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Post by Saint Ambrosef on May 22, 2017 13:00:21 GMT -5
Tradition passed down throughout the generations dictates that amicable visitors are first offered clean water to drink. Often times, a pure source is difficult to find, and so guests are typically dehydrated. They settle into our nests of cushion moss and mink fur, a puzzled glint in wary eyes as they analyze their surrounding skeptically. "Why would you choose to live here?" one loner inquired me. "There's a consistent dampness to everything, the undergrowth feels claustrophobic, and the water is a murky death trap."
"You see it with the eyes of an outsider," I told her. "You are so distracted with humidity, crowding, and dark waters that you fail to notice what the bayou has to offer. The ability to flit amongst the dense undergrowth, practiced paws refusing to turn a single leaf. The moistened air grants us the vibrant green world we live in. And the water is our source of life."
I can see the same questions reflected, unasked, in your own eyes. When cats think of the swamp, they imagine a dreary world of disgusting mud, rotting loam, sopping ground, and sinister darkness. I ask you to purge these images from your mind. Instead, consider a land rich with life the water draws near. Soft silt beneath your paws makes no sound upon the clay shores. Irregularities of the land offer drained patches of dry land, where hardwoods of maple stand like silent sentinels; in the season of coppersky, their leaves mingle with the aspens and cottonwoods until it feels as if the whole sky is ablaze. Willows trail their laden boughs in the water, with the gentle breeze whispering a soft tune through the drooping leaves. The water is a refuge. On hot greensky days, it offers cool relief, and energetic apprentices bound through the shallows laughing like frolicking kits. The croak of the toads is our lullaby. The gentle lapping on eroded banks is in tune with our heartbeat.
Calm, level, and patient we are, as we have been influenced by the water of our home. Yet, similarly, we are capable of great destruction; there is no project too ambitious. The thick foliage hides secrets as it does sunlight. The water ripples with unspoken wishes, kept upon the tongue like a private treasure. We move undetected like snakes in the loam. Finding us is akin to catching the morning fog with your paws.
The only law we follow is that of gravity, and sometimes, we defy that, too.
We may be miremalk, but we are the Water. Patient, calculating, versatile. The only asset we need to win is time itself. For it is time that wears away the rough rock into the smooth pebble; it is time that carves great canyons from the rivers, or cracks the boulder in two. Give us time, and we will wear away every obstacle, every threat, and every enemy, until there is nothing to stand in our way. |
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Post by Saint Ambrosef on May 22, 2017 13:00:39 GMT -5
There was a time before distinction. A time when there were no felines of fire or malkins of mire. Instead, there was only those who roamed the cobbled streets of the city on the sea. It was hard life, as unyielding as the rancid asphalt they tread. From within came a pull. The cats were drawn into the wilderness that waited beyond the soft wood fences. Beyond it lay the damp marshes, sprawling across the low territory and the sluggish waters tumbling into the brackish sea. Over the horizon rose a mammoth monument of fire, sternly guarding the lush valley below like a looming sentinel. From within the cats came the pull. But the pull was not the same.
Some were allured by the hot air and smooth igneous stone. They wished to feel the warm breeze of the volcanic vents ruffle their fur, to be comforted each morn by the faint scent of smoke, to let their hearts beat in time with the steady pulses of the mountain's living center. Others were enticed by green woods and ancient, towering trees. They desired cool mud between their pads, to lie contently in the dappled shadows of the thick foliage, to let their breathing pattern after the rhythmic lapping of lazy currents on mossy shores.
These cats has their inner spirits, but believed the blood that bound them was more important than where their paws itched to be. So they attempted a compromise: dwelling with a paw in each world, on the edges of both valley and swamp. Their home was made at the base of an ancient maple. Its roots were fed by the creek that trickles from the bayou, and its golden leaves mirrored the heart of flame from the valley. But it was not to last.
Those who spent their days climbing the grassy slopes of mild woods were of fire and air, and believed their priorities true: honor, passion, and loyalty. Yet, those who spent their days amongst damp roots of earth and water believed similarly of their principles: restraint, ambition, cunning. The division in their hearts became a division by their practice. Claws were unsheathed as the cats fought, numerous times, unable to let their differences remain buried. Blood was spilled. Cats died amongst the infighting. Until one day, the earth rumbled between the battling factions. Fire and smoke filled the sky, and their was the most terrible groaning as the roots of the maple tree--their symbol of hope--popped from the ground amidst horrible crackling. A fissure carved itself beneath the dip of the creekbed, and the earth began to yawn open. The little brook disappeared, swallowed by the chasm. Flame erupted in its place as heat washed over the cats, red molten rock bleeding from below in a hellish nightmare.
Cats wailed as the lava rose higher, seeking to spill over and drown them under layers of ash and stone. But the spirits of the water were watching those below, and took pity on their misguided descendants. The earth had shifted and trembled; so it, too, shifted the water. What had once been a modest creekbed became a rushing torrent of water, as the river's banks were flooded by the storm. The waves sought to quench the hungry flames. The routed river rushed into the cavity of the ever-rising lava, leaving it hissing in vain, its quest to devour halted. The Kin in the Water would not allow more death upon that night.
But their descendants had to learn that they were not meant to dwell amongst the brethren of flame. Their destiny lay in the ash-coated mountain beyond the great wound in the earth. The division was of the heart, of the action, and now of the land. One clan began it all: it departed as twins of Water and Fire. All that remained of their attempts of peace was the ancient maple, fallen where it lay, wedged between the gray walls of the gorge.
Those who stood on the southern side huddled together in fear, cowed by the might of the mountain and the storm. What were they to do? Half their kin lie on the other side. They felt broken.
One cat rose to the occasion. He knew this ragtag group of survivors needed to stand united, or fall as the ancient maple. His name was Shade. Tall but lean, named for how he slipped between shadows like a phantom. His dark tabby coat melted into the darkness: here one minute, gone the next. Shade understood that the swampcats needed order more than anything at that moment, and so he took it into his own paws to unite the cats. He was well-liked-- it's said he could charm the catfish onto dry land with nothing but a pleasant conversation and his silver tongue. Shade willingly took time to listen to grievances. He made certain no cat was left behind. Even the water was swayed by his stealth, refusing to ripple at his nimble pawsteps: legend has it that the swamp lapped at its muddy shores in tune to Shade's breathing.
Through Shade's influence as the accepted leader, the cats of the swamp stopped trying to manage their proclivity for the dark bayou and began to nurture those intrinsic skills. His own daughter, called Ripple, was the one to discover the reflection of their ancestors in the hollow of the Sanctuary. It was then that they learned their destiny to become a clan.
They worked ceaselessly to strengthen their newfound culture, all the while growing more distinct from their kin across the gorge with each passing day. While the ashcats wallowed in the burnt remains of the crater, gagging on smoke as they peered into their cauldron of fire, the miremalk were weaving boughs into skyways through the tangled trees. They practiced slipping twixt alder shrubs and picking through bushy ferns until they turned no leaves. They learned to balance on the slenderest of branches so that they might cross the dangerous bogs below. There were snakes that were prey, and those that would kill. The art of watching, waiting, and concealing. Kits were born with dark pelts, the color of murky water. Kits who could hear across the holm before they opened their eyes, that mastered hide and seek before their first fresh kill. The elders say that some of the miremalk of old were born from the water itself, rising from the still canals as wraiths. But I tell you that this is all the cats of the swamp. The water stirs in our veins.
Shade's descendants are littered throughout the clan after so many generations. The first clan cats saw his skill of bending shadows and sought to imitate him, until it became our culture. Many continue to emulate the tom who shaped us like a hooked claw in the soft clay: deliberately, carefully, and with great forethought.
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Post by Saint Ambrosef on May 22, 2017 13:01:16 GMT -5
Characteristics and Traditions Damp, dreary, and murky—words used by outsiders to describe the bayou. They peer into the tangled foliage and see undergrowth to trip over, mud to cake their pelts, a maze to be lost in. Darkness and thick foliage hide unforeseen dangers. The humidity, suffocating. Water, precarious. Vegetation, a cage. But the cats who dwell within it see their world in a different light: a landscape to vanish into; abundant moss for the plushest nests; a comforting blanket of dappled shadows to stalk in. Not dreary waters to drown in, but a source of life.
