He's the kit Larchscreech mistreats (for no reason other than he's curious what would happen if he treated one kit amazingly and the other horribly).
Unlike his brother, Elder is very timid. He's either very weak or just doubts his abilities after growing up always being told that he is weak (or both). He thinks of himself very negatively. The long parts of his fur are matts as a result of his health being neglected.
Due to Burdockkit believing he's great and Elderkit believing he's horrible, a lot of Elder's scars likely come from his brother beating him up while Elderkit let him as well as him not being protected as a youngster and getting into trouble.
He has vitiligo spotting from his father and grandmother that run down his spine (Burdock might have it too, but with him being mostly white, it's hard to tell). Also his eyes have a pink tint from Bloodlamb, who got them from her grandma, Rosefrost!
@elementaldeityoffood I wonder how his friendship with one of Oakstep's kits starts, since Elderkit doesn't think he deserves any friends or good things
Moons 17 and 18 in Wolfclan, my Clangen Warrior Cats clan.
Honeykit and Burdockkit seem to be fulfilling every kit's destiny, of pissing off Storklily. Poor gal, hope she gets an apprentice soon to help her keep her stuff in order.
Also, congrats to the brothers for starting their apprentice training. Such an honor to be mentored by the clan leader! And how ironic for her mate to mentor the brother. Here's to this new chapter of their lives!
[Image ID: Oilstripe sits in the center of the screen. Below her, it reads LEVEL UP! OILPAW -> OILSTRIPE, MORBIDLY CURIOUS -> GHOST SIGHT]
There were ghosts in the crowd when Oilstripe got her name. Oilstripe tried to ignore them as Downstar spoke of the first graduation ceremony in the history of RippleClan, set on the first day of the new year, but it was hard when they sparkled at the edge of the crowd and cheered louder than her living Clanmates.
Truthfully, Oilstripe couldn’t have asked for a better day to earn her name. The snow had melted into a few stubborn piles along the brambles lining camp. She could step outside and not shiver.
Moonpaw and Twinekit lurked behind Rustshade and the kits. They pranced at the edge of the crowd, singing Oilstripe’s name. They weren’t there when she became an apprentice, why were they here now? Or had they been there, and Oilstripe simply didn’t see them?
“Good job, Oilstripe,” Weedfoot purred. She shoved herself against Oilstripe, knocking her attention away from the dead. Downstar carefully climbed off the Shiprock, still sore from birth. Puddlespeckle had her four rowdy kits at his side. They were barely a quarter moon old, so they weren’t doing much, but they squirmed, kicked, and nibbled at Puddlespeckle’s side. Oilstripe would have laughed if she wasn’t so freaked out.
“Weedfoot—” Oilstripe gulped, but Weedfoot shoved her tail in Oilstripe’s mouth.
“No talking!” Weedfoot laughed. “You need to sit vigil outside camp until dawn.”
“But—” Oilstripe groaned through a mouthful of tail.
“No exceptions,” Weedfoot chuckled. “Don’t worry. It’s the first day of the new year! We’ll all be in camp to keep you company. Now get settled.” Weedfoot looped around Oilstripe and gently nudged her to the exit. Oilstripe searched for the dead, but Moonpaw and Twinekit were gone. As Oilstripe passed her family, Rustshade nodded at her, purring softly. Oilstripe nodded back, swallowing the stone in her throat.
(Moonpaw: 10, female, mediator apprentice, childish, good hunter)
(Twinekit: 2, female, kit, noisy, quick to help)
(Weedfoot: 58, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)
(Downstar: 68, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)
(Puddlespeckle: 135, male, elder, strict, good hunter, good kitsitter)
(Rustshade: 53, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore) (I screwed up his age for moons I’m sorry)
Oilstripe and Rustshade actually get along better today. They share a meal.
[Image ID: Oilstripe and Rustshade face each other. Under Oilstripe, it says + PLATONIC LIKE: RUSTSHADE. Under Rustshade, it says + PLATONIC LIKE: OILSTRIPE.]
