'game' - Tags for actual gameplay screenshots and pictures of the cat sprites
'art' - personal artwork I do of my clan's human or cat forms, sketches of their interactions, and anything else drawn.
'story' - anything pertaining to the canon storyline of the cats, but not being a finished piece of writing.
'lore' - Lore and legends I write for the clan outside of the canon timeline, including breakdowns of their history, traditions, symbology, and practices
'writing' - Snippets I write about the clan and their adventures in-character and in canon, or anything else written.
'resources' - Sites I want to save that I use in tandem with the game descriptions to create my cats physical appearances
'description' - Anything featuring the cats or their descriptions to aid with ease of finding all my clan member descriptions
'guide' - an easy way to access this post, and any other guide and directory posts I make for the clan.
"Brownfur had a difficult conversation with Oakshade, and they now have a deeper understanding of each other."
A disagreement between mentors leads to a conversation between warriors.
"And that's what not to do!" Brownfur shouts, making Dustypaw startle. She jumps up from the ditch where mentors were hiding and crosses to the center of the clearing in long, easy strides. The sun beats down hot from where it hangs high in the sky, dry dust kicking up from Dustypaw and Auburnpaw's feet as they trudge out from their own hiding spot in the brush.
A now-empty snare lays limply around a half-eaten pile of berries, its loop pulled loose by the rabbit's short struggle to get free. She barely even has to pick it up before the rest of it comes undone in her hands.
"Your knots were too lose, and you tied them in reverse. I'm surprised it even managed to catch something at all." She tosses the rope unceremoniously back into the dust. "Fix it, until there's a rabbit for dinner or the sun goes down. Whichever comes first."
"...yes ma'am," Auburnpaw mutters meekly. He hasn't looked away from the dirt.
"I can't hear you when you mumble," Brownfur says, with all the warmth of a river in winter. Auburnpaw's eyes snap up.
"Yes, ma'am!" he squeaks.
"Good." She says sharply, "Now tie it again."
"You can't just yell at him like that," Oakshade says as Brownfur slips back into the shade at the edge of the clearing. The two mentors had been watching the hunting practice, keeping a careful eye the apprentices that were currently huddling to reset their failed snare. "They're not going to respond to it."
Brownfur huffs at Oakshade's comment, almost entertained by the idea. "I've taught plenty of rogue kids this way, and they've survived just fine."
"Maybe they seem fine, but they'll just end up being afraid of you. Look at him - he's too nervous to even tie the line, let alone set a trap right," she says, nodding to where Auburnpaw is fumbling with his knots while Dustypaw tries to scoop up the fallen berries and brush away the dirt.
"A little fear can be a healthy motivator." Brownfur raises an eyebrow. "Just because you like to go soft on them doesn't mean I have to be."
"Excuse me?!" Oakshade balks. Brownfur just shrugs.
"It's no wonder these kids are so sloppy and don't have any sense of discipline, when you let them run around doing whatever they want and coo at them when they make a mistake. It's disgraceful. It makes them act like helpless babies."
Oakshade bristles. "They're 12! They might be training apprentices, but they're still children, and children need to be taught and not shamed. In Tarnclan we never-"
"Well, we aren't in Tarnclan, are we." Brownfur spits, her dark amber eyes boring straight into Oakshade's.
"No." Oakshade says, her grey eyes hard as stone. "We're not. But just because we're not in my clan anymore, doesn't mean I need to teach them like they're out in the wilds. You might have been a rogue, and survived on your own, and taught the kids you found to do the same thing, but we don't have to do that."
Brownfur has gone silent, watching Oakshade with a strange expression.
"They have a clan now, and a community to help and that helps them in return," Oakshade continues, "And it's our job right now to do that. To help them, and encourage them, and make sure they grow up confident and curious. Not make them feel like if they make a mistake it's their life on the line."
Brownfur looks away.
"You may think it's all roses and sunshine out here, Oakshade, but you have no idea what's coming for those kids," she says, gesturing to the apprentices. Dustypaw's gotten his ankle caught in the now correctly tied snare. Auburnpaw is laughing at him as he struggles to get out of it, the stress of Brownfur's lecture seemingly forgotten for the time being.
"This place isn't going to be kind once they have to make choices like warriors instead of children." Brownfur's voice softens, strangely, in a way that Oakshade has never heard before. "One day it will be their life on the line. And they need to be ready for when that happens."
Oakshade doesn't reply. Instead, the two mentors watch their apprentices playing in the sun, and for a moment they can forget that catching the rabbit is to make sure they eat dinner tonight, or that they train to fight because they train to kill or be killed.
Winter is coming, and Brownfur isn't wrong that the world outside has claws and teeth. But for now the boys are young, and happy, and there will be more rabbits. And sometimes apprentices can be children - there will be plenty of time later for them to grow up.
Thriftpaw is now a warrior, taking the name of Thrifteye!
Thrifteye is fierce and passionate. He still loves a good prank, but he's grown past questioning the authority of the clan leaders to respecting the responsibilities they hold, even if he still pushes back against their decisions sometimes. He's excellent with the younger kits and apprentices in the clan, and knows how to teach them without them realizing they're being taught a lesson.
Thrifteye is a short man, standing 5'1", with dark skin that's scarred and tattooed under the eyes and across the collabones. His dark brown hair is worn in shoulder length locs, and his silver eyes often flash with mischief and smug satisfaction.
"Pipitstar stands above the clan and proclaims that Thriftpaw shall now be known as Thrifteye, honoring their zeal"
Thriftpaw asks Rueprance a very important question.
-----
"Hey, Rueprance... could I ask you a question?"
"Mmm... sure, what's up?" Rueprance hums, still focused intently on the river rushes she's been weaving together into a small makeshift basket for the fresh kill they'd caught earlier. She's been fiddling with them for half an hour now, braiding the fibers together while she and Thriftpaw sat on the warm river stones to soak their feet in the cool, clear water.
There's a long pause. The river burbles to fill the space.
"It's... sort of a big thing to ask. You don't have to listen, if you don't want to," The boy says, much more nervously than usual. The odd tone makes her look up from her work to see Thriftpaw's big silver eyes were looking at her more seriously than she thinks he's ever been, at least as long as she's known him, and she shifts to sit up straight.