The water, indeed, is the soul of their hunting grounds. It is a haven for the prey that sustains them: waterfowl, small rodents, and reptiles. Even in leaf-bare, when thin sheets of ice creep over the surface, animals remain drawn to the swamp for the shelter is promises from harsh winter winds of the open landscape to the north. And not only does the water feed them, it protects them. True, there are predators drawn to the water as well as prey. But the water keeps many dangers away. The occasional flooding of the lower territory drives away many beasts that encroached upon the unfamiliar terrain, such as foxes and coyotes. Wetlands provide a variety of unique herbs and medicinal plants that cannot be found elsewhere. The swamp is both provider and protector.
Water is patient. It is ruthless in its quest to remove any obstacle from its path, wearing away resistance to carve the land we reside in. No weakness goes unexploited. Even the slightest trickle can cause tremors in the earth: it seeks the negligible crevices in the formidable rock, slipping inside as the unassuming aggressor. Temperatures drop, and the cold, that fiendish friend in water’s destructive plot, freezes the once supple liquid into an expanding solid. Stone cracks before it, widening the fault, and even splitting mighty boulders in two. Water cannot be halted from its goal. It will find every fragility, every crevice, or it will make one. Those that dwell in the bayou have inherited this iron will, that which is able to shift mountains and sculpt canyons. They do not fret. They do not give up. And they will find your Achilles heel. Water only needs time.
And yet, despite the destructive force of this powerful nature, water is also a nurturer. It laps gently at the paws of those who live amongst it, a gentle reminder. No creature can live without it, not even the ash-covered cats who dwell in the forsaken valley. They boast of fire and its will. Yet they must still gratefully bow their heads to the life-giving liquid to slake the thirst cause by their dry, hot air, while we live on joyfully in the absence of their hungry flames.
 Fire flares and forgets. But the water remembers. Every misdeed against it, every moment of abuse, and it returns with an unquellable vengeance upon those misfortunate enough to take advantage of its freely given offering. It remembers the familiar routes that it winds over the terrain, some new, some eons old. We are taught as kits never to forget the water. For with forgetfulness comes disrespect, and should it feel disregarded, it shall retaliate upon the ungrateful with all the rage of a scorned child. The swamp-dwellers do not see separate entities of water, haphazardly crossing the land, but rather one water that reaches all corners of the earth. It remains linked, providing life to the world as the bloodstream provides the body. No obstacle can stop its connection. Likewise, the cats of the bayou are bound by water as they are by blood. They persevere against all odds, together.
You must learn to bend and slip like a youthful yew, gracefully supple as you move amongst the crowded forest floor without disturbing a leaf. You must be listening, ready to catch the faint clues of lapping water that reveals the alligator three tail-lengths away. Your balance is the most prized talent of any young cat. Without it, navigating the treacherously slippery silt, the narrow stepping stones, and moss-covered tree branches would become a precarious dare. Respect your clanmates as one would the water, with the graceful submission owed to your elders and betters. Just as the creek submits to the ice, and the ice yields to the warm day, so must you. A river does the greatest damage when it rages without reason, submerging the unwary in a blink; so too must you learn to strike lightning fast, and recede swiftly before the damage can be comprehended. Stealth is our gift. There is no need for an all-out fight when the war can be won from the shadows. Guerilla warfare is our ideal.
Honor remains a subjective question, questing to be filled by those who seek it. But we do not fill our kits minds with cotton dreams of glory and fame by noble deeds. This, truly, is a misconstrusion. We must focus not on fallacies of grandeur, but our own hearts, which beat in time with the subtle ripples of the ponds. Pride in what we are, not what we offer, binds this clan together as lichen to the rocks.
The most precious bond between a mentor and their apprentice is a treasured one. It is a loyalty that remains for a lifetime. Each warrior specializes in some ability, besides the basics, and will pass on these crafts to those they take under their wing. As a result, not every clanmate shares an identical set of skills. Mentors have a degree of say in whom is apprenticed to them: after all, they watch for those with a natural proclivity to what they are predisposed to. All warriors share fundamental abilities of hunting and fighting. However, the early founders of the bayou discovered that a certain degree of specialization of labor allowed for a more effective, smooth river of success. For instance, all the cats can climb reasonably well, but some are extraordinarily employed in the skill for the sake of swift networking. All the cats can catch fish, but only a select few have taken the extensive training to trap the enormous catfish. A stream might split in numerous creeks in order to efficiently travel, while remaining one Flow. Thus is the course of this clan.
Warriors and apprentices alike are often met with Challenges, a dare to prove one’s self to the clan by undertaking a test. The purpose is to push our clan to constantly strengthen itself. They are seldom dangerous, but often maddeningly difficult. Favorites are trials that call for strategizing or wargames. The result is a clan brimming with tacticians and schemers, silvertongues that can plan their way out of any situation. We are problem solvers.
The clan cats are much like the water that surrounds them. We are smooth, adaptable, shifting at a moment’s notice of unsteadiness. Tempers vary as the temperature, but are often influenced and shift with the setting around them-- ranging from boiling hot to ice cold. Most swamp cats are of the calculating mindset, due to our clan's individualistic culture. And as water always flows down, sense of direction is always a prominent trait in these cats—we must develop it, or we would quickly become lost in foliage so thick we cannot see the sun. Outsiders would feel claustrophobic in most parts of our territory, while we from the bayou would likely feel agoraphobic outside our hunting grounds. BayouClan is typically quick to mock outsiders, in some ways thinking ourselves superior because of our way of life.
 We blend in shades of brown, dark gray, and black amongst our ranks; gingers and tawny colors are unusual, but not unheard of. As stealth and concealment is a large part of our culture, cats with large white markings have been known to purposely muddy themselves in order to better camouflage. Due to our shadowed and dark setting, pure-white and silver cats are rare and often find their training to be particularly difficult. Pelts are composed of thick, medium-length fur, as this is adept at keeping moisture out. We are slender and sleek cats due to the nature of our diet and territory, but we neither tower over others nor stand in their shadows. Swamp cats have particularly sensitive hearing, a result of living in a sound-absorbent territory, and thus often have ears slightly larger than normal. Due to the limited range of vision offered in their hunting grounds, sight is not seen as reliable as our other sense.
Time is told not by temperature, but by the view of the sky. The cool season is known as Coppersky to us, as the roof of cypress and oaks above us turns a fiery orange. As the temperature plummets, so do the leaves: the sky then become visible to all on the ground, earning its name as Clearsky. The cottonwoods bloom as we thaw, and with it comes the provision of their namesake: soon the foliage above is dotted with clumps of the cloud-like substance, a time known to us as Whitesky. Finally, the flood season is known as Greensky for the sheltering roof it provides.
Tradition plays a vital part of our culture: just as the brook runs in the channel it carved years ago, so we Flow in the way of our ancestors. It is malevolent fortune to name kits before they leave their mothers’ womb: the Kin might grow scornful that a parent might presume what they will receive, and subsequently deny these eager cats the parenthood they so desired. Kits tend to be named after features of the swamp or cultural proclivity of the clan: prefixes that reference reptiles, the bayou, shadows, our icy winters, or our wraith-like skills. Upon retiring, elders must spend a week with the medicine cats to learn to treat basic wounds. Thus, upon warriors’ return from battle, they might be treated immediately by multiple paws. On the day they turn six moons old, kits are taken to the Sanctuary, a serene spring in the heart of the territory, to determine if they see anything in the mist which ever-rises from the barely warm water. It is there that the leaders and medicine cats share tongues with their ancestors, who reside in the Kin that watch over us in every reflection of water. A cat cannot become a fully-fledged warrior until they have won a wargame at least once, and learned the life-preserving technique of fending an alligator. Warriors often have their younger apprentices shadow them on the battlefield; in other words, they are brought along to fights only to observe and evaluate. Water learns by patience, by trial and error—we are slow to frustrate but quick to judge. There are many more traditions, less significant than the name, but nonetheless important and to be heeded.
