Warrior Cat Clans 2 (WCC2 aka Classic) is a roleplay site inspired by the Warrior series by Erin Hunter. Whether you are a fan of the books or new to the Warrior cats world, WCC2 offers a diverse environment with over a decade’s worth of lore for you - and your characters - to explore. Join us today and become a part of our ongoing story!
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Really, it had been easier to join than Mothscatter thought — perhaps it was his immediate devotion, the way he did everything without complaint, how he learned their layouts and their customs almost effortlessly (though he found some of them strange) — and now he had found his way on top of the roof of the old human den, near the garden, and was lounging like he had not a care in the world. It had been a while since he could relax without feeling as though some immediate threat would creep up on him, some nocturnal animal with snapping jaws and an empty stomach looking for a quick meal. It was almost unsettling, how quickly he settled in.
Turning onto his back, paws pointing at the stars above, he focused on the way his breath clouded the chilly air. The constant shade of their pine trees didn't help with the cold weather above ground, but he had to admit their caves were rather warm. At the sound of movement, he lifted his head, ears twitching, before he turned back over and scurried to the edge of the roof, steadying himself. He peered over, only his head and the tips of his toes visible from where he sat. He didn't feel the need to say anything quite yet.
Perhaps she was the nocturnal animal of Mothscatter’s nightmares, a pale soundless creature that hugged the shadows with such ease she seemed to flow within them. Really, it would have been easy to catch the tom unaware: she was pulling herself up to the roof and her clanmate still made no indication that he sensed her presence. Presently, he was on the other end, peering out after some barn owl she’d seen sculking about on a fence post; by the sound of it, the predator would fill its empty stomach tonight. If she were a huntress, she had the opening to creep up behind him and do the same; but she was not a predator here, and he certainly wasn’t her quarry. So, she made an effort to scuttle her paws a bit on the tiles of the roof as she approached, a soft preamble before she called out and scared him straight off into the open air.
“Behind you,” came her voice finally, and when Mothscatter turned he’d see the small smile it flowed amongst. Silksiren had found joining surprisingly easy as well – learning the Nightclan customs was proving to be a bit trickier. When her head pounded from the effort, this abandoned two-leg nest was her sanctuary… she enjoyed her share of late-night conversations with the moon, but she wouldn’t mind company tonight, especially if meant gaining a familiar face around camp.
“Looking for someone?” she asked, her tone playful.
He stared a while longer, eyes unblinking, waiting for the next shuffle or sign of movement, but there was nothing except the distant flutter of feathers. He leaned back, let himself relax before the voice had startled him so bad he nearly fell off the roof. He turned sharply, went to meet his claws with Silksiren's grinning face before restraining himself, straightening out and forcing his fur to lie flat.
"No, just admiring the stars, my dear. But a serpent like you should be more careful, you could kill a gentleman like myself if he were, say, leaning over the edge of a roof," he matched her smile, let his eyelids lower to form a heavy-eyed look. He calmed the leftover nervous twitch in his tail, wound it around his paws as if it would draw less attention. Perhaps it was the new environment, for the life of a clan cat could not be lonely if one tried to be, because every stretch of the woods held someone in their depths, and Mothscatter wasn't used to so many new faces. It was annoying, losing control over his nerves like that, but he swallowed it, focused a curious look on the she-cat before him.
"Are you looking for someone? Surely, I could deliver," he had long since learned many didn't approach without reason, without want, and so he started with a smile, an offer, an outstretched arm.
Her blue eyes were steady as she studied him. She’d caught that subtle sway of his shoulders, that split second that indicated he was moving to strike her; she found it fascinating how that was his first instinct. What was it they said? That fear didn’t shut you down, it woke you up? It stripped away all the ideals and projections, leaving nothing but the true self to squirm in its last fits of self-preservation? Well, she didn’t know if that was true, but it was certainly interesting how cats acted when they didn’t have time to act.
She appreciated his humor, though, and even offered a light giggle at his words – a genuine one, unstirred by the cool undercurrents of sarcasm in his words. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you… and I’m no serpent, my dear. Only a nightcrawler, the same as everyone else here.” She sat back on her haunches, still regarding him with that imperial look of hers, though her smile had fled to be replaced by a stoic coolness. A curious glint entered her sapphire eyes at his sudden poise.
Are you looking for someone? Surely, I could deliver. “Could you?” She meowed passively, almost to herself. “I wasn’t searching for anyone in particular. The night is lonely, and I’m awfully afraid of the boogeyman, you see.” She smirked. “Perhaps we could exchange some midnight tales to see us to the dawn? Or at least become acquainted to one another? I haven’t a single friend in the clan, and you seem like a nice cat.”
