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!
Here on Classic we understand that sometimes life can get difficult and we struggle. We may need to receive advice, vent, know that we are not alone in our difficult times, or even just have someone listen to what's going on in our lives. In light of these times, we have created the support threads below that are open to all of our members at any time.
Droplets of polluted water ran down his whiskers, gleaming in the moonlight. Lilypool’s fur sagged with the weight of the foul water, making his lean body appear frail. The cold of the night seeped under his beige pelt, now appearing dark from filth, to bite at his skin. A dramatic response common of Lilypool and his excitable kin wasn’t earned from the element’s hearty efforts. His theatrics were replaced with a despondent stare locked on the soil beneath him.
Lilypool was an odd tom. Seemingly unfocused and far too laidback, it was common for felines to think he wasn't fit to be a warrior. Once you got to know him, though, he was highly intuitive; he was able to tell what you were feeling and what you were thinking. Lilypool was also able to communicate clearly and was full of charisma, drawing in those like a moth to a flame. Still, he was a peculiar taste, and not all cats liked him.
Lilypool shuddered from the breeze that ruffled through his fur, and with a pout, he began to move through the large stone ruins that held their heads high, towering above his long-legged stature. The nearby crashing of the waterfall, despite the rain, was music to his ears; finally, everything was unfreezing, and with this rain it meant that new-leaf was here. Sometimes it would snow a little into new-leaf, but it would melt as quickly as it came down, though Lilypool prayed to StarClan that the rain wouldn't turn into snow like others had predicted. Getting to the edge of camp, the tom jumped over a stone pole that had fallen long ago, and he went on his merry way to the Chicken Coop, where he would hunker down for the night away from everyone else.
His pawsteps were light, his movements graceful; he mimicked the swift motion of a cheetah. His lithe form slipped through the forest, careful not to get tangled in the thick dead undergrowth that was scattered amongst the floor. Soon, a field would come into view, and off in the distance, barely see-able through the fog and rain, was the chicken coop. Normally, you would hear the clucking of the chickens, yet it was quiet all except for the rain; the chickens must already be asleep.
His own lean, and well muscled form was candidly showing, as his pelt was glossy and slick from having suffered attack from melting snow. His fur had always been easy to soak in moisture, rather than protect his skin. But here he was, drenched to the toe and feeling albeit a bit down in the dumps. As he found out quickly, Asterstreak's luck as of late hadn't exactly been the best. First, he had learned that Camelliasky was leaving him for the cold and brittle winds of WinterClan; so that had left him by himself. Without a lick of a friend, or so much as an acquaintance. He shuddered to himself as a chill breeze tickled past his body from said foreboding mountains. Frowning, the auburn colored tom pressed forward, his pale green eyes focused and unwavering.
It wasn't until he heard the distant rumble of thunder that he was thrust from his thoughts. Replaced by dismal energy was a newfound need to find shelter. If he got any colder, he would probably risk catching a cold. Scanning the terrain, he flipped through his thoughts for anything that might help him. And, glad he had paid attention when he was exploring DayClans land, he remembered the cozy little coop that held a bunch of odd looking birds. Chickens, were they called? Shaking the thought away, he dove into the prickly stalks of gold swaying to and fro.
Asterstreak made his way sullenly through the pale color of yellow, sneezing once or twice when a stray stalk tickled his nose. When he peeled from the underbrush to lay eyes on the coop, he was started again at a sudden clap of thunder. And as if the sky were crying in relief, rain began to slowly melt into a steady fall of water on his pelt. With clinging seeds from the field, he dashed quickly and headfirst into the first opening he saw. Thankfully, Asterstreak found that it was an opening that led right past the Chickens and up into a cozy little loft. Plenty of hay was scattered around him, and he found comfort and warmth in its presence as he directed his attention towards the small window overlooking the field he'd just come form. Was it just his imagination, or was that another cat heading his way?
