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.
A fight is going on inside me. It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil – He is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.
The drums of the hunt pound as the wind rushes through blades of grass. He is light on his feet, swift and agile, as he continues the chase. It's without effort; his prey is leaving a trail of stench, musk thick with fear. It's sour and bitter, churns his stomach, yet there's a thrill that sends electricity through his body, urges him to move faster. His muscles flex under his coat, his breath even as molten amber eyes sight and focus on the movement ahead. His prey turns their head, gasping and they attempt to push themselves faster. A smirk curls the corner of his lips just so.
His prey stumbles, rolls over their own paws, twists and falls upon their back. They attempt to skitter away, but he's on top of them by the time their primal brain registers the urgency to do so.
"Please!"
"I'm sorry." But the smile's still there, silent but smug.
The other is good – He is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you – And inside every other person, too.
The water is cold when it seeps into his coat and pebbles his skin, but he welcomes its chill and threat to freeze him where he stands. He washes himself, clear waters tinting crimson, and stares down at a stranger in the surface of the creek. Their eyes are hollow, face drawn tight. They look much older than him; worn and weathered, battered and bruised until they barely resembled anything living. There was crimson on their muzzle and above one eye. He rubbed at it with a sigh, closing his eyes. He wasn't ready to face such a familiar stranger.
Which wolf will win?
There was a time when things weren't always as bleak; when laughter filled the air, warmth filled his heart, and a deep tourmaline flecked green gaze seared his soul. That time was never easy, but it was as close to what he imagined love could be. That was torn from him when he awoke alone, a pitying icy gaze resting on his pelt as he turned away from the chill of a once shared nest and vanished into the darkness of his father's cave.
That was when he left Salem behind and became Shiva, the Destroyer. With nothing left to lose, there was nothing to fight for.
The sky was painted indigo, with streaks of orange and vibrant red as the sun was chased below the horizon by the impending night. The ashen tom found himself alone in the forest, taking in just how eerie it was at this time of day. As if on cue, brought on by the mere acknowledgement of this, a cold gust ripped through his short fur sending shivers up his spine. He hated this part of the game. Still he pushed on, making sure to stay alert, for the slightest scent or sound. As he made his way through the darkening forest a sweet scent filled his nose, and made his mouth water. He stopped only to part his jaws to get a better taste of the scent, in hopes of locating it.
It was only for a few heartbeats but, that was enough. He hadn't heard his pursuer coming over the sound of the wind rustling the dried leaves in the trees, and hadn't smelled him over the sweet scent of what he knew to be catmint, though he couldn't see any. He had only looked over his shoulder in time to see a blur of black and white before he was flipped over on his back, he didn't even have time to let out a startled noise before he was pinned, and staring up into a pair of orange opal eyes. All he could do was lay there for a moment as his now racing heart began to slow as relief of staring into those familiar eyes washed over him.
"You really are bad at this" the tom huffed letting him up.
"I told you, did you think I was lying?" he snickered nervously rolling over and rising to his paw. His gray pelt now littered with dirt and dead leaves. "I told you, I'm not cut out for this."
His green eyes flew open only to find himself laying in his nest, in his den. His dream already beginning to fade but, still left him feeling... off. Tealeaves sat up in his nest, licking his lips, the faint taste of catmint still lingered in his mouth. He was exhausted and restless, those amber eyes still vibrant in his mind, he didn't even realize he was moving until he had reached the entrance of the camp, the sun high in the sky and his clan-mates all sound asleep in their nests.
He let his paws lead him, though he had no real destination in mind, or so he thought. He had no idea how he had reached the creek or what possessed him to follow it but he did, and when he saw the black and white tom crouching in it on the other side... he panicked, his stomach flipped and his heart jumped into his throat and pounded in his ears. It wasn't until he saw the whips of crimson dissipating in the water that it clicked. blood, he had followed this scent of blood without realizing, it had only been the faintest taste of iron on the tip of his tongue before but, now it was sickeningly strong he didn't need to go looking to know someone had been killed not too far off.
Without thinking, his gaze boring into the tuxedo tom across from him, who still hadn't bothered to look up from washing himself.
"You're working again?" his tone was calm, not as confident as he wanted and he inwardly chided himself for asking a question of which he already knew the answer.