There is a great legend whispered down from the elders that every kit knows by heart by the time they are six moons old. They say there lurks in the darkness of the swamp a great serpent: longer than ten cats, with rigid scales, venomous teeth, and eyes that kill. Looking it directly in its impassive, gold eyes results in instant death for those who are unfortunate enough to face the creature. It is known only as the basilisk. Some believe it is a guardian spirit of the Kin, sent to protect their descendants, as no swampcat has ever died by its eyes. Others only believe it to be a mythical monster. Only a few remnants of the basilisk have been found: a long, gleaming fang, found by an apprentice when he was fishing; and a patch of what appeared to be a shed skin. It is said that the great Shade himself saw it slithering through the bayou's canals late one night. To this day, when the ancient trees groan during a storm, warriors wonder if it waits outside.
We are rather sheltered from humans, seeing as we rarely venture into the thick foliage of the swamp. Older warriors who have seen them wander the territory before or have even ventured into the town know to be wary of them. The youth, however, are often completely unafraid because they have never experienced humans for themselves. Regardless of age, all the cats have a natural curiosity toward human relics. Old crawfish traps, half-submerged boats, and moldering woodwalks are hardly foreign to us, leading to a ready acceptance of human objects in our territory. Some cats even make an effort to collect the novelties that they discover.
We are ambitious because we know nothing can truly obstruct us for long. Water does not ask permission to mark its own path in life, and neither do we. We Flow through life: forbearing, forbidding, and contriving.
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Post by Saint Ambrosef on May 22, 2017 13:02:21 GMT -5
Tall cypress and red maple loom over the murky waters, thick foliage blocking the blue sky beyond; what sunlight breaks through has a soft, filtered effect on the understory trees of cottonwood, aspen, and black willow. Spanish moss trails from their lower branches, while rock cap clings to their damp bases. The uneven ground slopes gently in small mounds. Dark water flows sluggishly in the bayou, murkiness hiding the varying depths. Duck weed floats like floatsam. Spindly roots of bladderwort criss-cross the surface, their little yellow flowers peeking over the muddy banks. Higher on land, skunk cabbage clusters in bright green patches, while blue-marsh violets offer bright blooms in their little clumps. Low-growing alder shrubs, lichen boulders, and ferns offer plenty of cover. Most of the territory is fairly low-lying. However, the land begins to rise close to the northern and eastern borders; thus, these are the driest parts. The bayou is fed by an old river from the northeast, as well as a few streams draining into the basin. Pure water would be hard to fine for those unused to the swamp. Solid land varies: in some regions, there are sizeable chunks of raised land. Most of the territory consists of channels and small ponds dotted with large isles.
The youth enjoy frolicking through the shallows of the sunny ponds, where lilypads float the surface, and in times of energy they might amuse themselves with catching the swift little mud frogs. At night, their croaking fills the swamp in the form of a soothing lullaby. As dangerous as the swamp is, it is far more precarious at night: little moonlight survives the filter of thick foliage, leaving the bayou shrouded in thick shadows. Only experienced warriors are allowed to leave the camp alone once night falls. Too much lurks in the dark.
It is not unusual to use "shortcuts" through the trees--it saves time from circling large bodies of water, especially during flood season. The trees of the bayou are old and twisted, with branches reaching in wide radii. As such, traveling by bough in some circumstances is sometimes easier than circumventing bogs or particularly thick undergrowth when one is in a hurry. The most experienced climbers have taken the time to create crude highways in the trees at the most popular shortcuts: supple vines and green branches weaved between larger boughs in order to create a more sturdy platform, and less of a danger to the inexperienced "boughjumper". As they require a lot of work and upkeep, there are not many of them.
In the northeast corner of the territory, where the land drains and soft woods can be found, there is a hollow in the ground. No cat is quite sure how exactly the peculiar stones there form: an old theory is that it was a karst that wore away into a bizarre freak of nature. The hollow is known as Shredding Rocks. The name fits--ridges and pillars of stone stand with razor-sharp points, easily tearing the flesh of any cat who comes too close to this limestone death trap. Apprentices are strictly warned to stay away. The edges of the hollow are steep, offering little purchase if one was unlucky enough to slip. Warriors who have made it to the bottom say there are varying sizes of tunnels puncturing the rocks. However, they most certainly are flooded, for the hollow fills up quickly with even a light rains. The warning is clear: Shredding Rocks is a death trap, and should be avoided.
The territory is littered with old twoleg rubbish from long ago. Disused crawfish traps, sunken boats, loose fishing line, and even the occasional fish hook are commonly found throughout the bayou. Despite the abundance, twolegs rarely venture into the swamplands.
The Raisedway - [ A disused human walkway made of wood about two feet from the ground that snakes from the southeast corner to the north border. Used to travel cross-territory quickly ]
The Moss Glen - [ Called "the glen" for short; a little U-shaped valley/depression in the northeastern landscape, covered with cushion moss. While a hike from camp, it's the ideal place for training ]
The Gorge - [ A steep-walled ravine plunging to 50 feet at the lowest point, although it is only about 20 feet across. Makes up much of the northern border between the two clans and floods in whitesky. An old maple fell haphazardly across it at one point, offering the only bridge across ]
Twoleg Place - [ A large town sits just beyond the western border. The twoleg place stretches from further south all the way up past AshClan's territory. Beware of rogues and loners ]
Abandoned Shack - [ A rotted out husk of a one-time twoleg shack, located south. A favorite of both snakes and rodents during the winter ]
Deepslough - [ A dangerous bog in the southeast corner of the territory that can suck unsuspecting cats deep into the mud, even swallowing them whole in the deepest parts ]
Mire's Pond - [ A brief break in the trees, giving way to a small pond and surrounding mire, just north of camp ]
Shredding Rocks - [ Razor-sharp ridges in a steeply-lined stone hollow that floods in the rain. Cats avoid this dangerous site. ]
The Sanctuary - [ In the northeastern corner of the territory, there lies a crystal-clear hot spring known as the Sanctuary. Warm year-round thanks to volcanic vents, mist constantly rolls off the spring's surface. Here, medicine cats and leaders see visions of their ancestors in the fog and commune with them here. Apprentices are brought here at least once to determine if they see anything in the mist ] Long ago, more than two centuries back, the eastern part of twoleg place was part of a large plantation. Situated in the fertile fields below the great volcano, the rich land offered bountiful crops and wealth to those who owned it. However, one day the ground began to shake beneath their feet, and a column of smoke arose from the great mountain. The humans, who thought the mountain was dormant, were scared away from their lucrative property by the threat of being buried in ash and lava, and so they began to sell what land they could and abandoned what they could not.
The earthquake, however, did more than frighten the humans. The landscape began to shift. The terrain began to sink lower over the decades, and the river that coursed nearby began to spread its waters outwards. Foliage thickened, and the damp world began to creep into its surroundings. Residents of the small settlement, built on the old plantation grounds, watched as the original manor house was slowly swallowed by the swamp. Now children whisper to each others rumors that such a house still exists, out in the dense wilderness of the bayou. Some brush the stories off as myth.
But the cats of BayouClan know better. The house still stands on its original foundation, albeit lower than before. The white siding has long since turned to the color of mottled dirt. Branches scrape against the clouded windows and saplings sprout between the backsteps. Spanish moss sways lazily in the breeze from where it hands off the once-grand front porch. Creepers have almost completely covered the lower west half of the house.
But the cats who dwell within it do not notice the disuse settled upon the house. To them, it is their home.
Outsiders might question their decision to live in the former nest of twolegs. But, they would ask in return, why would they not? It was long since abandoned when the clan first settled there; it was not as if the humans would be returning. Their thick territory offered no other places opened enough for camp but sheltered enough for a home. The foundation ensured that the camp was raised well above the usual flood levels. And the home, despite its dilapidated appearance, was made solidly with quality craftmanship; the roof was mostly intact, with only one area of the attics caved-in (which offered the inhabitants a secondary escape-route). It was humid, true, like anywhere in the swamp, but unlike elsewhere it was not damp inside. Enemies would only be able to enter through the main doorway, thanks to the still-solid walls. The buckling front steps offered an obstacle to even the fittest alligator. Branches close to windows on the second story offer numerous escape routes, but noisy and difficult ways in.
The cats lovingly refer to it as Havenholm.
When a cat first enters, they are greeted by an elaborate staircase leading to the "catwalk" above the foyer, called the Highloft. It is here that the clan leader sits, between the broken pickets to make announcements and look down upon their clan, sitting on the cold marble floor below. Most of the larger rooms are uninhabited, used as spaces for social gatherings and sharing tongues. The apprentice's den is located in the storage room beneath the staircase, close to the door in case of attack. The medicine cats have long made the kitchen's former pantry into their own, with withering shelves offering abundant storage for herbs. Warriors dwell in what at one time was the humans' study, a thick carpet layer of moss laid for nests across the floor; a window looks directly out onto the front porch, allowing warriors to react speedily to incoming danger.
