Warriors of the Clans

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Some moons ago, they came together with an idea. The idea to build something new, something… starlit. With whispers of starry figures dancing in their minds, they built the Clans. LightClan, ShadeClan, and SplashClan. In the names of the four Clans built, the leaders made a pact to share the forest and meet every moon on the night it was full, to build their new way of life together in harmony.

They were not prepared for what came next.

The lost were devastated by a disease that slowly killed their Clan bit by bit. The Clans quarantined them, locking them away for the safety of the forest, and they suffered in the cataclysm. It was only a matter of days, ¾ of a moon that tore apart the budding Clan just as it began to find a root. And then, silently they slipped into the night and the Clans suffocated in their vow of silence.

Soundlessly, terrifyingly held in the back of their hearts and thoughts and throats remains the Night of Blood.

WhisperClan. It was fitting their name was one held in silence. In some ways, they themselves considered it a mercy when the monster exploded their world into flames and their world was engulfed by it. They burned and bled and vanished into the night.

SplashClan crumbled, inaudibly inwards. Now driven from their forest, ShadeClan fled into the unknown. Every moment it felt they could skitter to a stop, the Clan was chased in a terrifying tumulting flurry of new things new sites new unsteady tastes.

ShadeClan is fading. SplashClan is drawn closer and closer by the puppeteered strings of their tyrannous, deceptive ruler. LightClan is steadying themselves on their own two paws as they look towards their future, oblivious to the weathering storms roaring above their heads.

No one knows who will live, who will die, and whose story will be told. What the outcome to this chaos may seem impossible to know… be it bloodshed or wept tears of joy.

But how it all ends, dear reader is up to you.