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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A paw smacked down on the surface of the water, sending droplets into the air and causing ripples across the peaceful surface. Golden eye peered into the ruined surface at their own reflection. A marionettes smile overtaking their features as they let out a soft laugh.
"Liar, liar." He whispered, tone mocking as he stared down his own distorted reflection. If he had a tail to lash it would be cutting through the air as if hoping to cut down an invisible foe. But unfortunately he only had a stump, born without the pleasure of a long tail.
Though he couldn't really miss something he had never had thus he rarely paid it any mind; only mourned its absence when he wanted to use it. Pushing up he turned and moved away from the disturbed water, letting out a small sigh.
He would have to find something to entertain himself. He had enjoyed watching Tasman E'clair but she was gone now. Replaced by her daughter, who hadn't captivated him enough to draw his free time. Mind made up he decided he would spend the day trying to find someone interesting to watch now.
A black tom was seated on a tree log nearby, the dead thing laid across the brook like a stiff corpse offering unwilling crossing to those who wished to violate its resting place. The dark green eyed tom blinked his eyes slowly, observing the other. He had been watching for quite some time, having not been noticed when Strigoi approached the water in the first place. His eyes were narrowed, calculating, and the aura around him seemed to pulsate darkness. He was outwardly calm, but there was a roiling energy underneath. He seemed prepared to snap at any moment, and yet he remained silent, ever watchful, ever waiting.
For he was anticipating a reaction that would undoubtedly result in loss of blood. Why?
He was an intruder. And yet this tom, who stank of BrookClan... paid him no heed. He tilted his head just slightly.
"Do you want to hear a story?" Strigoi spoke suddenly, whirling around and peering towards the black tom lurking nearby. The figure reminding him of the monsters that were said to haunt his first homes woods. A specter but at the same time a suffocating presence, forgettable but scaring all at the same time. "These cats tire of my stories but you have yet to hear them. A fresh start and a blank slate for me to build upon." He took an eager step forward, grin bright and misshapen ears tilted forward.
The highlander toms claws dug into the soft bank of the brook, tearing at the soft moss underneath his paws. "You don't seem boring either. I get bored so easily you see. And I hate to waste my time on those who will only prove dull in the end. You though, you seem... refreshing. Come sit with me and let me spin you a tale?"
The tom observed him with veiled amusement, lips quirking up slightly. He continued to survey him, gaze wandering up and down the tom’s body. Claws clenching in the grass. Tension? Looking for a fight? He felt his own toes long to curl and unsheathe their claws. He smiled inwardly. He was a primary, however; if he was to gain respect, he was to be worthy of it.
“Speak,” he beckoned, his voice quiet, tone rasping in his whisper. As if he’d endured an injury to his vocal cords and couldn’t utter anything louder. He held an air of authority, however, despite this not being his land.
Eyes narrowed a bit towards the other at his commanding tone, almost feeling patronized. If there was something Strigoi strongly disliked it was being patronized. Expression soothing he leaned back and peered towards the sky. Deciding to change his story suddenly. "There is a place ruled by stories, a place carved by the tales that are passed through generations." He glanced back towards the tom across from him, shifting to be more comfortable. "They say that their tales bring the stories to life, the characters of their fables feeding of the words passed on. Those who inhabit this place will argue that even dragons are possible to exist if enough stories are told about them."
He trailed off and tilted his head. "It's the beauty of stories isn't it; the life they paint into otherwise mundane or non-existent happenings. Even thunder can be from the gods if one cat simply decides to pass down a tale of a god becoming angered by a cats daring; shaking the sky to show such displeasure."
"But back to our tale. In this place cats go missing; the woods are said to be haunted by a boggeyman. A creature of neither life or death; forced to stand between the two and suffer an eternal hunger. Some versions of the tale say it is being punished for feasting on it's only children in times of hunger. Sacrificing their young lives to continue it's own. One day a party of warriors was sent out to battle the creature or to chase it off. There was the plucky adventure, the young alchemist, and finally the brooding leader." Pausing the highlander looked towards the tom across from him. "You remind me a lot of how they describe the brooding leader; did you perhaps travel from somewhere far?" He questioned with a clever little grin.
Dark eyes narrowed, though there was no other reaction to the tom's testing words beyond that. He continued to observe him. There was a playfulness to him that wasn't there before; what was once anger had melted into something more chaotic and uncontrolled. It spit and ran in circles inside the tom, clawing to get out. The tom across from him was surprisingly calm despite it, though he could see it in his eyes. He blinked slowly, stepping from the stump then, one graceful step at a time until he was standing upon the grass. He was a tall feline, abnormally so, with slender legs and body that seemed more spider-like than feline. He kept his chin high, looking down upon the tom. "You bore me." Turning, he padded away, entirely expecting to be followed – whether to continue to be pestered or to have a fight pulled out of him anyway.
"Did you not want to hear the end?" Strigoi laughed, more amused than anything else. Corner of his lip peeling back to reveal a peak towards one toothy grin, reminiscent more towards the pirates of storybooks. "You see, there was never any monster. The cats found only those said to have been eaten. They found liars and tricksters. Those who lied to escape a restrictive life and those who lied to simply lie." He leaned forward, voice dropping but still carrying over the wind. "But perhaps the story itself is the lie then? But why would I lie about a tale to a stranger who didn't want to hear it to begin with? Wouldn't that be foolish and a waste of both our times. Unless I'm the sort of cat like within the story; the sort who likes to lie just to lie."
Leaning back he pushed to his paws and shook out his fur, splashing a paw into the brook once more with a little laugh, the jingle of the bell around his neck an unintentional taunt; almost seeming like a mockery.
The black tom exhaled heavily, his entire body sagging with the effort, the motion in itself making it obvious that he didn't want to continue to waste his time here, but the other had already won the battle of wits. There was a reason he was trying to keep him here. Turning, he padded along the edge of the brook until he stood just a few paces away from him. "What's the moral of the story to a cat that won't shut his mouth?" He tilted his head.
"Probably that the running of their mouth got them into trouble." Strigoi laughed, tilting head head as he peered towards the other. "Perhaps an early grave hmm?" Strigoi never liked to estimate his own chances in a fight; felt it ended things before they could even begin. But he could clearly see that the black tom across from him had a history; one that likely unraveled into the depths of dark places others might fear to tread.
Then again Strigoi's own story had rambled through places others refused to believe existed, so perhaps that put them on level ground if in different terrains. "What's the moral of the story of the cat that wandered wherever they pleased?"
He grinned, though it looked more like he bared his fangs in a threat. "There isn't one."
He began to pace around the tom, looking him over, up and down, his expression critical. "You must not get out much." He commented. "Your muscle tone's diminished. Are you not a soldier?"