As an extra precaution against enemies and floods, the frail and young are kept on the upper floor. Elders reside in the back of the second floor, in what was likely the laundry room. The grumble about the western-facing window, but they secretly enjoy the extra warmth in bluesky and appreciate the glimpses of sunset. The stairs can present a challenge to the especially old, but they rarely need to climb them anyways. They are kept plenty in company by the kits, as the nursery resides down the hall in a tiny old bedroom. Mothers must be cautious of adventurous kits, less they accidentally fall from the catwalk or down the stairs. In fact, kits are not allowed down the stairs until they are at least 3 moons old. The clan leader's den is in an snug closet just around the corner from the stairs, offering quick access to the story below and the Highloft.
Two areas of camp are forbidden: first, the west wing of the second floor, as the floor there is partially rotted and could collapse under the weight of a cat. Second, the original cellar, long since filled with water, and likely home to snakes. 
P
REY
[ ★ ] Bank Voles || A round rodent found in the drier parts of the swamp
[ ★ ] Rats || Swamp and tree rats; the bigger ones are dangerous to the youth, but are plentiful
[ ★ ] Minks || A weasel-like rodent that is dangerous to kits or the inexperienced. Their fur is highly desired for nests, but skinning them is time-costly
[ ★ ] Songbirds || Includes eastern bluebirds, swamp sparrows, gnatcatchers, flycatchers, warblers, woodpeckers, wrens, and red-winged blackbirds
[ ★ ] Waterfowl || American coots, moorhens, green herons, and kingbirds are found throughout the territory, especially around ponds and tree breaks
[ ★ ] Reptiles || Lizards, redbelly water snakes, black swamp snakes, and mud snakes are common prey
[ ★ ] Amphibians || Toads and frogs
[ ★ ] Mice || Not particularly common, but they exist
[ ★ ] Rabbits || Yes, "swamp rabbits" are a real thing, but infrequently found
[ ★ ] Fish || Mostly small perch, crappies, bluegills, and fliers
[ ★ ] Squirrels || Occasionally found near the border, especially in the drier parts of the swamp
P
REDATORS
[ ★ ] Barred Owl || A medium-sized owl with distinctive barred marks; dangerous to kits
[ ★ ] Osprey || Also called the pandion or river hawk, it can carry away kits with little effort, and can be quite territorial
[ ★ ] Turtles || Alligator snapping turtles can take off a cat's paw (or even a whole leg) if they aren't careful where they put them in the water
[ ★ ] Snakes || Beware the venomous or dangerous snakes: eastern indigos, cottonmouths, rat snakes, and eastern rattlesnakes among them
[ ★ ] Alligators || Who could forget this king of the swamp?
[ ★ ] Nurtia || Massive rodents that look like crosses between beavers and rats. Highly temperamental and should be avoided
[ ★ ] Fish || Catfish, bullheads, and river gars prove a danger
[ ★ ] Raccoons || They'll eat kits, but they thrive happiest on bird eggs and hatchlings
[ ★ ] Coyotes || Uncommon, and they rarely dwell, but highly dangerous
[ ★ ] Red Wolf || Very rare; the only cat alive to have seen one is the elder Cacklestump, and some cats don't even believe him
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Post by Saint Ambrosef on May 22, 2017 13:03:11 GMT -5
Post Limit
We are a semi-advanced clan, and so we expect posts that reflect this. Please post a minimum of three lines while roleplaying (not including OOC comments). We want to discourage too little substance for a proper reply, while at the same time, we do not want to force filler where none is needed. Three lines is the minimum.
Inactivity
For members less than a month: Absence without prior explanation will result in removal after a week of inactivity. They will be tagged in a post here as a warning 24 hours prior: if it goes unanswered, they will be deleted.
For members proven reliable in the past, more leniency is granted. Absence without prior explanation will result in a removal after two weeks of inactivity. They will receive two tagged warnings: one at the end of the first week, and again at the end of the second. Should 24 hours pass after the second with no answer, they will be deleted.
Deleted members can rejoin if they choose to.
Remember Yourself
It's important to take the time and evaluate how your post might affect others in the roleplay. Are you spotlighting (hogging plot attention)? Are you controlling a character that does not belong to you? How realistic are your cats' actions, thoughts, or abilities?
Characters
Like most clans, we have limitations in what we allow in character. Unrealistic pelt/eye colors or detailed shapes (such as a star) on their fur are not allowed. Take into account what is common in the clan: for instance, black cats are uncommon amongst ashcats but prevalent in swampcats. No special powers. Just keep it realistic, y'all. Try to keep an even ratio of genders if possible.
Reach Out
Don't sit in your own bubble inside the roleplay. Few things are more boring then members who create their own little world between their own characters, but ignore others. Reach out to other RPers and see if they'd be interested in creating a connection between your cats: siblings, mates, friendships, rivalries. It creates a more complex and compelling story.
Seek Permission
If you have an idea for a plot point, ask the administrator first before enabling it. It might contradict our intended outline, or we may love it and restructure our story around it!
Keep it Appropriate
It's alright if it strays a little into the PG-13 territory every now and then, but remain mindful that not every roleplayer enjoys graphic scenes. As such, in fight scenes, describe an appropriate amount of information to be clear without unnecessarily gory details. Sexual scenes are not allowed. Take care with sensitive subjects.
Side Note
No kit-stealing/styling or herb stealing please. If you want to have a battle, please private message the admins in a group message so we may talk about the possibility. |
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Post by Saint Ambrosef on May 22, 2017 13:03:47 GMT -5
Members, News, Plots, Achievements Shadowstalker[admin] Mirestar, Shadowstalker, Nettlerose, Mossdapple, Fogstalker, Coldpaw, Frostpaw, Webpaw, Cacklestump, Winter
Featherwing [admin] Lilyroot, Jaggedpaw, Stormtail, Tawnytail
lemon ✩ Crowscratch, Sumatracluck, Weaselbriar, Caimanpaw
Dragoness Shadecreek, Mistytooth, Antpaw, Pearwhisker
Ƈσяαℓ Mєямαι∂ ღ Stealthcreek
talizorahvasnerd Olivepool, Darkpaw
xfogpathx Rattlesong, Stormcrest, Bogpaw, Claypaw
Sandpaper Alligatorsnap, Slatefern, Leechpaw, Sedgepaw
Member Characters
Member Characters Swamp Activity : Recent rains have raised the water level slightly by a couple inches: nothing to worry about, but warriors are keeping an eye on the rain tree incase it begins to rise to more dangerous levels. Cottonmouths have been populous by the old shack, so keep your wits about you.
Weather Activity : it's the time of Whitesky, meaning that storms are blowing across the horizon frequently. A mild shower is only a day away .
Member Activity : If someone wants to make an adult medicine cat, I'm willing to make Nettlerose (the current medicat) their graduated apprentice. In other words, Nettlerose will have been their former apprentice, and they will be the older of the two.
Plot Activity : Casting positions in the Main Storyline will be offered to select members after one month of activity in the Clans. You will be offered limited knowledge on the general story as well as an aim for the specific character need. For now, just focus on your own characters.
The admins have constructed a detailed and exciting story for the clans to follow. It will incorporate both roleplays, at times intermingling while also having moments of independence from each other. For now, we won't divulge anything quite yet. We will wait for some members to settle in, then gradually reveal parts of the plot as we move along.