"No, no, you can ask!" she says quickly, trying to reassure him from whatever doubts that must be racing through his mind and setting the basket aside. "We have plenty of time til they'll need us back home."
Thriftpaw scrunches his nose and looks back at the rushing water, his silver eyes tracing the shape of the far bank and trying to avoid catching Rueprance's gaze again.
"Well..." he starts, toes fidgeting with the loose stone in the riverbed, "My warrior ceremony is coming up soon, y'know, and... I'm gonna need someone to give me my new name. Lilacspeck and Oakshade scare me, and Pipitstar is really busy, so I don't want to bother her - and she'd probably give me something weird, anyway," He laughs. Nervously, which sounded wrong coming out of Thriftpaw's mouth. "And you're, like, the closest to my age, and we hang out a lot, so I thought that maybe..."
"Of course!!" Rueprance exclaims, interrupting before he can even formally ask the question. She can't contain the rapid butterflies growing in her stomach - her big blue eyes are wide as the moon, the basket laying entirely forgotten by the cottontail rabbits they'd caught as she leans forward.
He's asking her to name him? Her? The biggest question an apprentice can ask, and he isn't picking his mentor - does that mean she was his best friend? Or, well, best warrior friend, she supposes, giving a sly thought to Auburnpaw, but that doesn't matter, because only a warrior can name an apprentice anyway.
"Of course, I'd be honored to, Thriftpaw!" She says again, scooting to sit right next to Thriftpaw, who's now looking at her with surprise and a not-insignificant amount of relief plastered all over his face. "I can't believe you'd ask me, this means so much... do you have any ideas? I'm sure you've thought about it. I mean, who hasn't thought about what they want their warrior name to be?"
"No, I haven't - didn't. I don't want to tell you what to do for it or anything," Thriftpaw says quickly as his gaze darts away, tucking his hands under his legs. "I mean, isn't the point that you get to pick it?"
Rueprance shrugs. "I mean, yeah, but also no. Sometimes people ask because they have something in mind and it's really just a formality. One of my friends back in Tarnclan wanted to be named Eaglewing so bad she got her mentor to do it in exchange for taking their night watch duties for a whole year."
Thriftpaw snickers. "That's stupid," he says, and his shoulders are much further away from his ears now. "Cool name, but like... is it worth double night watch for a year?" He fakes a grimace, but Rueprance raises an eyebrow.
"Hey, with some of the names people get stuck with, you better believe she'd put up with no sleep. So you better be grateful when I give you something that's not stupid." She turns up her nose, mock-haughtiness cracked with a playful grin, and Thriftpaw scoffs, his eyes flashing with mischief.
"If you give me a stupid name, I'm gonna tell Pipitstar about every time you dodged patrol to go hang out by the lake instead."
"As if! Then I'll just snitch about how many times you took extra cloudberries from Quiverpelt's stash."
"They're good!" He exclaims, throwing up his hands and splashing Rueprance in a shower of river water.
She squeals, trying to turn away against the watery attack while splashing her feet in retaliation. Thriftpaw laughs, ducking away from Rueprance's own barrage, but she doesn't care if she gets wet - not when she's been entrusted with such an important job.
"Don't think just because I asked you to name me that you get a free pass from water fights!" he says, his eyes glinting sharp in the midday sun.
"I wouldn't dream of it," Rueprance replies, warm as the sun on the rocks, before she dumps another splash of water right on his head.
he's forty years old. he's babygirl. he's unhinged. he's creating problems for himself and everyone else. he's god's favorite punching bag. he's a whore. he's pathetic. he's my poor little meow meow
The 'cats' of Willowclan! On the first page are the adults/warriors, and the second page are the tweens/apprentices. Russetpaw is the Starclan guide, but still counts to me since he's of the same age in appearance.
(note: Lilacspeck's name is incorrect here, but it's pretty much just a typo)
Mossyrush is a lonely fellow, always sticking to the outskirts of the clan and watching from afar. He has a melancholic nature, always quick to moan about the worst possible outcome, despite his keen observational skills obviously telling him otherwise.
Mossyrush is 32, standing incredibly tall at 6'4 and built like a strongman. He has mid-toned tan skin with a dark tribal tattoo running all the way down his head and back, medium length black hair often worn loose around his face and covered in dry leaves, and hazel eyes that are generally in shadow.
"Oakshade and Mossyrush take a late night patrol out of camp to watch the sun rise."
After Dustypaw's apprentice ceremony, Oakshade feels listless, and Mossyshade thinks he knows what might help.
---
It had only been a few hours since Dustypaw's ceremony, but luckily the boy seemed a bit more comfortable with the clan's attention by the end of it all than he had at the start, running around with the other apprentices and causing havoc around the great fire as the adults talked and drank elderberry wine.
There had been so many congratulations from every side... to Oakshade it felt like the attention would never end or give her a chance to breathe. She nodded and said thank you to the wishes of good luck, the offers of advice and enthusiasm, and the few well-placed works of advice from the other older warriors. But as confident as she tried to seem for them, it was still only her first apprentice -back home, it would have been seen as a monumental step in her warrior path to guide another along their own. Here, it seemed to unremarkable, as if it were just another expectation... the idea of it being that simple sat poorly with her.
---
It's been hours since that initial celebration, and an hour more since the weary, now-snoring apprentices were ushered to the apprentices den by Lilacspeck. The fire is burning low, the moon sinking down towards the horizon, and most of the revelers have since gone to bed. Only Quiverpelt was still awake, tending the ritual fire until daybreak, the crackle of popping logs occasionally punctuating the late-night-early-morning quiet.
Oakshade sighs and leans against a nearby tree, thumb rubbing the old smooth wood absently. She's so lost in her own thoughts, her own feeling of listlessness at the new chapter she's stepping foot into, that the gentle tap on her shoulder almost goes unnoticed - almost. She's far too skilled a warrior for that. She turns to see Mossyrush's familiar face, glowing red-gold with what's left of the firelight, and his familiar hands holding a small wrapped bundle in a basket.