---
Oilstripe’s mind burned when Weedfoot stepped out of camp the next morning and eyed the young ginger historian. She probably looked like a wreck. Her eyes begged to close, but she forced them open with the same fire that fueled her thoughts. When she locked eyes with Weedfoot, the gray deputy paused, back arching for a brief moment.
“Wow,” Weedfoot chuckled, relaxing. “And my father said I looked exhausted after my vigil. How do you feel, Oilstripe?”
“Confused,” Oilstripe said before she could stop herself. Her voice was harsh from a lack of use.
“Confused?” Weedfoot repeated. She sat beside her former apprentice. Her paws kneaded the sand. “Why is that?”
“I, uh,” Oilstripe stammered, ears going flat. “I was just thinking about that secondary apprenticeship thing you told me about! You know, the whole informal education, pursue your passions, bond with other Clanmates thing?”
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Weedfoot assured her. She began to groom Oilstripe’s fur. “You just have to ask yourself who you want to be and what you love to do. You don’t have to know immediately, and you can always try something else.” Oilstripe nodded absentmindedly. Weedfoot studied her sagging face. “Hey. Is there something else you want to tell me about? You haven’t been yourself since Twinekit died.”
“It’s not grief, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Oilstripe scoffed. “Honestly, it feels like she never died.” Well, that wasn’t completely true. Her death was a solid, hard reality in Oilstripe’s mind. It was more like she never left.
“Carnationpaw’s making soup,” Weedfoot sighed. “It’s squirrel and mushroom soup. It should be enough to feed the Clan for the day. Get some soup and get some rest.” Oilstripe shook out her pelt and followed Weedfoot back into camp.
The oven smoked with the remnants of Carnationpaw’s cooking fire. A large pot sat in the center of camp beside a big snapping turtle shell. The shell had some squirrel and mushroom soup inside. Rustshade sat beside the shell, gently lapping up the warm soup. When he saw Oilstripe, he patted the spot beside him. Dragging her paws and glancing around for signs of star-dusted cats, Oilstripe joined her father as Weedfoot and Scrubmask left camp.
“Oilstripe is a good name,” Rustshade said. “It reminds me of the patterns oil makes above water.” Oilstripe sat in a loaf beside the shell-bowl and lapped at the soup. The warm broth soothed her hard soul. It thawed the questions digging at her guts.
“Hey, Dad?” Oilstripe asked with a crackling voice. Rustshade focused his ears on his daughter. “Do you ever feel… haunted?” Oilstripe stared at her dim reflection in the broth. She was right, she did look like a mess. Rustshade’s attention was fully focused on Oilstripe. “I mean, a lot of your friends disappeared or left or, or died when you were trying to form RippleClan, and now Twinekit’s gone… what do you think about that? Do you feel like they’re watching you? Does… does it scare you? What do you think they want? Why can’t they leave you alone?” Oilstripe braced herself for Rustshade’s confusion. He would find out what Oilstripe saw, he would think she was losing it, everyone would be jealous and scared and mad at her—
“I think that’s comforting,” Rustshade said.
“You do?” Oilstripe gulped. She stared at Rustshade.
“If my friends are watching me,” Rustshade sighed, glancing at the yellow-blue clouds, “then they’re making sure I’m okay. They want to make sure I don’t feel alone.” Rustshade put a paw on his furry chest. “I do feel haunted, but not in a bad way. If anything, I’d like to know the dead are checking in on me. It lessens death’s sting.” It could be comforting? Oilstripe supposed that could be true… but she wasn’t a cleric. Fennelspot didn’t see the dead all the time. What was she supposed to do with this strange sight?
“Dad, Locustkit left a hairball in our nest!” Clamkit cried from the nursery.
“It wasn’t me!” Locustkit huffed.
“The fur’s creamy, Locust!” Burdockkit huffed. Oilstripe snorted as Rustshade rolled his eyes.
“Thanks for sitting with me,” Rustshade purred. He turned to the nursery and called, “Locustkit, we don’t leave our hairballs in nests!” Rustshade trotted to the nursery. Oilstripe took a deep breath. She ate a bit more of the soup, smoothed out her fur, and marched to the medicine den.
