09.30.2019 → There has been some exciting changes on CD lately! We've added a new monarchy to the groups of cats on the islands, as well as restructured the boards a bit to allow for some space - thus, redrawing the map! We've also promoted Nifty to Global Mod! There are some auditions open right now for JungleClan Deputy as well as for all of the new Kingdom of Mokuhau high ranks - Artemis
09.12.2019 → Unfortunately Elaedria is stepping down as administrator due to life being too busy to keep up! The site will be going through some restructuring in high ranks as well due to this. Effective immediately, the word count is now 100 minimum. Some more changes will be coming in the future - members have been emailed a survey to help us figure out what to change and how to get better. Thanks for your patience! - Artemis
WEATHER
Year 55, Scorching Sands 09.05.2019 → The temperatures of the islands are a steady 98° F on land/ high 80s in water. There is almost no breeze, the sun is uncomfortably warm.
Prey during the day is pretty scarce due to the heat, however is quite active after the sun goes down.
Lost in the dense jungles of scattered islands, facing perils unimagined by their ancestors, are three warrior groups - The traditional JungleClan, descendants of the original clans carried aboard a twoleg contraption from their home long ago and breaking new ground on old beliefs. Second, the curious TidalClan, made up of kittypets who chose to abandon their long since passed twoleg civilization ways for those of true felines. Lastly, the mysterious Tribe of Twisted Roots, hidden in the mist from others with their strange ways and a deeper knowledge of the land around them. Together they must learn how to take their fate into their own paws if they wish to survive this land of erupting mountains and roaring waters.
Join our crew and dive into an island-based Warriors roleplay - a twist on the original series by Erin Hunter. We are a semi-literate site with a minimum of 100 words per post.
The evening was quiet, and cats were beginning to return to camp. Finished with their duties, they were tired and grumpy from a day's work. Monarch had been responsible for their fatigue. It had been over a moon since he assumed the Quartermaster position, and for this moon it had been the only thing he could think about. He drove his Clammates slightly harder than the previous Quartermaster had, and since then there has been nothing but peace and a sense of unity in the Tribe Monarch had not experienced before. However, he was not nearly as well-liked.
There were few cats that wholeheartedly supported him. There had been no divine signal that he was the correct decision, despite Tempest's liking of him. While there had also been no negative one, it seemed as though the Gods chose to ignore Monarch. They had been more or less silent. Perhaps it was due to Scuttle's fairly recent passing and the inauguration of their new and even more eccentric Witch.
The fresh-kill pile was dwindling, as it was nearing the end of the day. He picked up a few lone mussels and turned his paws toward the Witch's den. It was not difficult to catch Stingray alone. As his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the den, he spotted the lean tom-cat among his indistinguishable piles of herbs. "Evening, Stingray," he said in a low growl as not to startle the Witch. "Don't mean to interrupt you, but I brought you a snack. You are well, I hope?"
Monarch, like many other Tribe cats, was a stocky and battle-scarred. He knew he could be quite a fright, and at times wondered if he simply scared the gentler members of the Tribe. He set the mussels down in front of him and stepped away from the delicate stores of herbs. "The Tribe has been at peace," Monarch sat down on the cool flooring of the den, indicating that he intended to stay and talk. "I've been told the Gods have been quiet but... have they really been quiet to you, Stingray?"
He turned his green eyes on Stingray. It was a rather challenging stare, and he sorely hoped the Witch had not been hiding anything from him. He knew the Witch sometimes had trouble talking and communicating, so Monarch figured being direct would be the best way to approach the issue.
When Monarch approached, Stingray had been in the midst of working. He'd been fussing over the jaw bone of an owl, snapped jaggedly from the skull by clumsy paws a pawful of moons ago. It had several notches in it already as he held it in his paws, eyes closed as he murmured to himself and made close-together notches with his claws every few seconds. He startled when Monarch came in, and the bone snapped in half in his paws. He stared at it in dismay. "... That one was for Scuttle..."
