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 was in the air-- a crisp chill, biting into the fluffiest fur-- and scattered all over the ground was evidence of it-- leaves turned a shade of copper and too weak to attach to the trees. It looked every bit the part of autumn, of beautiful death, but reeked of ice and snow and famine underneath. For many it was just another cycle of seasons; and true, it wouldn't be his first leaf-bare in his life, but it would be the first he suffered alone if he didn't devise a plan. He needed shelter or he needed numbers, if he planned on surviving the winter-- and the cat who would no doubt arrive in its wake.
Wan light barely touched the horizon now, dusk closing in, and winds buffeted a red-over-gold tabby coat, but lightly on that breeze danced an idea. Across the land the hint of a border crossed his path. It was a clear sign of civilization, but it hadn't been refreshed in some time, so he sat and he awaited for the moment he would see silhouettes take form from the shadows.
The far eastern border, the boundary that separated the clans from the twolegplace with a ridge of small mountains, was one that was usually only glanced over during their daily patrols. Summerclan held pride in being one of the most secure clans border-wise; the shared treeline with Fallclan being the only one that posed any kind of security risk, with the territory being water-bound on the other two sides. Ratstar was one of the few cats who ever bothered to take a stroll along the mountainside, taking comfort in the peace and quiet of the evening and the fading warmth of the setting sun. His ear twitched at the roar of the distant waterfall as he bounded across the river, and the soft twittering of the birds overhead as they attempted to sing along to the babbling brook.
Whatever thoughts were milling around in his head were temporarily interrupted by an unfamiliar scent being carried on the wind from the borderline, his nose twitching at the unfamiliarity of it but a friendly smile already crossing over his muzzle. The sound of crunching leaves underpaw made his presence well-known in advance as the dusty brown tabby made his way over, his single eye twinkling in curiosity as he came upon another tom sitting in the shade of the nearly-barren trees. "Ya look a bit lost," he meowed good-naturedly. "Ya need some help, or are ya lookin' for someone?"
Indeed, the amalgamation of birdsong and trickling water and the distant thundering falls would, most times, be a delightful sound. He was normally one to bask in nature, to sprawl out and sun his coat wherever he felt pleased to, but noise now represented something acutely different: Death. It could sneak in, and it could sidle right up to him, and it could kill him. All because he couldn't hear it coming.
Though he did hear something else coming, the crumple of leaves beneath paws signaling the approach of another. Briefly, he panicked, then relaxed as he was able to triangulate that he was being approached from ahead, not behind. His breath caught again at the sight of a familiar tabby coat, brown like the bark on the trees he sat beneath and black stripes darker than an abyss, but he was able to release his tension when the tom drew closer, his one eye flush with kindness. rather than hate. The tom spoke, and he listened, before returning his smile alongside an answer: "I am not lost, simply a wandering soul. Does this land belong to you?" His voice was fluid, accented lightly, and lilted intrigue.
It hadn't gone unnoticed by the Summerclan leader how the other tom shifted nervously, the stranger forcing themselves to relax in his friendly presence, but giving the subtle movements of a hare ready to bolt at a moment's notice. "I s'pose ya could say that," he answered with a light chuckle, taking a seat on the cool grass and fallen leaves. "Though this territory doesn't belong t' me alone; I'm the leader of a group o' cats that live 'ere. We call ourselves Summerclan." Ratstar paused for a moment, attempting the gauge the other cat's reaction. The legend of the eight clans of the forest and mountains was a story that most everyone in the twolegplace had heard at least once in their time, though he himself had never believed it to be more than just a story until he was face-to-face with real clan cats. "The name's Ratstar, by the by." he continued, dipping his head in proper greeting. "How 'bout yourself, wanderer?"
Had he hailed from different lands, perhaps his face would not offer up surprise and even a dim confusion. He absorbed the words the leader spoke, though it did take long moments to digest the way he articulated, but as the tom finished speaking, he nodded in understanding. "Ratster-- interesting name. I have not heard anything like it before," he said, not untrue. His homeland did not have clans that existed side-by-side. There was a kingdom and then there were invaders, and it was always a losing battle for those on the outside trying to get in. He would know: He was one of the few who did. "My name is Nicholai. I have come from a faraway place where I was once king, but unfortunately my crown was stolen and my home ravaged. All I have left is my honor." And what a twisted, falsified honor it was.