"It was a big night for you," he starts, quietly. "You'll do well as a mentor."
He'd already offered his good luck congratulations at the end of the ceremony, but this was different. Deeper. It was from a place far beyond the willow boughs, where the heather grew between boulders and Starclan swam in crystal-clear lake pools.
"Thank you. That means a lot, from you," she says, genuinely. Mossyrush just shrugs.
"Well, it's true. Dustypaw couldn't ask for a better one, and you'll learn be an excellent guide."
The two sit in the comfortable quiet of pre-dawn with those words for a moment, breathing in the cold spring evening air. The stars shiver a little, like they can feel the last of winter's chill in the wind. Somewhere an owl makes its lonely cry, hollow through the night.
"Oakshade," Mossyrush says after a while, and Oakshade inclines her head to him in acknowledgement. "We may not be in Tarnclan anymore, but I brought a kit with me today, for your marks. If you'd still like to do them." He lifts the small basket, the bundle inside clearly stained with smudges of ink and dye.
Oakshade exhales. With the rush of things, she hadn't even thought to plan a time to do them. It wasn't their clan, after all, she had to remind herself. They did things differently here. There was no built-in time for something like a marking ceremony here like there were back home... no time for a new mentor to sit with their whole new role to the clan.
It's what she'd been missing, and Mossyrush knew it.
She smiles and nods. "I would, very much."
---
It doesn't take long to make it from the ceremony grounds to the Great Willow Tree itself - they're close together for a reason, after all. The Willow has a particularly potent connection to Starclan, which makes it the perfect place to do something like this.
Mossyrush and Oakshade don't speak much during the walk over. Oakshade tries to keep her mind on her markings, pondering what kind of design Mossyrush might do with so little time to prepare, and what kind of a mentor it makes her if she didn't even plan on having her mentor marks done in the first place.
It's funny, she thinks to herself as she steps over a particularly large root, how going to a different place with different people and different customs can make you feel so disconnected from your home, even when you wear your commitment to it like a mantle on your shoulders. Even when there were others there with the same expectations inked into theirs.
The lake under the willow was calm and serene, smooth as glass like the tarns back home. It reflected the stars almost perfectly, a whole second sky below their feet with its own tiny sliver of silvery moon suspended like magic. It was... nostalgic, save for the waving of the Great Willow's boughs overhead and the smell of bogwood instead of peat moss. Oakshade inhales deeply, and hears Mossyrush do the same.
"Feeling alright?" he says from behind her. She sighs.
"Better than most of tonight, actually."
Mossyrush hums. "Well, that's good to hear."
She stands on the edge of the water while Mossyrush lays out his tools, the gentle clatter of the bone needles and grinding of the ink pigments combined with the gentle lapping of water on her feet soothing her mind somewhat already.
Eventually she makes her way over to the spot Mossyrush has chosen by the willow - a hollow of the large roots close to the trunk, one root looped up in a high arc that makes a comfortable back rest for her to lay her head against. His tools are laid out of a woven rush mat, stained with ink from past marks he'd performed before leaving Tarnclan all those months ago.
"I'm going to apologize in advance for getting stiff hands," Mossyrush says as Oakshade lays back against the roots, letting her head lay on the rolled up bag for his kit. "I haven't done this in a few months. But if I cramp, I'll work through it, so don't worry."
Oakshade snorts. "If I'm worried about anyone with this, it's me."
When the man looks doubtful she says, "I mean it! I haven't been marked in dozens of moons, and we have nothing to smoke for the pain. Just you, me, and the elderberry wine... it'll be a wonder if I don't pass out."
That gets a laugh now. Mossyrush smiles despite himself, reaching for a small cloth to wipe down his hands as Oakshade settles in with a grin.
"Seriously though, Oakshade. You feel alright to do this? We can always wait and do it another time, if you're feeling rocky. See if Quiverpelt has anything we can use. I just wanted to offer now, since it felt the most... appropriate, I suppose."
Oakshade shakes her head. "No, no... no. I want to do it now. I... I don't think I would feel right, teaching Dustypaw without having earned my marks."
"Very true," he says, setting aside his cloth and picking up the ink bowl and a fine needle.
"In that case, how about we get started?"
---
Oakshade gets lost in her head.
Wether it's the overindulgence in elderberry wine, the lack of ceremony herbs to dull the pain, the tension she's been stewing in all day, or Starclan sending her visions from beyond, her mind goes into a state she's only been in once before.
Things feel hazy and soft, blurry like a second world has been layered on top.
She sees flickers of things out of the corner of her eye, in the lake, hears voices she doesn't recognize in between Mossyrush's prayers to Starclan and words of encouragement.
At one point she thinks she sees a pale young boy watching them in the branches of the willow, his hair full of stars and his eyes the same blue as the glaciers in the mountains back home.
Most of the hours they spend beneath that tree are a wispy memory.
By the time the sun rises early in the morning, fingers of orange and gold peeking over the horizon and bleeding through the glass-smooth sky on the lake, Oakshade's marks are complete.
Mossyrush gives a loud sigh as he leans back from making the final line. His hands are visibly shaking, like he said they might, but despite what must have been great strain he never faltered once. Oakshade can feel her own body shaking too, from the pain and adrenaline in equal measure, and can't fathom how he's keeping it together.
"...May the stars watch you and guide your path, and all the paths you guide in turn," he says, finally, after laying his tools back on their rush mat to be cleaned.
"May I do my duty to them well," she returns, and opens her eyes.
Part of her can't bear to see them yet for fear of what she might think - not that she might hate it, but that she might not be ready to become the person staring back at her. But another, louder part of her knows she already has, and she needs to see her reflection to really understand who that might be.
She tries to push herself up but stumbles, her knees and legs stiff from sitting so long without moving. Mossyrush catches her arm and helps her up instead, letting her lean on his shoulder as she steadies herself on her feet.
"...Thank you," she says, her voice hoarse from being quiet for so long.
"Take it easy," he says back, as she leans her weight back into her own two legs and keeps walking towards the water. "Don't hurt yourself."