We structured these clans in such a way whereas the roleplayer is much like a reader of a book--there's a set tale and storyline to follow--except they have self-inserts. It's reading a novel from the perspective of your own character; you're truly a part of this story. As a result, however, we want to add some excitement and guessing to the roleplay by hiding key plot information from the other members. You'll find out some shocking plot twists at the same time as your characters. After all, it's more of an adventure if you don't always know what's going to happen next. Achievements is simply a checklist of milestones or possible events that occur over the course of the roleplay, both inside and outside the story. When an achievement is yet to be reached, the star next to it is dark ★. However, when we accomplish one of these highlights, the star turns bright green ★. There may even be a few surprises or treats when a new achievement is unlocked-- who knows until we reach them? [ ★ ] Off the Ground || Ten members in the clan
[ ★ ] Semi-Active || Reach 100 pages
[ ★ ] Taking Off || Twenty members in the clan
[ ★ ] Active Clan || Reach 250 pages
[ ★ ] Fledgling Fighters || Win three battles with a rival clan or rogues [0/3]
[ ★ ] Forbidden || At least one current, mutual forbidden love between two cats
[ ★ ] Swan Song || Say goodbye to five BayouClan cats [0/5]
[ ★ ] Getting Crowded || Over fifty cats listed in the allegiances
[ ★ ] Are We There Yet? || Send at least three characters on journeys [0/3]
[ ★ ] Reputation || Over forty members in the clan
[ ★ ] No Longer Neophytes || Win ten battles with a rival clan or rogues [0/10]
[ ★ ] Good Behavior || Go eight months without facing deletion
[ ★ ] I Would Walk || Reach 500 pages
[ ★ ] Amateurs || Send a patrol out daily to one of the borders
[ ★ ] Death Crowd || Kill off fifteen CalderClan cats [0/15]
[ ★ ] Big Five-0 || Over fifty members in the clan
[ ★ ] Maturation || Promote ten apprentice to the rank of warrior [0/10]
[ ★ ] Battlescarred || Win twenty battles with a rival clan or rogues [0/20]
[ ★ ] Thriving || Reach 1000 Pages
[ ★ ] Responsibility || Send two patrols a day, one to each border
[ ★ ] Graduation || Promote twenty apprentice to the rank of warrior [0/20]
[ ★ ] Something Wicked || Plotting occurs--there's a traitor in the clan!
[ ★ ] Warmongering || Participate in fifty battles with a rival clan, rogues, or loners [0/50]
[ ★ ] Civil War || Infighting breaks out; bad blood runs twixt clanmates
[ ★ ] 9 Lives Gone || Kill off the clan leader
[ ★ ] Plague Spirit || Have eight cats sick at the same time
[ ★ ] Experience || Stick around for at least one year!
[ ★ ] Lots of Lovebirds || Twelve cats paired as mates [0/6]
[ ★ ] Butcher || Kill an enemy clan cat, whether on purpose or by accident
[ ★ ] Raiders of the Lost Clan || Invade enemy territory for battle or hunting ten times [0/10]
[ ★ ] Mischief Managed || Play five pranks on a rival clan [0/5]
[ ★ ] Slaughterhouse || Kill five enemy cats, whether on purpose or by accident [0/5]
[ ★ ] Too Much Sugar || Reach fifty pages in one day
[ ★ ] Grim Reaper || Kill off thirty BayouClan cats [0/30]
[ ★ ] Overflow || Suffer a long, dangerous flood level of a foot above the usual water level
[ ★ ] Flash Before Your Eyes || Kill off two cats during a flash flooding [0/2]
[ ★ ] Challenge Accepted || Complete ten challenges exchanged between characters [0/10]
[ ★ ] Practically Bond || Send out ten stealth missions (spywork, ambushes, challenges, etc) [0/10]
[ ★ ] Certified Schemers || Complete ten war game challenges, regardless of who wins [0/10]
[ ★ ] The King is Dead || Manage to kill off an alligator in the thick of a fight
[ ★ ] Long Live the Queen || Successfully have five queens give birth to kittens
[ ★ ] Dustbowl || It's a drought! Survive a long-time severe drought in the swamplands
[ ★ ] Secrets Thriving || Ten warriors who know a unique skill that most of the clan does not have [0/10]
[ ★ ] Blank || Insert description here |
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Post by Saint Ambrosef on May 22, 2017 13:04:06 GMT -5
Kin means Clan. Family. The ones you turn to when the ground shakes and black snow falls from the sky, pouring from the cone like a river of ash. Kin are the ones who comfort you in the dark night, when nightmares of a bleeding sky and heat that burns fur off flesh awaken you with a scream in your throat. Kin are the ones who you owe your loyalty to first, though they do not always keep it. Your father, your mother, and littermates. Aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents. Kin is Clan but Clan does not always mean Kin. Italicized means the cat is from another clan or is a rogue. Strikes represent cats who are dead. Plus signs represent the two parents cats, and slashes signify siblings. Stacked rows of characters indicate generations. A equivalent sign (~) indicate cousins. Fogwalker \\ Shadowstalker
Coldpaw \\ Ravenpaw \\ Slypaw
Cacklestump + Unknown =
Unknown =
Nettlerose \\ Lilyroot
Lightwhisker + Unknown =
Webpaw \\ Frostpaw
Caimanpaw ~ Jaggedpaw
Sumatracluck \\ Crowscratch
Unknown + Unknown
Shadecreek \\ Mistytooth \\ Antpaw
Brightflare + Sparrowdive =
Rattlesong \\ (Foster) Stormcrest
Bogpaw \\ Claypaw
Alligatorsnap + Unknown =
Leechpaw \\ Sedgepaw Loyalty is everything. Loyalty is knowing who stands with you in a fight for your life, and will keep the teeth from your neck when your back is turned. Loyalty is, in your youth, to your parents first and foremost. Then, others join the spectrum of loyalty at six moons. Mentor. Leader. Your mentor becomes your third parent, one who guides your pawsteps and ensures your relative safety. Your mentor trains you for your life ahead, teaching you things parents will never be able to teach. How to fight, how to win, how to kill. A unique skill. At twelve moons, your loyalty is owed first and foremost to the Clan Leader, and then to whom you choose. Most keep their loyalty to their kin, and their mentors remain close. Your loyalty is always yours to give. Mentors are signified by a bullet point (◘ ) between two cats. Mates, on the other hand, are represented by a heart symbol (❤). Crushes aren't quite the same as mates, since they're not canonically together, so they get a different symbol: an arrow (➸) as a reference to cupid. If two arrows point towards each other, that symbolizes a mutual crush. An x symbol (✗) is a sign of rivalries or bad blood. Stormtail ◘ Coldpaw
Fogwalker ◘ Webpaw
Mossdapple ◘ Frostpaw
Shadowstalker ◘ Jaggedpaw
Lilyroot ◘ Caimanpaw
Weaselbriar ◘ Claypaw
Shadecreek ◘ Bogpaw
Mistytooth ◘ Darkpaw
Stealthcreek ◘ Antpaw
Mirestar ❤ Weaselbriar
Webpaw ✗ Caimanpaw
Webpaw ✗ Coldpaw |
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Post by Saint Ambrosef on May 22, 2017 13:04:20 GMT -5
Mirestar –- 5 Years : Tom : 4/9 Lives
Adapting, quick-thinking, and confident: three words that perfectly describe this tom that was born to lead. Mirestar is calm and cool-headed even in the most dire situations, as well as a brilliant strategist. Few things escape his notice. Despite this, he is a creature of habit and is seldom open to change. With dull green eyes, his coat is a mottled brown tabby with dusky color in place of white. His fur is a little on the thin side, revealing his battled-scarred pelt and a missing toe, bitten off by a turtle. Shadowstalker -– 3 Years : She-cat
Gifted with a razor-sharp wit, Shadowstalker is not to be trifled with when it comes to contest of aphorism. With scrupulous attention to detail, an analytical mind, sly demeanor, and honest when it suits her, this ambitious she-cat makes a great friend and a dangerous enemy. Jet-black from head to toe, with broad shoulders, her fur is of medium length and considerably thick. Long, hooked claws make her a natural climber. Her right ear is deeply nicked, and pale gray eyes are often narrowed in scheming.
Nettlerose –- 1.5 Years : She-cat
A gorgeous ginger tabby with bright, clear green eyes, Nettlerose is compassionate but given to sharp remarks. Her form of comfort tends to be the blunt approach rather than the sugary side-- in other words, she tells it like it is. She is extremely proud of her work and a genius in her own right. Her dainty white paws are perfect for the job. More than one tom has bemoaned that such a pretty she-cat chose to pursue the celibate life of healing, though Nettlerose is completely oblivious to his. Despite her somewhat chauvinistic attitude, Nettlerose can be serious and stern, and the quick change between moods can give you whiplash. Thus, she is named Nettlerose, for her equally prickly and sweet sides. |
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Post by Saint Ambrosef on May 22, 2017 13:05:32 GMT -5
Stormtrail – - 8 Years : Tom : Wet cough
A large, scowling, dark grey tom with amber eyes flecked with green. His fur is thick and long, and with three long claw marks across his right eye, Stormtrail is an incredibly intimidating male. He had a twin sister named Featherwing who was murdered not a moon after their warrior ceremony. What was once a relatively friendly tom became morose, sullen and cold, vengeance in his eyes. He never found her murderer. Constant vigilance. Family. Duty. Honor. Adores kittens, which completely blindsides most. He doesn't seem like the fatherly type. But nope, he's all paternal instincts and cuddles when it comes to kits. He's getting up there in years and knows his is not likely to have any of his own, so he takes in the unwanted ones.
