[Image ID: Downstar says to Rustshade, “Have we ever acted like mates? All I’ve done is lean on you. It’s not fair.” Under Downstar, it says - MATE: RUSTSHADE. Under Rustshade, it says - MATE: DOWNSTAR.]
(Rustshade: 96, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)
(Downstar: 111, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)
Clammask suckles a litter of four kits in the nursery with Scrubmask watching over her, purring so hard her body vibrates.
[Image ID: Four newborn kits sit in nests with introductory text under them. The first, a white tom with a golden head and tail, reads NEW PLAYER: HONEYKIT, 0, MALE, NOISY. Next is a white splashed golden tom with the text NEW PLAYER: SPLASHKIT, 0, MALE, NOISY. Above him is a brown masked tom with a white underside who reads NEW PLAYER: LEATHERKIT, 0, MALE, IMPULSIVE. Lastly, there is a black tabby molly, with the words NEW PLAYER: DRUMKIT, 0, FEMALE, QUIET underneath.]
---
There were originally five kits in Clammask’s litter.
The fifth kit was a golden molly who looked like the perfect blend of Clammask and Scrubmask, despite her loner sire. She had seemed so strong next to her brothers and sister. Clammask wanted to give her a strong, powerful name when the quarter moon came. Troutpaw predicted that she would be a mighty warrior, as strong as a cougar.
She passed on the third night of her short little life.
Clammask, like most Clan cats, believed in the idea that young deaths like these were not the deaths of unique souls, but rather StarClan spirits who journeyed back to guide the newborns into the world, only to return soon after. That didn’t mean the little kit’s passing did not hurt, however. That did not mean Clammask did not mourn what could have been, or that Scrubmask’s typical gloomy attitude did not grow darker as the quarter moon passed. Troutpaw outright avoided the nursery after her prediction proved false.
Scalekit looked a lot like the child Clammask lost. It made it hard for her to share a den with the pale-colored kit. At least he would be an apprentice that time next moon. For now, Clammask would focus on her kits while he was in the nursery, and her kits alone.
Two of them looked just like Clammask and Scrubmask. Just like their lost sister. The oldest tom looked like he had dipped his white body into a pot of honey, leaving just his head and tail colored. The other had his birth mother’s fur and his other mother’s white markings. The youngest tom was different, more of a golden-brown color, but Clammask could still see the familial resemblance. She had no idea why her only surviving daughter was black, though. The magic of StarClan’s Blessed Ones, she supposed.
Although she was still sore from her kitting, when the faintest shimmer of light graced camp on the seventh day, Clammask crept out of the nursery and toward the entrance. Scrubmask had been on guard duty most nights since the kitting.
Scrubmask stared ahead when Clammask stepped out. Only a twitch of her whiskers let Clammask know her mate saw her.
“Come to the nursery,” Clammask whispered. “It’s time to name them.” Scrubmask stiffened. Her gaze drifted to the side. “Scrubmask, this is the family you asked for. Don’t let the kit that didn’t make it keep you from the rest.”
“I won’t,” Scrubmask promised, bristling. “It’s just hard to see them when… when there should be five.”
“I know,” Clammask said. She rubbed against Scrubmask. “Our four are healthy and beautiful, though. I want you to help choose names.” Scrubmask swallowed hard. She touched noses with Clammask, and entered camp.
The four kits were still asleep as Clammask and Scrubmask crept in. Weedfoot and Scalekit, sleeping closer to the front of the nursery, left when they saw the couple arrive. Clammask curled back around the four kits. Scrubmask wrapped herself around Clammask, head resting on her back.
“I already have a name for this one,” Clammask said, nosing the gold-dipped tom. “Honeykit.”
“Cute,” Scrubmask hummed. She studied the other golden tom, whose fluffier fur predicted a pelt as long as Scrubmask’s some day. “…Goldenkit. No. Fuzzykit. Too cute. No one will treat him seriously. Dandelionkit. No, I don’t like flowers.” Clammask nuzzled her mate, hiding a laugh. “Alright, this is the last name. Splashkit.”