She was a curious thing, Mothscatter could see it in the way she studied him just as much as he studied her, the way her curiosity and humour mixed and matched with his own. They were similar, he could tell. But where he acted on instinct, inquire later, she acted on question, thought instead of did. Silently, he wondered what it was like to be so outwardly curious, as he usually kept his nose out of things unless he had no other choice, unless he had too. He shook his head, “no apologies needed. I think it warmed me up. I was growing chilly,” he purred.
“Not a single friend?” He gave his voice a falsely shocked tone, as if surprised, before it settled into one of understanding, “Neither do I,” he lowered his voice to an inconspicuous whisper, “I feel I’ve joined at a bad time, these clan cats don’t seem too happy amongst themselves right now.” He sat back, shrugged, and cleared his throat. Turning, Mothscatter leaned over the side of the roof until his paw found the bearings of a few overgrown, tangled vines, moving to back himself onto it until only his head poked up, enough to send Silksiren a grin before he climbed down. He felt no need to rush, but they hadn’t been on the highest point of the roof and so it wasn’t long before he was at a point he could jump down. Landing neatly, tail lifted and waving behind him, he looked up.
“How about some place warmer? No boogeymen included, I can promise that.” Surrounding the old, long frozen gardens and wild plants, dirt and snow and ice mixed together to form something of a dark, chilly atmosphere.
“Warm is good,” she remarked in an even tone, only her ashen head visible as she peered down. She wasn’t eager to leave this place; she was quite taken by the view of the sky on this roof. Still, she was curious where he intended to lead her. Silksiren soon followed, sliding down the vines and landing on the ground next to him, soft as a moth.
She mulled his words as they walked through this snap-frozen forest, paws crunching softly underpaw. Threads of interest etched through her imperial disposition. “Is it a bad time? Truly?” Her question was an open ended one – one that invited elaboration without assuming too much. She sensed that the political climate was… sensitive. “You don’t seem too concerned about it,” she remarked wryly, “surely, you’re not trying to act cool for my sake?”
She’d noticed the gears working behind his eyes and marked his intelligence through his humor already; still he gave off a can’t-be-bothered attitude. Most of his assumptions about her were well-placed… she was a curious cat. But his doubts about whether the firstlings of her heart could be the firstlings of her paws… (bonus points if you know the reference c: ) were misguided. He would one day find that out if they got to know each other.
He only nodded, something between an affirmation and an agreement, falling in step beside her as she reached the ground. He didn't take a moment to truly stop and think, mind already set on the old treehouse he'd been curious about but never visited yet — it would be warmer inside and, subsequently, would have the same view of the stars, though he hadn't planned that. Is it a bad time? Truly? He laughed, a light sound, perhaps a genuine one, but didn't rush to answer, mulling over the words for a moment. It was tense, he knew that, but maybe it was always like that. Though, from what he had heard about the clans, especially those that surrounded Nightclan, they weren't. They were a community, and he could hardly see any of that here without the add on of secretive, worried whispers and fearful stares. Mothscatter could shrug it off, he was used to being on edge, it came naturally to him, and yet it still dragged on his consciousness, even if only a little.
He gave a wounded face, "you wound me. Act cool for your sake? I would never, this is all natural." He flicked his tail as if to prove a point, "but no, I don't think I have reason to be, I've done well for myself thus far. Though, if it get too much I will just have to be on my way again — would be a shame leaving a gem like you behind." His sweettalking wasn't working on her, he could see that much, but he kept it up anyway, more for the entertainment of them both.
Up ahead, the gurgle of a small river sounded, and already the extra chill was apparent in the air. He gave her another curious look, cocked his head slightly like it would give him a better view, like he was trying to figure out her name without asking, but he gave in.
“A gem, hmm?” She laughed. She could recall being a serpent just a moment ago. How fickle the minds of toms were. But then again, some toms did enjoy a little streak of danger in their trophy wives.
“Well this gem’s name is Silk, Silksiren.” She stopped to enjoy a few sips of the frigid water; not very advisable in the current climate, but she hardly felt the cold these days, and she was always thirsty. She considered him with sapphire eyes when she was finished, noting that he never answered her question, amongst all his sweettalk. Perhaps he didn’t know. She truly was at the mercy of whatever reality he wanted to make up – she hadn’t had enough time to gather the details of recent events and get her bearing on the forces rising in its wake. She considered he could be the same as her – late arrivals in this unfolding play, dropped in at the beginning of act 2, the quiet before the storm.