Tawnytail - – 7 Years : She-cat
Stocky tortoiseshell she-cat with yellow eyes and a gold-ginger tail. Her muzzle has greyed from stress, as well as age, and this senior warrior does not intend on moving to the elders den anytime soon. A scar on her throat that once was almost fatal but now just a really hardcore looking scar. She's a stoic mountain, not exactly empathetic and the definition of hardcore. The Cavalry. It is said she took on a whole patrol of CalderaClan cats by herself. In the water. At night. To be completely honest, yes she took on a patrol. Did she win? Any BayouClan cat will tell you yes. Tawnytail is terrifying, that is something everyone agrees on. Completely baffled by small things, like kittens, and social interactions in general.
Crowscratch - - 5.5 Years : She-cat
A darker colored she-cat with thick and curly fur and a wide build, Crowscratch has a similar appearance to her brother, Sumatracluck. Her head is wide and pointed, her snout ending with a bright pink nose that's out of character for the darker hues of color on her fur. She's dappled with white, and her claws are overgrown, adding onto her interesting appearance. Her eyes are seemingly always narrowed and colored a painful yellow shade, sticking out like a ladybug in a group of beetles. Crowscratch has a personality like that of an old, grumpy man who doesn't want any children bothering his morning stories. She's rude and practically hates kits, but when it comes to having some of her own, she wouldn't mind.
Sumatracluck - - 5.5 Years : Tom
Is it possible to have a cat who's both argumentative and helpful at the same time? Well, it can obviously happen, as Sumatracluck is quite the cat. His fur is much like his sister's, thick and curly and shaded a dark black. His chest is a striking white color, and his eyes are a dulled copper, making him easier to forget about as he can't be seen as easily. Now, more about that personality that he sports. Sumatracluck is a fairly argumentative character, especially with his sister. He's always batting her over the head or trying to start a fight between the two. But he's quite the hard worker. He's always trying to keep the fresh-kill in stock, and if there's a shortage on a patrol, this tom is always on the move to help.
Weaselbriar - - 5 Years : She-cat
Dark brown fur, light cream paws and chest and a darker muzzle. Strange coloration, correct? Well, that's exactly the way Weaselbriar shows herself. With long and whispy fur, this she-cat is always light on her toes. Short legs, petite paws, and dark fur. What more could you ask for? Oh, and don't get me started on those eyes. They're so green they could pierce through you, making you paralyzed from the waist down. But don't get too caught up in her looks, now. It's about what's on the inside, right? Well, let's get started there, shall we? Weaselbriar seems like a very friendly cat from a distance, and in a sense she is. She's friendly, until you say something wrong. Then she gets defensive and harsh. But she's a hardworking cat and never gives up.
Pearwhisker - - 5 Years : She-cat
Pearwisker's white fur has always made life difficult for her, interfering with her natural aptitude for hunting. Every time she leaves camp, she has to smear herself in mud. Her lively, apple green eyes are just as striking, however. They are constantly gleaming with curiousity and something resembling mischief. However, what may seem like her being a troublemaker at first, is actually just her hunger for adventure and pushing limits. She loves the wild, doesn't mind getting her paws dirty and is very independent. But despite this, she is an amiable she-cat who is easy to love. She isn't actively searching for a mate, but is intrigued by the idea of a family. She absolutely adores apprentices, and they usually adore her, too. Mossdapple - - 4 Years : She-cat
Earnest green eyes glint with hidden knowledge, and a young face is often tilted in question. Mossdapple is a beautiful tortoiseshell she-cat with a distinctly split-face pattern, ginger on one side and mottled brown on the other, giving the appearance of a mask. She is primarily an observer, constantly analyzing the cats around her, their behaviors, and their choices. The information is horded inside her pretty head like treasure. Mossdapple has righteous self-conviction and believes she is the only one willing to do whatever necessary to better her clan.
Alligatorsnap - - 3.5 Years : Tom
A large, stocky tom. It's no surprise that his dark brooding amber eyes stand out against his coat. He is a paler shade of brown with dark brown, almost jet black mackerel tabby stripes adorning his fur. His fur is unkempt even though it is supposed to be sleek, some darker tufts stick out.
This tom is firm and swift when it comes to his own being and that of others. Alligatorsnap is not one to give up nor go easy on his clanmates as he believes that tough love is the best kind and that discipline must be enforced. Though this tough love can lean towards neglect at times and knowing the relationships he has with family or close clanmates, it may be a bit hard to tell as he's quick to judge.
Olivepool - - 3 Years : She-cat
An average sized cat, if leaning a bit to the larger side. She's muscled, even a little bit bulky. She's a dark brown tabby with sleek fur and large patches of black, as well as black mittens and a black underbelly. Her eyes are a bit on the smaller side, and have a faint almond shape to them. Unlike her dull fur color, her eyes are a bright yellow.
Olivepool is best described as overly serious. She isn't a particularly playful or sweet cat, but she shows passion when working to better herself or others while training. Unfortunately, patience isn't a strong suit, and she has little time for cats that she thinks doesn't take duties seriously enough.
Fogwalker - – 3 Years : Tom
Cats tend to distance themselves from this tom: whether it is his unsettling appearance or stoic temperament, few can tell what’s off-putting about him. Mostly he lurks at the edges of groups. Fogstalker was born with a thick black pelt, but inherited vitiligo at a young age, splotching his dark coat with uneven patches of white and gray: eerie looking even without cold, pale gray eyes giving you an unnerving stare. Is it just you, or does he never blink? He earned his name for his uncanny specialization of camouflage in the foggy bog, apt for ambushing and spywork. Despite everything, he is a reliable warrior and very loyal, and would probably warm up to anyone who looked beyond his ghastly appearance.
Shadecreek - - 3 Years : She-cat
She is a sleek, smokey gray tabby with misty blue eyes. Her paws and the tips of her ears and tail are slightly darker, fading to black. Her right ear is nicked, but her keen hearing is actually her main strength. ~ Her personality has been shaped by her experiences as a youth in a harsh rouge group. When she and her brother were given the chance to join the clan, they grabbed it without thought. However, Shadecreek is still a bit of a loner in clan, although she is very grateful of what it has done for her and is an effective and resourceful warrior. She is secretive and closed in personality, making some of the oldest clanmembers a bit wary of her. Regardless of this, she is always polite and very dedicated, kind despite her silence.
Mistytooth - - 3 Years : Tom
He is a smokey gray, dappled tom with misty blue eyes and a long scar across his flank, gained in a fight with an elder tom in the rogue group he was in as a youth. He is missing the tip of his tail, as well, and is slightly off-balance as a result. He struggled a lot with learning how to hunt and fight when he first joined the clan, but has slowly worked out how to do it with his disability. He is a compassionate, diplomatic tom with a lot of energy. Like his sister, he is very dedicated and resourceful, having found the need to do everything twice as good as everyone else to even be acknowledged.
Rattlesong - - 2.5 Years : Tom
Rattlesong is an unusual tom with a long body and bright ginger tabby fur. His body has a lot of white patches so he consistently covers himself in mud to hide his pelt. His muzzle is narrow and pointed with short whiskers and a pink nose. His tail has a kink near the base from not healing right. His amber eyes are kind, if a bit closed off, and stand out on his mostly white face. Rattlesong is a soft-spoken tom who can be a little awkward but he has a very tactical mind. He acts well under pressure and can be a little overbearing, especially towards Stormcrest. He is easily discouraged and works best when he feels he is being useful. He isn’t very ambitious and is content to be an adviser over being a leader.