“Splashkit it is,” Clammask purred. Her tail brushed against the soft pelts lining the floor of the nursery. She flipped over the corner of a rabbit pelt and studied the brown leather on the other side. “I like Leatherkit for the brown tom. Now you get to name our daughter.”
“Drumkit,” Scrubmask said quickly.
“Where did that name come from?” Clammask asked.
“It just feels right,” Scrubmask said. She reached a paw over Clammask to gently touch Drumkit’s head. It was not enough to wake the sleepy kit up. Scrubmask sighed and laid back down beside Clammask, purring.
“I’m glad I get to be a mother with you,” Clammask hummed, resting her head.
“So am I,” Scrubmask purred.
(Clammask: 46, female, caretaker, righteous, lore master, good teacher)
(Honeykit: 0, male, kit, noisy)
(Splashkit: 0, male, kit, noisy)
(Leatherkit: 0, male, kit, impulsive)
(Drumkit: 0, female, kit, quiet)
(Scrubmask: 69, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)
Having reached the end of her apprenticeship, the newly named cleric, Troutpool, feels there is so much left to learn, and frets about whether or not she is ready. With twitching whiskers, Fennelspot assures her that StarClan will always be there to guide her.
[Image ID: Terracottapaw and Fennelspot cheer “Troutpool! Troutpool!” From the corners. Troutpaw, now Troutpool, sits as a long-furred adult. Under her, it says LEVEL UP! TROUTPAW -> TROUTPOOL, COMPASSIONATE -> INSECURE, MORBID CURIOSITY -> GHOST SENSE.]
Paleseed visits AshClan, but only makes things worse between the Clans.
[Image ID: Eelstar stands in front of Terracottapaw as Paleseed watches them both.]
---
Fennelspot had dreamed of a glowing ash tree during his visit to StarClan’s Shrine, apparently, with Mousesong standing underneath. In his eyes, that meant they needed to speak to AshClan. In Downstar’s eyes, that meant Paleseed had to speak to AshClan. They weren’t about to send Spikecrash into AshClan territory, not when they were carefully concealing her relation to Darkkick. Paleseed was the only one who could do it, but she refused to go alone. Not when she was a spitting image of her mother, named after the cat that Eelstar… that Eelstar…
“Paleseed,” Waspdawn said. He gently batted Paleseed’s ear, drawing her back to the present. The pair sat at the edge of AshClan territory. Morning sun beamed through the colored leaves and tinted everything red and orange. Despite the warm colors, Paleseed felt cold.
“Sorry, Waspdawn,” she gulped, rubbing her face. “Were you saying something?”
“I just want you to pay attention,” Waspdawn reminded his sister. “It’s not safe to be absent minded around AshClan right now. I don’t like how thin their numbers have been at recent Gatherings.”
“I suppose that’s all the more reason to check in on them,” Paleseed said. The wind carried fresh AshClan scent to Paleseed’s nose. A moment later, a small AshClan patrol slipped between the thinning shrubbery. “Hello! Excuse us!” Bright eyes stared at the two littermates. It was Frogbelly, Eveningshade, and Brackenpaw (one of Terracottapaw’s littermates, if Paleseed recalled correctly).
“Oh, Paleseed!” Frogbelly gasped. “Hello! You check the borders for visitors so often, sometimes you forget to see if anyone is really there!” He led Eveningshade and Brackenpaw to the border.
“Hi, Frogbelly,” Paleseed sighed. “I’m afraid I have an official request. Would you take me to your camp?” Frogbelly’s cheerful expression stiffened, trying to stick around despite the sudden chill in the air.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea at the moment,” Eveningshade said. “There is a lot of disease in camp right now. We wouldn’t want RippleClan to get sick.”
