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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11.06.2022 The site has been transformed into an archive. Thank you for all the memories here!
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The word was a dark place. This statement had two meanings. The first was quite literal. It was a starless night. The moon's pale light did not glow. The world around her was so dark in that midnight hour that the darkness was almost intoxicating. It was thick, tangible even. It was as if she could feel the darkness ebb and flow around her as she moved through the night. The other was more figurative. The world was a place of evil and destruction. It was dark, dark in a way that was hard to ignore. She had felt this herself, felt the darkness of the world around her pull her under its waves. She had looked death in the eye. She had shook hands with the devil.
Tasman was bathed in the darkness of the world in both ways, then. Her mind was stuck on this conundrum, stuck on the fact that she felt that she was permanently stuck in the vortex of darkness. Often times, she was able to ignore it, the call of darkness. Normally, it let its fingers brush her spine, but it didn't hold her down. It had been many moons since the last time she felt herself be dragged down. Perhaps she had been too busy to be depressed, and so she had been able to compartmentalize it. Perhaps she had just become good at ignoring it. Either way, it was in full swing that night. She had woken up from a dream where she felt the blood of her father spill at her feet. He wasn't the only casualty of her dream, though. Everyone she loved had been failed. She had dreamed that she had been on a pile of bodies, bodies of cats that she had vowed to protect. Aylik. Asya. Talvi. Lev. Dinara. Her father. Every cat she was supposed to protect was under her. She had failed each one of them. She had woken up from the dream with tears racing down her face. Panic had settled in her body, and her lungs screamed for oxygen that she knew that she couldn't get in the crowded den.
All of that led to this moment.
Her body sliced through the darkness. Her chests pounded as her paws hit the earth. They were almost silent, each step as she raced through the earth. She had been running for so long that she felt her legs were going to give out from under her, yet she still ran. Ran from her dream like she ran from every other problem, praying to the gods that she had started running fast enough.
She had woken from her dark slumber unwillingly, with a sense screaming for her to return to consciousness. Her pelt prickled with unease and her senses ran berzerk, her heart pounding in her chest. Through her veins, the sinewy tissue of myscle, her bones, anxiety coursed relentlessly. A cloud of foreboding had descended upon her without her preparation. Something was wrong. Standing from her nest, surrounded by the other voiny asleep around her, she pushed away the self-conscious desire to smooth down her fure and instead lithely tip toed from the den, following the rabbit pace of her heart. She found herself running from the communal clearing, racing along pathways between private homes, her unconscious whispering. Tasman, Tasman, Tasman...
She slowed in her steps when she detected the presence of another, seemingly fleeing from something, and a whiff of the air told her it was the Tsar. She frowned and picked up speed. Something was definitely wrong.
Skidding to a halt upon seeing the feline having stopped in place, she crept forward. “Tas?” She whispered. “Are you okay? Tazmania?” The she-cat had always been her daredevil; the nickname had been fitting, but she hadn’t used it in moons.
She found herself skidding to a hault, so close to colliding with the she-cat that their furs barely brushed. Her sides still heaved with the memories of the dream, the memories of failure. Failure was an enchanting thing, one that the calico she-cat was so afraid of. It was something that resonated deep in her chest, this fear that she would never be good enough. She would never be able to keep her promises, and even if she did, her promises would be laced with blood and destruction. It was dreams like this that reminded her that although her battle was only half-done, she had already lost.
She skidded backwards, her legs finally collapsing from under her. The tears still fell down her face, although most of them had dried with the wind. Elora should have been used to this by now; nightmares had plagued her since the day her father died. At first, they had been simple, the memory of his blood spilling on the earth on repeat. As she aged, they changed, morphed into dragons that lived under her bed. They were not unusual. Yet, each one was as devistating as the last.
"Dead... all of them... my fault... couldn't save them.... never can save you..." The heaping pile of flesh and fur whispered, her words choking in her throat. If anyone other than Elora saw her like this, they would wonder if she was sound enough to lead the group. They would question her ability to pull herself together; sometimes, she wondered if she had such ability at all. Hopefully, this particular set of trees did not have ears...
Elora dropped quickly alongside her, pressing herself tight against the she-cat. “Shh, shh...” She nuzzled underneath her chin, trying to offer what comfort she could. At times the tsar would be brought quickly back to consciousness and able to voice her worries. At others the tortoiseshell could be inconsolable; those days were always the hardest. Elora feared for those days only because they put Tasman through such anguish; she was affected for a significant time afterward and the white she-cat always worried pieces of her would be lost until eventually she couldn’t go on. She licked the top of her head, grooming the dark furred feline’s disheveled, long-haired pelt. “It’s okay, you’re okay...”
Elora was probably correct to worry. With each nightmare, with each thought, a piece of her cracked again. She had already cracked so many times; would there be a moment where the pieces would no longer be able to fit at all? Was she growing close to that moment? This wasn't an unlikely assumption that yes, one day, it would be too much. The rest of the world would know the day that she shattered, if that day would come. Until then, the cracks in her armor were showed to only those closest to her. Elora was one of them.
"I sat on a pile of bodies.... Your bodies...." Aylik, Lev, Asya, Dinara... Kol, Loki... Elora. "What did I do? How can I stop it?" The words were not quite fluent yet, the tears still running in between them, but they were more so. The feeling of her lover pressed against her was enough to bring part of her to reality, if only part. It didn't stop the pain, though, the absolute ache. That was unconsolable, resonated in her chest. One would expect that she would be a dedicate of Cauil with the pain she kept heavy in her chest. Perhaps the pain was the source of her chaos...
Elora’s heart dropped into her stomach at Tasman’s haunted words. She had been there those days, had seen the anguish, the depression, and the pain the tortoiseshell had gone through. The white she-cat often internally screamed for Cauil to stop torturing her love but he hadn’t listened. Now it seemed, when they were so close to achieving peace, that he’d reeled her in again. “We will make it through just as we always have. We’ll be together and nothing and no one will tear us apart.” She looked her in the eye. “All of us.”
"But, how?" she squeaked, barely a noise. She didn't know how. She never knew how things would work out. She was at the top, but even at the top, she feared. She feared that she wasn't enough to protect those that she loved. She would walk through fire to save each one of them, but Tasman knew she was unable to save even herself. How would it all work out, then? She hadn't been able to save her famiily before, what would make that change?
Elora sighed, admittedly at a loss as well. Tasman had asked the ultimate question and the white she-cat was struggling to come up with an answer. Love? She inwardly scoffed. As much as she loved the E'clair, which she did with all of her heart, she knew that wouldn't suffice in the tortoiseshell's eyes. We just will? That bugged her and she wasn't the one desperate for an understanding and a relief from the terror that was wracking the she-cat's body. She pressed herself tighter against her, her heart aching at every sniffle. "We'll find a way." She ultimately spoke, finding her heart slowly weighing her down, "we always have, we always will." She smiled at her. "We may not know today or tomorrow, but when the time comes, we'll be there for each other and the rest of our own."