He still hadn't actually accepted that his mentor was dead. He had no proof, so why should he believe that he is? However, the breaking of the bone was... a bad omen. "Well. I'm pretty sure they just spoke," he sighed. Stingray tucked the two pieces into the nest he still hadn't removed (it was tucked to the side and squished up with old moss, but still there). He settled down across from Monarch and started to work at the prey he'd been brought. He hadn't eaten yet today.
"I've been well, I suppose." He didn't know if he was really supposed to tell Monarch about his dream, so he resigned himself to his half-truths. "They're never silent, Monarch." That was true enough. He saw the Gods in everything he did, including these bones. He started to eat as he thought about Monarch's. He hadn't been sick for some time, which was good, but he still had one. It was the forelimb of a squirrel with three notches in it already.
"Thank you for the prey. How have you been?" Stingray wasn't meeting his eye, but that wasn't exactly peculiar behavior for the young witch. He was usually avoiding direct eye contact if he could help it; it still made his pelt crawl. Instead, he was focusing on Monarch's paws, just so the other tom would understand that he wasn't being ignored.
tag @sovereign || || notes || Snips, snails, and puppydog tails|| ▲
A crunch beneath his paws indicated that he had just stepped on one of Stingray's many bones. Monarch thought it was weird that the Witch collected these things; Scuttle had never done that. He did not think too much of it. Maybe it was just one of Stingray's many nervous habits. Monarch pushed the broken bone aside.
But Stingray continued to stare at Monarch's paws. Monarch glanced down briefly. There was nothing on his paws. Did Stingray need that bone for something?
"You say they are never silent," Monarch sighed and sat down in the den. He intended to stay and chat for a little. "But they have been ever so silent to me. In fact I worry that my existence simply is overlooked by the Gods."
Monarch stopped there. He was not sure if it was wise to admit to Stingray that he had never felt any sort of godly presence in his life whatsoever, even though he sorely wanted it. Some cats had dreams or visions that grounded their belief in the Gods. Other cats saw the Gods in the every day pattern of the leaves. Others, still, saw the Gods in the changing of the seasons and the power of the volcano. But Monarch had never sensed their presence in any of those ways, despite being an avid believer. "I have been alright," he shook himself and focused back onto Stingray's question. "I was just... looking for some company this evening. I have been busy and could use a break."
He was not too sure how much company the peculiar Witch could provide. Monarch was not sure if he wanted to be friends. But right now in his opinion, they were both young and inexperienced higher ranks. The loss of their predecessors still haunted them, and perhaps Stingray could offer some insight and support. The Tribe welcomed Stingray into being a Witch much more smoothly than they welcomed Monarch as Quartermaster.
The witch's nose twitched. Okay, so Monarch planned on staying. That was... fine. But Monarch's words concerned him. "I'm certain that's not true. You have seen the God of Fire, and you have looked the Goddess of Death in the eye. I can see that from the scars littering your pelt." And, y'know. Because he'd been in the nursery at the same time as Monarch. He tucked his paws underneath him. "... but I do suppose that not every navigator sees the Gods like I do." He curled his tail around himself, taking another bite of the meal he'd been brought. "I can understand your concern, though. I certainly felt it when I was younger. I used to worry that a mistake had been made," He laughed bitterly. "My most recent dream disproves that."
He glanced Monarch over. "I don't know if Tempest has told you yet, but I received a message from the mainlanders's gods. Something about the mainland cats fleeing their homes and potentially coming here. We've decided not to work ourselves up over it yet, obviously, but it's still concerning." Stingray glanced around and then shifted to his paws, retrieving from one of his many hidden places the bone he had for Monarch.
He added a fourth notch and set it down. "This one represents you. The notches are times I've worried for you. You have fewer than most, because you are a very capable cat. The tribe will come to understand in time why young blood is not damnation. When Tempest leaves this island in the company of the Goddess, you will have your own experience with the gods. Then they will speak to you. For now, it is not their responsibility to train you, but instead the responsibility of Tempest and the older navigators of the clan. If they haven't spoken, it is because they have not needed to.