“I’m sorry, but we have to be blunt about it,” Waspdawn huffed, angling himself in front of Paleseed. “Fennelspot received a vision that may link your Clan to the death of one of our codekeepers.”
“What, Mousesong?” Eveningshade scoffed. “Didn’t your leader say she was killed by a dog?”
“StarClan sent Fennelspot a vision, and it’s our job to follow up on it,” Paleseed gulped. “Please, Frogbelly?” Frogbelly squirmed under Paleseed’s pleading gaze.
“Maybe we can take you to camp for a short visit?” Frogbelly suggested, staring at Eveningshade. Eveningshade sighed, but flicked her tail for Paleseed and Waspdawn to cross the border.
There was an eerie familiarity to AshClan territory that Paleseed could not get over. Maybe it was all in her head, a fusion of the many stories her mother told her of her old life, but the way the trees grew thicker and seemingly every tree bore marks of harvest… Paleseed wondered if her namesake walked at her side, quietly giving her the strength to step into the camp where Weedfoot nearly died.
AshClan’s camp was surrounded by thickly woven walls, a symbol of AshClan’s determination to carve a new place in the land after the great fire that forced them into creation. Two cats sat tall on either side of the tight entrance. Paleseed and Waspdawn had to walk single-file between the AshClan mediators as they made their way into camp. Paleseed instantly understood why the plan to break Weedfoot out of the camp had been so difficult to undertake. Each den in camp was constructed from branches, twigs, bark, and any other chunk of wood the Clan managed to find, tied and stuck together to form giant dens. Each den had its own lovely decor dangling from the walls; dried flowers and necklaces and other beautiful things. There weren’t many cats wandering around that morning, but those that did basked in the dappled light of the thick canopy overhead. Those cats turned their heads at the sight of RippleClan cats entering their quiet camp.
“I’m hoping to discuss the vision with Newtstream or Eelstar,” Paleseed said, her voice struggling to break free.
“I’m afraid they’re both busy,” Eveningshade said. “Deputy Barkfur is in camp, however. Brackenpaw, please fetch him.”
“Yes, Eveningshade,” Brackenpaw gulped, bowing to Eveningshade. He skittered off into one of the strange, human-like dens.
“Paleseed,” Waspdawn whispered into her ear. “Take a look at the cats around camp.” There were a few small groups of cats scattered about. A gaggle of apprentices watched Paleseed and Waspdawn from what Paleseed assumed was the apprentice’s den. Newly named warriors groomed squirmy kits. A young caretaker stoked the flames of a huge oven in the center of camp.
“What’s wrong?” Paleseed whispered back.
“Where are the elders?” Waspdawn asked. “Where are the senior warriors? Paleseed, I don’t think anyone we see is more than a few moons older than us.” Paleseed looked about a third time and realized her brother was right. Yes, a lot of cats would be out of camp at this time of day, but the elders would be relaxing on the warm boulder that acted as the back wall of one of the dens. The queens would be grooming the kits, not the young cats Paleseed saw.
Barkfur broke the pattern as Brackenpaw led him out of one of the dens near the camp wall. From Weedfoot’s stories, Barkfur had been one of Autumnstar’s most loyal warriors and bestowed the killing blow on Sprucespring, one of the Ashes in the Water. Paleseed quietly thanked StarClan that she didn’t have to talk to Eelstar.
“Mediator Paleseed,” Barkfur said with a short bow. “Codekeeper Waspdawn. Brackenpaw told me you’re following up on a vision.” He dismissed the young apprentice with a quick flick of his tail. Brackenpaw hurried over to the other apprentices.
