With our One Year Anniversiary looming on the horizon, we decided to kick off the last month of summer with some exciting updates and a brand new posting contest! So make sure to check out the August Announcements for more information! In addition to the contest, we have a few new rule changes, additions to the lore, OTM winners, and plot updates as well. Lastly, while the cool winds of autumn are right around the corner, the sweltering summer heat continues to persist, and with it, the tension on the island continues to rise like the tide.
Sunny skies. Winds NNE 5 to 10 MPH. High 32℃ / 90℉. Low 25℃ / 77℉.
Potential for violent storms later in the month.
THE APOSTLES
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.
Shadowface had been searching for Yewthorn in the past few weeks, since her meeting with the rebels. She'd stuck to hiding along the borderlines in her spare time (which was not much) as she tried to catch sight of his brown, shaggy pelt.
In truth, she had not given him much thought for the past few moons aside from the small mental reminder that he was the father of their kits. To her knowledge, Yewthorn had no idea that Spiderpaw and Cresspaw existed. She'd meant to tell him, but they hadn't crossed paths since that fateful night.
She was responsible for helping the rebellion get on its paws, on top of being a mother to an unplanned litter. The stress of that had made any other issues to her more like blurry half-thoughts, including being a better mother to her kits. She was often present with them physically, but somewhere else mentally. She felt as if she was living in a fog, unsure of if this was all really happening. Would the rebellion really, truly, finally get rid of the silver devil that ruled their Clan? Would her kits be trained in a Clan with a better leader, or would Hemlockheart succeed Minnowstar in more ways than one? To her, making LichenClan a better place was the best way she could show her kits love - and Yewthorn deserved to know about it.
These thoughts swam around in her restless mind as she ventured out towards the border for the sixth, seventh, eighth time. On the ninth time, she was ready to give up getting to have a private conversation with Yewthorn about their kits. The greenleaf afternoon sun glared down at her, willing her to turn back, but she slunk into the feeble shadows of the thickening foliage - a sign that she was closer to ThistleClan. The sun still dappled between the leaves, reminding her of what a fool she was. One last time. I'll try one last time.
Then, the clamor of pawsteps caught her attention. Shadowface halted and crouched low in the undergrowth as a ThistleClan patrol came into view from around a bend in the stream. They seemed almost not to detect her presence, or so she thought. Until one of them spoke up, saying, "I smell LichenClan!"
She flattened her belly against the ground and her speckled ears against her head, praying to StarClan that they would not see her. That was, until she identified one of them that brought up the rear of the patrol. Yewthorn! She leaned forward, fighting to keep from jumping out at him. He lagged behind the others, who shrugged off the LichenClan scent since it had not crossed over the stream and moved on into the undergrowth. Yewthorn was about to disappear along with them.
It was her only opportunity. Anxiety spiking, she poked her tortoiseshell head out of the ferns and hissed, "Wait, Yewthorn!" She turned her green gaze in the direction of the rest of his patrol, hoping they had not heard her call. She also hoped that it had been loud enough to cross over the stream and reverberate into Yewthorn's ears.
500+ | hope you don't mind how I set this up! Figured this was a more likely chance meeting what with Thievingstar's new rule | wish
Yewthorn trailed after the rest of the cats in his patrol in a bored, leisurely saunter, his ears flicking toward the docile sound of song birds, as he pushed through the foliage. Ahead, the gentle gurgle of the creek signaled the mid-point of their trek, and with a lazy yawn, the tom considered what he’d do once he was back home. First, he’d probably check in on his growing broad, knowing that Mornigmist could use the chance to stretch her legs and get some fresh air. Their kits were now almost three moon old, and if they weren’t a pawful before, they definitely were now. Just the other day, he had taken only a few steps into the nursery before he was covered in a swarm of mewling, biting kits, excited to see him. How Morningmist dealt with them from sunrise to sunset, I don’t know, he mused as the band slowed into an abrupt halt.