It was his responsibility to speak to the Gods. Nobody else's. He settled back down, feeling admittedly embarrassed about the sudden wisdom he'd spit at Monarch's paws (though he supposed that having an old soul was not particularly strange for someone who spoke to the Gods on the regular).
Normally Monarch was not a cat that was easily convinced, but Stingray's words were surprisingly comforting today. Monarch was actually surprised at how much Stingray was talking, and was glad that for probably the first time ever, they were having a more positive interaction. "You're not worried for me..? Even as the Tribe finds my authority unbearable?" Monarch hoped it was not too weird to joke about his insecurities. The Tribe's lack of respect for him was as obvious as daylight, and even Monarch himself was not ignorant to it. He feared that he would never be the commanding, imposing figure that Tempest could be. Was it possible to just not be cut out for leadership?
"Tempest had not told me that," he admitted as Stingray spoke about the mainland cats. "Our opinions sometimes differ, but Tempest knows me very well. I know we must be wary of these cats, but I am very... curious. Perhaps Tempest does not want me to overthink this yet."
Curious was the only way to describe it. Monarch really did not understand why other way of life as a cat besides the Tribe. Even in the Tribe there were weird ones, like Stingray, that Monarch struggled to understand. As Monarch buried himself in his thoughts, his gaze landed on the many bones Stingray had collected. Another intrusive one burrowed its way into his mind, and he could not help but ask.
"Hey Stingray," he started abruptly. "If you put notches on a bone like that for me... Thenthat bone..."
He waved his tail at the owl's jaw bone that Stingray had just broken. "Was that supposed to be the times you worried about Scuttle?"
His pelt felt hot. The owl bone, of course, was so covered in notches that it was almost unrecognizable at this point. Most of the bones had a very neat array -- notches in neat rows, all exactly the same after the first three or four. Single pinpricks identical in every way, just deep enough to mark but never to break or damage. Except, of course, for Scuttle's.
Most of his tribemates with that many notches on their bones had ended up dying of disease, age, or blood loss. This many markings always meant that he was fearing for someone's life, desperate that the Goddess would keep her claws away. He did not like being caught in his insecurities any more than Monarch did.
"... Yes. I do not know if he is truly dead, so.." His words caught in his throat, and he felt like he was being crushed. It was the same paralyzing fear he felt every time he looked the Goddess in the eye. His fur had started to raise, just a bit. A natural response to his anxiety.
"Scuttle's used to be much cleaner. Then... then that awful storm happened, and then he was gone. There was no way to track him, and no way to know. Maybe the God of Water took him. Maybe he just... ran away." Of course, Stingray rationally knew that there was cowardice in fleeing and many of the tribe would have declared him dead either way.
Stingray couldn't bring himself to do so. If he declared Scuttle dead, then he'd have to bury a nest without a body on it. He'd have to bury someone for the first time, and he wouldn't even have a body to bury. He would not have a soul to send to the Goddess, nothing to mark as sacred in Scuttle's name.
So no. He had no intention of declaring his mentor deceased -- not unless a body was recovered that couldn't rationally be called someone else's.
Monarch was a rather practical cat; he did not think that Scuttle had any chance of returning. Cats died left and right in the Tribe. Death was as much a part of life to him as hunting and scenting. However, he was also no stranger to hope. Upon his mother's death he had often forgotten she was gone. Even as his mind acknowledged it, his body and his soul did not.
So for once Monarch knew to use a little empathy. Witches and their Swabbies held relationships that were unusually close, often even moreso than regular mentors and their Swabbies. "Has the Goddess of Death not spoken to you about Scuttle? We have not found a body, after all," he murmured. Monarch was not all too sure how prophecies worked. He was also not too sure how cats heard or felt the presence of the gods. So it was a reasonable question. "Maybe he did run away," he mused. "There's a lot of things about Tribe life I wish I could run from too."
"Either way," Monarch decided after a moment, half to himself. "It's no use worrying. Scuttle is a capable cat and if he was still alive, I'm sure he can take care of himself."
