Post by Zero on Nov 15, 2020 19:40:10 GMT
A spark. A fire tore through the Southern Wood many generations ago, scouring the landscape with tongues of flame. As ash fell from the sky and choked the land, the few survivors left their home to the flames and fled into the frozen clutches of the North.
Across the wind-battered uplands, into the shelter of towering pines, firs, and spruces they traveled, this raggedy band, many weak from singed fur, smoke-coated lungs, burnt paws. It would take a long time to rebuild, and it would be no easy task. But from the ashes rose four who would carry these survivors forward:
Storm, swift and strong, whose speed had spared him the worst of the fire's grasp.
Thorn, wily and silent, who knew to bide her time, to watch and wait.
Mud, old and eccentric, whose oddities came to serve him and others well.
Flood, lonely and lost, who knew most intimately what, and who, had been lost to the flames.
The four traveled deeper into the woods in search of greater refuge, a place to recover and rebuild. What they found was a cave. The wind blew stronger within the cave than outside, whistling through the stone corridors in such a way as to fill them up with lifelike howls. The Howling Caverns, as they came to be called, were the beginning of both great prosperity and great strife, for when the four fell asleep within the Caverns, the howling winds softened to whispers and graced the ears of the sleeping cats with messages from beyond. They whispered of promises, of power, of potential.
In the morning, it was not four who woke but three. Storm lay limp on the cold stone, unmoving, and dead. Until the howling winds seemed to refill his lungs with air, and his eyes blinked open, returning to life. He named Thorn as his murderer, and the she-cat bristled with the accusation, though it was true. In the ensuing battle, it was discovered that Storm alone had not been granted a second chance. All four of them had had additional lives bestowed upon them. With this revelation, and the dawning realization that they were powerless to defeat one another, the four returned to the other survivors.
After all the conflict that had ensued in the Howling Caverns, the four could not abide by each other, and the survivors divided amongst them. With Storm went the proud and noble, heading south to the grasslands, away from the comfort of trees and the bitter taste of treachery. With Thorn went the clever and calculated, disappearing into the woods to thrive without the oppressive nobility of their peers. With Mud went the outcasts and oddballs, wading into the swamp where others were unwilling to follow. With Flood went the hopeful and hearty, pushing further North in the hopes of finding a new home.
And so the clans were born, of tragedy and mystery and war. In the ensuing generations, old tensions persist. StormClan and ThornClan have always been at odds, while MudClan is derided as ridiculous and FloodClan as idealistic and naive. But all have survived and even prospered thus far, each in their own way.
Across the wind-battered uplands, into the shelter of towering pines, firs, and spruces they traveled, this raggedy band, many weak from singed fur, smoke-coated lungs, burnt paws. It would take a long time to rebuild, and it would be no easy task. But from the ashes rose four who would carry these survivors forward:
Storm, swift and strong, whose speed had spared him the worst of the fire's grasp.
Thorn, wily and silent, who knew to bide her time, to watch and wait.
Mud, old and eccentric, whose oddities came to serve him and others well.
Flood, lonely and lost, who knew most intimately what, and who, had been lost to the flames.
The four traveled deeper into the woods in search of greater refuge, a place to recover and rebuild. What they found was a cave. The wind blew stronger within the cave than outside, whistling through the stone corridors in such a way as to fill them up with lifelike howls. The Howling Caverns, as they came to be called, were the beginning of both great prosperity and great strife, for when the four fell asleep within the Caverns, the howling winds softened to whispers and graced the ears of the sleeping cats with messages from beyond. They whispered of promises, of power, of potential.
In the morning, it was not four who woke but three. Storm lay limp on the cold stone, unmoving, and dead. Until the howling winds seemed to refill his lungs with air, and his eyes blinked open, returning to life. He named Thorn as his murderer, and the she-cat bristled with the accusation, though it was true. In the ensuing battle, it was discovered that Storm alone had not been granted a second chance. All four of them had had additional lives bestowed upon them. With this revelation, and the dawning realization that they were powerless to defeat one another, the four returned to the other survivors.
After all the conflict that had ensued in the Howling Caverns, the four could not abide by each other, and the survivors divided amongst them. With Storm went the proud and noble, heading south to the grasslands, away from the comfort of trees and the bitter taste of treachery. With Thorn went the clever and calculated, disappearing into the woods to thrive without the oppressive nobility of their peers. With Mud went the outcasts and oddballs, wading into the swamp where others were unwilling to follow. With Flood went the hopeful and hearty, pushing further North in the hopes of finding a new home.
And so the clans were born, of tragedy and mystery and war. In the ensuing generations, old tensions persist. StormClan and ThornClan have always been at odds, while MudClan is derided as ridiculous and FloodClan as idealistic and naive. But all have survived and even prospered thus far, each in their own way.
