вrιarclan (stars lore challenge)

[houndjaw]

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" tнe woodѕ are lovely, darĸ, and deep "

! please do not post !
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[houndjaw]

001. briarclan takes root

theme song: rains of castamere
- creation of briarclan
- lore behind the clan
- starclan and customs explained
002. the rise of rookstar

theme song: the angry river
- rookstar's life abbreviated
- misinterpretation of starclan signs
- driven to power-hungry madness & paranoia
- how the clan is affected
003. the ending & beginning to everything

theme song: jenny of oldstones
- yewshadow defeating rookstar after angsty big battle
- gathering remaining cats & trying to decide to start briarclan again
004. picking up the pieces

theme song: here before
- briarclan rebuilding
- fighting off hunger, sickness, death since they're a very small number
- bringing in outsiders, including wandering rogue group
005. mercy blesses the clan

theme song: hey ho
- loner appears with very strong spiritual connection
- is instantly drawn to hollow oak where they're met by a evil ghost
- said evil ghost convinces them to show where the magic pool in
starclan is so they can cross into mortal plane
- after big fight or w/e briarclan incorporates seers into ranks

[houndjaw]

Briarclan Takes Root
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The clan of briars has existed nearly as long as the trees have encompassed the area. And the area itself has a history long forgotten by those that inhabit it. It is a land of fog and a stillness that is so thick, one would think the world there remained stagnant for hundreds of years. The animals that live here are similar - idle in their ways and hesitant to change. In particular, the cluster of cats that have long since called this dreary land their home could be considered stubborn, as they resist any change to their ancient ways just as much as they would any change at all. History of the exact time the clan came into existence has been long lost to the fog and rivers, unknown even to their ancestors that see all from their threshold in the stars. Still, they value these cats of yesteryear as far back as hundreds of years and revere them with a sort of godliness that is only achieved through the wear of time. For their namesake, the cats of briar have a particular passion of using briar and bramble walls as a part of their defense against the outside elements and bountiful predators that scour the area. And much like these pesky bushes, the cats have rather impenetrable attitudes. Beyond their territory lies the deepest part of the forest which they have taken to call the Old Woods. Within it is nothing but darkness and danger, swirled in mystery of the unknown. This part of the forest has long been fabled as cursed by evil spirits and the predators that live there are viscous beyond comparison. Prayer goes to any cat that wanders into its depths, as they do not survive.

Though the history of Briarclan's beginning is forgotten to time, the first leader is a figure even the youngest of kits can roll off the tongue with ease. Through story, every briar cat can recall the name of Jaggedstar the Just. His deeds of pulling all the briar cats together under one ruler is legendary, and he is the first thought that one has of a hero. Strength, charisma, and cunning all aided him in his fabled mission to build Briarclan's first camp from the surrounding briars and brambles. He is an example to kits to be fiercely loyal to your clan, but not to forget to care for your clanmates as family.

Another storied character usually told to kits is that of the dastardly Phloxface, an evil medicine cat who lived at the time of Jaggedstar. He was one of the first medicine cats to take rank within the clan, but little did anyone know that Phloxface was actually experimenting herbs with his patients. A cough here, a nosebleed there, and no one suspected their medic to be as cynical as he was. That is, until Jaggedstar put the pieces together and rightly exiled Phloxface from the clan. The story goes that Phloxface wanders the Old Woods to this day, unable to pass into the afterlife, looking for his next victim. Dames and denmothers will often tell this story as a boogeyman way of keeping kits in their place, threatening that Phloxface will come back to Briarclan to feed them dangerous herbs.