Curious, the tom furrowed his brows, watching as his clan-mate announced the sudden scent of Lichenclan. “Yeah, we’re by the Lichenclan border, numb-skull,” Yewthorn echoed back with an eye-roll, his mouth parting to draw in the familiar arid scent. His clan-mate returned the insult with a backhanded retort, and a few chuckles rippled across the patrol, Yewthorn included. As the Thistleclan cats checked the border for any unusual scents, the mink tom strode toward the water’s edge, bending down to take a much needed drink. While the cold winds of leaf-fall hovered on the island’s horizon, the wicked heat of summer only persisted like a sinister force. The last few weeks had been sweltering, and Yewthorn’s dense coat did little to shelter him from the horrid heat.
As his chin raised from the cool waters, a sudden familiar scent wafted from over the riverbed, a scent that sent his stomach into his toes. No, he breathed as his vein chilled. It can’t be. With a haste shake, the mink tom returned to his feet and walked back toward the band, his ears flicking back toward the river as an anxious wave washed over him. I’m done with that part of my life, he reminded himself as the leader of their patrol cleared the area. Still, as the rest of the band moved back into the trees, the tom remained steadfast in place. He remembered the moonlight illuminating her garish scars, earned from a battle she was forced to fight in, the way their bodies danced beneath the stars, and the heaviness on his tongue when he had said her name out loud to his mate.
With another shake of his head, the mink tom strode forward, moving to follow the rest of his patrol into the coniferous forest and out of the heat. When a sudden hiss turned his blood ice cold. Eyes widening, Yewthorn glanced over his shoulder, searching for the familiar tortoiseshell face, while his stare danced forward once more, measuring the distance between him and his clan-mates. Shit. With an irritated snort, the tom darted forward and called out. “Go on ahead! I’ll catch up in a second. There’s a hare over here just begging to be caught.” A clan-mate shouted back in response, some insult about how he probably already scared it off, and then Yewthorn darted back toward the creek, his heart in his throat.
Instantly, his eyes locked with the dark she-cat between the ferns, and he swallowed. I can’t, he breathed, remembering the rage in Morningmist’s trembling body when she discovered the redwood she-cat moons ago. But, an ache in the tortoiseshell’s stare drove him forward with a hesitant tread. As the riverbed softened beneath his claws once more, the tom bent forward, so only the slow body of water separated them. “Shadowface,” he started with a haste murmur. “We can’t do this again,” his toes sunk forward, easing into the icy cold water. “I’m a father now, and I have a mate,” his gaze drifted back toward the coniferous forest as if the calico she-cat herself would materialize like a mist.
His eyes darted back toward the Lichenclan she-cat. “You’re a beautiful she-cat,” he added. “I’m sure some tom in your own clan, or in another clan. I’m not here to judge! Would love to have you.” Yewthorn closed his eyes, knowing that the following words would devastate the she-cat. “But, it’s over between us. You have to get over me.”
Yewthorn turned his head at the sound of her quiet call, and relief flooded across her. Her shoulders relaxed and her stance straightened as he made his way towards her. His hesitance at the edge of the stream caught her, though.
Why should I be surprised? It's been so long.
The water rippled between them coolly. It was not just a literal reminder of their distance, but a metaphor as well. Shadowface willed herself to step out of the leafy cover. With feeble steps, she padded towards the border.
"Shadowface, we can't do this again."
Her paws sank into the muddy edges of the bank, where she stopped suddenly at his words. She took note of his paws. They, too, sank into the cold water. That was probably as close as they would ever get again. Shadowface had no intention of 'doing this again', or even trying to create a real relationship with Yewthorn, but for some reason these small details and those small words made her heart hesitate.
In a different world, in a different time... perhaps these things could've been truly different. Perhaps they would be better from the start...
"I'm a father now, and I have a mate."
The words made Shadowface stutter, but any words she tried to express in that instance would trip over one another. A father now? You already were before this... oh, Yewthorn, I'm sorry. She knew that her news was going to deliver a crushing truth in that instance. She held no grudge against him, truly. Perhaps there was a shallow anger, but in truth it was not placed against him but against the situation. Even in that moment, Shadowface understood that she could not cast blame on him for continuing; for moving on with his life. It was his prerogative.
He tried to soften the blow, she could feel it in his tone and in the useless words he tried to cast at her. She began to shake her head.
"Yewthorn..." her breath hitched, "I had no expectation that we could ever be. I appreciated your kinship, though, I hope you know that. It was what I needed at the time."