Her watchful gaze remained on him, now masking her curiosity in a facade of apathy. "I don’t believe you’ve offered yours?”
His brows raised knowingly, giving his eyes a wide, playful look. Silksiren. He waited while she sipped, taking the moment to think, because now he had a serpent, a gem, and a siren on his paws, and truthfully it was getting more difficult to pin just one on her. But nonetheless, "a beautiful name, truly," his tone held a hum to it, and when she met his eyes, he never turned them away, considering her with the same studious look. The chaos was a resting thing, like a predator watching its prey, like a hawk waiting to strike, and the constant sharpness of those around him had its toll, and yet he still found himself drawn to it. Perhaps he would get enough sense to be on his way again, eventually.
"Right, right," he purred nonchalantly, "Mothscatter, Amos, I've got a few others — fleeting things, of course. I was especially drawn to the clan names, I think they're adorable. They call their kits kits, isn't that rich?"
Eventually, he turned away, leading her down a slightly uncertain path (he was still getting used to their territory, after all), and for a moment he paused, looked around because he remembered seeing the treehouse somewhere around here, before he simply guessed and moved on. He carefully treaded through ferns and undergrowth until the path vaguely cleared. Mothscatter fell back to walk beside her.
"Are you familiar with the place? Personally, I'm much better at navigating cities, they all have their own little system, but here I suppose you just go wherever." It wasn't exactly a complaint, he actually found it quite fascinating, and it was less about him and more finding out what she was, where she had come from, what was going on up there. Really, he had never been more curious about someone before, and maybe it had to do with the fact he was never truly anywhere in the long run, nowhere except for here.
The here and now. A smile broke through her apathetic features at his defiance; to look her eye-to-eye like that almost felt like a challenge, and it tickled the serpent coiled in the ark of her soul. She was as silent as a snake as they walked on through the night, offering no more of a response to his open-ended question than he had hers. She wasn’t going to forfeit the details of her past that easily, and she was content to allow her persona to stew in mystery for a little while longer.
Still, she followed him dutifully through the darkness, offering neither direction nor complaint against the biting cold that only grew colder in the shadows. They passed wildflowers grown crooked by the wind, standing their nightly vigil like grim reapers. She sniffed a twisted root here and there, drinking in the scents of this land still foreign to her, but all the while she said naught a word. That is, until they were suddenly walking shoulder-to-shoulder, and it seemed she was leading him as much as he her. It was then that she realized it was the blind leading the blind, no matter who led, and she slowed to a stop to get her bearings.
“Mothscatter,” she was presently trying the name on her lips. Moths were meant to be prophetic, she’d heard. They spelled incoming darkness and change. Some even whispered they were the souls of the dead themselves. The afterlife was something Silksiren thought of often; she’d wondered about Nightclan’s take on the matter. “That’s an interesting name.”
They’d stopped stooped amongst the shadows, and here her pelt was painted black. “Calling kits kits… is a bit redundant,” she giggled from the darkness. "But dare I say, so is giving yourself a new name, when you have perfectly good ones stored away?” Names are a fleeting thing, of course. Were they? What was in a name? Was an identity meant to be slipped off and put on so easily?
Truly, she was also more used to rain wet streets under her paws than the stuff of this forest. It seemed the journey was more important than the destination for this tom, and while she was enjoying their foray, she’d pay a penny for his thoughts before they both ended up back in the city. “I give, Mothscatter. Is this warm, cozy place real or a figment of our daydreams? You can’t keep a girl in the dark forever, y’know.”
Mothscatter was used to figuring out what his brief companions, if they could be called that, wanted from him, wanted him to be so he could be it and be payed, whether that be with food or temporary shelter or knowledge. Yet with Silksiren, he was at a loss. Nightclan was strange for the fact that he didn't quite feel slighted by it, either — instead, he was drawn, felt the need to stay around and figure out all her secrets instead of move on for something worthwhile.
That’s an interesting name. He nodded, he closed his eyes and raised his brows, giving him a look of angelic gratitude, like he was proudly showing off a prize or a fancy, antique knick-knack, "yes, indeed. I said the same thing myself." He didn't care too much for the meaning, and scarcely did he look into the deeper meaning of the things around him; the curtains were blue and nothing more. Moth was nothing more than a simple, stupid little insect, fluttering into the light of the torch despite the danger. Frankly, he ought to feel insulted. But instead he grinned, watched as she sunk into the shadows (mentally, he added shadow to the list of things she reminded him of), and slowed his already relaxed pace, "well, I quite like the change. Keeps me on my toes," if he came with nothing, he could leave with nothing either, just as he could leave the him that he had established and start fresh in whatever place he ended up next. His first name had been sickening, his second had been chosen on a whim, and those after were lost to memory, spoken only once or twice because he liked the secrecy, liked the fact that he could keep something to himself even when he wasn't.