As Briarclan is an ancient clan, it goes without saying that their customs and traditions are highly cherished as ways of life. These include from the established ranks and eating orders, to the ideals taught to them by Starclan. One of the most important ideas is the High Counsel, a group of large cats that have existed as long as the stars have existed and before the ranks of Starclan began filling with the cats of briar. The High Counsel stands for everything that the briar cats should uphold - they are pillars of moral value and loyalty to your brother. To betray one of the core values of the High Counsel is blasphemous. The High Counsel is made up of big cats known for their corresponding dogmas - lion, tiger, lynx, cheetah, cougar, snow leopard, and panther. In life, a cat will typically devote their life to emulating a certain deity; to worship the lion's way is to be ambitious and brave, to worship the cougar is to be empathetic and compassionate, and so on and so forth. In death, a cat will meet their chosen deity if they have led a particularly good or interesting life. And once their soul begins to fade, their energy is then funneled to their deity to keep their ideas alive for the next living generations. At this point, the High Counsel is many-bodied and vast powers that rarely show themselves to the ordinary Starclan members. If a leader of great promise is shown to them, they can grant their powers of insight to help them lead Briarclan better. But this has not happened in many years.

Death demands respect from all the members of Briarclan. No matter their deeds in life, a cat will be remembered for whatever they were known for best in life. At the time of death, their body is ushered across the river to a large clearing with a gnarled, dead tree in the middle. This sacred ground is known as Hollow Oak, and acts as the graveyard for all briar cats. It is highly preferable for cats to be buried under an open sky so that their journey to the stars is unhindered by the material world. But if a cat has done wrong in their life, they might be buried under a tree or near a stone to keep their souls bound to the earth a while longer. Some cats claim to feel the wandering energies here, some more sinister than others, as if some have yet to reach Starclan's hunting grounds yet...

There is no dark forest within Starclan's ranks; no matter their deeds in life, every cat moves to Starclan once they die.
However, when a significantly deplorable cat moves to the afterlife, their soul will hold onto whatever negative
emotion they inflicted during life. For example, a cat who murdered will feel the fear from their victims and misery
from their family. Most times, cats in this situation will become shells of their past life until they slowly disappear.
But on the rare occasion, a cat's emotions will consume their soul. The energy from this travels to a place outside of
Starclan's gaze. Some say it dissipates into nothing, fizzling out like a dying star. But no cat has ever lay witness to
this, so there is no way of knowing what really happens.

[houndjaw]

The Rise of Rookstar
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This particular tale of Briarclan takes place after a series of calamitous natural disasters. A flood barreling down from the mountain beyond expanded the river near the clan's camp three times past its capacity, isolating the camp as a sandbar with the freezing waters lapping at their paws. Many dens were rushed away by the currents, and all the herbs and fresh kill were lost in the water. A handful of cats unlucky enough to be sucked into the water did not survive, including the clan's senior medicine cat who left behind a half-taught apprentice. The remaining clan was lost without food, shelter, herbs, or much idea of what to do before winter arrived a few weeks out. One of these cats was a young apprentice named Rookpaw, who had received his apprentice name not more than a week prior. In the flood, he lost his father, and his mentor was injured in the fight to save resources. Like his clanmates, they were sitting ducks with winter breathing down their necks.

After a few days of building a temporary camp to wait out the waters, another disaster struck. A biting cold wave swept the territory up in a snow that fell as sharp as ice. The cats scrambled to brace themselves against the cold to come with what little materials they gathered, but it wasn't enough. The waters around them turned every surface to ice, and since the flood had cut them off from the mainland it was impossible for all but the strongest warriors to brace the gap and escape into the woods. Many cats abandoned their clan with the promise to come back with food, but some never returned. The ones that stayed slowly froze, one by one being picked off every night taken by the elements. Rookpaw sat by his mother and sister in the hollow den they had made themselves, unable to do anything but pray. Until a break in the weather thawed the ice, allowing for safe passage off the sandbar. By this time, half the clan had succumbed to hypothermia, drowning, starvation, or infection. The leader called together all that were able to hunt to bring back prey for those who were too exhausted. Rookpaw went with the party, though he was unable to catch anything. In the end, the group was only able to catch about enough to feed a handful of cats. And unfortunately, his sister needed help sooner and died that night in her sleep. His mother sacrificed everything to keep him alive, and miraculously they both survived through everything.