Her eyes were everywhere but upon him, as she tried to muster the courage to get to the point. "You remember what you told me that night... right? I don't think it's something you would've 'just said' if you didn't truly mean it. Well..." she swallowed nervously, "either way, I took your advice. Things are going to change for LichenClan. I can't be sure if it will be for better or worse, but I won't give up on my Clan until I breathe my last," she finally leveled her green gaze on him, "but that's not what I came here to tell you. I've been trying to find you.. I wanted to let you know."
She sank further into the mud, literally and metaphorically, "that night... I understand that it's your life, and I couldn't expect you to wait on me forever. I know that I didn't wait around for you, either. But... in spite of that... you already were a father, even though you had no knowledge of it. I bore three sons of yours," her voice grew desperate, "I tried to find you... I really did. I thought, at first, that maybe you didn't need to know, but you deserve to!"
Somewhere in the distance, the loud shriek of a bird resounded into the trees like a sudden strike of a thunder. Someone must have caught a bird, he thought nervously as his ears flicked in the direction of his patrol. We don’t have a lot of time. His attention returned to the tortoiseshell she-cat, watching as she drank in his words, her brilliant green eyes soft with a sadness he didn’t understand. I’m sorry. His stare flickered downwards, and he observed how, like he, she had taken a stride forward, so her toes were drenched in the soft, peaty mud. Only the trickling river separated them, but even with that realization, the tom knew there was so much more that divided them.
He wondered then. How did I do this before? Thinking about his treks across the border seemed so unbelievable to him now, as if he had been a completely different cat living a completely different life. With a soft exhale, he raised his stare, waiting as the she-cat wrestled to find the next words. His name came first, soft, but forced, from her maws, and then she continued, her voice low beneath the sounds of the forest. Brows furrowed, the mink tom leaned forward into the creek, wincing slightly as the cold waters inched over his forearms and his feet sunk further into muck. She didn’t? He twisted his maws in confusion. Then what does she want? He watched, a small flutter in his stomach, as Shadowface’s eyes darted around the riverbank, the forest, but never his face.
“What is it?” he murmured gently, trying to draw the confession out of her, but the she-cat continued to babble, disregarding his comment altogether as she mentioned her clan. Yewthorn drew his head back slightly as he wracked his brain for some sort of clarification. What did I say to her? He tried to recall that night, the moon, the stars, but all he could remember was the warm touch of her flank, her hot breath on his neck. “I’m glad to hear that,” he murmured nonetheless, watching as her eyes finally settled over his face like a sudden hit. Their stares locked as a chill ran down his back and into his tail. She continued then, a seriousness beneath her words as her mass sunk further into the mud. Trying to find me? He blinked in return, unsure if he wanted to hear what followed.
As the she-cat meowed, first about their night together, a stillness washed over the tom, a hush that waxed with each word, and then it slowly burned into a blaring hum, loud like blood in his ears when she said it: You were already a father. Yewthorn exhaled, loud and muzzled in the same breath. You were already a father.“I-,” he started with a swallow. “I, did I hear you right? Did you say,” his words felt as heavy as a bear on his tongue. “A father?” he breathed as his claws unsheathed into the wet earth. “Three sons,” Yewthorn echoed, his throat suddenly arid and hoarse. The mink tom stood there then for what seemed like a lifetime, his heart in his ears, his breath in his mouth; and then he caught the she-cat’s desperate stare as the sounds of the forest returned, the waters of the creek moving around him in a slow and steady tandem.
“I,” he started once more, unsure of what to even say. Three sons, his mind echoed as he tried to wrap his head around this new world he had entered, this world where his idiotic mistakes suddenly had consequences. “Do you want me to,” Yewthorn dropped his gaze, his head shaking as he wrestled for some sort of response. What am I supposed to say?“I’m sorry,” he murmured at last. “I, I never thought,” his stare raised toward the she-cat and then over his shoulder, back toward the coniferous woodland, his home, the nest he shared with his mate and kits. His kits. His heart ached, filled with love for them, and now it ached for the children he never met, who didn’t know he existed. How many lives have I ruined? He eyes returned to the she-cat then, slick with hurt. “Do you think I’d be able to meet them someday?” he asked.
