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.
Rockshade gratefully took the stick in his mouth and went to work. He pressed his nose between two long blades of grass and gingerly stepped forward. Both ends of the stick pressed the dangerous plants down into the earth. His paws gingerly stepped over the flattened grass into firm soil. Rockshade breathed in through his nose, slowly retracted his head, and pushed carefully into the next set of sword grass. All the while he could still hear the wild fowl clucking and squawking in distress. Poor thing. The dark tom wanted to put it out of it's misery as soon as possible. His ear flicked as he proved for paw steps behind him. Orchidbloom still had to be careful even though her Clanmate was taking the lead.
He tried to talk around the stick whenever he got the chance. "Already?" he echoed. "Figures. Can't imagine you without one, really. I mean, you were always eager to talk. I don't even know what I'd teach them." Rockshade pushed another clump of grass down. "I mostly figured everything out on my own outside of hunting. It's been moons since I've practiced combat, we hardly interact with the other clans at all. And when we do it's just... talk." Rockshade's tail flicked. "I mean, we call ourselves warriors but I don't really feel like one. We're all just survivors trying to get by. Isn't that what all of us are trying to do at the end of the day?"
"Sorry..." Rockshade would shut his mouth up until they finally met their prey. He was just uselessly prattling on about names that didn't matter, anyway. "It seems like the only thing we ever fight is hunger and disease."
Nobody was sure where Riptide Beach started or ended. Technically, it was a small strip of sand dividing JungleClan and TidalClan—a subsection of one giant beach. Scent markers could be found near JungleClan trees or deep in TidalClan sand. It was practically impossible to determine how far one should go as long as they could see a swelling riptide if they turned to face the ocean. If two patrols ever ended up here at the same time, conflict would invariably ensue. StarClan forbid if you ever tried to hunt anything in that general area. It was a hassle to police and Rockshade wasn't looking forward to it.
The brown tabby was greeted by a brisk breeze as he sauntered to the shoreline. White sand glittered in the morning light of a new day. He heard the gentle ebb of the sea mix with chirping crickets. It was warmer here. Rockshade enjoyed the atmosphere while he could. No predators or prey, no clanmates or dens. He was with not but his thoughts and the grainy earth. It didn't even occur to him that he forgot to bring a clanmate. Too late now. Rockshade plodded along the beach for a long time, accompanied by his long shadow. His serene walk was cut short as the young warrior stutter stepped. A dark shape was moving towards him with a scent he didn't recognize.
What was there to do? Rockshade figured if he turned around now, he'd look weak. Did he care what some stranger from TidalClan thought of him? No. But then, what if she was going to walk past where he was and leave a scent marker? Rockshade shook his head. He had no choice but to just stand his ground and hope that his new company would stop soon.
The peculiar spotted she-cat was dimly lit in orange sunlight. They called themselves fighters, if he remembered correctly. Odd name. It implied that fighting was the only thing they could do, though he was sure they hunted as well. He didn't think that hard about it. Cats could call themselves whatever they wanted as long as they didn't stick their nose where it didn't belong. What gods they worshipped had nothing to do with respect.
"That's far enough," the tom finally mewed when he realized the she-cat wasn't stopping. "C'mon. I don't feel like fighting today. Leave your marker and go home."
The two toms pranced and galloped over withering tree roots and fallen leaves. If they were in an open plain they would not live after five strides. The cats' speed, strength, hunting prowess, and instinct were all subpar compared to their distant cousins, but StarClan had at least blessed this island with camouflage aplenty. It was strange, Rockshade thought, that they should call themselves warriors when they spent most of their time hiding. He wished he could roll around as carelessly as those cubs whenever he wanted. Why was everything so difficult for them? Why were they not born to be just as large as those cats? Warriors had organization, faith, bonds, and they still weren't even close to being on top of the food chain on this accursed land.
The brown tom heaved. His head felt light. Rockshade strained to keep his eyes on the white tail in front of him while the rest blurred away. His whiskers blew in the wind, and his ears popped. They ran downhill so fast that one misstep would cause them to tumble. And yet, they went faster. Barracudabite looked over his shoulder once or twice. It annoyed Rockshade like a bug bite. 'Watch where you're going,' he wanted to say, but lacked the breath to do it. Rockshade wouldn't look behind. He feared that if he did and saw a panther then he would give up instantly. No. He had to keep running. A little further... a little further...
Rockshade didn't remember when they got back to camp. He was on his side, aching, hungry, and defeated. The only thing they had to share was information, but information didn't feed kits. Such a drag. They had one job and they couldn't even do that right. Rockshade wondered if his partner felt the same way, but wouldn't ask. They were going to so something about those panthers--one way or another.
