Writing Contest!

[Administrator]

So, DtP has been around for a while (over three months, in fact) and it's high time we had a contest.


Info:

The topic of this contest will be your character's death. It's something we all think about, in the back of our minds and something we push away constantly because we've become so attached. However morbid it may be, it is an interesting concept to explore. How are they going to meet their end? In battle, a simple border-skirmish or something more grand? It's all up to you.

Rules:

-- You must write from the point of view of one of your characters. Other characters can be involved in the post but it cannot be from their point of view.

-- 500 word minimum, this should be more of a "short-story" than a post, hence the large word minimum.

-- Keep the current setting of DtP, don't have your cat gallivanting off on some adventure far away from Clan territory.

-- Only one submission per member, meaning you must choose only one character.

-- Just post your submission as a reply to this thread so others can read it too!

Judging:

All submissions will be judged by Willow and the winner will be selected on terms of quality, originality, emotion and creativity.

Deadline:

All entries must be submitted by March 7th. This should give you plenty of time to get yours in. If everyone planning on participating has submitted before then, I will judge earlier.

Prizes:

1st Place will receive: 300 points and a image set for the character of your choice from Willow

2nd Place will receive: 150 points

All who participate will receive a prize of 20 points!

[Sparrow]

[atrb=border,0,true][bg=black] It was cloudy on the final day, dark and gloomy even at midday, and a hint of rain was on the horizon. When the morning had come, the moorlands had been blanketed in thick mist, dew beading on the lavender and the heather, and the air had been chill and crisp in the way that it could only be in newleaf. A fresh scent of melting snow had filled the air, and though the sky remained a solemn grey, the young warriors and apprentices of the Clan had been decidedly cheerful, frolicking about like young rabbits in their youthful antics. The tom had watched them all day, sitting quietly in his corner and avoiding the worst of the damp, a somewhat mournful smile etched onto his maw, as though he was lost in memory. He was rarely noticed any more, apart from when the apprentices brought him a young rabbit to eat or offered him fresh moss as a grudging attempt at respect. Not that he minded, really. He was content to sit in silence as Clan life raced by, to exist as a worn-down and half-forgotten gear in a greater mechanism, an undemanding and passive cat who had somehow avoided the bitterness that came with old age. Time had spared him much of his dignity, it seemed. His pelt remained as red as it had been when he was a young warrior, barring the silvering that had appeared around his eyes and muzzle. Both eyes still functioned well enough for him to get by, and he retained his hearing despite a torn and crumpled ear. A slightly twisted hind paw, the break sustained when he fell into an unseen rabbit hole, was all that pained him in the winter. In fact, when his time had come to retire to the elder’s den, it had been of old age. He had been simply… tired of the rushing about and the fighting, the endless patrolling and the increasingly strenuous tasks of hunting. Though he had had his useful days, he had never been a stellar warrior, and it had been time to give up the fight. His days had passed this way, each very much alike those that came before, each passed in quiet reflection. He made no attempt to get to know the younger warriors any better than he already did. Too much of the same – they never learned. Not so many moons before they had fought with RiverClan, and as far as he was concerned, it had been for naught. Vixenstar and Hawkstar had been good leaders, peaceful, understanding, but he disapproved of this new tom – overly aggressive, a nice cat but a poor leader, wasn’t that just the case? He sighed, nestling down into the moss beneath him, and rested his head on his paws, tired, so tired… He had watched his kits grow into warriors, seen them live and die. The youngest had died shortly after becoming a warrior, lost in battle before they had even a chance to live. Nothing to be done about it, just a matter of the past now… His eyes closed slowly as he drifted off to sleep, his tail curled around him like a scarf. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The tap of a tiny paw on his nose woke him at sundown, and he blinked in confusion before seeing the three tiny kits before him, their eyes still blue-tinted. One of them, a ginger and white she-kit by the name of Maplekit, was standing upon his nose and looking at him with brimming curiosity. Her two brothers, a black and white tom named Badgerkit and a fluffy grey tom named Minnowkit, looked at him expectantly. As he looked at them slowly, Maplekit poked his nose again, her ears twitching. “Charredoak, you promised us a story.” “I did… I did…” the old tom purred, his voice somewhat rusty after his nap, but not lacking in warmth. “What would you like to hear about?” “We want to hear about ThunderClan and when WindClan came back!” the three chorused, scampering about like squirrels. “Sit down then, and I’ll tell you.” The three small kits sat, their eyes wide, and tried their best to stay still and quiet as the red tom spoke. “In the days before WindClan, and before the ShadowClan Council came into being, the forest had three mighty Clans of warriors. ShadowClan, the Clan of the marshes, was led by Willowstar; ThunderClan, of the forest, was led by Elkstar; and RiverClan, of the wetlands, was led by Rookstar.” “Tell us about the leaders!” Badgerkit mewled, his ears pricked with excitement. “I bet they were scared of WindClan!” Charredoak grinned, laughing softly. “On the contrary. WindClan had been gone from the forest for a long time… Now, about the leaders… Willowstar was a grey tabby, feared by many, and considered to be a danger to many of the Clans. She was not cruel, merely enthusiastic, but she wanted nothing more than to gain territory for ShadowClan and to seize the moorlands. Elkstar was small and had long, blue fur. She was kind and wise, but selfish like