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.
Bad weather was the sort of thing he dreaded. It painfully clung to him, sucking any joy she might have had stored for the day away with a cluster of wind. And that is exactly how the day had started. He had risen with the colors of dawn bled into the sky, and had assumed everything would be crystal clear and pretty. But now he deeply regretted such a decision. He most of all hated the wind; actually it could be acutely thought of as a gripping fear of his. What with his small body, he could probably easily be blow away in a seconds notice. It tugged at his pelt now, hungry claws waiting to lift him away. He could feel his heart thud madly against his ribs, the air now cold and biting with warnings of snowfall. And as it begun, he found a little ways away that a tunnel leading into the webbed network of caverns not far away. It didn't take Smoketrail long to scrabble clumsily over to the shelter, fur now sodden and whiskers trembling from the shock of cold.
He shuddered as the wind slapped against the roof of the cave, driving in flurries of snow. Deeper he sank, until the rain touched him no more. And though he wasn't exactly warm or comfortable, at least he was safe and most importantly - not wet or windblown. Of course, he cursed himself for actually deciding to come out today. He never did, because of his poor lungs, but here he was. Stuck, uncomfortably cold, and annoyed. "Just my luck," he grumbled under his breath.
The tom had been a literal pain since he was born. WinterClan was the cursed little nook of the world that no one traveled to, but if you were to live in the bitter wasteland you'd find other worldly presences scattered about. There were Gods that could curse you, ceremonies that allowed you to bond to another cat, necromancy, and the unusual trait to feel other people's feelings and pain, at least for her. Medicine cats got it the worst in this clan. Before Mistyveil there were two other medicine cats, one falsely imprisoned in WinterClan's prisons and the other murdered. Now it was her turn and life was an absolute drag. Especially when a sickly cat decided it was a good idea to take a stroll out of WinterClan and into the cold when bad weather was surely about to occur.
But really. Stupid Mistyveil and her conscience telling her to go after Smokepyre. That he was too stupid to realize just how stupid he was so he had to be saved. So there Mistyveil was trudging through the cold. The wind biting at her face and somewhere along the way it stopped, the numbness swallowing her whole. She could feel the weight of the snow against her Russian blue and peach colored fur. She didn't want to be another medicine cat corpse like the rest of her predecessors, but she'd be damned if she didn't get to Smokepyre. When she did finally arrive, closing in on his scent, the pain swelling in her heart she felt the urge to collapse as he did, but carried on into the cavern, in her jaws she held coltsfoot and poppyseeds.
Mistyveil gingerly put the herbs down, her blue and turquoise gaze stared intensely into Smokepyre's, but gave up. What was there to even say? She nudged the herbs closer to him before lying down. She had a whole speech planned to nag him about making her concerned and follow him out into the cold, but the feeling to fight him on this was gone. He was safe, what else did she want other than that?
His attention wasn't caught by the she-cat presence until the herbs were set just in front of him; his fiery gaze tracing her movements as she made to lie down. A lump caught in his throat — the sort of lump that made you unable to say or do anything for a moment. All he felt was incredible amounts of guilt for dragging the Medicine Cat, of all cats, out into this storm. She'd probably seen him leave and had been concerned for him. He was, pretty easily stated, a waste of space in more ways than one. Smoketrail glanced down at the herbs again, minutely feeling a bitter resentment for knowing just how much he regularly took, and how they tasted. Resigning and giving in to his agitation, he chewed the coltsfoot first to get it out of the way. It tasted absolutely bitter; though he had expected this and thus wanted to get it out of the way.
Next he cleared the poppyseed's from the ground until they had all be swallowed. There was another moment of silence in the makeshift shelter, before he felt the tightness in his chest that had already begun to spread, start to ease its grip. "Thanks," he finally said, his pelt flashing with a hot wave of shame despite the obvious cold. He knew it might fall on deaf ears, but he decided he needed Mistyveil to understand his stupidity; even if it was as he stated, stupid. "I thought... maybe I could catch something for once, before the storm hit. But I guess I was foolish."
Misty breathed in a long breath, but no frost escaped past her muzzle signaling she breathed out at all, "I'm not saying this to be mean, but. You're not a warrior. This isn't an underdog coming to victory story nor will your story change if you go on a life changing adventure nor will any fantastical thing except death happen if you got hit by lightning, you won't and will never gain the super power that everyone born normal will have to just live a normal life."
She looked back over to Smoke and moved closer lying down beside him, "Look if you call me old I'll bite, but... I've been alive through eight leaders in this clan. And every time I watch as we go from loving outsiders to turning on them. Or we go from hailing StarClan to hailing some ancient Gods. Or even attacking clans that never bothered us when a leader ago we would have never done that. My point is, you're probably the most real person in the fakest clan I've ever known, but you've gotta stop this. Promise me you won't keep trying to be what you're not. A warrior."
He listened to her words with a look of deflated defeat, having already grown up with those words engraved in his head; though never wanting to speak it out loud. His paws became the subject of his staring as he studied them, listening to her until she had finished her speech. He couldn't help but frown slightly at the ground, his face contorting with a mixture of underlying emotions. "What else is there for me to do? If I don't at least try... try to do something with my life, then what was I put on this earth for?" he said, his words ringing with harsh emotion. He glanced back up at Mistyveil, as if she held the answer he so desperately sought.
"I know I wasn't made to be an Elder for the rest of my life. But I hate sitting around, and not helping my Clan with things I should have been able to help with. I'll never fight. I can barley hunt, or even run! But I'm not old. Am I supposed to sit in the Elder's Den for the rest of my life?" his face twisted again and he bowed his head, feeling if he spoke anymore he would bring himself to the brink of screaming; or worse yet, tears. "I just want to help."
Mistyveil gingerly lifted up Smoke's chin by her paw, "Smoke... Look, I know how this is going to go, I'm going to try and help you find your place. But you're going to be lame and nothings going to work, sorry, you're not lame, but WinterClan's lame and relies on nothing, but brute strength. The systems lame. And then in the end I'm going to ask you to join me and you'll be like, "Golly Misty I-I I don't know what to say!" And I'll be like, "Say yes yah mouse brain." And so. I don't know, do you want to train beside me? Full disclaimer, WinterClan mistreats their medicine cats, last one was murdered, one before that was imprisoned for speaking against the leader. There's almost no herbs to collect here so you have to suck up to other clans to get herbs. It's not the cushy life like other medicine cats have is what I'm trying to say so. If you want a thankless honorable job this is the one."
He took a moment to collect the raging fire of emotions that danced in his chest, threatening to swallow him whole. Her words were a tsunami of hectic emotions for him; disappointing, but refreshingly blunt at the same time. His response was cut off however when she continued with the most unlikely of propositions he had even expected. "W...what?" he stammered in shock. Had he heard her right? A Medicine Cat Apprentice — or rather Pupil, titles didn't mean all that much to him. He'd never even considered it. Though he supposed it didn't sound all that bad. Minus the mistreating bit.
"I... could help my Clan. In a way that I couldn't before," he clarified to himself, chest swelling with something close to relief and a new purpose. The smoky furred tom glanced back up at her, his amber eyes ablaze with excitement. Maybe he was a bit too loud, and a bit too eager when he exclaimed, "Yes! I'll do it, I mean. I want to be helpful."