"I'll be fine."
Oakshade raises an eyebrow, but doesn't argue - this part is for her to do, however fast or slow she wants to do it. Usually they would be in a ceremonial space, with a bowl of ritual water to cleanse her face and see her reflection in, but with the ritual so short notice they don't have anything like that right now.
Just the willow lake, it's surface growing more and more bright as the sun begins to rise.
They make their way to the lake's edge, Oakshade only hesitating a moment before letting her feet slip into the ice-cold clear water and the soft mud below. She gasps grits her teeth against the cold, clutching on to Mossyrush's tense arm as her legs try to give out again, but she won't let them. Step after step they wade deeper, until she's up to her knees in the lake and able to stand on her own.
"Don't catch a cold either, Oakshade," Mossyrush warns, stopping her from going any deeper. "Quiverpelt will have me doing gathering for a week if you catch a cold because of something I suggested." Oakshade snorts.
"I won't," she says, but her chattering teeth say otherwise. "Can you help me wash my face?"
"Only if you promise to get right back to camp afterwards," Mossyrush says, but he's already dampening a cloth to wipe across her face, hands practiced and gentle against the raw skin.
Oakshade exhales shakily as the cold water stings her new marks, but says nothing as Mossyrush pushes her hair back and pats her brows dry.
"...I can go back to the Willow, if you want to look by yourself."
"You can stay," she says, opening her eyes shakily to look at Mossyrush's worried face, "I might fall on my way back if you don't - joking, joking." She clarifies as a look of genuine concern flashes across the mans face.
And then, she looks down.
The marks on her brow are like a crown of leaves. They blend with her own apprentice marks like a mask, swirling gracefully between one and the other until it's unclear where one starts and the other begins. The color match is almost flawless, the work pristine. Despite her hair having already been peppered with silver and grey, it's like she finally looks her age... it's shocking, in the best way. In a way that she can finally feel like a mentor with.
She feels something welling up inside her, almost an indescribable fullness, before her knees try to give out again and Mossyrush catches her by the shoulders.
"Okay, normally I'd let you process this longer, but not in a lake like this. Let's get you back to camp," he whispers, not wanting to interrupt her thought, but he stops whatever he's about to say next when he sees Oakshade's expression.
She glances up at him and looks about a half a second away from crying, her green eyes big and shiny like the lake water.
"Thank you," she says. Her voice is stronger than it's been all night. "Thank you. This, you... this means a lot, Mossyrush. I don't know if you know how much, but-"
"I do," he says, and he means it. "I did this for many, many warriors back in Tarnclan, and I know. It's... important. And I didn't want you to not have that for yourself just because you were far away from home."
Oakshade sniffles - though wether from the chill from the water, or the genuine emotion, she'll probably never say.
"Thank you."
"...now. Can I get you out of this lake? It might be emotional, but you also need to be healthy to heal, and Quiverpelt'll kill me if I let you catch a cold doing this."
Oakshade blinks, her brain re-registering where they are and what time it is.
"Oh. Right, yes. We should get out of the lake. And do the things."
Mossyrush laughs. "Yes, the things. Like ointments for your face. And sleeping," he emphasizes, holding up a hand against the light and looking towards where the sun is shining from its early morning point along the horizon. "Is it alright if I carry you back up?"
"Oh, my hero," Oakshade says sarcastically, looping her arm over Mossyrush's shoulder and letting Mossyrush scoop her up - which, to be fair, is nothing for someone his height - and wade through the water, back to shore and the waiting, watchful boughs of the Great Willow as Starclan's watchful eyes fade away into the pale blue of the early morning sky.
The founding cats of Willowclan all hail from different backgrounds, bringing with them the customs and traditions of the clans they're from and places they've been.
Pipitstar, Quiverpelt, and Lilacspeck are from Locustclan in the forests to the south - a clan that no longer exists. Wiped out by misfortune and disease, they left after burying the dead to find a new start in the wilds to the north.
Oakshade, Mossyrush, and Rueprance all came together from Tarnclan in the glacial foothills to the north. They were called by visions to head off together and find a clan under the weeping willows in the wilds to the south.
Thriftpaw and Auburnpaw were both from Mouseclan in the grasslands to the west. They were lost during a dust storm and wandered their way to the eastern woods before being found.
Brownfur was a wandering rogue with no allegiance, making her way from clan to clan and territory to territory in an attempt to scrape by.
Dustypaw was an abandoned rogue kit, taken in to be raised communally by the adults of the clan after being found by Brownfur.
Russetpaw was a previous apprentice of the clan that had lived in Willowclan's territory. He died young many, many moons ago, and his spirit was interred in the willow tree.
Tarnclan is a clan from the northern plains and glacial foothills, mainly located around a collection of glacial lakes or 'tarns'. Their culture is largely nomadic, traveling with herds of caribou and the seasons to gather herbs and maintain traditional campsites. Their rituals take place at glacial lakes with glassy, smooth surfaces that reflect the night sky, bringing Starclan to touch the earth.
Tarnclan has a rich tradition of tattoo practices, which act as markers for coming of age and certain life events, act as protection from evil, and serve as identifying markers so that Starclan may always know to watch over them, even when they're in lands far from their home territories.
---
Facial tattoos are a common coming-of-age ceremony in Tarnclan traditions. Tarnclan's apprentice ceremony takes place around the application and receiving of facial tattoos that mark ones journey onto the warrior path and commitment to becoming a part of the clan as a whole, and identify you as an adult within Tarnclan society. The facial tattoos for apprentices can typically cover the cheeks between the bottom of the nose to the bottom of the brows, following the curves of the face, and use motifs that connect to the apprentice's given name or relate to them symbolically in some way.
The other facial tattoo that is given is the mark of a mentor, which is received after an apprentice is given their marks and granted their mentor. The chosen mentor receives a 'crown' of sorts, which traditionally covers from the brows up and features a distinct motif at the center of the forehead to signify their wisdom and earned respect as a teacher in the clan. Mentors are chosen very carefully, and to guide an apprentice on their path to earn their warrior name is one of the most noble pursuits one can take on in Tarnclan.