Stormcrest - - 2.5 Years : She-cat
Stormcrest is a big, dark gray she-cat with long, wispy fur. Her underside and legs are white but she keeps them caked in mud. Her eyes are blue and she has a short muzzle. Her head is topped with tall ears. She has a nubby tail because it was bitten off by a turtle as an apprentice. Her eyes are pale blue. Stormcrest is an agile and quick-footed she-cat who is very competitive. She is easily flustered and is quick to panic when things go wrong. She is loyal to a fault and follows the warrior code strictly. She wants to prove she is a true BayouClan cat to those who doubt her for her loner heritage.
Slatefern - - 2.5 Years : Tom
Slatefern was named after his slate-colored fur that may appear in different shades across his coat. Overall, the hues are dark shades of grey and only continuously grow darker. As for his build, he's known to have a slender build along with a very sleek, medium-furred pelt. His eyes are a golden shade of yellow.
A nice guy is the best way to describe Slatefern. He's likable and pleasant, meaning he's a good-hearted tom. Unfortunately, he is passive and unassertive; he doesn't like to confront his own demons, but will confront others that are not his.
Lilyroot – - 2 Years : She-cat
A pretty little thing, slender, short golden fur with white paws... and big amber eye flecked with vibrant green, to the point where most assume they're green right off the bat. Well, they're not really big, they're just the first thing anyone really notices about Lilypaw. Until she opens her mouth, then they realizes she's got quite the mouth on her. Always ready with a retort, even if she's not really listening to you. She's judgy, bossy, with a tendency to act first and ask questions later. Smug too, sometimes, when she's got a reason to be. There is a period of time that she gained a lot of weight and then lost it seemingly over night. The rumor is that she had kits, but no one can prove it. Hates the idea of settling down. Only occasionally melancholy for apparently no reason.
Sealthcreek - - 2 Years : She-cat
Stealthcreek is a small, fluffy blue-grey she-cat. She has stunning blue eyes and a sweet personality. The she-cat absolutely adores helping and working with kits and young cats. More often than not she is outgoing and friendly towards most other cats. At first she may be overlooked, but other cats quickly realize their mistake when it comes to a fight. While most of the time Stealthcreek tries to be more polite and kind, she can also be rather clingy. She will do what she can no matter the odds, no matter what challenge is thrown at her. She tends to get jealous of others and it can be her downfall. If someone threatens her or anyone she loves... well, things get ugly. Stealthcreek is loyal to her Clan and will even risk her life to save it. |
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Post by Saint Ambrosef on May 22, 2017 13:05:47 GMT -5
Sedgepaw - - 11 Moons : She-cat
Sedgepaw is a little, lithe feline. She's a darker chestnut brown she-cat with pitch black mackerel tabby markings decorating her pelt. She has longer tufts of fur sticking out in random places, those mostly being around her chest and flank. Sedgepaw has a white chin and throat. Her face is a paler shade of brown with lighter black tabby stripes. She has large, round green eyes with yellow rimming.
Though she may seem innocent and naive, Sedgepaw is, unfortunately, the opposite. She's obnoxious, petty, and not to mention bitter. Jealousy causes her to become an instigator, no matter the situation. Messing with Sedgepaw is like asking for a death note. It's hard to get on her good side unless you've somehow charmed her.
Leechpaw - - 11 Moons : She-cat
The only color to succumb to Leechpaw's pelt is ebony black. She has tall, pointed ears along with a thick, long tail. She's medium-furred with silky fur and white whiskers. Leechpaw has vivid amber eyes similar to dark honey.
Leechpaw is her sister, Sedgepaw's, partner in crime. She's definitely mischevious and a total trouble-maker. She enjoys teasing and pranking others, though this can lead to a downslide of her being apathetic towards their feelings. It's a topic she'd rather not grasp or bother with as it's tedious and complex.
Coldpaw - - 10 Moons : Tom
Shy around the she-cats, skittish, and never gets in trouble-- part of the latter stems from his desperate desire for his clan to accept him. When he was just 8 moons old, Coldpaw fled from CalderaClan to join BayouClan. His former clanmates bullied him relentlessly for his heat intolerance; the jeers doubled when they learned of his proclivity for water, and the taunting drove Coldpaw to reject his ashy inheritance and become a swampcat. Short-furred and jet-black with a white muzzle and throat, Coldpaw has faded, dark blue eyes. Quite handsome, in fact.
Jaggedpaw – - 10 moons : Tom
Jaggedpaw is a scruffy dark brown tabby tom with bright green eyes. But a muddy brown, an almost chocolate brown vs the lighter, dry earth brown. He's got the build of a big guy, with big paws in a stocky, husky frame. A rebellious boy with a smirk and a chuckle, he's got no problem canoodling his way into where he wants to be. He laughs in the face of danger, ha ha ha ha. Unfortunately that mischievous nature gets him into trouble, and as a result of one misadventure on his first day of apprenticeship, he's got a scar over his right eye. Can hold grudges like no one's business, and he's a bit snooty. BayouClan is the best Clan. Hoorah. Kinda a mess around females, not for lack of trying. He's just gets a bit snappy around females he likes. Antpaw - - 9 Moons : She-cat
She is a tall black she-cat with ghost stripes and misty blue eyes. She is lanky in build, and despite her height she weighs less than what is normal. Because of this disadvantage, she has been forced to rely on stealth and unpredictability. She has made sure her fighting skills are above average so no one can ever pick on her for her scrawny look. Her claws are razor-sharp, and her strange, erratic movements make her both a capable hunter and fighter. She has a sharp mind, and even sharper tongue, but doesn't use it when not directly challenged. She sees through rank and background with ease, and doesn't mind befriending outsiders. Her comments tend to be dripping in sarcasm, but she doesn't intend to be mean.
Bogpaw - - 9 Moons : She-cat
A small, long-haired she-cat with an entirely black pelt and a long, feathery tail. She has stilt-like legs with small, slick paws. She has a round face with a short muzzle and big green eyes. Her left ear has a nick. Bogpaw is an indecisive cat who hates making decisions. She has a hard time making friends so when she does, she becomes a little clingy and will do whatever it takes to keep their friendship. She is a gentle soul that wants to be included but she has few social graces. While she can come off as a bit meek, she hates to be criticized and can become aggressive if she thinks she is being unfairly insulted.
Claypaw - - 9 Moons : Tom
A rusty, brownish-ginger tom with very faint tabby stripes and even lighter markings on his legs. He has a very thick, medium-length pelt. He has a long, stripey tail. He has one dark stripe from his nose to his tail tip. He is broad and stout but his strength also makes him slower. His best feature is his sharp golden eyes. Claypaw is flirtatious and prone to teasing but he can also be a bit nosey. He tries to be helpful but more often than not just gets in the way by not following orders. He never breaks a promise and is careful making them. He doesn't trust many but those who have his trust will never doubt his. He may seem vain and unreliable but deep inside, he longs for adventure and a way to prove his worth.
Frostpaw - - 8 Moons : She-cat
Is it possible to be both arrogant and reticent? Apparently, as Frostpaw is living proof. She heavily cares about how other cats perceive her, especially those of authority. She thinks she's quite humble; everyone else knows she's got some bragging problems. Frostpaw is amicable to everyone, always eager to extend a paw of friendship, but is a terrible gossip -- that's why she's the elders' favorite. This zealous she-cat is black with large white patches, notably on her front left paw and her back right haunch. Green, expressive eyes usually glint with enthusiasm for training.
Webpaw - - 8 Moons : Tom
Outgoing and critical, Webpaw thinks he's on top of the world (and has an ego to match). He believes the rules don't apply to him. His black-and-white coat is tuxedo pattern; his amber eyes are often narrowed in judgement, even at those four times his senior. Bragging is no anomaly to this tom, who believes he has everything to brag about: looks, smarts, skills, the lot. Arrogance must run in the family. Nobody particularly likes him, much to his chagrin and "attempts" to befriend the other apprentices. He spends many moments of the day under the shade, grooming his impeccable, long fur. Vain? Oh yes.
Caimanpaw - - 7.5 Moons : Tom : Half-Deaf
Wide, marshy green eyes and a murky brown pelt are the two things that make Caimanpaw most noticeable. His fur is thick and long, his paws usually covered by the dark substance. His tail is long and thick, though his ears hardly work. Not only does he have a problem listening to directions in general, Caimanpaw can hardly hear in general. He's a fairly lazy cat, lounging around and stuffing himself with whatever food he can get his grubby little paws on.
