spider encounter he had with Swoop all those moons ago).
Sounds of approaching cats caught Fog's drifting attention. The familiar scent of Hemlock was accompanied by the scent of a stranger. Fog knew instantly it was not a tribe cat Hemlock was bringing their way.
Rising, Fog turned to observe his black-pelted brother leading a small diluted calico towards the to-be's. Fog sat, watching silently until the two joined Fog and Crow, forming a circle. "Hello. My name is Mousepaw," Fog remained still, listening to the barrage of words that left the she-cat's mouth. He was unsure how he would like this she-cat. She seems more like Hemlock and Crow. Great.
Fog bowed his head in greeting. "I'm Fog that Hangs in Air," He watched for her reaction to his full name, pausing for a beat before tacking on "But I'm called Fog. Are you called by your full name, Mouse Paw? Or just Mouse." His voice was even and smooth. Straight to his questions. Time to learn what I can about Clan life. He yearned to satisfy his curiosity.
∙ cinderface ∙ mistflower ∙ fog that hangs in air ∙ loudstorm ∙ sun that shines above ∙ aspenkit ∙ aster ∙ eaglefang ∙ leafpaw ∙ orchid that blooms by night ∙ sparrowheart ∙
We don’t know what we want Until we lose what we have
The news made its way from ear to ear, passed on by maw to maw, spreading quicker than one could possibly keep up with. Crow had been woken by Log, being told to go interact with the other cats her age. The young she had groaned and curled into a tighter ball, begging her father to let her sleep longer, but the prey hunter had lost all of the silly softness that he usually had with his daughter. With a scowl upon her maw, she had crawled out of the den she shared with the other cat and had spotted Fog, and padded over to where the grey cat lay, soaking in the sun rays that had started to peak over the land. She didn't spot Fog's brother, Hemlock, so she simply stayed silent. She supposed he'd be along shortly. If she was honest, Hemlock seemed more well equipped to deal with strange cats early in the morning. Crow knew she was never in the best mood when first waking up and Fog was never in the best mood... ever.
So it made sense that the scent of the lanky, goofball of a to-be was caught on the wind. Along with the smell of a stranger. She grunted softly as she got to her paws and they came in sight.
As she saw the other cat, she began to ponder. All of her original irritation began to fade as it was replaced with curiosity. She knew that the Hemlock and Fog had interactions with the 'Clans' before. She had never been so lucky. She'd been too young, and wasn't of much use to the tribe, she'd admit. And, no, she wasn't exactly old and experienced now, but she had started to wonder about the clans that seemed so near and yet...another world away. Her interest had really been ignited when the sickness had swept through the Tribe, and one of the clan offered to help. Crow herself had been wary: That was an good tactic for manipulation, one she was even guilty of sometimes, silver tongue that she was. She wondered if the clan was helping them simply so they'd owe a favor later. She'd never discussed it much, often thinking that one would just think it was the ramblings of a young to-be, trying to sound intelligent and self important.
However, with a clan cat right in front of her, the suspicions rose up again in her chest, but she sealed them over with a warm cordiality. She heard the diluted calico beginning to speak, and, she couldn't help it, she made a face of general confusion at her name. 'Mouse...paw?' The cat thought. The name seemed of two parts, but it didn't sound like the Tribe names. 'Maybe it's an oddity of the clans,' She thought. She heard the deep, cordial voice of Fog introduce himself with his full name, before tacking on the more common name he had around the Tribe. He then asked what the calico preferred to be called. "Yeah, what he said." She mewed, before realizing she was being rude. "Ah, sorry. My name's Crow That Flies Homeward. But, I'm simply called Crow."