“Fennelspot?” she called. The ginger and white cleric carefully brushed some powdered medicine into a small bowl. He placed a thick lid over the bowl before turning to Oilstripe.
“I thought you’d be asleep,” Fennelspot said, scanning Oilstripe. “Do you need something to help?” Oilstripe sat in front of Fennelspot, sitting as tall as she could.
“I want you to teach me about the dead,” Oilstripe said.
While Burdockkit and Clamkit sunbathe, Burdockkit bullies Duskkit and Graykit.
[Image ID: Burdockkit and Clamkit sit together on the left, while Duskkit and Graykit sit together on the right. Clamkit says “Burdockkit, they don’t even eat prey yet.” Below Duskkit, it says + NEW SKILL: QUICK WITTED. Below Graykit, it says + NEW SKILL: CAREFUL LISTENER]
---
“Sunhigh is so boring,” Burdockkit groaned, rolling onto his back. He left a soft indent in the snow-mixed sand outside the nursery. He nuzzled into the sand and stared at the bright sky. “Why can’t we go do things?” Burdockkit kicked the air.
“Because everyone’s tired,” Clamkit sighed. She laid in a sunbeam near the edge of the sandy dip leading into the nursery. The rest of RippleClan copied her, sharing tongues and dozing off in the first warm sunbeams of the new year. “Dad says cats are… uh… we don’t like being active in the middle of the day.”
“Don’t you wanna hear more stories from Oilstripe?” Burdockkit whined, sticking out his tongue. “I wanna hear about the Ripple War! Why can’t we do things at sunhigh?”
“I just told you why!” Clamkit huffed. “We’ll hunt down Oilstripe later.” Clamkit yawned and further nuzzled into the sand. Burdockkit groaned loudly. His tail kicked up what little sand had dried in the noon sun.
Loud, clumsy footsteps stumbled out of the nursery. Duskkit and Graykit wobbled onto the sand. Their wide, unfocused eyes scanned the camp. Duskkit’s steps were big and awkward, like she couldn’t bend her joints. Graykit laughed and copied her sister. She immediately face-planted into the sand.
“Ha!” Burdockkit cackled, rolling over. “What did you think would happen?” Graykit cried softly as her tiny, barely usable legs pushed her up. Duskkit tumbled to her distressed sister and nibbled on her pelt.
“Burdockkit, they don’t even eat prey yet,” Clamkit sighed. “Be nice to them!”
“Dad said we could walk just fine when we were their age,” Burdockkit snorted. “Why can’t they?” Graykit cried a little louder as she tried to blink sand out of her eyes. Duskkit stopped her play-fighting and stared at Burdockkit with all the anger a kitten her age could muster.
“Dummy!” she yowled. “Stupid dummy! Stupid, stupid, stu… tailface! Dummy tailface! Stupid!” Graykit’s crying turned to laughter. Clamkit gasped dramatically. Burdockkit stared at the half-blind kit, never blinking. Duskkit spat out her last insult. Burdockkit couldn’t take it; he laughed as loud as he could, his belly aching from the sheer hilarity. He kicked his feet as he cackled like a mad-cat.
“Duskkit, Graykit, what are you doing?” Downstar stepped out of the cool shadow of the nursery and glared at her tiny daughters.
“Stupid dummy tailface,” Duskkit said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Burdockkit fell into another round of unstoppable giggles as Downstar’s pupils shrunk.
“Who taught you those words?” she gasped.
“Oil!” Graykit babbled through her chuckles. Downstar glared across camp to where Oilstripe dozed with Weedfoot.
“Oilstripe, please do not teach my daughters bad words!” Downstar yowled. Oilstripe jolted and didn’t realize who was yelling at her for a few minutes. Weedfoot groaned and yawned as her napping companion stirred.
“I didn’t teach them anything!” Oilstripe whined.
“I can’t breathe!” Burdockkit gasped before his violent laughter took over again. Downstar sighed and grabbed Duskkit by the scruff. She took her daughter back into the nursery, ignoring the best moment of Burdockkit’s short life. Graykit trotted after her, tripping over her own paws.
