Warrior Fanfics

[``Gab Fraser]

Well, I know that, some time or other in our lives, we've written warrior fanfic (or at least attempted to.) If you wish to share them with your fellow enthusiasts, done be shy!

[``Gab Fraser]

Okay, this is an excerpt from a fan fic that I was writing a while ago .
It takes place WAAA-AAAA-AAAAYYYY before Firestar's time, and is sort of in a "different world"-- It was also written several years ago, so I know it's not all that great...

Anyway, read on, if you so wish:

Everyone knows the story of StarClan, and our ancestors, the great ones:Tiger,Lion,Leopard.....

But many have forgotten the story of our brothers and sisters: the Rogues.
My mother passed on the story, and her mother, and her mother, and so on until the beginning. My ancestor was one of the few whose judgment and priorities were not clouded by hate and treachery--jealousy and loathing. She was one of the few who understood the true tragedy of the Banishment......But I am getting ahead of myself.....

The time, when the rogues were banished was a time of great confusion and reformation. The change began in the middle of The Great Burning(read twenty season drought). The boundaries were slipping--just. The only that held the clans together were their noble leaders.................




Fur flew before my eyes during the first few moments of the battle, drops of blood spraying the barren ground.
At first, my first reaction was to run, but then my medicine cat instincts kicked in. I raced down the hill to help the firstly injured, my heart pounding with fear and adrenaline. I know that no warrior may harm a medicine cat in battle, but there have been incidents.
My initial fear was sated when I came upon the mangled body of Smoketail. He was a senior warrior of my clan, and a darned good story teller, even better than the elders(but don't tell them that I said that. I'd rather not have grumpy and angry elders retaliate).
For a long second, I thought about all of the stories that Smoketail had told me when I was a kit, until a moan brought me back to reality, and my medicine cat training was finally put to the test. I took a hold of Smoketail's neck-scruff and dragged him to the neutral zone.
Working quickly, I chewed up a couple of marigold leaves to cleanse the wounds, and then slapped some cobwebs on them to stop the bleeding.
When I finished tending to Smoketail and looked up, I was startled to find that a large, dark tabby was stalking right up to us. When he realized that I had seen him, he flattened his ears and hissed," Now, a pretty, little thing like you wouldn't mind me finishing what I started, would you?"
He hissed, a deep, frightening hiss. My hair stood at end, and I hissed back at him, my defense mode primed. I really resent my short stature being pointed out in such a fashion as that. I can't help that I'm small.... He was soooo dead.
We began to circle around each other, and just as he was about to lunge at me, a jet streak of fur, claws, and muscle bowled into my aggressor.
The black warrior threw the tabby to the side and screeched," What kind of mouse-brained, idiotic fool are you? The Medicine Cats are neutral, only helping the wounded! You know better than to attack them like this!"
The tabby flattened his ears as close to the skull as they would go and fluffed out his tail in fear and humiliation.
He was crouched as low to the ground as possible, so his voice was muffled when he muttered," Yes, Shadowheart." Shadowheart flicked his tail, and the tabby left us without so much as a second glance. Yea!
Shadowheart! The name sent chills coursing down my spine, chills that nothing to do with sickness. He glanced at me, and I was shocked when I saw the color of his eyes.
They were a radiant, brilliant mixture of purple and green. I've seen him and his eyes at the gathering before, everyone has, but the color never ceases to amaze me.
There's a rumor that he was the chosen of Starclan for some momentous moment, and that his eyes are a sign that he'll do great things.
Our eyes met, and I lost my breath. Shadowheart's eyes were painfully beautiful. They held a stony, ice exterior, which threatened cruelty and arrogance.
The violet and chartreuse mixture clashed gracefully, lending an otherworldly aura to his already impressive psyche.
Gazing into his eyes, I felt something--a connection, of sorts. This tom was in pain.
Then the connection broke. Shadowheart turned his head back toward where the tabby had fled, then launched himself back into the battle, yelling,"FireClan, retreat!"
I was still reeling from the feeling of the broken connection. My head was dizzy, and my legs shook.
The moan of Smoketail helped to clear my head, and I remembered that what I should never have forgotten--I was a Medicine cat--albeit an apprentice--and it was my duty to heal.

The battle was between SkyClan and FireClan. Our warriors drove out the invading cats(with the help of FireClan's retreat), but not without it's price. I was left to tend to the minor injuries, while my mentor worked to patch up the more severe injuries.
Once or twice, I put the wrong medication on the wrong injuries, but I couldn't help it! It was all I could do to even move around. All I could think about was those eyes! And the fact that I had read them so easily. They were so honest and open, yet so dark and mysterious. Then I began to think about the cat who attacked me--Darkthorn, that was his name.
I began to hiss. He should be punished! Attacking a neutral cat goes against the warrior code! Ashstar should-- a yowl sounded as I accidentally put nettle on Berrythorn's neck wound. I apologized. What else could I do? It was my first battle, after all.
The other medicine cat apprentice, Brightpaw, came and took over for me. I yawned and padded off to the apprentice's den.
The log was empty, so I piled the softest moss together and settled down into my nest.
As I drifted off, my last thoughts were about Shadowheart and Darkthorn, and I kept on seeing those purple and green eyes until the darkness swallowed them.......