“During the half-moon meeting, Fennelspot dreamed of Mousesong, one of our dead Clanmates, standing under a glowing ash tree,” Paleseed explained, her training taking over her insecurities. “Although we confirmed she was killed by a dog, the arrival of the vision has given us cause for concern. Do you know something about Mousesong’s death?” Barkfur stared at Paleseed, as though deciding how much to say. Paleseed’s jaw tightened. She couldn’t look at Barkfur like someone who killed her mother’s friend. She had to approach him like a reasonable tom who wanted the best for his Clan. “This isn’t an accusation of anything, sir. We just want the truth. If StarClan thought it apt to direct us here, surely they want us to know the truth.”
“I don’t know the full story,” Barkfur admitted. He leaned a bit closer and whispered, “Your Clanmate died on the first moon of summer, yes?”
“We found her under a beech tree, sir,” Paleseed gulped.
“Then you’ll need to speak to Cleric Apprentice Terracottapaw,” Barkfur sighed, standing straight.
“Aren’t they a bit, uh, busy, Deputy Barkfur?” Frogbelly stammered. Paleseed had almost forgotten he and Eveningshade were still there.
“They can take the time to speak to our guests,” Barkfur said. There was a weight to his words that made Paleseed cold. She often took the opportunity to speak with Terracottapaw at Gatherings, and even saw them during a special mediator/cleric Gathering the moon prior. Every time she saw the young apprentice again, they seemed just as nervous as the first time the pair met. “Take our guests to the meeting den, and I’ll fetch Cleric Apprentice Terracottapaw.” Frogbelly and Eveningshade bowed to Barkfur, then nudged Paleseed and Waspdawn across camp.
As the group made their way to a small den, half bush and half wood, they passed by the mouth of a larger den. Paleseed glanced inside. AshClan cats sat huddled in their nests, shivering. Many had wrappings over their ears and noses and leather thrown over their backs. The very air within the den made Paleseed shiver. She ducked her head and tried to pretend she had seen nothing.
The meeting den was small, but there were a few leather pelts for the siblings to lounge on while they waited for Terracottapaw. Paleseed tucked her paws under herself and sat on a soft vole pelt.
“We’ll be nearby if you need anything,” Frogbelly promised. He gave a quick, awkward bow to the pair while Eveningshade left, then hurried to catch up to his friend. When they were gone, Waspdawn turned to Paleseed, eyes wide.
“Did you see all those sick cats?” Waspdawn hissed.
“They seemed more injured than sick,” Paleseed groaned.
“With bandaging on their extremities…” Waspdawn mumbled. “If I didn’t know better, I would say it was frostbite. But that many cats, at this time of the year?” Waspdawn sat next to Paleseed.
“Something is very wrong here,” Paleseed whined. “We… Downstar and Fennelspot should know about this.”
“I agree, but Paleseed, you have to remember, we aren’t here to fix AshClan’s problems for them.” Waspdawn examined the wooden walls, sneering. “The only reason we should be concerned about them is if they’re threatening our family.” Waspdawn was about to say more, but at that moment, Terracottapaw entered the den. They would have been taller than Paleseed if they would stand straight. They walked in a constant crouch that made Paleseed’s spine hurt.
“Hello, Mediator Paleseed,” Terracottapaw gulped.
“You don’t have to be formal with me,” Paleseed insisted. “We just have a few questions about a vision Fennelspot had at the half-moon meeting.”
“Terracottapaw,” Waspdawn said. His voice was taut and hard. Terracottapaw struggled not to sink deeper under his gray gaze. “Do you know something about Mousesong?” Terracottapaw dug their gaze into the leather-lined floor.
“I was collecting herbs when a dog came at me,” Terracottapaw muttered, fur prickling. “It chased me up a tree in RippleClan territory. Mousesong scented me. I swear, I tried to get her to run, but…” Their words died out.
“Why did you leave, Terracottapaw?” Paleseed asked softly. She tried to meet the apprentice’s eyes, belly almost flat to the ground in an effort to look up at Terracottapaw’s downward gaze. “You weren’t there when the patrol found her. Why didn’t you explain yourself?”
“I was scared,” Terracottapaw mumbled. “It was my fault.” The sentence ended quickly as Terracottapaw stopped themself from going too far.