(Burdockkit: 3, male, kit, bossy, interested in Clan history)
(Clamkit: 3, female, kit, lonesome, interested in Clan history)
(Weedfoot: 58, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)
Shadowkit bonds with Scrubmask while Locustkit and Halibutkit hang out.
[Image ID: Scrubmask and Shadowkit stand in the lower left corner, while Halibutkit and Locustkit are in the upper right corner. Above Scrubmask, it says + PLATONIC LIKE: SHADOWKIT. Above Shadowkit, it says + PLATONIC LIKE: SCRUBMASK, + NEW SKILL: CAREFUL LISTENER. Below Halibutkit, it says + NEW SKILL: QUICK WITTED.]
---
Downstar dropped Duskkit back in her nest. Graykit tumbled in next to her sister and buried herself in the moss. Downstar groaned, stretched, and crawled into the nest. Her daughters quickly latched onto her for another meal.
“Sorry about that,” Downstar whispered, “what were we talking about?” Scrubmask had volunteered to watch the kits while Rustshade took a sunhigh patrol. The cream and white molly sat in Rustshade’s nest. Somehow, in the few moments Downstar was outside, Scrubmask had fallen asleep and Shadowkit had crawled over to her. The stocky kit chewed on Scrubmask’s tail like it was a piece of prey.
“Shadowkit, get back here,” Downstar purred.
“‘e’s fine,” Scrubmask mumbled, turning over. Her tail moved in the process. Shadowkit huffed and followed her tail around the nest and continued to devour the young warrior. If Downstar’s youngest son was over there, where was her oldest?
Downstar leaned forward as much as she could without disturbing her suckling kits. Locustkit lingered behind Scrubmask, dead to the world. The tiny spotted tom purred in his sleep. Halibutkit laid beside him, equally content. Downstar purred and curled tighter around her daughters.
Life in RippleClan was everything she ever wanted.
(Downstar: 68, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)
While on patrol, Weedfoot, Scrubmask, and Rustshade find a loner with a mangled tail.
[Image ID: A tortoiseshell sits on the left, while Weedfoot, Scrubmask, and Rustshade stand on the right. Below the tortoiseshell, it says NEW PLAYER: PARSLEY, 103 MOONS, FEMALE, RIGHTEOUS, GREAT SPEAKER, + CONDITION: MANGLED TAIL.]
---
“So this is where you claim to have seen the giant frog?” Scrubmask asked, lazily scanning the rocky terrain near the AshClan border.
“Claimed?” Weedfoot scoffed. “I did see it. Why would I make that up?”
“Maybe you were tired,” Scrubmask hummed. A cool wind brushed through her fur and carried Rustshade’s scent from further ahead. The tom in question appeared from behind a tree, shaking out his leg.
“The border’s marked,” he reported. “AshClan scent is thick on the other side.”
“They want us to remember this used to be their land,” Weedfoot sighed. Well, now it was her land. RippleClan’s land. AshClan didn’t deserve it, not after what they did. Weedfoot took in the scent of the area. AshClan smelled like stones and thick forest. The scent still clung to that portion of the territory, but a new, salty smell drifted it over it. The smell of RippleClan. One day, all of the AshClan scent would fade from the land and Weedfoot could bask in the pure joy of her new home. She would forget all the pain and strife of living in AshClan and relax knowing she found a better place to live.
“Weedfoot,” Scrubmask said. Weedfoot opened her eyes and grounded herself in the moment. Scrubmask’s nose twitched and sniffed the air. “There’s an odd smell nearby. Neither AshClan nor RippleClan.” Weedfoot stiffened and tasted the air. Scrubmask was right; somewhere to the southwest, a stiff and sour smell drifted through the territory.
“Rustshade,” Weedfoot said quietly, “check it out.” Rustshade nodded and crept through the early spring growths, silent as could be. He left a few muddy paw prints behind him. Now that the territory was slowly shifting from winter to spring, Rustshade could no longer blend in with dead leaves and foliage. That didn’t seem to concern him nor slow him down, however, as he crept toward a small hole, big enough for a cat to squeeze in, underneath the roots of an oak. Rustshade peered into the shadows and flicked his tail for the rest of the patrol to come closer. Weedfoot and Scrubmask slipped around the oak tree and joined the ginger codekeeper.