Willowstar, for both she and the ShadowClan abandoned their Clans in their time of need. Rookstar was an old cat, dark grey and long-furred. He was kind and wise and a good leader for RiverClan.” “But didn’t he leave too?” Maplekit hissed, her ears pinned back. “No. He stayed with his Clan until death, as a leader ought to. Now… where was I? Oh, yes, I remember. The Clans were constantly waging wars against one another over the moorlands. Many noble warriors died for the cause, and their blood stained the heather red and left the Clans weaker and weaker the longer that they fought. Eventually, the ThunderClan cats realized that there was little use in losing warriors over the land and withdrew their participation in the battles. RiverClan and ShadowClan, however, continued to fight. A final battle was imminent, but one cat saw a peaceful end to the problem.” “Was it Vixenstar? Vixenstar! Vixenstar!” The three kits maiowed in chorus, resuming their scampering and frisking about. “Yes, yes, it was, but they called her Vixenfang back in those days. Come now, sit, sit. Vixenfang, the ThunderClan deputy received a sign from StarClan that she was to rebuild WindClan, and she gathered supporters from the other Clans to help her. Hawkfang of RiverClan, Blackmoon of ShadowClan, Rabbitflight of ThunderClan, and… Viperfang…” His voice trailed off slightly, and he sighed, looking upwards towards Silverpelt, as though looking for something. “Weren’t you in ThunderClan? How come you didn’t help?” “I was in ThunderClan, but I was unaware of the plans when they were made. It was a closely guarded secret, you see, and I was not one of Vixenfang’s chosen followers.” “But you’re here now.” “Yes. I met Viperfang one night at the Sunningrocks. She nearly clawed my fur off when she let slip that she and other cats had been on the moorlands, but she didn’t. I offered to help, something that she hadn’t expected, and we came to the moorlands to find the abandoned camp.” “YOU helped find the camp?! And then you joined WindClan?” “I was just standing there while she looked. Viperfang found the camp…. And she invited me to join, but… I refused.” “Why?” “I was afraid to be called a traitor to my old Clan.” “But… you’re here now. Why did you come?” “Patience, kits, you’ll miss the best part of the story.” The three looked at him, skeptically. “Shortly after we found the camp, the moon waxed full and the Clans assembled at the gathering. Vixenfang leapt up onto the great rock and announced her decision. Not even Willowstar dared to oppose her. Like the wind over the moors, the new Clan whisked away into their new home. And it is here that they will remain for the rest of eternity.” The three kits looked at him sharply, Maplekit looking rather cross about his lack of detail into his part. “Charredoak, you’re the oldest cat in the Clan. What happened? Why’d you come later?” The tom looked at them for a long while, his eyes clouded, before he spoke, “I couldn’t help but come.” Maplekit looked at him, unimpressed. “But why?” “Viperfang.” The three kits looked at him with shock. “Her? But she was so scary. I heard that no kit wanted her for a mentor.” “Well, I couldn’t very well abandon my best friend. And she was the only she-cat in the Clan. I couldn’t risk losing her to the other toms, now could I?” Something clicked behind Minnowkit’s eyes and he giggled while Badgerkit and Maplekit looked at him with confusion. Maplekit opened her mouth again to speak but was interrupted by the entrance of her mother, Sagewhisker, who looked at the tired look upon Charredoak’s face and laughed. “Come along kits, leave poor Charredoak alone.” Standing, the three nodded respectfully at the old tom before turning tail and following their mother, leaving him alone. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was dark that night, Viperfang. I couldn’t see my paws before my eyes when lying there. All I could see was the smallest sliver of moon and the stars so high above me. I look for you in Silverpelt every night, but I still can’t find you or my sister there. It’s so strange… I always had thought that I would be able to recognize those that I loved so well… I guess not. But I won’t stop trying. When Maplekit asked for a story, I was going to tell her everything. What a silly little kit she is, so like her mother was when she was young… But I ramble again and again. When we met, I told you a story. Do you remember? It was about the moon cat, how she was there every night and I couldn’t escape her. What a stretch that was. Moon’s gone, everyone’s gone. I hope someone’s waiting when it’s my time to go… -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A soft sound passed on the wind, a distant chiming of ice and snow that echoed like birdsong in the forest. A scent of wind and water, like the sky before a storm, assailed his senses and he stood up, his eyes wide and whiskers twitching. The camp was still dark, the cats gone to rest in their nests, but the sound of pawsteps echoed all around as the scent grew stronger and stronger. Slowly, a pale glow out in the moors penetrated the mist, and a dignified she-cat emerged, her tabby pelt covered with dew and shining under the starlight. No… with starlight. Dark golden eyes looked calmly at the elderly tom before she was joined by another she-cat, this one closely resembling the tom save for her dusky-blue pelt and the light shining from her form. It couldn’t be… He strode forward, cautious at first, moving to meet them without a word. The she-cats brushed muzzles with him, and his purr arose from his throat, surprisingly smooth and lacking in its usual rusty tone. “Follow.” As the two she-cats turned, striding up into the stars like comets, Charredoak turned to look behind at the camp that he had grown to love so well before setting off across the darkened moors, dew clinging to his pelt as he traced the StarClan cats ascending with his gaze. Behind him, in the camp, an old red tom lay curled up in his usual corner, a final, beautiful smile etched across the features of his peaceful face for eternity. word count: 1921 audience: Downfall to Paradise comments: Mmkay, sorry about taking liberties with some other characters, just as a heads up

[Administrator]

Considering it's March 7th and there's been one entry, I'm extending the deadline to March 21st.