---
Warrior tattoos are given across the upper back and shoulders, almost as a mantle, and typically mirror the style of one's apprentice marks. These tattoos can take many hours, if not days, and receiving them is a rite of passage to mark ones strength and devotion to following the Warrior Path. Smaller tattoos may only cover the tops of the shoulders, but larger pieces can cover the back all the way to the shoulder blades, and even go down onto the sides of the chest depending on what the warrior is able to sit through. Larger tattoos are a mark of great discipline, endurance, and patience.
---
Medicine cats do not receive traditional warrior tattoos along their shoulders. Instead, they receive what is called the Healer's Bands, which begin at the upper arm and go all the way down to the wrist. These bands represent their earned knowledge and skill, and mark them as a healer or one with gifted hands that serves the clan and it's people. The motifs and spirits called upon in each band traditionally represent different healing plants, making them not only a mark of their knowledge but of their connection to Starclan, and serve as a way to channel healing through them during their work.
Leaders receive the Nine Stars during their ceremony, which is a large tattoo that goes from the nape of the neck all the way down to the lower back along the spine, branching out at the shoulders to connect to their warrior marks. This is a representation of their place as a chosen avatar of Starclan, and their role as a 'pillar' connecting the two together. This tattoo traditionally has nine stars places along the spine within the design - these stars are a mark of the wisdom and skill they were granted by Starclan, and are filled or covered with a grieving ceremony upon the loss of a life.
Ceremonial tattoos for leaders and medicine cats are spiritually intense and often involve long periods of fasting, meditation, and receiving visions. Both before and during the ceremonies. These tattoos are often done in pigmented colors as opposed to the traditional brown and black inks used on typical tattoos, as those dyes are more rare and coveted and only used on the most sacred of markings.
---
While these tattoos are representations of ranks and places in the clan that are earned, there are also marks for other significant life events a member may go through, such as becoming a parent (hips and lower back), choosing a mate (back of the hands), embarking on a journey (lower legs), or completing their first hunt (bands at the wrists).
A total guide of every single cat in the clan, all their current and previous names, and their general appearance - skin tone, markings, hair, and eye colors - in order to help you keep track of them all at a glance.
Cats are added in the order they joined the clan.
Italics indicate a deceased cat.
RUSSETPAW - Willowclan's permanent Starclan guide. Perpetually 12 years old in appearance. Pale skin with dark freckles, black hair worn shaggy around the shoulders and tied back on the top, bright blue eyes like sunlit glacier ice.
---
PIPITSTAR - She/her. Leader. 9/9 lives. Short, slim, with pale freckled skin, ashy blonde shoulder length hair, and bronze brown eyes. She has many moles scattered across her body.
LILACSPECKLE - He/him. Deputy. Shorter than average, fit, with light tan skin, ash blonde long hair, and heterochromatic eyes - one heather blue and one emerald green. A large scar cuts across his face.
QUIVERPELT - She/her. Medicine cat. Average height, with dark skin that has light vitiligo patches, natural black hair that's silver at the roots, and pale yellow eyes.
OAKSHADE - She/her. Warrior. Very short, curvy, with tan skin that is heavily tattooed across her face, shoulders, and back, long salt and pepper black hair, and sage green eyes.
BROWNFUR - She/her. Warrior. Average height, muscular, with warm brown skin, dark brown hair cropped short, and red-copper eyes. Her features are delicate.
MOSSYRUSH - He/him. Warrior. Tall, built like a strongman, with tan skin with tattoos running along his face, shoulders, chest, and full back, medium length black hair, and shadowed hazel eyes.
RUEPRANCE - She/her. Short, with a dancer's build, with tan skin covered in tattoos on her face and shoulders, long dark silver hair, and vivid blue eyes.
THRIFTEYE/PAW - He/him. Short, fit, with dark skin tattooed on the face and lower back, black shoulder length locs, and silver eyes.
AUBURNPAW - He/him. Average height and frail build, with light fair skin, short sandy blonde hair, and cobalt blue eyes.
DUSTYPAW/DUSTYKIT - He/him. Average height, chubby, with light tan freckled skin, long dusty brown hair, and green-yellow eyes.
Willowclan is young, built from a small number of cats and hoping to make a new, safe place in the midst of the harsh woods and even harsher outside world. As such, kits and apprentices are highly valued, with the transition of a kit to an apprentice being a huge milestone that marks their survival through childhood and their entry into adolescence. Warrior ceremonies, by contrast, are the mark of an apprentice's transition into adulthood and their acknowledgement as being a worthy member of the clan by the clan leader.
While apprentices all take the same suffix to their name, -paw, to indicate their advancement from the nursery to working as a member of the clan, warrior names are typically given to a cat by an important person in their life. Wether that may be the clan leader, a mentor, a family member, a close friend, or even themselves, the name typically means something and relates to their personality, lineage, or traits they wish to embody. An apprentice typically will approach someone to give them their name months before their ceremony, if not years, and being entrusted to name an apprentice is the same as being their guardian or godparent, giving you a deep connection and responsibility to them for the rest of your lives.
---
In the week leading up to a naming ceremony, which falls on the new moon, most of the clan will be busy gathering the necessary ceremonial herbs and dyes, preparing new ceremonial clothing or restoring older pieces that may have been worn by family members, and hunting to provide for the large feast typically held afterwards.
The medicine cat is in charge of preparing ceremonial herbs that get burned at the beginning of the ceremony to call upon Starclan, which require days of drying and curing to correctly administer. While some specific herbal blends change depending on the seasons, most medicine cats keep a stock of these on hand at all times in order to use for naming ceremonies, healing rituals, or seances, and combine them with seasonally appropriate herbs that can help them call upon the ancestors. The blend typically includes yarrow, camphor, althea, and willow root.
In addition, dyes are often used to give kits their apprentice marks and warriors their name marks, which are facial markings that are significant to their new names and sometimes tattooed onto warriors after the initial ceremonies. These dyes are derived from berries and roots and typically are deep blue, purple, or red, depending on the source and the season - red and vivid purple derived from berries is more typical of spring and summer, while autumn and winter lean towards cooler blues and purples of preserved berries and boiled roots.