Hemlock led the small calico across the moorland and toward the resting place where he had left his brother and Crow, his tail lifted in the air like an unfurled fern. The moment he had heard the news about the clan cats, he had leapt to his paws and raced to meet his older tribe-mates near the sandbar, his heart thudding in his chest. While he knew it was probably the redwood cats, he was terrified that it was them, the two others clans that had wanted him dead; and as he ran, his strides carrying him across the moor as a hawk soars across the skies, he mentally prepared for the worst. He saw his leaders slain like mice, their blood drenching the grassland red, but when he reached them, they were merely chatting with the black she-cat and her smaller companion, a different she-cat from last time, the fur across his hackles lowered and his breathing steadied in his chest.
It's ok, he realized as he slowed into a walk, greeting his elders with the bow of his head. Straightening beneath their gaze, he turned toward the smaller calico, observing her silently. When suddenly, the older black she-cat ushered her toward him with a shove. “Oh, hello,” Hemlock meowed hastily as the she-cat neared. Glancing toward the other members of his tribe, he quickly realized that they wanted him to take her somewhere else, so they could talk. Creasing his brow, he shot Sunrise a tentative look before turning back toward the little calico. Am I supposed to watch her like a kit? He wondered with a start, thinking about the kits his mother would soon birth. Shrugging, the black tom flicked his tail, signaling for the calico to follow him back toward his friends.
At least I can learn more about the clans, he thought as he trotted back over the coarse moorland. As the land moved beneath him, Hemlock decided to break the silence with a cheerful meow. “I’m Hemlock where Shades Grows, but you can just call me Hemlock.” He tacked on the last part, remembering how the clan cats had different naming customs. She wouldn’t know to call me Hemlock. Shooting the she-cat a look over his shoulder, he meowed. “What’s your name?” With bright eyes, brimming with curiosity, the calico answered, her voice oddly curled and sweet. I forgot how weird their accents were, he remembered with a start. “Well, nice to meet you Mousepaw! I don’t really know what the others wanted us to do, but my friends are over here somewhere,” his voice trailed as he scanned the horizon, looking for where he left his tribe-mates.
He halted then with an audible aha! as his gaze suddenly spotted their blurred silhouettes on the horizon. “There they are! Come on!” he shouted with a grin. The tom then shot off across the grassland, his paws easily outrunning the clan cat as he eased into an abrupt skid in front of his friends. Showering them with a thin film of dirt, the tom motioned toward Mousepaw as she slowed behind him and meowed. “The clan cats are back, and it looks like this one is in our care until the elders are done licking their herbs or whatever.” With a chuckle, he let his brother and Crow introduce themselves and ask the she-cat their questions.
As their words left their mouths, Hemlock found himself suppressing an eye-roll, immediately bored with their observations. I already told you they have weird names, he breathed with an irritated snort. “Yeah, their names are weird,” he meowed as he rolled into a lazy stretch. “But what I’m wondering is how do you protect yourself from the other clans? Last time I was there, it seemed like they didn’t like you all very much.” There was a hint of laughter in his voice, but beneath the amusement, laid a kind of fear, a terror that reminded him of the connection he had made, a connection that could end in their death.
i want to sing like the birds sing, not worrying about who hears or what they think. -Rumi
As Mousepaw listened to each of the cats greetings she nodded her head politely in return, a small happy rumble exiting her chest despite the fire clawing at her back. Maybe she should have taken it a bit slower getting over here, but she was just as excited to meet these new cats as Hemlock seemed to be as he added questions to the other two. None of the questions would be really simple to answer she figured, so she decided to start with her name.
"Mousepaw, please," she said politely, "Mouse is my...um...the forever part of my name. I've had it since i was a kit and will have it until I join Starclan. Well unless our clan leader decides I deserve a different name, but that rarely happens. It's kind of a bad thing most of the time. But the last part of my name, the paw part, will change once i become a full warrior, which i hope will be soon." She tried to quickly explain how the naming ceremony worked from kit to apprentice then apprentice to warrior. It was a lot harder to simplify than she originally thought. It didn't help that she was nervous, her paws shuffling underneath her as she spoke. She paused then swallowed flicking her ears back embarrassed.
