Hello and welcome to Purrgatory! We are an 18+ Warrior Cat Roleplay set in an AU where the clans were unable to leave the forest territories and perished!
It has been 100 or more years since then, the clans of the forest are but distant memories to any cats still alive, stories passed down to kits of strangely named wild warriors and leaders with nine lives but the time of the clans is upon us once more and the stars shine yet again.
{$title} tin cans are the new trendy fashion statement says experts
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(Open to apprentices from all clans!)
Fleapaw trotted through the boggy undergrowth, her paws kicking up damp crumbs of duff. The shack rose up through the thicket like a carcass, half-strangled by ivy and scrub. Its walls sagged inward, battered by seasons of rain and neglect. Twisted scraps of two-leg junk were strewn all around it, poking up from the mud—small treasures just begging to be rediscovered. She grinned to herself. This place was awesome.
She padded closer, weaving around broken bottles, rusted metal, and other soggy garbage. Her ears jerked at the faint dripping sound that echoed from inside the shack. She peered into the dark outline of the shack's interior before something else caught her eye.
The mounds of stuff piled up around were hard to resist. Cause maybe there was something cool buried in all this crap! She kneaded a reflective piece of wrapper before poking through a smaller trash pile. Carefully, she poked at an old, battered can with her paw. A stale, meaty scent wafted from inside—familiar. Reminded her of the chunky stuff that the twolegs used to bring her in a silver bowl. It wasn't nearly as good as fresh prey, but it had been tasty. She'd liked it a lot.
Fleapaw squinted into the bottom of the can. Was there any left? Sure, it was a little old, probably, but it still smelled good. She squished her cheeks against the metal sides, pushing her twitching nose further toward the bottom.
The can—slick with old grime—slipped further up her muzzle and got stuck right over her head. "Mmnph?!" Fleapaw reeled back in alarm, head wobbling with the new weight on her head. She swerved left and right, trying to shake it off before stumbling backward, knocking over a tall pile of junk with a loud crash.
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Hush, let's kick it in to touch
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FLEAPAW8 MOONS
SHE/HER
- Undersized cinnamon solid with folded ears. She's thin but stubby with very messy fur.
"SPEECH" - crimson | 'THOUGHTS/EMPHASIS' - crimson
Fleapaw values family the most with survival at a close second. In conversations, she is blunt, fun-loving, and clever. She is guided by her desires which often leads her astray. Despite her abrasive personality, she cares deeply for those she loves and will do anything to protect them. Due to her experiences, Fleapaw is corrupt and has minimalistic, if any, morals. She does not care for the warrior code and its restraints. Neither does she believe in StarClan. Growing up in a kitten mill, being separated from her mother, and ending up on the streets have deeply affected her view of the world.
And wash away the sludge that's withering our minds
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