---
Ceremonial clothing is important to the ritual, and due to the complexity of weaving, new clothing is more expensive to make and older clothing worn by past family members is typically handed down instead. Apprentices are typically gifted an intricate leather tunic by an older clan member then they go through their ceremony, often embellished with embroidery, pieces of turtle shells, bone beads, and strands of seeds that rattle when moved. These tunics, called a Naming Shirt, can be passed down to other apprentices once it's outgrown. They are also worn with small woven belts with dnagling strands of beads and small headbands marked with stars on the foreheads.
Warrior naming shirts, on the other hand, are made for an individual warrior and are a mark of their identity, worn only for ceremonies and special events. These typically have much more intricate embellishment and embroidery motifs and may feature full furs, bones, and feathers alongside the typical beadwork. They are typically accompanied with a thick embellished and beaded fringe belt and thick headbands with star motifs, often customized to honor ancestors or clan members that have joined Starclan. These pieces are incredibly personal and meaningful, and to be entrusted to wear another warrior's naming shirt is a great honor and sign of accepting and continuing their legacy.
---
The day of the ceremony itself, kits and apprentices will typically be prepared by family or close community members by having them ritually bathe in the lake. Afterwards their hair will be combed and braided or styled based on their length and hair types, including combing or massaging in seasonal dyes for the apprentices who are being named as warriors and weaving in leaves, flowers, and other seasonal decorations.
Kits are not allowed to see their mentors during these preparations, and those being appointed as mentors go through their own ritual preparations with each other or trusted friends in another den, though they are slightly less restrictive. The mentors typically go through similar preparations to the apprentices being appointed warriors, though instead of dying their hair they massage in scented oils and may choose to use dyes to recreate their own warrior markings if they are not already tattooed permanently.
---
Naming ceremonies are typically done at night, beginning in the early evening and taking place when the stars are out and Starclan can oversee the ceremony themselves. Willow torches will be a lit along a circular area of packed dirt on the edges of the lake, under the watch of the great willow tree, and a great fire lit in the bonfire pit in the middle. The leader and deputy will stand with the medicine cat at the head of the great fire, in the direction facing the rising of the full moon. Any mentors stand behind them in the circle, and the rest of the clan fills in the remaining border of the circle. Kits and apprentices must make their way down the path to the ceremony circle from outside the clan's den alone, one by one, in total darkness, and as they arrive they take their place opposite the leader in the circle.
The Medicine Cat will begin the ceremony with a ritual calling upon Starclan and the elements of the forest, burning the herbal offerings and willow boughs they've been preparing in the fire to consecrate it and call on the ancestors. While it burns, the medicine cat reads omens in the smoke aloud to the crowd as an interpretation of Starclan's message to those present, and the new apprentices and warriors being named that day. Smoother smoke denotes a calm, steady message of good luck, while erratic or choppy smoke may be a warning or an omen.
Apprentice naming ceremonies are first. The leader will call upon the kits to step forwards to the fire, with their mentor stepping to the opposite side. The medicine cat will then call on Starclan for them to signal an approval of the leader's choices, and if they receive a sign the two will be bonded as apprentice and mentor, and the kit may cross to the other side of the circle and receive their apprentice name and markings from their mentor in front of the leader before stepping behind the leader on the far side of the circle.
Warrior ceremonies come next and are typically led by both the medicine cat and the leader in tandem. The two will step forwards, and individually call each warrior up to the fire. While standing opposite each other across the fire, the leader will have the apprentice recite them the warrior code and swear an oath to uphold it, and to devote their life to the clan and its members. The medicine cat will burn more herbs, and interpret the smoke for them as their own individual omen or blessing from StarClan, and the new warrior will leap through the fire in a symbolic rebirth to join the leader on the other side. The naming cat will then be called on to approach and give the new warrior their warrior name, which will be called out and cheered by the gathered clan in welcoming celebration.
To close out naming ceremonies, the medicine cat will once again call upon StarClan to ask them to guide and protect those who have been named that day, and to watch favorably over the clan as they continue to grow and flourish and enjoy the abundance of the world. The feast will then commence, a great celebration of roasting meats over open fires, drinking, and celebrating joyously while the new warriors start to keep their vigil at the Great Tree. These vigils vary in length, but typically last until the light of the moon is bright enough to see by, around 3-5 days/nights. Some warriors report receiving visions during their vigils, from Starclan or from the Tree itself, and it's seen as a vision quest of sorts to act as the guardian of such a valuable part of the clan's culture.
"Oakshade sees how nervous Dustypaw is and whispers a quiet encouragement to them as they touch noses, promising to be a good mentor to them."
Dustykit has been nervous about his naming ceremony all week, and now that it's finally here, he's even more terrified. Will Starclan accept him as an apprentice?
---
Dustykit shuffles his feet at the edge of the ceremony grounds, trying not to cough at the acrid smell of the fire smoke mixed with the ceremonial herbs as Quiverpelt does her communing with Starclan. He's been nervous all day about this ceremony, his stomach tied up in a pile of tangles and knots like the braids Brownfur wove into his long hair just hours before. What if he's not really good enough to become an apprentice? What if Starclan rejects him? What if his new mentor hates him?! The thoughts swirl wildly into one another, blurring into a general sense of anxiety as he gazes across the ceremony grounds at all the clan members who have gathered to see him off.
They're all dressed in their fine naming shirts from the various clans they came from, an eclectic rainbow of shells and bone beads and embroidery that catch the light of the bonfire like stars. Thriftpaw and Auburnpaw watch on from the shadows by their mentors, waving excitedly at him when he catches their eyes. Soon they'll all be peers, apprentices going on patrol and training, having adventures together and becoming mighty warriors... unless he can't do it. Unless he can't become a warrior, and messes it all up, and then--
"Great Starclan!" Quiverpelt's voice booms across the clearing. Despite her older age, the medicine woman looks as formidable as any of the warriors, her dark skin glowing in the bonfire light. "We have called upon you and heard your words, and in return, we ask that you hear our own.