"Sorry," she mumbled, realizing she might have lost all three of them in her explanation, "I tend to talk quite a bit, especially when i am nervous. Not...not that you all are doing that. I just....i've never had to explain our ways before." She quietly licked down the fur on her chest to calm herself and talk a few easy breaths like Rockjaw had taught her to do when she worked herself up. Then she turned her gaze to Hemlock to answer his question.
"Each clan has their own territory that they vow to protect from those outside their clan. We send out patrols through out the day to check the boarders and sometimes border patrols cross paths," she said then shifted looking down at her paws, "When i first became an apprentice....i accident caused a skirmish to happen because i got excited and wasn't paying attention and tumbled off a small hill and into Lichenclan territory....and then called their deputy a trout-tail."
She added the last part quietly almost ashamed then looked up and blinked surprised as the others let out small chuckles of laughter. She watched them then smiled faintly. "Skirmishes don't happen often, but....with Redwoodclan offering to help you, the other tw clans, Lichenclan and Thistleclan, well...they aren't happy about it and are doing what they can to stop us. But you all don't have to worry. We aren't going to. We don't believe in turning a blind eye to those in need."
Word Count: 459 Tags: moonywishKenny Notes: Mousepaw does become a chatter box sometimes lol
og would have liked to ask his questions with a little more tact. Based on Mousepaw's nervous reactions she was a little overwhelmed with everything happening. Hemlock rushing with his usual care-free ardor into the conversation should not have surprised Fog. Can't take back words already said. Fog would have asked the same question, at a later point, any way. Accepting that he was just going to have to go with the flow of the conversation, Fog listened intently to Mousepaw. There was much he could learn from her that would help settle his abounding curiosity.
Deputy sounds important. Fog mused as Mousepaw expounded on the function of borders and patrols in the Clans. At the word trout-tail, Fog cocked an eyebrow, impressed with the she-cat's spunk toward a cat who seemed to pull more rank than herself. Trout-tail. Impressive. He mused.
Fog was bothered by her concluding statement, and before the other two to-bes could insert their own questions Fog interrogated Mousepaw himself. "How does RedwoodClan helping us affect these other two clans? If you each have your own territories, why should they care that your clan crosses the sand bar to help us?" Fog's amber gaze traveled across Mousepaw's marred pelt. Unless they must trespass on the other territories to reach us? Seeing Mousepaw's reaction Fog got the answer he wanted. So they do. "Sounds like Clan life is complicated if you have to tiptoe across the island." Fog observed. The itch he felt before, the itch to want to experience what that kind of life was like, revived. Will I ever visit this island? He cleared his throat, a cough threatening to creep up from the sickness that still clung to his lungs. He had much improved since Orchidshade had last visited their island, but perhaps the herbs she brought this time would kick the last of the sickness from Fog's body.
∙ cinderface ∙ mistflower ∙ fog that hangs in air ∙ loudstorm ∙ sun that shines above ∙ aspenkit ∙ aster ∙ eaglefang ∙ leafpaw ∙ orchid that blooms by night ∙ sparrowheart ∙
Hemlock flopped onto his side, the weight of his body disturbing a cloud of dust into the air like a dandelion releasing its seed into the wind, as he listened in an odd, irritated silence. While he had been excited at first to show his tribe-mates an actual clan-cat, the more the she-cat talked, the more he became unsettled, his mood shifting like the skies during a storm. The dark tom couldn’t name it, but something about the ease in their voices, the almost-furor radiating from their pelts, made him sick. When Mousepaw talked about the clans, describing their naming customs and their borders and whatever, all Hemlock could remember was the fear pulsing in his chest and the wild, crazed look in the disheveled she-cat's eyes as she stared down on him like a he was a slab of meat. She called me a demon. It was like no one else took this new alliance seriously. At least, not as seriously as him.