"Salem, come on, this isn't fair!" A young, slightly whining voice trilled as a plush grey head tilted back to gaze into the trees of their home. The clearing was beautiful, serene and bursting with life. They had known no other world or life apart from that which they had been born into. For the two of them, life couldn't be sweeter; not only because they were graced with having their kin alive and well, but because they had each other. It was no secret they were the best of friends; no one else could match the fierce loyalty they felt for one another and the rush of protective heat that filled them when the other was in need.
All was silent in the canopy above as a shadow occasionally darted this way and that, seeming to tease the poor young soul grounded below. That is, until there was a crack and said shadow plummeted to the ground below. The black and white tom couldn't remember anything but the silence and how quickly the leaves and branches passed him by before he landed on his back, the wind knocked out of him. The urban legend went that those with luck always landed on their feet; that message mustn't have crossed into his world yet, as he continued to lay there struggling to regain oxygen.
A fluffy grey head with wide green eyes leaned over him, seeming panicked. Their mouth was moving, but nothing was coming out. Or perhaps there was, judging by the flexing of the male's throat, but he couldn't hear it. Not that he needed to. He was regularly lectured to be more careful by the tom, he'd learned to tune it out. It was easier to focus on the way the breeze lightly tousled the hairs on the top of his head, how the pupils of his eyes dilated when he became truly concerned for his well-being, and the curve of his jaw against the soft morning light. He wanted to reach out and touch the glow on his cheek; perhaps he could capture the light.
"Salem, I swear if you don't start-"
The air rushed back into his lungs so quickly it was painful and he found himself rolling over and spasming with each cough. "Tarot," he wheezed, voice hoarse, "stop talking."
Fear.
"I'm so sorry." Her delicate voice felt out of place in the stifling quarters they had once shared. There was heat spreading like sharp flames throughout the space, though he couldn't remove his hard gaze from the pile of moss he had once looked forward to returning to night after night. Upon their promotions, they had been able to spend little to no time together; their reprieve from the outside world and the firm touch of his father was in their nest, where they were safe and could love freely without fear. Fear. Was that what was choking him, causing his heart to seize in his chest and his eyes threaten to water? Still, despite these revelations that rolled through his mind like wave after wave of water, as salty as the mood he found himself falling into, he remained still. He could feel his sister's nervous energy flow off of her, absorbing into his open mind.
"Salem, you don't have to go through this alone. I'm... sorry he le-"
The black and white tom turned away from her, padding out of the small den they had laid claim to so long ago for themselves. No one else had wanted such a stuffy and tight chamber. To the two of them, it was the only thing that had ever felt like home. His skin felt stretched tight as he walked, his bones brittle and threatening to crumble away. His eyes burned, though he refused to blink. His gaze was set on the dark hole that led down into his father's residence.
"Stop! Don't do this, you aren't thinking, this could kill you!"
He descended into the void without a backward glance.
Anger.
"You've disappointed me before, boy. Do you really think I'd take your word to heart?" The black tom sneered as he sat across from him, tail tucked neatly around his legs, though the fiery orange and acidic green of his eyes, roiling like lava about to erupt from a volcanic cone, deceived his calm nature. Tread carefully, they whispered. The younger dipped his head in respect.
"I will sacrifice my every breath to your cause, father."
The silence was deafening, Zodiac's judgment clear as a bell. In this deep, dank hole there was no relief, no sense of home or love. That was being shredded away the longer he remained.
"You will address me as sir from this point on."
A nod.
"You will cease any and all interactions with those you associated with before."
A nod, though his neck felt oddly tight, the movement jerking.
"Your identity henceforth has been shredded. You are, and shall remain, Shiva. The Destroyer."
A nod. The final piece fell away, leaving him hollow and new: the perfect soldier.
"Not a soul within this forest will dare utter a blasphemous word again." There was a giddiness to the leader's voice that would leave anyone feeling in need of a good wash. This was beyond villainy. There was something unhinged about the way those multi-colored eyes centered on his son. "They will fear you, and by extension, will fear me."
Silence.
"Get to work."
Hope.
The tom slowly turned, without his accord, and gazed upon the tom. He felt as though he had been struck, though by what he was unsure; electricity trickled throughout his being, awakening every cell and nerve. He felt like he could fly, like he could run for hours. He felt like he could kill. He flexed his claws, feeling a bit of coagulated goop between his toes that hadn't budged in the water. He dug his paws into the sand of the bank.
"Just sorting some stuff out." He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes.
Tealeaves stood there, staring at the tom, noting his smile, and how it was fake, noting the blood that lingered on the tom's paws and the white of his muzzle, just under his chin. In that moment two thoughts raced through his mind and he didn't know which to act on if any.