Rockshade guffawed. "I'm just worried about your beauty sleep, Orchidbloom. You could at least let me clean your pelt before we go on a patrol toge-" the warrior cut himself off as he caught the scent of a red junglefowl. It was unmistakable, even in the rain. The tom crouched low as his claws skimmed over a long branch. He snaked between the trees with careful precision and hopped to the ground with a soft 'thud'. Long blades of grass stabbed up into his frame. The warrior maneuvered to the side with a bemused look. Depending on the locale, the ground could have been comprised of swords just as much as plain old dirt. The forest defended itself with it's own terrain. Impressive, but annoying. It didn't matter. No amount of sword grass would stop him from getting his kill.
Rockshade looked back up to the trees, batted the rain from his eyes, and cleared his throat. "Could you throw me a loose stick? Got to push this grass out of the way so I don't get cut. It'd be a hassle to get an infection out here." For a moment he realized getting sick would be a good excuse to get out of a patrol, but he chose to omit that thought. "Actually, I'll push the grass while you stay behind me. I don't want that prey jumping over me while I'm keeping the grass down. I'll make a path, you hunt."
The brown tabby waited idly for his patrol partner to retrieve a big enough stick. No rush, anyway, that fowl would be in the middle of that grass for a while. "Bet you can't wait to get an apprentice, huh!?" he called.
Rockshade liked Orchidbloom, but he was jealous of her.
The tom had many traits that made him a good warrior. He was levelheaded, smart, adaptable--he could catch three mice in a day if he put the slightest amount of effort into it. He was good at many things, but patience wasn't one of them. About a moon ago the young warrior had smacked a kit into the ground for daring to disrespect his prey. Rockshade didn't care that his clanmates were more relaxed with the code, but there was a difference between being relaxed and being rude. Not while he could see it, anyway. Now he was stuck forcing these kits to memorize the warrior code. He hated teaching.
The brown tom leaped from branch to branch and scanned the forest floor from on high. He wanted to kill a thrush as soon as possible so he could have an excuse to go home. Even though he usually hunted in silence and only spoke when necessary, he felt like he could exchange some small talk with the slightly older warrior who accompanied him on this patrol. Rockshade's fur brustled under the gentle canopy rain and turned his head to look over his shoulder at the ghost-like she-cat accompanying him.
"You're a weird one, huh?" he mewed bluntly. "Most in JungleClan couldn't give a rat's tail about when border patrols are supposed to be conducted, but you're always on time. I noticed that. Every day you're ready to make a patrol and get going while everybody else is asleep. Why try so hard? You're making me look bad!"
"But most cats look bad next to you," he flirted passively.
"It doesn't matter!" Rockshade struggled to contain an exasperated sigh. The tom's ears were pointed and his eyes were wide open. Alert, but calm. Rockshade picked his tongue with his teeth and shook his head. What a headache. He hadn't taken a scenario like this into account. Barracudabite didn't have his back when it came to attacking the cubs, but then what? Soon there would be three panthers in the jungle... and there was only so much island to go around. A clan could take one of them, maybe. Not three.
Rules were rules, though. Although he hated it, Rockshade had to compromise. "We should just let the leaders know and let them figure it out," he mewed with some dejection. He didn't want to let leaders make every single decision for their warriors. "Luring them away won't move their dens location. Besides, there's too much risk. Let's just get out of here." Maybe they could poison some prey, somehow. Or maybe they could have killed one of the cubs. These were hypotheticals. The younger warrior would follow his striped compatriot's instincts on this one.
"Alright, we just need to get down to camp and we're home free." Rockshade shivered. "We're not going to be downwind anymore, though. I say we run for it."
"Move no further. I'm thinking," the brown tabby mewed.
Rockshade's tail softly laid upon his paws. The tom stared intensely at the ground, as if he could see straight through the earth. Panthers never came this close to camp. Indeed, it was reasonable to assume the cubs had drifted from their cave while mom was hunting. The closer they were to the little troublemakers, the higher odds of being devoured by their guardian. Barracudabite's first instinct was probably correct. Between the overwhelming fear and adherence to protocol, though, Rockshade saw another path — a chance to upset the natural order. There was a gleam in the tom's bright green eyes.
"Two warriors can kill a newborn cub, right?"
Rockshade half-expected Barracudabite to yowl. In all honesty, the daredevil had no idea what the inherent strength of a panther was. They were a bit shorter than the two of them, though still assuredly carried muscle under their fur. Could they not execute them given enough time? Was it worth it? Rockshade imagined three ghosts ravaging JungleClan in only a few moons. Surely, they would be making a safer forest by at least attempting to destroy them.