His eyes danced toward his blue-coated brother, recalling their fight moons ago. Even Fog thinks I’m overreacting, he thought with an irritated twitch of his ear. The two hadn’t talked about it since their encounter with the coyote, but Hemlock knew his brother still felt the same. As the small calico finished explaining the small skirmish she had started, Hemlock released an unintentional snort, unable to control his reaction. “They attacked you for calling them a trout-tail?” he meowed, his voice cross. “How are you even all still alive if you can’t even handle a puny insult with unsheathing your claws.” Hemlock knew he was being rude, but the more he remembered his time on the other island, the more his heart raced in his chest. What if I accidentally call the next patrol a bunch of mouse-brains, and they shred my ears off? He wondered as his maws twisted into a frown.
His brother interceded then, his low voice drawling into moorland like a humid, summer wind. Hemlock turned to him, watching as the blue tom processed his own question, finding the answer in the she-cat’s subtle reaction. Does he get it now? The dark tom wondered as his brother continued with his own observation. “I told you,” Hemlock retorted with an angry flick of his tail. “They wanted me dead only because I was different.” Another snort expressed from his nose as he turned his gaze away from them. “Sorry,” he muttered with a small shake of his head. “I know you all saved us, and I’m thankful. I really am.” He turned his head once more, catching the eyes of the small calico she-cat. “But how do we know that the other two clans aren’t going to show up here one day and massacre us because your clan keeps pissing them off.”
i want to sing like the birds sing, not worrying about who hears or what they think. -Rumi
The petite calico was quiet as she listened to the other cat's concerns of Thistleclan and Lichenclan coming after their tribe and causing more chaos and destruction. She shifted a bit a the scratches burned again ever so slightly across her back. How could she word what she wanted to try and assure them that they weren't at fault for the other two clans being so hostile, when in reality she didn't know why they were so opposed to the newcomers herself.
"The fighting with Lichenclan and Redwoodclan has been going on since before i was born," she admitted softly, "It's been a territory thing for a very long time. Lichenclan thinks they are the only ones with the right to speak to our ancestors and that Redwoodclan are heathens for wanting to extend a helpful paw to those in need that are not part of our clans. Thistleclan...well i think they were just upset that we were in their territory without permission, but it was the only way to get here to help you all out."
She looked up at them then tried to sit up a bit straighter to show she wasn't scared of the dangers that might come, when in reality her heart was pounding in her chest. It was already difficult dealing with Lichenclan's attacks, but if they added Thistleclan to the fray, would Redwoodclan be able to survive? Would the tribe be willing to come to their aid if they asked for it? Would they even be able to? From what she had seen, the tribes numbers were limited.
She let out a breath then smiled and flicked her tail some. "You all have asked some good questions but i have some of my own," she admitted quietly, "Do you all really have 3 leaders? And they called you to-bes? What does that mean exactly? And do you all share dens? I haven't seen any big ones like we have back at home."
Word Count: 327 Tags: wishmoony Notes: Mouse has started asking questions...run. lol
he two younger ones stormed through the conversation, and Fog only sat listening intently. So much information to consume. The way the clans behaved and interacted with each other intrigued Fog. The Tribe was...the Tribe. They had only ever had each other, no other groups of cats with different mind sets or beliefs. It was logical to the blue tom that when three neighbors thought differently about things, and were not connected with each other, than fights and rivalries would break out. Hemlock's question to Mousepaw was a bit unfair, and he flicked his tail against the black tom's side. But, the calico she-cat was already attempting a response. And Fog had to commend her for that. It wasn't a satisfactory response, but as Fog had observed RedwoodClan couldn't control what the other clans did. This was how they functioned, and it was a foreign way of life to the tribe.
Mousepaw turned to her own questions, and Fog stretched before languidly plopping on his side to relax. He listened, amused by the things she found important enough to ask about. Three leaders? Fog mused, "If you mean Talon and Sunrise, they're just in charge of Prey-hunters and Stone-Guards." Fog didn't offer any other commentary. A cat of few words, he'd let Hemlock answer the rest.