“I believe you,” Paleseed said, “but I think there’s something else happening. Terracotta, why are so many cats sick? Why has Eelstar missed so many Gatherings? Why can’t your mentor meet us?”
“Paleseed,” Waspdawn snapped quietly, ears tilting back. “What did we talk about?”
“I can’t let this go, Wasp,” Paleseed groaned, eyes shifting between Terracottapaw and Waspdawn. “Look how ragged they are! What if StarClan sent us here to help?”
“Another of StarClan’s messages Newtstream would ignore, if what Darkkick told us is true,” Waspdawn grumbled. Terracottapaw lifted their head. They looked out of the den, studying the figures on the other side of camp. They glanced at Waspdawn, shrinking again under his glare. Then they crept up to Paleseed and whispered in her ear.
“You can’t tell anyone else,” Terracottapaw said. “We’ve been cursed. Cats keep freezing, even in summer. Newtstream performs rituals to help us, and cats start to recover, but then they’ll get sick again. Eelstar’s lost a few lives already. We can’t stop it.” The hopeless fear in the apprentice’s voice stilled Paleseed’s breath and froze her paws.
“Cleric Apprentice Terracottapaw.” A thin figure stood in the den entrance. The old burn scars covering his paws were now coated in another layer of fresh wounds; blistering skin, eaten by a chill only he felt. He held his black tail low and, with only a hard gaze, drew Terracottapaw to his side.
“Eelstar,” Paleseed gulped. “Barkfur told us you were occupied.”
“I became unoccupied,” Eelstar growled. Terracottapaw bowed to their leader and crept back and out of the den. “What happened with your codekeeper was a horrible accident, but one that occurred as a result of an apprentice fleeing for their life. Does that satisfy your inquiry?” Paleseed tried to answer, but found her voice die well before she could make a sound.
“It does,” Waspdawn said, nodding deeply to the burnt leader.
“In that case,” Eelstar said, “I’ll have a patrol escort you back to RippleClan.” He stepped to the side so Paleseed and Waspdawn could leave. Paleseed squirmed. She pushed against her brother, who returned the gesture with a comforting lick. Waspdawn nudged Paleseed on. Paleseed slunk past Eelstar. She could only stare at his injured paws.
Terracottapaw lurked beside one of the dens when Paleseed and Waspdawn emerged. Their eyes dripped with sympathy, but despite the chill that seemed to envelop the camp, Terracottapaw said nothing as Paleseed and Waspdawn left AshClan’s camp.
(Paleseed: 18, female, mediator, insecure, fast runner, steady paws)
(Waspdawn: 18, male, codekeeper, strict, learner of lore, clue finder)
Started a roleplay discord,,, and I made this molly like–the morning before I made it public, and just….I love her and her quiet attitude u.u
I wanted to have her design out, but also do a bit of practice painting jskalDALKSd so, not quite complete painting, just sort of– accentuating the main points I suppose :’0
I might post more of the characters that come out of this rp group….
Birchclan
Peaceful, Spiritual, Efficient
Birchclan resides in the birch wood forest of the south. They harbor a strong faith in Starclan, and believe in the importance of all life. The are pacifists, and are kind to outsiders. But is this clan a harmonious as it seems to be?
Mireclan
Rebellious, Creative, Synergistic
After a bloody civil war, Mireclan is stronger than ever. Under new leadership, and a new swampland territory the future has never looked brighter. They reject Starclan, and make all of their decisions by vote. They are hardy and resilient, and don't take kindly to outsiders on their turf.
Ashclan
Reclusive, Traditional, Morbid
After a devastating fire, Roseclan moved underground and was renamed Ashclan. They are inventive and strong willed, able to over come new challenges with ease. They have been oddly quiet since the fire that blazed through their territory, but no cat is brave enough to venture to their caves alone.
With chaos on the horizon, who will you join?
