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!
News & Updates
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.
It shouldn't be this cold. That was the first thing Shrikepaw realized, as he fell asleep and was instantly plunged into what felt like an icy winter a world away from the warm den he was currently in. In the last few weeks of summer, the temperatures were warm enough that the apprentices slept sprawled away from each other, sides pressed against the cool cave floors.
Yellow eyes blinked open again almost as soon as they had closed, revealing what seemed at first to be nothing except darkness. But as his eyes adjusted, the shadows began to draw themselves into shapes. Tall trees, stretching so high above his head that some of their trunks disappeared into darkness before he could even spy their leaves. Thick undergrowth tangled around them, leaving Shrikepaw standing in a small clearing nestled between what looked like impenetrable brambles all around him. He shivered, feeling in his bones something profoundly wrong with this place, a mixture of dread and curiosity swirling in his belly.
Death had been her greatest fear, perhaps her only one, but unlimited power and endless possibility were now in her grasp. She existed in a time between times. For cats like Shrikepaw, the world turned slow; in death all of it ceased, and there was no life or age and everything was infinite. The sky bled a colorless fog, the trees stood firm, and there was no breeze here to scatter scents because, frankly, there were no scents to scatter. But as soon as her pawn took in his surroundings, they began to shift, and what was brambled barriers a moment ago began to morph into time-stopped blooms like the new buds that perked their heads up in spring. Colors began to punctuate the darkness and the mist shined with a new iridescence.
There were a few perks to being dead, particularly for those souls who've existed as long as Eve, and there were a few tricks she'd picked up.
A setting she could manipulate and an unassuming apprentice she could belie, but spattering her coat in stars was not a trick to just 'pick up.' It would be up to her wits to maintain her facade. For once the fact that her long-lived legacies were no longer common knowledge brought her an emotion other than contempt, now thankful that Shrikepaw will have never heard of the mother who reared champions. Bat E'tan, Mayhemstar, Hazestar, Phantomstar and Sarabande were all names in the clans' histories, but she'd remained an entity unheard of. The puppeteer. She was the driving force behind their hunger for power, reserving maternal affections and pride for only those of her spawn that proved they were worth it. These days, with her bloodline all dried out, it would take more than a frosty reserve to implant her influence, and thus the vantablack feline feigned a tight smile at her confused prey. "Hello, little one. How did you find your way to StarClan? It sure takes a strong will to get here, even in dreams." Her voice was thick and sweet, Eve coyly hedging for his trust in her as an alleged member of the clans' most beloved ancestors.