Fog stretched out on the ground, soaking in the rays from the rising sun and rolled onto his back. He closed his orange eyes to the world around him, but his ears remained pricked to attention and caught Mousepaw's final question. "Share big dens?" his left eye slide open to a slit and peered at Mousepaw. "Why don't you share the big island with the other clans? Similar concept, smaller scale." His eye closed once more, his body soaking in the warm rays.
∙ cinderface ∙ mistflower ∙ fog that hangs in air ∙ loudstorm ∙ sun that shines above ∙ aspenkit ∙ aster ∙ eaglefang ∙ leafpaw ∙ orchid that blooms by night ∙ sparrowheart ∙
As his brother’s tail flicked over his side in careful warning, Hemlock countered the notion with his own irritable look, a mere glare over his shoulder in Fog’s direction. He didn’t have to be reminded to be cordial, amiable even. He was mad, mad that he had been forced into this mess without even a consultation. The clan cats were barbaric, and the calico only seemed to confirm that with her soft-hearted confession, her voice lowered as she admitted the truth of their rivalries. “That’s so ridiculous,” the black tom countered with a head shake. “That’d be like if the stone-guards and prey-hunters fought over the northern forest? Which would be idiotic because both of them need to tend to its land.”
He released a snort as he looked away, unable to control his sudden shift in mood. “We’re all cut from the same stars, the same endless tribe,” he muttered, his eyes darting back toward the calico. “I don’t know what you clan cats believe in, whether it’s a,” he trailed off, trying to find the right word. “I don’t know an endless clan, or whatever, but don’t you all come from the same place? Have the same values? It makes no sense to be so selfish and blood-thirsty.” Hemlock drove his claws into the earth as he tried to swallow his frustration. The tribe exercised kindness and love towards their own brethren, and while unusual, the tribe welcomed others, all walks of life. It was the reason they had so graciously allowed the clan cats on their land without hesitation, without even a neck bristle. Each tribe-mate tended to one another as brothers and sisters, the new and the old revered above all. The battles, the blood across the sandbar didn’t make sense to him. It all seemed so volatile and cruel.
A silence engulfed the three cats before the clan cat pressed onward with her own inquiries, her eyes lighting as she delved into the nature of their tribe. Hemlock flicked his ear, waiting for Fog to answer first before he shared his own, bitter response. He knew he wasn’t a mean cat, immature, sure, but for some reason, the idea of the clan cats, the horrid, disheveled she-cat across the lake, turned his amused, docile nature sour. He was at his worst around them, forced into the depths of his own doubts and fear. It came from a place of anxiousness and denial. He didn’t want to think about how someone he didn’t even know wanted him dead. When his brother was finished, his blue silhouette stretched across the moorland in its usual lounge, Hemlock chimed in with a tail lash. “Yeah, we’re called to-bes. I don’t know. I’ve never asked why, but I guess it’s because we’re going to be something later, like a stone-guard or a prey-hunter. Aren’t you going to be something more than you are?”
He cocked his head to his side as his brow threaded into a furrow, Fog extending behind him beneath the sun’s warm rays. How can he be so relaxed? The dark tom thought with an audible snort, resisting the urge to roll his eyes into the back of his head. He really doesn’t take any of this seriously. At the mention of dens, Hemlock exhaled before adding his own take. “The entire island is our home,” he meowed with a shrug. “I’ve slept in one of their dens, by the way,” he added, glancing back toward his brother with a small head shake, his eyes narrowing. “It kind of felt like when we were kits, all nestled together.” He turned back toward the calico. “Which is why I don’t understand?” His tone had become desperate, pathetic even in his own throat. "It seemed like all of you were a family, even the ones who didn't want to help us. So why aren't the others the same?"