One: he had the overwhelming urge to cross the creek and assess the tom for wounds. He needed to be certain that none of the blood was his own. Though he seemed calm, he was far from it but, years of practice helped him master keeping his real emotion off his face.
Two: Run. He wanted to turn tail and bolt back to camp and pretend none of this happened, it couldn't of happened. He silently prayed to the goddess that he would wake up in his nest any moment that he was still dreaming. He knew he wasn't and it felt as though his heart had grown roots that spread through his chest and down his legs and planted him right to the spot, unable to move, and unable to tear his gaze away from the fiery one that stared back at him.
"Tarot! pay attention!" an angry hiss sounded from behind the gray tom, causing his ears to flatten against his head as he flinched away from the voice.
"Sorry" the young cat mumbled, turning his attention away from the small patch of that he had been inspecting, and returning his attention back to the sparring that was going on in front of him. Well, more so to the tuxedo tom that was sparring. Tarot was hardly paying attention to the other cat in the skirmish, only turning his green gaze to him when he suffered a blow. Though they were meant to be practicing the fighting going on in front of him seemed too real. both cats fought with unsheathed claws, and yowled whenever tooth or claw found their mark. All Tarot could do to keep himself there was sink his own claws into the earth restlessly.
It was only when the tom behind him shouted that it was enough, and the two cats broke apart that Tarot let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding. Bleeding and panting the cat had been fighting glared at him only for a moment before turning and limping away. Without thinking Tarot snatched up some of the dock leaves and hurried after the injured cat, the tom overseeing the training session calling angrily after him.
It wasn't long after that the gray tom went back in search of Salem, only mildly surprised to still find him in the training area practicing on his own. This time Tarot carried a bundle of herbs in his jaw, a mix of dock leaves and marigold. a few cobwebs caught on his fur as he made his way over to the tom. He didn't bother asking if he was hurt or where. He didn't ask permission before he padded around to the right side of the tom.
"Hold still, and no I'm not asking." Any protests from Salem went ignored as he chewed the herbs in his mouth into a paste that he then gently licked onto the wound behind the tom's ear, once he was satisfied with that he turned to gently remove the cobwebs from his fur and wrap Salem's ear with it.
"See? that wasn't so bad was it? Now.. about those scratches..."
A muscle in his jaw ticked, a tell-tale sign that the double-meaning of the conversation was testing him. He padded out of the water, aware that despite the closeness they once shared, he was now a predator and enemy. It was evident in the way others would stare at his marred coat, littered with scars of all sizes, and the white of his fur on his paws seemingly permanently tinted a light coral. The same way Tarot stared at him. He ignored the ice pick in his chest and head.
“It’s finished.” His voice was gravelly, holding a warning to stop the topic before the other tom got in too deep. These black waters were too dangerous for someone like Tarot. He had gotten out before things had gotten rough. He had never been meant for the life Salem now led. He lifted his chin, muscles taut and pulling with each movement. He’d have trouble sleeping later on.
“What are you doing here, Tarot.” He kept his voice strong, despite his desire to walk forward and press himself into the tom, seeking any sort of comfort and affection possible. The healer back home had diagnosed him as touch starved. His father had quickly eradicated that diagnosis and the simpleton that gave it.
Heat seared through his pelt, and just as suddenly as it had, it was replaced by deep chill that seemed to seep into his bones, it was all he could do not to shiver. What was he doing here? there was the obvious answer of course. Looking for you. Though the words died in his throat, never to be spoken, oh but he wanted it. He sunk his claws into the earth in frustration. Frustration towards himself.
He was right there. The tom was only a few fox lengths away from him, but this creek might of served as an ocean between them. He was there but still so far away.
He closed his eyes, briefly at the sound of his own name on the other tom's tongue. A name he hadn't been called by in so long. It was strange and familiar all the same and coming from Salem's lips it felt right. He couldn't bring himself to correct him, he never wanted this familiar stranger to call him anything else. In just that one word he breathed life back into the illusionist, making him whole again when he never knew that he was broken. When he opened his eyes again a small smirk played at his lips as he assessed Salem.
"Losing sleep it would seem." He let out a yawn and shook his head as is to emphasized his point. "Speaking of sleep... If I were you I'd take a few poppy seeds before you try it... and comfrey if you can find it for the soreness." his tone was calm, and nonchalant as he turned preparing to leave.