It took more than a year to get the clan out of this dangerous situation. They had barely survived everything up to that point, not including the bought of illness brought on by the cold and hunger or the hungry predators that stole off individual cats in the woods. At the end of it all, Briarclan had lost a majority of their members, including their leader who died under the talons of an eagle nad Rookpaw's mother who died of illness. Things were still looking grim, but the arrival of spring had lifted a weight off their shoulders. Rookpaw received his warrior name Rookfeather, and had become a resourceful member. Grief dampened his heart, same as it did every cat, but he always found a way to keep moving forward. He was more often than not the voice of optimism and hope, and cats began paying attention to that. He was a popular cat, though he was not the best fighter or hunter; he had heart. He had lived through the worst and come out the other side, just like his clanmates. This was his family now, and he would lay down his life ten times to see them safe.

While this was a time of realization for him, he also started paying attention to how clan matters were handled within the ways of democracy. He noted that each member that had a voice in a decision were torn in one way or another. It just made matters messy to him. He began thinking, and formulating...What if there was no senior counsel to call together to make important decisions? Why should the leader have to confer with anyone? If the leader had absolute power, they should be able to exercise it. Rookfeather knew he had the right idea, and wanted others to see it too. But he couldn't do that from the position of a warrior. So what if he aimed a little higher? What if he was deputy, and then leader himself? He would surely lead Briarclan out of the depths, toward a golden future. Rookfeather knew he could do it. So he started to work.

Rookfeather picked up extra duties when he could, going out at every chance he got. He practically ran himself into the ground the first few moons, but after some time he pulled back after he received the recognition he wanted from the counsel and leader. At least he was on their radar now. Rookfeather had not agreed with the choice of deputy chosen after the previous leader died. He thought the chosen deputy was weak-minded and naive, nothing a deputy should be in the great ranks of Briarclan. Inwardly, he believed it should have been him to at least be considered. He was envious of the deputy, who did little to make her power known to her clanmates. He thought she was squandering her rights, and that something should be done to replace her.

He offered to go on patrol one morning with her as the lead. Deep in the woods, he followed her as she hunted, careful not to betray his presence. And when the time was right, he leapt from the bushes and pinned her down. He only wanted to disable her, to talk her into giving up her position to a stronger, more capable cat. But in her panic, she wriggled free and rolled off the ledge they stood on. She plummeted down, hitting her head against a tree and dying. Rookfeather began to panic; what had he done? Oh gods, how was he going to explain this? And then a thought struck him - what if he didn't have to explain it? He could easily position the body to make it look as if she had slipped from above in an unfortunate accident. So that's what he did, scuffing the earth as if it had suddenly given way. He hid his scent by dragging over fragrant leaves nearby, and hurriedly left the scene. The deputy's body was found by the end of the day, in the meantime it had rained quite heavily so Rookfeather's scent was surely washed away. And by the next day, Rookfeather had gotten what he wanted: the position of deputy democratically chosen by the counsel and leader. He was exactly where he wanted to be.

Though things were going according to plan, Rookfeather started having odd dreams. He replayed the deputy's death over and over in his mind, though they were becoming more sinister and filled with the whispers of the dead that haunted him. His mother, father, and sister wailed their dismay in his ears, begging him to stop and give himself up. Redeem yourself, they cried. Pay the price for the life you ended. Rookfeather intended to, in some way or another. When he became leader, he would give his entire life to Briarclan in the way he felt was right. It was only a matter of time.

Years passed with Rookfeather as deputy. In that time, he had swayed the leader's decision to talk with him before making any decision, no matter how small. He had his clanmates wrapped around his paw, as he was the epitome of the strong, loyal deputy who would defend his family from every danger. Rookfeather's plan had fallen into line exactly how he wanted it. But things were moving too slow; if he were to do everything he planned, he must act faster. The leader was not losing lives fast enough, and since leaders aged slower due to Starclan's grace, Rookfeather knew he wouldn't outlive the cat. Once again, he had to take matters into his own paws.

