Cave exploration time! Screechclan also being absolute dicks is funny to me... they have beef with Hymnclan AND try to gatekeep the Little Moon? Very warriors book coded.
Welcome to Warmclan, a casual non-comic style ClanGen blog. This blog is run by @rooted-clangen !! There is no set story, and updates will be both visual and written. Style inspired by @fallenclan and @branchclangen.
Content/trigger warning for... sexism, ableism, transphobia, and homophobia. They're not good cats.
THIS BLOG IS INTERACTIVE! ASKS ARE TREATED AS CHARACTERS SO FEEL FREE TO ATTACH REFS.
They'd finally made it out.
When the humans had come again with their cars and kennels, they had known it was their only chance to escape being under the control of owners again- several of them had come from the shelters and did not wish to return there to sit and wait for who knew how long, just to perhaps end up in a similar situation. Tucked amongst the rubbish and layers of garbage and papers, they waited... a door opened, the people spoke, windows cracked open. Charlie bolted, and the others followed. Some got grabbed, some hesitated, some realized they feared outside more than the humans.
In the end, 8 of them met up in the midday light under the shrubs and caught their breath- freedom. Don laughed in relief but Charles cut him off with a sharp look. "We're not in the clear yet," The black and white tom warned, "We're out of the house but we still need food, water, a place to sleep." The group shuffled their paws and murmured agreements. Cherry, a huge tom with spiked cream and sandy brown fur spoke up, calm and collected. "We could join the wildcats- the clans I they call themselves? I know they usually accept fresh blood." When cast questioning glances he continued, "I used to speak with a few of 'em, through the window."
Charlie's fur bristled at the mere idea of being under the orders of another. "No." His tone was sharp and final, "No, why join them when we can make our own? True freedom. Follow me, and we'll be safe."
With nowhere else to go, the group of cats travelled away from the suburbs and towards the hills and farmlands. After a few days they had found an old hare warren that gave them a place to settle and moors to hunt and explore. To the south, in the shrublands, was Heatwaveclan. To the west, in the farm fields, were the kittypets that called themselves Chinchillaclan. To the north, in the sparse forest and brambles, was Shrikeclan.
Settled in the flower fields and rolling hills, Warmclan was created.
Charlie names himself Charlockstar and appoints Don, now Divingruff, his deputy. Cherry is dubbed Cherryear and appoints himself the healer of the group. The rest take new names as warriors, apprentices, and kits: Beans to Trenchgleam, Hot Sauce to Barkchill, Sweater to Burntpaw, Truffle to Shatterkit, and lastly Soot Sprite to Driftkit.
RAAHHH NEW LOOKS!!!! They may change as they age more but this is kinda their 'young adult' looks <3
Root with her lil braids and Ember with her sporty side-ponytail!!
Year 1.
Pups of the year : Maple, Cypress, Shine, Rain and Avalanche
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Soleil and Aconite are respectively 3 and 5 years old. They are having their very first litter and settled under a toppled over tree on the side of a valley.
The new parents take turns on hunting and babysitting to make sure the pups are safe.
It wasn't the first time Soleil had met Aconite.
However it was the first time she left an outstanding impression on him.
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To be completely honest, Soleil's hunting skills left to be desired.
He had been lucky enough a few days ago to manage to take down a calf by himself (only realizing it was a calf when its mom charged at him from behind).
That day however, he didn't notice the "doe"'s antlers before it turned around and ripped his ear in one quick swing.
Soleil would guess that the only thing that kept him going through the pain was the adrenaline. The bull elk left him in rough shape. But after one very tired bite at its throat, one that hurt his jaw more than it probably hurt the bull, it finally collapsed to the ground.
That was Soleil's most painful dinner he's ever had. His teeth ringed in pain with every bite he took. But at last he wasn't hungry anymore.
He laid down and curled around himself next to the carcass for the night, but was quickly awoken by a low growl.
A cougar. Wanting to contest his kill.
Soleil was in no shape to fight back.
Until,
a snarl.
The pair of sisters from earlier came back, attracted by the racket.
The black one jumped on the cougar with no hesitation, grabbing at its neck and biting down with a terrifying growl.
When she was done with it and sent it packing,
Aconite turned around with barely a scratch,
and wagged her tail at Soleil.
Appallo is overwhelmed by coyotes as he is alone at the densite.
Pressured by the predators, both Vivify and Sisyphus leave the safety of the tall grass.
Appallo can only save one.
Vivify thinks back about the relationship she didn't have with her second parent.
Two young lives taken before their time. May death be kinder than life, little one.
While playing as my og wolf's successor, one of my dispersed brothers brought his pack to my den and killed one of my kids. ngl I'd normally reload in that situation, since the dead pup was one of my favorites, but the lore was too good to erase. Also, I wrote a little something under the cut :3
You are tired. It is your first year without your mother, without your leader, without your guide. She trusted you to lead the pack in her wake, and yet spring has barely begun and already you are tired. You wonder how she managed it all for so long. You wonder if you will live as long as she did. If you will die in the same place your mother and father did. If you will be able to lay down peacefully, as she did.
But it is spring, now, and spring is no season of death. New pups are here. Yours.
Your mate is attentive, if a little clumsy. He is kind and he is devoted, and what he lacks, your siblings will make up for. That is the heart of the pack. No one can survive alone. Not for long.
On the breeze, you catch a scent once-familiar to you. You know this scent. It is baked in the stench of a rival pack in your territory, after your pups. And so you shoo them into the den, into safety.
The rivals come. Your young brother is among them. Leader, now, as you are, with a female many times his age at his side. You have fought your siblings away from your pups too often during the season. The older ones. They were once stronger than you. No longer.
You do not hold back. You bite and snarl and snap. Your teeth part flesh as they always have, and blood lays heavy on your tongue.
Movement catches your eye. Your brother. Running.
One of your pups is still crawling to the den, burdened by sickness, each step far too slow to outpace the threat.
You turn and you run, as fast as you are able. Your teeth catch on the rival, lodged in its fur, and you pull and pull to reach your pup. Your pup. Yours to protect and care for and teach.
Your brother is faster than you. You remember a time he could barely walk. You remember when he was the size your pup is now, when he was sick, when he was hurt, when he was yours.
There is a crunch. And there is a whimper. And your pup is gone.
You know it, somehow. She is dead.
And when you look upon your brother, you cannot see him stumbling around under your care anymore. You do not feel that same urge to nurture and protect. You do not care that he is your brother.
He is a rival. He is in your territory. It has killed your pup. It will kill more, if you let it. You will not let it.
So your teeth tear and rip and maim. You do what your mother taught you. You remember her lesson. The fastest way to send a rival running is to kill one of their own. You will kill it before it kills another of your pups. You must.
It snarls. It bays. It cries out, at the end, in desperate mimicry of pup whimpers. Begging. You do not show mercy. It did not show mercy, either.
This is your territory. These are your siblings. These are your pups. You will not tolerate rival intrusions. The cadence of your voice is clear when you raise it to the sky, in dual mourning and triumph.
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