Dustykit feels a push on his shoulders from Brownfur, ushering him to step forwards to meet his fate. He gulps.
The walk to the bonfire from the edge of the circle feels like an eternity. Every single eye is on him, watching him, judging his worthiness... or at least it feels like that, anyway, all dressed up and the center of attention. His footfalls feel heavy as he gets closer and closer to the fire's blazing heat, stopping just short of the stones on the border of the firepit. It feels like an oven, heat radiating into his face, and as he peers across the bright light the only thing he can make out is Quiverpelt's stern face and the faint, ghostly pale shadows of Pipitstar and Lilacspeck beyond.
"Dustykit," she says, less booming but no less heavy with ceremony. "You stand before us today to receive your mentor, and take your first step on the path to becoming a warrior. Do you accept this responsibility to support and defend your clan, and to learn and revere the warrior code always?"
"Y-yes," he says, but it's shaky, and he stiffens hearing his own weak voice. Quiverpelt's brow softens and she inclines her head to him.
"Try again, child," she offers, soft enough that the gathered crowd won't hear it.
"Yes, I do!" he practically shouts, jarring but better than no one being able to hear him at all, and there are a few stray cheers from the other apprentices before the warriors shush them.
Quiverpelt smiles. "Then let your mentor step forwards to accept you."
He can make out Oakshade now across the way, stepping out of the shadows where Pipitstar and Lilacspeck are standing to join Quiverpelt on the opposite side of the fire. Her naming motifs swirl like her tattoos, the tunic and belt covered in polished acorn shells and patterns of oak leaves and her headband stitched with constellations of stars that Dustykit can't recognize. She watches him cooly from across the fire, her green eyes betraying nothing of whatever she might think. Quiverpelt nods as the warrior settles into her place, and pulls out a small handful of herbs that were prepared for the ceremony.
"Ancestors in the stars above us," she calls, this time up towards the darkened night sky where a million twinkling stars shine down from overhead. "This new apprentice has sworn to learn the path of the warrior. We ask you to offer him guidance so that he may walk this path with clear eyes and a strong heart."
A thick pale smoke rises from where the herbs start to burn as she casts them into the fire, filling the air with the scent of camphor and dried leaves. Dustykit squints and holds his breath, trying not to breathe too much of it in. He desperately searches the smoke for any sign that Starclan might be mad at him, for something that says Oakshadow should abandon him as an apprentice... Quiverpelt is silent for what feels like a long time, watching the swirls of smoke disappear up into the sky, and Dustykit's heartbeat feels like a thundering drum in his chest.
But after an eternity, she speaks.
"You will face a darkness, young apprentice."
Dustykit's blood runs cold. A hush falls over the already silent crowd, drowning out everything but Dustykit's own racing thoughts. Is this it? Is this what finally does it? Is he doomed forever because of this omen? Is he--
"Darkness that lingers even when the land is covered in light. A darkness that comes from inside yourself." She points, directly at his chest. "It will try to consume you and drive you from your path, but you must not let it. You must stand up to your fears, even if it hurts at first. Even if you feel you cannot stand against it any more, you must look to the light around you instead of the darkness within."
Dustykit inhales. His hands are shaking. Everyone is still so quiet, but Quiverpelt just looks... sad.
"Starclan has spoken," she says, finally, after watching Dustykit take in the prophecy. "You will face great trials from within, but where there is darkness there must always be light. Those who walk the warrior path will always be able to guide you, should you seek their help." she pauses, letting him take in her own advice, before continuing.
"You may cross the fire and receive your name."
He bows his head to Quiverpelt, and his feet move like he's in a dream. He's surprised he doesn't fall over, given how weak his knees feel, but he manages to stumble his way to where Oakshade is standing with a small bowl and stand up to look her in the eye. She has an odd expression, as if she's finally looking at him for the first time as more than just a child.
"You must trust others, and above all trust yourself," she says, dipping two fingers into the dye in her hand and leaning down to mark his cheeks and nose. "Keep that in mind, and you'll go far, Dustypaw. I'll make sure of it."
Dustypaw nods, silently, shakily, but he can tell he's smiling now - though wether its from nerves or true excitement for the future, it's hard to say - and she smiles back at him. Quiverpelt's staff rattles, cutting through the sounds of the crackling fire and murmuring crowd.
"Let us all greet Willowclan's newest apprentice!" she shouts triumphantly, and the crowd erupts into cheers. Dustypaw turns to face the crowd, to face Pipitstar, to face everyone - they all seem so happy for him, shouting and celebrating his new name. It almost doesn't feel real.
"May Starclan watch you along your path, young warrior," Pipitstar calls over the roaring of the crowd as Thriftpaw and Auburnpaw break away from the edges to race in and hug their new fellow apprentice, and Dustypaw beams in reply.
Dustypaw still hasn't grown out of his nervous, insecure nature, but his fighting skills have improved as people bonded with him through play. He's nervous about moving on to the next step in his warrior journey, and constantly worries about messing up in front of his mentor.
Dustypaw is 9 years old, only standing 4'2" (though he will eventually grow up to be 5'11). He has light tan skin covered in dark freckles and dusty brown hair worn loose and long around his shoulders, and his green-yellow eyes are big and bright.
As Pipitstar and Lilacspeck set up training for the day, Thriftpaw sneakily convinces Auburnpaw to set up a prank for their mentors.
It works, and with their teamwork Pipitstar ends up hanging by her ankle from a tree while the apprentices add 'scolded by the leader and deputy at the same time' to their list of achievements.
---
"I dunno, Thriftpaw. It's just - won't we get in a lot of trouble?"
"It'll be funny! I bet they won't even know it was us," Thriftpaw whispers to Auburnpaw as the two trail behind their mentors on their way to the sand pits for training. Auburnpaw scrunches his nose and fidgets with the edge of this tunic, peering at the older warriors who seem to be engrossed in some kind of deep conversation about the clan.
Pipitstar and Lilacspeck were pretty important... and messing with people that important would be bad, right? But Thriftpaw is giving him his biggest, silveriest puppy eyes, and Auburnpaw trusts the older boy implicitly, so...