He knew the leader only had three lives left. If he were to set up two incidents that appeared as if they happened naturally, he knew the last life would be lost without much fight. So in the dead of night, Rookfeather swiped a bundle of foxglove seeds from a nearby plant and kept them tucked under his nest. The following day, he stole away in secret to place the seeds deep in the mouth of a piece of fresh kill that was then presented to the leader. The effects were nearly instantaneous - the leader fell to the ground, dying from an apparent heart attack and reviving with little energy. As the leader was middle-aged, the medicine cat did not expect foul play and simply reasoned that he must not overdo it anymore. One down, two to go.

The second life came quicker than Rookfeather had planned, and it was entirely coincidental. The leader had gone out for patrol and ran into an elk herd that had been roused by a nearby wolf scent. The elk kicked the leader into a tree, where internal bleeding took his eighth life. To his delight, things were lining up in a way Rookfeather could not imagine.

The third life was a bit trickier to draw out. It had been moons since the elk, and Rookfeather was at a loss for plans. Until one day, a patrol returned with news of a coyote that had set up a den in the territory. He led a patrol to scout the area, and realized that the den was near the river. With some meditation on his plans, Rookfeather offered to accompany the leader on a hunting patrol before the news reached him. To cover his tail, he asked a few others to join so it wouldn't seem as suspicious. They separated from the rest, Rookfeather drawing the leader closer and closer to the den. When they arrived, the coyote was not home. So they decided to do a deeper dive at the den to see if it had pups. In this time, the coyote returned. With the leader trapped in the den, Rookfeather watched as he was torn to bits by the angry canine. But the winds suddenly changed, and his scent was picked up. The coyote chased after Rookfeather, ripping into him and giving him a nasty wound on his belly. The rest of the patrol heard the commotion and came to the rescue to save his life. And in faked sorrow, he announced the leader's untimely death. Though his wounds were deep and his pain high, Rookfeather felt a sense of achievement he had never known before. He had finally attained what he wanted for so long.

Rookfeather's wound festered, giving him a horrible fever that lasted for days. In that time, the figures of those he murdered and his family haunted him. Their empty eyes and dripping mouths, frothing with spit and water, wailed in a silent cry that kept Rookfeather shaking awake in his nest at all hours of the night. He heard, or thought he heard, Starclan denouncing his actions with the innumerable voices of thundering waves. They demanded the wrongs be fixed, for the lost lives to be redeemed. Grief and guilt crowded Rookfeather's mind, and the sickness from his wounds made him incomprehensible. The counsel anointed him as leader when he began feeling better, though Rookstar continued to be faintly beset by the ghosts of his past deeds.

He was never the same after the leader died. Most cats assumed that it was due to him being so close to them, so they forgave his sometimes nonsensical comments. He appointed the strongest warrior as his deputy, though they had little experience in ways of leading. Somewhere within the slowly building madness, he was mates with a kind molly who took pity on his heavy endeavors. She was named Dacefin, and she would eventually mother their only litter that was comprised of one little tom the spitting image of his father. This kit was named Yewkit, and was under the matronly protection of Dacefin from his father's controlling gaze. Eventually the pair went different ways, as Rookstar wanted nothing more than to make Yewkit the strongest warrior Briarclan had ever seen, through rigorous training and strict rules.

The paranoia began to poison his mind a year into Yewkit's life. Rookstar believed that his clanmates knew of his dark deeds, and were plotting to overthrow him by poisoning his food or luring him to a predator's nest. He stopped eating, and stayed nearly exclusively in his den above the main camp. He spoke in broken sentences filled to the brim with the statements of someone losing their grip on reality. He believed his father haunted the camp, waiting for his kit to return to his watery grave. And his sister, so cold and hungry, so small, asked him to play with her by the sandbar.

The great and powerful Rookstar was crumbling before his plans were set into action. And he would soon meet his end as his actions caught up with him.

[houndjaw]

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[houndjaw]

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[houndjaw]

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