"Does the code apply to big cats?" Rockshade shook his head. "I think we should try to take them out."
Rockshade was thoroughly annoyed. He didn't like hunting in the first place, but anything was preferable to keeping his head down for minutes on end. Finally, the two toms managed to hunker down in a collection of roots. The respite was brief, but it did allow Rockshade to shake his legs out at least. The brown tabby's ear flicked as he heard Barracudabite's comment.
"You'd be looking at my tail, if you saw anything at all. You know how it goes."
Instructions were clear. If one of them was attacked then ample time would be given for the other to escape back to camp. If a patrol of less than five warriors encountered a predator that was an order of magnitude stronger than a badger, then retreat was prioritized. Honor had nothing to do with it. There was a difference between accepting sacrifices and suicide. They told kits to go for the eyes of a large cat should they ever suffer the misfortune of being their prey. It was all monkey dung... the illusion of safety. The point was that in a catastrophic emergency young warriors needed some semblance of control so they wouldn't lose their cool. Barracudabite and Rockshade knew better. Still, the tabby privately acknowledged he would never be heartless enough to leave his moronic clanmate to die. He wouldn't even consider it. Rockshade would go for the eyes even if he knew it was pointless. He didn't need to tell the silver fish-face that, though.
"Hold onto your fur, I sense something." Rockshade opened his mouth and turned his head like an owl. He swiveled to his right, closed his maw, and let his eyes contract as the afternoon sun made way for the moon. The slants of the warrior's eyes pierced the foliage of the forest like an eagle's talon. He released a soft breath. Focus heightened his vision and deafened all distractions. He saw two dark shapes tussling with each other under a pile of roots not dissimilar to the camouflage the patrol had just adopted. Rockshade's head rocketed back in disbelief. He had no idea they were that close. The synapses in Rockshade's brain were alight with possibilities. Then, all at once, the flames petered out until there were only two. Rockshade stared at Barracudabite seriously, ready to gauge his reaction.
Barracudabite's personality was flaming rabbit excrement. Not one single JungleClan cat outside of his immediate family wanted to join him on a hunting patrol. All who accompanied him would have to suffer incorrigible sarcasm and unbridled antagonism. Coincidentally, he ended up being the perfect partner for a very particular young warrior. Rockshade remembered how his face tightened when he was paired with Barracudabite for the first time. That fur ball's got a branch stuck up his tail end! Despite his objections, Toucanstar was undeterred by Rockshade's apprehension. The silver tom didn't seem too happy about it either. Rockshade had a habit of sleeping loudly in the warrior's den and was prone to meandering about camp while pretending to work. Meanwhile, Barracudabite's long legs were always moving toward a goal. The bright tom tried to accomplish something every day and didn't hesitate to criticize others for their own lack of effort. For all intensive purposes, they were a powder keg about to explode.
Three moons passed and the two were considered one of the most effective teams in the Clans. Rockshade was the iron that tempered Barracudabite's fire. The blue-eyed tabby wasn't nearly as impulsive when his partner was there to reel him back. Similarly, the plainer of the duo didn't freeze up when the experienced—slightly older warrior needed them to move. Rockshade still didn't really like Barracudabite all that much and he didn't expect his clanmate to feel that way either. Rockshade trusted the long-legged tom. He respected his partner's dutiful nature. Barracudabite could be the muscle, Rockshade would gladly be the brains. He thought the two of them would fit these simple roles forever. If only the forest could be so kind...
"You see that?"
Rockshade carefully crept out the safety of the underbrush. His paws silently filtered through grass until he arrived at the base of a tree trunk. Little claw marks were imprinted on the wood, as if a cat had come there to play. The scent wasn't of JungleClan. Rockshade looked back at Barracudabite to confirm that they were both looking at the same thing. The hot midday sun wasn't giving them any heat mirages. The marks were left by a large cat. Rockshade backed himself slowly into the same bushel he left, ears perked, tail tucked between his legs.
"No problem, buzzardbreath." Rockshade let out a cool breath. "Follow protocol. I'll watch your flank." He didn't need to tell Barracudabite what to do at this point. They needed to stay low and move from cover to cover at a turtle's pace. If the patrol was spotted by a panther then they were already dead. Two adult warriors couldn't take on a panther. They were ghosts. They were quieter, faster, better than they were. Even the normal safety of the trees couldn't protect them. They had to move methodically back to camp and hope that they weren't already being tracked.
