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.
Rottenfang curled up so tightly into himself that he felt like his spine might snap in two if he tried any harder. He could hear his step mother searching for him near the hot springs, but if he just crept a little closer past their borders his mother would never dare to follow. Along his leg was a long gaping wound, the scent of blood too thick far too thick for comfort, which was precisely why he covered it in dirt. For most of his life the only thing he knew to do was let himself be the victim. He was either too small or kept too weak to fight back, all he could do was lie down and accept his fate. But this time something inside of him screamed to defend himself so instead of letting himself be dragged back and punished he fought for his life. He had gotten this far, he wasn't about to get caught again, especially not by his step father.
Seizing the right moment he ran for the grassy green borders with a barely cooperating leg, yet he felt was running faster than any time he'd ever sped off before. He ran until his lungs burned and his throat cracked with the dryness of a desert. Looking around nothing looked like WinterClan or the gathering or FallClan or Renegade Regime and that was about all the world he knew so if it wasn't any of the above he was lost.
Sniffing his wound he decided to make his way to the nearest stretch of water, but as he began to head in the direction the scent of prey distracted him. Out in the distance was a brown squirrel, its back turned, focused on some sort of seed. Rottenfang dropped into a hunters crouch, his body lower to the ground than any other warrior was capable of. His stomach was so far sunken in that it was only his ribs that could brush the grass floor. With a few tentative steps Rottenfang pounced at the squirrel, his head shaking back and forth in the kill relying purely on instinct to guide him through his hunt. That was until he began to get the sense that he wasn't alone. The silver tabby and white patched tom whirled around in all directions to see who might be nearby, his panicked orange gaze flaring between a dangerous flicker in his eyes to a fearful look that suggested he run instead.
Rottenfang leapt in the air with an audible shriek as the she-cat emerged out of nowhere. He stood frozen in an awkward poise of fear before slowly recomposing himself. Outsiders don't recognize demons so she doesn't know. But also if I pretend to not be a demon she'll treat me like a warrior when I've never been trained...
"Um... I'm- running away from home," Rottenfang admitted. He had enough over scars over his body to remind him never to lie. He too was a silver tabby, long furred with a thick white mane of fur curtaining around his neck. His eyes were a dark amber, but flickered like a dying flame, occasionally growing brighter before fading once more. There was a difference between battle wounds and abusive marks, for Rottenfang they were all too apparent. There were claw marks from the back of his head, but unlike a battle scar they weren't jagged, they were precise, inflicted by someone that clearly overpowered him. There were a startling number of long wounds along both sides of his body that appeared stretched suggesting that he was smaller when he received them, but stretched as he got older and bigger. His scrawny state was just as shocking close up, it was easy to see his bones, which felt out of the ordinary considering WinterClan cats had been looking well fed.
He bit the inside of his mouth, his front paw tracing over his other leg with discomfort, "Just for a little while," He added more quietly.
