Clayclan

You had heard tales of how the last clan to settle by the river died. The curse of a green-eyed demon who could bend the wills of cats as easily as reeds. Tales that made you shudder in your pelt. But the other stories, those of clear blue water and ample prey, stories of Before, those intrigued you. And, as always, your curiosity got the better of you. You threw yourself wholeheartedly into the promises of a better life, chasing the passing whispers of rouges and that clump of stars, the one that looked like a grinning tomcat, which beckoned you south. And you found it. Your paradise. The river was shrunken and the beech trees shriveling but you didn't notice any of that. You were too caught up in your excitement at your new home to notice the creeping feeling of Wrongness. The sickly-sweet smell like that of rotten prey that stuck to everything. You were too excited to meet our guide, a real live- well dead, Starclan cat, to head his warning. That something about this territory was wrong. That you needed to fix it. That it would be dangerous. But all you saw was paradise. Welcome to your new home.

​