Is this warm, cozy place real or a figment of our daydreams? He laughed, but didn't exactly deny it, "perhaps you'll have to imagine the warmth part, it might be more worn down than I anticipated," he'd only seen the treehouse once, of course, but his confidence didn't waver, even as he admitted it wasn't what he hyped it up to be, "but, really, I was hoping to leave the surprise. You seem just fine in the dark."
Sure of his footing, he gave a slight, brief turn to the right, where the trees grew thicker and taller, the pine needles beneath their feet doubling in number, falling off his paw-pads every time he took another step. A shadow, darker than the rest, illuminated by the light of the moon from a clearence in the trees, sat in the sky imposingly. A bridge stretched from one tree to the other, and the pine it reached had a wooden, rickety ladder nailed into it's trunk, more like vertical stepping stones. He swerved to stand in front of it, gazing up until his eyes landed on the old platform above them.
A night without purpose or agenda, a night of aimless wanderings with a stranger, that’s what Silksiren had in mind above any tangible transaction. It was as a salve against the fouler fruit she consumed.
You seem just fine in the dark. “Why shouldn’t I?” she purred, stepping forward to reveal herself again. “The night is enchanting. All the heavenly bodies; shooting stars, the crescent moon, celestial phenomenon. First kisses. I’m no hopeless romantic, but the darkness hides the ugliness of the world.” She got to her paws and followed just a step behind as they continued on, silently ruminating the fleeting way he lived his life – wandering from one place to another with a new identity and leaving when he grew bored. She wondered how long she could bare living a life like that.
Ladies first. Mothscatter was a performer, but whether he made the effort for her sake or to indulge his own amusement she wasn’t sure. In either case he’d managed to solicit more giggles from her than she’d known since joining Nightclan, and that was certainly worth something. She flicked her tail across his chin as she passed; “what a gentleman.”
Her sapphire eyes squinted at the shadowy construction above; it almost looked like a two-legs nest, but she’d never seen one built within a tree. She hesitated for just a moment, drawing up to test the sturdiness to the first rung before dropping down to all fours again. It was worn down, as he’d said, but seemed in acceptable condition. When she was convinced of that, she began her ascent, bounding up the rungs as swift as a lizard.
The dark space she emerged into was warmer than the forest floor, save the imagination. Silksiren looked around curiously, drinking in the old and leafy scents. And then she peaked down through the square hole in the floor she’d come through, and the open air beyond, to gaze at her companion far below.
"No hopeless romantic, but certainly a poet." The more they talked, the more he was entranced by her words, the more he was bound by intrigue and amusement and, strangely for him, a tinge of respect.
He tipped his head as she passed, giving a quiet chuckle at the words, "you aren't the first to tell me." Watching first as she ascended, Mothscatter leapt onto the first rung, taking a moment to balance, and climbed after her, though he made sure to keep his pace lavishly slow. He clambered onto the platform just after Silksiren, flicking his hind leg from where he was sure a small splinter had been lodged into his foot. He looked around. The floor was dusty, mixing with the earthy, overpowering smell of pine and greenery, and the wood of the walls held holes and chips. Ahead, a doorless frame gave way to the dangling, swaying latter. The wind could be heard, yet the walls around them seemed to still the breeze.
"How's this, then? Surely it beats those crumbling caves," he rolled his eyes and stepped forward, brushing past his companion and further into the treehouse. He peered out onto the bridge, but decided they could save it for later, for now he was more intent on seeing her content. It was odd, he felt nearly sincere.
He took a neat place near the hole in the floor, tail resting beside his paws, he leaned towards her with interest, "worthy enough for midnight tales? For chasing away boogeymen? I would be inclined to believe," he leaned back, grinning, though it was softer in the atmosphere of the treehouse.
“It wouldn’t make for a terrible den,” she weighed. “Though I’m unsure about nesting in the air. We’re cats after all, not pretty little birds.” She hadn't quite adjusted to the sensation of being suspended in midair.