There was a tortoiseshell huddled under the tree. They had a dark ginger pelt with three large splashes of dark gray. Huge bites littered their gray tail and stained it red. Cobwebs clung to their single white paw as they dabbed at the wounds. A tortoiseshell with one white paw… Weedfoot knew this molly!
“Parsley?” Weedfoot asked. The tortoiseshell, Parsley, startled, wild eyes locking onto the patrol.
“Now I know I am out of AshClan territory,” Parsley huffed, holding her tail close. “I know your colony’s rules. You don’t need to bother me out here!”
“This isn’t AshClan,” Scrubmask grunted. “This is RippleClan.”
“Another one?” Parsley groaned.
“Do you remember me?” Weedfoot asked. She bounced off the roots covering Parsley and stood in front of the loner. “I’m Weedfoot. We met a few times at the border.” Parsley peered at Weedfoot for a few seconds. Suddenly, she gasped.
“Why, Ms. Weed!” Parsley said. “I didn’t recognize you for a while there! Your Clan has more than its fair share of cats with a pelt like yours, after all.”
“I’m not a part of AshClan anymore,” Weedfoot explained. “I’m the deputy of RippleClan. We’re a new group.”
“That sounds quite important,” Parsley said. “Good for you!”
“Weedfoot, who is this loner?” Rustshade asked.
“Rustshade, Scrubmask,” Weedfoot said, nodding at each cat in turn, “this is Parsley. She’s a loner who used to hunt along the edge of AshClan territory. She lives in the human farmlands.”
“More like used to, Ms. Weed,” Parsley groaned. “There I was, comfy in the hay, when this huge dog comes marching into the barn like it runs the place! As soon as it sees me, it tries to eat me for lunch. Just about took my tail off.” Parsley weakly lifted her tail and flinched when it moved too much.
“Those wounds are severe,” Rustshade sighed. “Fennelspot could attend to those.”
“Well now, I know the rules of your Clans,” Parsley said, shaking her head. “You don’t like sharing your resources with folks outside of your little groups. I don’t blame ya for it, it’s good to support your own, but I don’t want ya getting in any trouble with your leader.”
“RippleClan is different,” Weedfoot purred. “The three of us left our old Clans because we wanted to be kinder and welcoming to loners and kittypets.”
“Among other reasons,” Scrubmask muttered.
“Downstar would gladly shelter you for as long as you need,” Weedfoot said. “I promise we’ll take care of you.”
“Well that’s mighty kind of ya, Ms. Weed!” Parsley laughed. “You always were a nice cat, that’s for sure. Will you do me one small favor first?”
“Do you have other injuries?” Scrubmask asked, sniffing Parsley through the roots.
“Oh no,” Parsley assured the group. “I crawled in here to put a bit of cobweb on my tail, and well…” Parsley wiggled and shifted, bumping into the roots. “I think I’m stuck now.”
(Weedfoot: 58, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)
(Scrubmask: 26, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)
(Rustshade: 53, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)
(Parsley: 103, female, loner, righteous, good speaker)
greenflower, burdockkit, and rockkit dies. tadpole dies, like in canon.
baypaw is apprenticed to blackclaw.
now. as for major character things. feathertail has a litter of kits pretty young. she's, uh, very Anxious about it, both because of her mother and because she doesn't feel safe in riverclan. sasha brings moth and hawk before she kits, making feathertail feel a Lot Better. she has two kits, pumicekit (white she-cat) and snakekit (mostly white tom with tabby markings).
sasha does her "btw my kits' father is tigerclaw bye" thing, and feathertail kind of is not having a good time. mistyfoot moves into the nursery just to like. be there for her.
something something leopardstar dies and stonestar gets his lives. i think this is a tweaking of the events in "a shadow in riverclan". but i figured riverclan deserved some good times.
stonestar makes mistyfoot deputy; feathertail feels A Lot better about things.
