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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Mammon fussed with the arrangement of a few final bones. Several of the dead had decayed to the point that now their bones could be used to line the walls of the tunnels and Mammon had to make sure that it was just right. His own little enclave of the tunnels was decorated to an inch of its life with all sorts of things he found. Now if he could just get the rest of the tunnels and other brothers to take care of their home. It was the final resting place of those who died in battle for the clan and the three charged with watching over them, so clearly it had to look the best. Even if no one ventured very far if at all into the tunnels, out of fear or something he did not know. The black tom didn’t bother ask either and he had taken advantage of his vow of silence by more or less ignoring most of the clan. It was the perfect solitary, collectors life he always desired.
Southspectre had never been the type of cat who'd cared for social etiquette, which meant that he felt mostly nothing as he wandered into the space that Mammon had claimed as his own. It was a space that was a great deal more ornate and carefully decorated as Southspectre's own living quarters--not that Southspectre minded the bare walls of his tunnels. If there was too much to look at, he wouldn't be able to focus on anything at all.
You have a lovely home, he thought, using his telepathic abilities to 'speak' for the first time in a while. Even when he wasn't truly speaking, his words still came out stiff and awkward.
Old dogs can learn new tricks, but it wasn't easy, and Snowshod was having trouble projecting his thoughts. He had intended to speak longer and more eloquently. He had wanted to share his appreciation too. But when he opened his mouth, no words left it; and it took a great deal of mental effort to send even one word through. He stood behind Southspectre, his brown furrowed as he worked hard, mouthing the word into empty space.
Mammon grinned, pleased they noticed how nicely he decorated his home. Though the bone decor stopped at the entrance to his lair, those were after all the bones of shadow hunters, it didn’t feel right even to the greedy tom to take them for himself. Rather his lair was filled with treasures, most notable was a weathervane that had been driven into the ground. His nest was lined with fur pelts and sat next to a mirror. He likes to sit in front of that and zone out, going into a trance of sorts to think. Then he had a private stock of herbs, a collection of rocks that resembled his eyes, and a stack of collars he obtained from kittypets lined up on stalagmites. He of course had escorted them home after finding them lost in exchange for their collars. Of course there were some lovely paintings on the walls, a skill he had been rather new to not a moon ago. He favored abstract.
Southspectre wasn't very good at maintaining conversations on his best days, and his day had been fairly average so far. A strange silence fell over the trio--they were the Silent Brothers, but Southspectre had spent so much of his life without family that now he was reluctant to just walk away like he was used to doing during the middle of a conversation.
...And apparently Snowshod was barely going to be able to help out at all, so Southspectre took it upon himself to make the next move. How long did it take you to collect these things? he asked, raising his eyebrows. He probably looked a little silly while doing it. That was okay. He was used to it.