She circled the square perimeter of the structure, following along the walls carefully with an appraiser’s eye. She peered through a small puncture in the wood, listened to the wind whistling through it. Her paws brushed aside leaf litter that had managed to sneak into the space. After she was satisfied, she turned to him sitting all neat and tidy, waiting for her response. She puckered her lips in a thoughtful manner, and tapped her chin to drive the expression home.
“Hmm… it’s nice. Good location. Small and cozy. Though I recon the boogeyman could come through the giant hole in the floor. Or I could fall through it — I’m prone to sleep walking.” Her eyes wandered to the ladder swaying in the wind. “What’s across there?” Before waiting for a response, she got up and walked through the doorless frame, back out into the night air. She stopped before crossing and looked back at him through the door, a sly smile playing at her lips. "Hold on minute. Don't you need to answer a riddle before crossing a bridge? Or was it a password?"
He nodded, then gave a thoughtful look, "I've noticed they have a lot of unused dens here. I don't see what they prefer about caves, honestly." Mothscatter traipsed around, wandering for a moment, paws purposefully heavy, before moving to peer back down the hole in the floor. Heights had never scared him, he quite liked the feeling of being so high up, the pressure, the rush of looking down, how much bigger the sky felt, like it could swallow him whole. He lifted his gaze, watching her roam.
"Simply not good enough," he scoffed playfully, padding towards the other exit and staring across the bridge with her. "Well, only one way to find out." Stepping out onto the platform that led to the bridge, he stared it down. It was held up by thick ropes, the wood stuck together tight save for the few cracks and holes to be found. Something heavier would have shaken it, though it did have a constant sway. He stepped forward, tapping with a single white paw before fully getting on, looking back at Silksiren.
"Neither trolls nor riddles nor passwords," he assured, ducking under a rope and peering over the side, watching the ground swing below. He continued forward. Across was a similar house, smaller in size and more run down, like shed to the already small structure. "How exciting," he commented dryly, but it intrigued him nonetheless.
“Nothing’s ever good enough,” she opined, a whisper so light that he probably didn’t hear, lighter still because she’d turned away from him to take measure of the bridge, study its construction with piercing blue eyes. She was enlightened enough to admire the cleverness of the two-legs, even if all their engineerings escaped her total understanding.
Silksiren watched him bear his weight on the bridge, but she wasn’t so convinced.
“You’re quick to wager with your life, but I am not,” she tut-tutted disapprovingly. “For all we know, the bridge will collapse half-way across. I fear the wrath of gods and monsters, Amos.” Accordingly, her back-side remained firmly planted before the bridge. “You, why don't you be the troll of the bridge. Ask me a riddle.” Was she truly superstitious or was this another game? It was hard to tell behind her cool expression, which straddled something between a light mocking and a waggish heat.
"Where's the fun in that?" Mothscatter placed a paw on a board, heard the telltale squeal and tremble of a loose one, and jumped over to the next one, praying for just a heartbeat that it was sturdier. It held his weight. He tossed her a quick, quizzical look at the use of his old name (real name? He supposed none were more real than the others, simply newer, less familiar), which seemed to halt him for good, as moments later he'd turned to completely face her.
"Alright," his whiskers twitched, and he hardly gave it another moments thought before he continued, "the more you see, the less there is, what is it?"
Silksiren was one of those cats who looked you dead in the eye, even whilst deep in thought — you could see the gears working behind the twin blue-glass windows of her eyes. She was deathly silent as she considered; her gaze remained on Mothscatter but her thoughts wandered to peruse her surroundings for clues. The breeze ruffled her ashen coat, a frigid kiss on account of the altitude. Was the answer air? It’d felt right initially… but no, it didn’t work when she considered it. Or was the answer her bane; that which would come to meet them at the day’s first light: was it sleep? That sort of worked… but it wasn’t quite right…
The more the silence stretched on, the more her tail flashed impatiently behind her, like a lunging white snake. Her pretty little face scrunched down with her brows in transfixed thought, until her eyes finally broke from his, to take in the black emptiness all around him. And all at once the tension drained from her face as a light bulb switched on behind the blue windows — a wry smile materialized among the flow of her voice; “mmhm, that was a good one. It’s darkness.” She nodded approvingly, satisfied, and then got up to take a step onto the first board, and then the next, passing over the bridge in a confident haste. The creaky board protested under weight as well, though not quite so loud with how fast and light her step was, and in a flash she was on his board. She stood with him for a moment, flank-to-flank, the board swinging from her halted momentum, and flashed him a cheeky smile. And then she was off again, step by step crossing the bridge until she reached the other side. She glanced at him over her shoulder, “come on, let’s finish the tour.”
