✵Username: Plaga
✵Cat Name: Bennett (Blessed one in Latin)
✵Gender: Intersex (He/him or they/them pronouns)
✵Rank: Priest
✵Clan: Signature
✵Age: 7 years
✵Prompt:
✵ 𝓣𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓰𝓮𝓻 𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰: 𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓹𝓱𝓸𝓫𝓲𝓪 ✵
Bennett wasn’t a cat born within the cult, being a person on rather older side. However, he remembers being there from almost the very beginning, just as everyone else in those times - being a lost soul who found his place within those who didn’t judge.
The thing about his cloak though, is a way older and longer story.
Living in a cult was no surprise for them, as they were born in one way older and harsher than the New mooners. What made them stigmatized from the very first moments of his life though, was that… he was born as a child of the cult’s leaders, expecting him to be perfect from head to toe, from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail. Despite his parents being together for almost a decade, they never had their descendant born before. They were seen as literal gods, being strong, beautiful despite their age and knowing better than any of the cult members who were merely pathetic bugs under the glory of the highest priests.
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And this moment has came. Everyone expected the same from their child, being as immaculate as they were. As perfect as they were.
Unfortunately, something was wrong here… and the image of all those expectations broke to mere pieces as soon as it hit the ground of reality. The shamans were chanting their prayer, awaiting to see who will be the new Demi-god of their cult, but as soon as their knew what’s happening, their jaws dropped.
“It’s… what is this?” - one of them whispered hesitantly, their boldness breaking the fear of the cult’s “goddess” anger. She frowned her nose a bit, unsure what they were referring to at first. She was still tired after the process and didn’t really understand their words.
“How could a saint being create such a… creature?” - the whispers between the shamans were getting bolder and more mocking with each second of the queen’s lack of stronger reaction. Then, one of them stood up to reach out with a whisper to her ear, bowing before getting any nearer. They closed the chamber’s doors to avoid nosy peeks and eavesdropping.
“Goddess, I think you should never admit to it. It’s… a quirk of nature and you should not associate yourself with this being. It’s nothing important… you’ll conceive a way better descendant when you’ll be feeling better.” - they comforted her, and she understood what it was about now. She gave birth to a… monster. And she was disgusted by herself. Was she cursed? Or her partner was not enough for her to give her a decent child? Of course, they were right, they could not show ‘this’ to her subordinates. She didn’t want to rise riot or make herself look lower. It was enough to be already looked down by her closest shamans by this event which needs to be covered up, obviously.
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Bennett’s heritage was never known to neither them, nor anyone else than their parents and the highest shamans. He was given a name covering up the curse, which was believed you can turn the sides of the fate by naming it of opposite meaning — and gave to be raised up by the lowest class of cult members to avoid any further attention. The vivid yelllow robe was a sign of low descent, a remark to the higher ones to avoid them, and their foster parents always tried to use strongest herbs to cover up the smell of their mixed pheromones when they grew into their maturity. However, this was way too much for them, the fear of his secret being discovered was too much to handle. He learned the shifts of the guards at the borders and chose the best moment when nobody was checking on them. They sneaked out at the middle of the night, running as fast as they could, feeling like a prey which could be latched at its back at any moment. However, it was too late and he ran too far to be caught.
✵ ✵ ✵
When reached the New Moon Woods, they were barely processing what is happening. Benett was too tired to even think about anything than just a bowl of some fresh water to ease the dry, numb feeling of dehydration inside their throat and a place to rest. They were found limp and passed out at the borders by Cowbane itself, who gave him a shelter amongst other newcomer Bringers, slowly making into a new, better cult. He finally felt understood, and although he was not very trustful at first, as he got know to the story of Cowbane’s and other of the cats here, they gradually stopped covering their true identity and hiding their scent that much under nauseating, dizzy-feeling layer of lavender and lemon balm. As for the cloak… they could also discover their talent for tailoring, soon giving it a better meaning and leaving those memories behind. He sew it up with some finer, purple materials seen as the color of worth and high meaning and decorated it with New Mooners’ runes which were meant to give them strength and pride on the new way of his life.