King...? Ratstar recognized that word as something vaguely synonymous to Leader. So this cat had once been a leader of a group as well? One that fell to ruin, not unlike the stories he'd been told of Waterclan, Earthclan, and Brookclan. He must've come from very far away, then, if the very concept of the clans was foreign to him. The tabby mused on the outsider's story for a few moments, before coming to a decision. "Well then, Nicholai," he replied, "I'm thinkin' we ain't so different after all. Here in Summerclan we live by a code of honor; huntin' an' fightin' to preserve our way o' life for our honor, an' the honor of our ancestors who built this home generations before us. Perhaps you'd be interested in seein' for yourself? I can provide a meal an' a nest for the night before ya move on." He gestured over his shoulder with his head, inviting Nicholai to cross the border that separated the two of them.
"I would appreciate that, Ratster. Thank you for your hospitality," rumbled Nicholai. He accepted both the offer of asylum and the invitation across the border, his paws finding easy purchase on SummerClan's soil. Suddenly, with the unclaimed unknown behind him and a clan in front, its leader to his right, his worries assuaged, as if they'd never existed. "While we walk, would you mind telling me more of this clan of yours and your ways? Perhaps by the end of tonight, you may have another, how you say, ahhh...servant? Is this what your clan is called?" The names of these cats and their clan, they all seemed so outrageous to him thus far, but surely every crown oversaw peasants?
"Warrior," Ratstar corrected simply, turning as he began to lead Nicholai through the woods as dusk began to settle over the distant mountains. "My cats are called Warriors. I wouldn't exactly say they work for me; the Leader organizes 'em and makes the final decisions, but we survive as a unit. The Warriors hunt an' protect, an' the most hard-workin' are put in charge o' teachin' the young-ins t' do the same. I also have a second-in-command, called a Deputy, who'll succeed me when I eventually bite the dust. We also got a cat who's specially trained in herbs an' healing, called a Medicine Cat, who cares for the sick an' injured. No cat is worthless in Summerclan, we all have a place 'ere." Winding through the trees, the pair eventually reached the river that encircled the Deep Lands, a thick forest with Summerclan's camp lying in the very center. The tabby didn't even blink as he effortlessly jumped the river, as if he had done this so often that his body acted on instinct.
He had remained mostly silent but for the occasional mew to indicate he was still all ears. Ratstar spoke of things barbarian in comparison to the system of hierarchy he knew best. Warriors who lived not at the disposal of a leader, but cats who chose to follow the laws of the lands, laws older than time itself; warriors who served at their own will, who could fall back and find their wounds tended to by a...medicine cat. It was more than he anticipated, but he absorbed it readily.
The forest thinned until at last it broke to give respite, allowing for a river to scythe through the earth, the waters likely to be chilled from the oncoming winter but also from the shade it received from the looming treeline throughout the day. Nicholai decided in that moment that he would not like to find himself submerged in such waters. He followed the example of the tabby, graceful and each paw landed lightly upon the other bank. "You have a very unique system. It seems so different and yet so similar to my homeland. Your warriors remind me of my knights, and your deputy of my princes. Successors, in our terminology," he explained, then went on to say, "We did not have a resident healer, however. Perhaps then some of my underlings would have survived the disaster." Bleak sadness overtook his features, but, with practiced effort, he mustered himself together and glanced ahead. The thicket had thickened compared to what they'd walked through before, though scents congregated more densely here.
Ratstar listened in respectful silence as Nicholai described the home that he had come from; it was fascinating, how cats who lived so far apart from each other could come up with such similar systems of living. Though he couldn't help but be reminded of how thankful to Starclan he should be for giving the clans Medicine Cats. "Well, I hope ya find some comfort in stayin' with us, however long ya choose t' do so," he responded, lightly resting the tip of his tail on the other tom's shoulder. The Summerclan leader looked like he was about to say something else, when the loud rustle of multiple pawsteps just ahead interrupted the quiet moment.
A pair of cats emerged from the undergrowth; the larger of the two was a broad-shouldered tom, though his dusty ginger tabby pelt held a surprisingly sleek shine to it. He seemed surprised to find that Ratstar wasn't alone, but more curious than cautious of Nicholai. The other feline was a tall and slender dark-brown she-cat, whose eyes narrowed suspiciously at the stranger. "Ratstar," she meowed, dipping her head in a show of respect. "Your mate's been asking for you, though I didn't realize that we were expecting company..."
"Thank you, Ratster." Nicholai would have said more on the matter, but he was quickly interrupted by the appearance of two of Ratster's...warriors, as he'd referred to them. He regarded them not with the apprehension of a stranger but a steady curiosity, noting their greeting to their leader was the same way the tabby had greeted him not long ago when they met at the border. "Greetings," he purred to them, "Nicholai. I met your Ratster at the border, seeking refuge. It is nice meeting some of his warriors." It felt strange on his tongue, just as it had when he'd first heard the term, but he wanted to immerse himself in this new culture, which meant speaking like a warrior.