Darkpaw - - 7 Moons : Tom
A small tom whose posture and appearance gives him the look of a slightly younger cat. He still has a bit of a "kitten face". His tail, while not unnaturally so, is shorter than average. He has short black fur, the only other mark being a few small white strands of fur on his chest. He has large, wide eyes, light green in color.
Darkpaw hates his cutesy looks, and does whatever he can to put up a tough cat act. However, his true personality couldn't be any less different. He loves playing and interacting with kits, no matter how much he may deny it. |
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Post by Saint Ambrosef on May 22, 2017 13:06:10 GMT -5
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here are no queens to be displayed here at this time.
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here are no kits to be displayed here at this time.
Cacklestump -- 9 years : Tom
Once a brilliant mind, this tom has been reduced to a confused elder who simply won't shut up. His warrior name was Gingerwood, called so because his fur was rusty-colored as a kit. As he grew it became a misnomer, as his coat turned a dark brown mottle. His strategic planning was unrivaled in any plan. As his age began to catch up with him, Gingerwood began to develop extreme short-term memory loss, and due to this eventually retired. Technically his name has not officially changed, but the apprentices and young warriors have taken to calling him Cacklestump. The nick-name aptly fits, as due to his memory loss, Gingerwood is constantly asking questions and "won't shut up". Older warriors scold the use of the nickname-- however, the younger generation were not around in Cacklestump's clever warrior years, and thus do not hold the same respect for him. Most of the time, this brown-eyed elder doesn't even realize they're talking about him.
Winter -- 5 Years : Tom
A massive white tom with broad-shoulders, short fur, and long claws. His amber eyes stare impassively from his common perch on the fences of twolegplace, but make no mistake: he may be apathetic to the world, but he jealously guards what is his. Technically, Winter could be considered a housecat, as he eats and sleeps with his owners, but at night he roams--and owns--the streets around his home. You don't want to run into him in a dark alley.
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Post by Saint Ambrosef on May 22, 2017 13:06:26 GMT -5
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here are no Kin Spirits to be displayed here at this time.
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here are no Dark Ones to be displayed here at this time.
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Post by Saint Ambrosef on May 22, 2017 13:06:58 GMT -5
To the illustrious ʀᴀɪɴʟᴇᴀғ 🍁 for this layout. You're a treasure and a saint for helping. Much appreciation, kid! To Saint Ambrosef for the art of the manor and the territory map. Awesome per usual. To Featherwing for making the banners, siders, and dividers, and just being rad overall To illustrators Wayne McLoughlin and Owen Richardson for making the art used in the banners. |
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Post by Saint Ambrosef on May 22, 2017 13:07:22 GMT -5
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Post by Saint Ambrosef on May 22, 2017 13:18:51 GMT -5
Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here.Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. |
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Post by Saint Ambrosef on May 22, 2017 13:23:57 GMT -5
Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here.Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. Stuff would go here. |
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Post by Saint Ambrosef on Jun 2, 2017 14:11:08 GMT -5
BAYOUCLAN IS OPEN
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Post by Featherwing on Jun 2, 2017 14:12:22 GMT -5
[ Woot! ]
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Post by Saint Ambrosef on Jun 2, 2017 14:20:50 GMT -5
[[Two years later...well, I never was good at doing my homework on time  ]]
It was the trilling of the coots that awoke Coldpaw first. The call came from a distance, muffled by the creaking walls of camp. It wasn't like the morning larks that he'd grown up with. I like it better, he thought idly to himself, eyes still closed and nose still tucked under his tail. There was something soothing about the long, melancholy call of the waterfowl that seemed to wash away his worries. He knew he should get up and prepare for the day ahead, but he was cozy in his thick nest of cushion moss. That had been the easiest aspect of the swamp to grow accustomed to.
Still, he was struggling to grow accustomed to the claustrophobic life of miremalk. That was why his nest was closest to the door of the space under the twoleg stairs, where the ceiling was highest. Webpaw snored in the corner, as far from the door as he could possibly get. Probably to avoid morning light. Lazy furball.
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Post by Featherwing on Jun 2, 2017 14:31:16 GMT -5
The morning was not so welcome for one particular apprentice, who's ears flattened at the frankly annoying tweeting of the birds outside of the wood and stone walls. A low, tired groan was pulled from Jaggedpaw's throat. "Too early" he mumbled, using a large forepaw to pull some moss lining over his head in an attempt to block out the sounds morning brought. Come on, he thought to himself, if I fall asleep now I can easily get another half hour of sleep. But it was too late, the floofy dark brown tabby could already feel the numbness of sleep receding like high tide. "Nooooo" the complaint was louder than intended, but a typical morning routine for Jaggedpaw.
Birds wake him up, he whines mentally a bit and tries to fall asleep again, fails, and complains verbally. Lather, rinse, repeat.
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Post by Saint Ambrosef on Jun 2, 2017 14:45:51 GMT -5
Coldpaw sent an exasperated glance his way. That was something he was also adjusting to: BayouClan cats weren't meant to be early risers. Whereas ashcats wake at the crack of dawn, his new clanmates preferred to sleep in at least an hour later. Coldpaw suspected it had something to do with the lack of light that filtered through the trees: even at dawn, the forest was rather dark.
But his denmates weren't going to be able to sleep away the morning as they usually did. Coldpaw arose and stretched languidly, claws prickling at the mossy nest. "Wake up," he muttered, prodding Jaggedpaw cautiously. The last thing he wanted was another excuse for Jaggedpaw to shun him, and he didn't think poking him awake was going to earn him any good graces. But they had a job to do. "We have dawn patrol," he reminded the dark tabby.
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Post by Saint Ambrosef on Jun 2, 2017 14:48:02 GMT -5
{Hi! I was wondering if I could have a kit that later joins the clan? Just wanted to know so I don't cause any problems} |
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Post by Featherwing on Jun 2, 2017 15:40:47 GMT -5
( Sorry, helping my dad with removing the carpet in the basement. Will respond shortly )
"Who says?" Jaggedpaw growled, ignoring the prodding. He just wanted to sleep, for Shade's sake. Just one more hour.. even half.. then he'd get up, honest.
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Post by Saint Ambrosef on Jun 2, 2017 16:03:33 GMT -5
"Our mentors."
At that moment, a jet-black head on broad shoulders swung around the corner of the door. "If you aren't out here in three shakes of a rattler's tale, Jaggedpaw, I'll have your hide lining the edges of my nest!" Her pale gray eyes glared at the lump of tabby fur still curled in his nest. "Webpaw, you too."
The mound of black and white fur in the corner only made a noncommittal grunt in response. Shadowstalker snorted and disappeared into the hall.
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Post by Ƈσяαℓ Mєямαι∂ ღ on Jun 2, 2017 17:02:03 GMT -5
[ how do I join? ]
[ EDIT: I found the Joining Page ] |
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Post by Featherwing on Jun 2, 2017 18:00:50 GMT -5
[BACK!]
Jaggedpaw lifted his head scowling at the door, where his mentor had disappeared through. "I swear she's got the wind whispering in her ears. She always knows" A groan and he flopped over, flailing his paws around in defeat before rolling over and getting to his paws. "You wanna wake Webpaw, or should I, ashcat?" The snide comment was laced with a wide yawn. For all the sleeping Jaggedpaw does, he never seems to have a restful one.
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Post by Saint Ambrosef on Jun 2, 2017 18:07:19 GMT -5
Next to Webpaw's nest, a white-eared black she-cat raised her head and attempted to blink the sleep away from her green eyes. "Dawn already?" she mewed drowsily. The early morning patrol was the worst job in the clan by many cats' standard. Miremalk preferred staying up late to waking early. Frostpaw was no different.
Jaggedpaw was snarling at Coldpaw again, and Frostpaw felt a wave of pity: both for his heritage and the job he'd been assigned. "I'll do it," she volunteered. She rose stiffly and shoved her brother's shoulder none-to-gently. "Get up, snakebreath. I don't want to be put on ivy duty again because you made us late!" She was pretty sure there was still creeper bristles stuck in her fur, even though it was a quarter moon ago.
Webpaw raised his head finally, letting out a mournful sigh. Reluctantly, he untangled himself from the nest.
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]]
DM me if u want