Rockshade is a medium-sized tabby tom with short brown fur, black markings, green eyes and a white muzzle. His ears are constantly perked up as if he were trying to hear something and some say he never folds them. He houses a muscular frame under his pelt, though he isn't the heaviest. He is a rather plain-looking tom for the most part, but he uses this to his advantage as he would rather not stand out. The marks underneath his eyes look like streams of tears. Rockshade's voice is always clear and his words concise whenever he decides to speak.
Personality
Positive Traits:
• Unassuming
• Collected
• Assertive
Negative Traits:
• Arrogant
•Lazy
•Crass
Personality:
Rockshade is an unassuming individual who tends not to stand out in a crowd. He has no stories of grandeur or tales of past victories. In fact, he's more known in JungleClan for avoiding danger altogether. Rockshade had always had a precocious affinity for taking the safest path and never participated in any activity that could get him in trouble. Even though he's a bit of a bore, it's clear to everybody that the simple tom enjoys lounging around camp, staring at the clouds, and sleeping. He gets along well enough with his Clanmates but isn't particularly close with any of them--mostly because of the odd questions he throws their way combined with his crass manner of speech. Even though he can come off a bit rude at times, Rockshade has no real enemies within the Clan. He seems like a cat that just prefers to be alone and who wants to go through life easily. The lazy cat often professes his reluctance to hunt despite his apparent skill for it. He also has displayed a resentment towards apprentices and other younger cats because he finds them annoying. Rockshade could never see himself having kits but is a bit flirtatious.
Rockshade truly comes into his own during patrols. When on duty, older warriors describe him as a natural leader who remains calm and collected in the face of great danger, who never lets emotion get the better of him. Rockshade adapts to new challenges quickly and becomes more assertive when assigned an objective, although he still maintains his impolite mannerisms. His mentor noted especially his understanding of his clanmates and their capabilities as an indispensable boon. Rockshade's spatial awareness is such that those who join his patrols think he has eyes in the back of his head. Rockshade often approaches arrogance with how he handles himself and other cats, always believing his way is the right way because he has never put his clanmates in any peril that they weren't prepared for. Despite his inflexibility, he is an extremely effective strategist and someone who cares very much about the safety of the cats he's with outside of camp.
Skills & Combat
Strengths:
• Focus
• Healing
• Tracking
Weaknesses:
• Jumping
• Swimming
• Climbing
Combat:
• Defense: 12 (10+2)
• Attack: 1d20+2
Character Background
History:
Most of Rockshade's litter were dead by the end of his apprentice days. Death was altogether unavoidable on the island. There were countless ways to expire when you were surrounded by enemies, physical or otherwise. Two of his sisters died of a chest infection when they were kits. One brother lost himself just outside of Clan territory, only to be found the next morning half-eaten. And still another brother drifted too far downstream and was ripped apart by an alligator. Rockshade was subdued and silent whenever tragedy struck his family. "He doesn't care about his own siblings?" they'd gossip in low mews. "He doesn't feel anything. Something's not right with that one!"
A few cats knew he'd suffered a concussion as a kit. However, Rockshade hoped his beliefs and morals were of his own accord and not the result of an accident. Rockshade never had any time to grieve. He would only ever move forward--always forward. The tabby thought it was normal to move past misfortune with more knowledge than you had before. Every rock in the road was a learning opportunity. He would greet his kin in StarClan upon his death. Until then, he would live life to the fullest. When Rockshade was an apprentice he would often follow up bad news by asking what the contents of his next training session was. He'd get into fights for asking what he assumed was an innocuous question.
In his apprentice days, Rockshade ceaselessly annoyed his mentor by going off on his own. Sometimes he'd return with a few scrapes and bruises, but eventually he started coming back with prey. He was good at getting in the head of the animals he hunted. Although, he never really gave the impression that he enjoyed it very much. Every warrior who went on a patrol with him noted his snappy nature as something that needed correcting, but he excelled in nearly every other aspect of warrior life. While his fighting was mediocre, and he was decent at hunting, his real boon was reported to be his coolness under extreme circumstances. At least three warriors reported to Toucanstar that Rockshade should immediately begin organizing patrols on his own whenever he ascended to the next rank.
Now 24 moons old, the young warrior intrinsically understands JungleClan's borders and the predators that inhabit them. He doesn't have many friends due to his aloof nature, but he doesn't need friends as long as he has their respect. Rockshade's desire to protect the cats of the forest was not born out of any brainwashing or tragedy. Rather, it is Rockshade's own sense of justice that compels him to do so.