"It depends on what you wanna do, I guess," Auburnpaw says, wavering, and Thriftpaw goes from pleading to scheming in a matter of seconds.
"I think we could use a snare on one of 'em," Thriftpaw explains, pointing to the vines tangling up the woods along their path. "Rueprance taught me how to do snares, with the vines and things you find in the woods, and I bet I could make one strong enough for Pipitstar at least, since she's so small."
Auburnpaw nods and watches the two mentors to make sure they aren't catching wind of the boy's plan. Lilacspeck is explaining something to Pipitstar, whose face is serious with thought. Both of them are totally engrossed in the conversation, even missing when a few tiny birds startle overhead. Which is perfect for the plan, even if it's maybe not so great for a warrior to be that distracted on patrol. If they just keep talking...
"Hey!" Thriftpaw hisses, distracting Auburnpaw from his intense focus on the adults, "You're gonna have to distract them."
"Me?!" Auburnpaw exclaims a bit too loudly, clapping a hand over his mouth before he gets too loud and checking to see if either of the mentors noticed. Lilacspeck tosses a glance over his shoulder, but doesn't seem to pay the two apprentices much mind beyond checking to see that they're alright and quickly turns back around to give his attention to his leader. "Why do I have to? They're talking with each other already."
"Because I have to make the snare! And they're totally gonna notice if I'm making something... unless you ask them a question and make them focus on you instead of me."
"I--" Auburnpaw starts to protest, but after thinking for a second, Thriftpaw is right. If they make too much noise the mentors will definitely want to see what they're doing, and they'll notice if Thriftpaw disappears to set up the trap if Auburnpaw doesn't get them to talk to him instead.
Auburnpaw wilts. Thriftpaw looks elated.
"You'll do great, kid," he says, slapping the younger boy (quietly) on the back. Auburnpaw groans.
---
It turns out, asking the clan's most skilled warriors for advice on how to best locate prey in the woods keeps them so focused on finding birds that they don't notice the other apprentice sneaking off to set up snares further along the path.
While Auburnpaw keeps the mentors distracted, Thriftpaw quickly sets up a vine snare further along the path by the sand pits. He tosses sand and loose leaves over the snare's loop, scuffing up the area on top and nearby to hide any footprints or mess he may have made, and slips right back next to Auburnpaw before Lilacspeck even finishes explaining the nesting habits of sparrows.
"Wow, super interesting!" he pipes up, making sure the two are very aware of him being there, and Pipitstar turns to raise her eyebrow.
"You're never this interested in birdwatching when I try to teach you, Auburnpaw."
"Well, maybe Lilacspeck just does it more interesting than you," he says back with a coy shrug. Now BOTH of Pipitstar's eyebrows are in the air, but the short woman doesn't seem to want to press the issue - not with so much of their training session left to get through, and not enough patience left to deal with a fight. Instead she sighs, stepping out from the trailside brush and taking the lead down the path again.
"Well, you'd do well to pay attention anyway," she starts, as the little group heads out again. "You should listen to your mentor even if the lesson isn't interesting."
The apprentices are careful to stay behind Pipitstar, though they don't hang back as far as they were while concocting their little scheme. Lilacspeck follows after, watching the apprentices with some amusement as they approached the sand pit clearing and rolling his shoulders in preparation for the sparring to come.
"Hey, I won't complain about him being interested in what I have to say, as long as he's learning it," he says.
The clan leader just laughs in response - or maybe she was planning to say something, but she doesn't get the chance. The second her foot touches the leaf-littered ground in front of her, it's pulled away as Thriftpaw's snare snaps up into the branches of a large ash tree.
"Stars!" she swears, tripping and falling flat on her behind with a leg in the air, before her struggling is drowned out by Lilacspeck's bark of disbelief and Thriftpaw's shrieks of delight. Auburnpaw isn't quite sure what to do - between the joy on his friends face and the rage on his leader's, he can't quite tell if what he did was exactly good or bad.
---
The apprentices got the earful of a lifetime from a clan leader and a deputy at the same time, and with Pipitstar is still favoring her ankle the two weren't likely to have heard the end of it yet, either. Between the prank going incredibly right and the plans for the day's training going horribly wrong, Auburnpaw is feeling deflated as the group heads back from the sand pits and their distracted sparring session.
Pipitstar is making Thriftpaw stay right next to her in the front of the group to keep an eye on him on the walk back, so Auburnpaw is stuck next to his own mentor, too, scuffling at the ground and kicking rocks as they walk. Despite his initial laughter at the prank, Lilacpaw had been quite stern with both the boys during training and given them loads of extra laps and drills to run during the session.
But now that the sparring is done and Auburnpaw is clearly wracked with guilt, Lilacspeck sighs and lays a heavy hand on the boys shoulder.
"Listen," he starts, trying to seem as not-mad as possible when the boy turns his big watery blue eyes to him, but the moment he opens his mouth again Auburnpaw looks like he's about to cry.
"Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm not going to be mad at you again, we already did that." He pauses, letting the boy take a few deep breaths to even out.
"Better?" The boy nods sullenly, and Lilacspeck sighs. "It was... good teamwork. Even though you shouldn't use your teamwork for that, specifically. Though between you and me," The man leans in, like he's telling a secret, and adds with a grin, "If it weren't for the fact that it was Pipitstar, and that I'm her deputy, I'd probably say that it was pretty funny."
Auburnpaw looks shocked and vaguely horrified at the confession.
"But wasn't it mean to do? I helped do something bad!"
Lilacspeck laughs again, big and booming and enough for Thriftpaw to try and turn around and Pipitstar to scold him for getting distracted.
"No one got hurt except for a couple of bruises and some lost pride. Though I don't remember you being taught that snare trap from either of us," he says lightly, and the boy smiles.
"Rueprance taught him!" he whispers dramatically, trying not to get anyone else in trouble with Pipitstar but also wanting to brag about Thriftpaw's newfound skills.
"Did she now?" Lilacspeck says, like he's saving that information for later.
Auburnpaw smiles, chattering about the cool things the young warrior has been teaching the apprentices, and the the four head back from sparring no worse for wear, but with some valuable lessons learned.