[``Gab Fraser]

Deep in the world of dreams, a lone shape Walked. The path it tread was a shining silver, much like the stars that shone in the Awake-world. The Dream-world around him was a dark theme, shadows and Dark looming from high above.

For a long time, this creature Walked, Until the black canvas seeped into a shrouded forest, the canopy dark and forbidden, hiding from the searching eyes of those below sight of the sky and stars.

The creature halted, suddenly, so that its frame seemed for a moment to blend into the miasma that was nothingness, the Dark unknown of the Dream-world.

Slowly, a faint glow began to radiate, the luminous white strands of light spreading in a loose circle around the creature, unveiling and revealing its profile.

It was a cat, tom, a dark tabby, large and muscularilly built. His muzzle was multi-colored, and criss-crossed, white where the scars had healed. His tabby stripes were jagged, and bold, a dark, dark brown.

He looked behind him, as if expecting to have been followed. His eyes searched the shaded forest from wich he had come, their color lost to the glow.

Finally, slowly, almost reluctantly, the tabby turned his attention back to the front of him, and waited, his black tail-tip twitching ever so slightly with anticipation.

The tree, and grass, indeed the very shadows appeared to be shifting, swirling inwards, forming what could only be described as a hole- -a portal, the growingly-impatient tabby knew.

The 'portal' finally encompassed the entire length of the trees, and spread a tree-length long. It was a sheet of nothingness, that shimmered and rippled ever after, a ceaseless motion. And when the 'portal' ceases to spread and grow, the shades passed through.

There were four of them. They entered each separately.

The first to pass through was a small, skinny she-cat. Her eyes were a crystal blue, the expression in them frigid and calculating. Her tail was almost twice as long as her body, and whip-thin. Her pelt was a pure, stark white that contrasted delishously with the world she now stood.

The second to enter was a bulky calico-tabby tom, of whom padded over to the she-cat. Ginger and white were splashed liberally on his pelt. His ears were patched and ragged, and two of his fangs peeked out of his firmly shut jowls.

A third shade passed through, almost immidiently after the after the calico had entered. He strode aggressively to the opposite end of the Dream-walker, but still before him.

His build was muscular as well, almost more so than that of the cat before him. His pelt was a dark, rich brown and there was white on his pelt, almost shockingly pure. His eyes were a bleak, harsh, glacial blue.

And then, finally, the fourth shade passed into the shadowed forests. He was a solid, dark tabby, even more broad and muscularilly built than the tom that had pre-ceeded him.

An aura of power, danger, and authority had annouced his arrival, and all eyes were on him when he stalked over to the tabby-and-white tom.

There they stood, positioned at three points, like those of the triangle. Power. Wealth. Immortality. Promised, and sought, an embodiment of the three-fold that which was yearned for by all five.



"Well, Thunderstorm," the white-she cat sang, her voice sultry and sickly sweet in the stillness of the forest, "You are deputy, now. In seasons to come, you will be leader. Your hearts desire."

"Or is there something else you desire, as well?" The calico tabby broke in, the dull, sinister rasp of his voice sweeping through the air, malice and ambition cutting into the very minds of those around him.

"Something, more?"

"To be leader now? To be leader of all the four clans, the possess complete power over them all? To rule the world of cats?" whispered the tabby-and-white, feather-light, soft and carressing.

The Dream-walker- -Thunderstorm- -was glowing very brightly by now, his dark amber eyes lost to light so completely.

"Yes," he hissed, excited and anticipatory. "Yes," he hissed again, more forcefullly, and then a fine tremble snaked its way through his body, shaking his frame ever so slightly.

"But your leader still has many lives," the white she-cat hissed, as she began to circle around the four toms. "It would be a long time to wait for him to simply die." She spat out the last word, and then halted in mid-step, a tight griamce gracing her features.

"Too long."

Thunderstorm snarled, and flexed his fore-claws, sheathing, and un-sheathing them rythematically. "How could this be rectified?" he growled, the rumble of his anger and fustration echoed in the ambient air.

The darkest tabby, who had watched and judged, stepped foreward, and a frash wave of aura swamped the plotting deputy.

"Long ago, before the time of even your mother's mother's mother's grand-kin, I was a leader, with the glory of all my nine lived," he began, each word enunciated and pronounced with thought and care.

"I was murdered, with a single blow by one I had thought my ally," he continued, more quietly. "My belly had been ripped open, all the way down the middle."

"I died from that sinle injury, nine times over."

The tabby shut his jaw, and fixed his gaze on the Dream-walker. Finally, the calico-tabby spoke, "We will take care of the medicine cats, and the deputies . . . You must take care of your end, or else it will all fail."

Thunderstorm nodded his head, dipping it slightly and solemnly. "Concider it done," he growled, and sunk his un-sheathed claws into the earth-that-was-not. Then he grinned, and it was not a very nice grin.

The shades all dipped their heads in response to the Dream-walkers, and then said, as one, "So mote it be." And then they were gone.

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