The Clan Renaissance

An Alternate Universe Warriors Roleplay

Mostly a bright snowy white, Elowen does not have the easiest time blending in. Her pelt is a sleek medium length, longer and fluffier around her ruff and plumed tail, with small white tufts atop her ears. Amongst the sea of white are islands of grey-brown striped with black. These patches blanket her back and sides, as well as her head and tail, creeping down her left hind leg whilst leaving the other three white. Elowen's nose and paw pads are a rosy pink, while her black-rimmed eyes are bright yellow.

Despite seemingly having the genes to be on the larger size of average, Elowen’s growth was somewhat stunted. Although she filled out and gained some muscle beneath Arthek’s care, she remains scrawny and a little gangly. Even so, her fur has smoothed out and she takes good care of it, proud of the bright white she can achieve with good grooming.

A masculine scent contradicts Elowen's female identity, though she does not seem too phased by this when those around her are willing to accept who she is.

Elowen has never been very socially adept, although not for lack of trying. With minimal socialization beyond her struggling little colony and the tom who took her in, Elowen is very unused to the intricacies of communication or etiquette. She is awkward and typically a follower, although more upbeat and outgoing when something catches her interest. She still looks upon grown cats as though they are some kind of miracle, despite herself now surpassing a year old. Their size and strength are both intimidating and fascinating to Elowen, and she does little to mask this.

Although anxious and lacking self-confidence, Elowen can be strangely trusting. Despite her upbringing, or perhaps because of it, she tends to take whatever comes her way no matter if it is good or bad. She will rarely fight back in defense of herself and has a tendency to treat harmful or toxic behavior as normal. Should someone close to her bring her harm, Elowen is liable to forgive and forget quickly with the next apology or kind treatment, even if they seem plainly ingenuine to others.

Although lacking prowess in most areas, Elowen tends to give her all to just about everything. She is thorough in her work when she knows what she is doing, and quick to take orders and guidance when she does not. Although not the quickest of learners, once Elowen has a skill or lesson down, she tends to lock it into her mind. Elowen strives to do good by others, and is thankful for every step and helping paw toward that goal, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant.

A kittypet. Elowen was unsure if that had ever been what she truly was. A cat who lived a pampered life with twolegs, fed plump and soft. She had been soft, once — she could remember it vividly. Apparently, that was not the kind of soft others meant. Limp, fragile, far from plump. They may have called her Kitty, but it had often seemed she was more an object than a pet.

Elowen had not always seen it that way. She did not get to spend long with her mother, her vision still developing its clarity when she was taken away. The new place was strange. It was sheltered, but not warm and cozy like a nest. There were others, but most were unfamiliar. They were bigger than her, bossier. It was always a struggle to worm her way between them to the tasteless food, but that was just life. That was normal.

Her new life also involved new creatures, tall and upright with many names. Twolegs, no-furs, housefolk, up-walkers...her name was simpler. Kitty. Of course, she was not the only Kitty, and so things got a little confusing at times, but the twolegs usually did not force them to figure out who they wanted on their own. Truly, Kitty was not sure they cared which of them came. But sometimes, it was nice to have some differentiation among the group, and so the little colony had improvised. Some of the meaner ones called her runt, but for the most part she was Patchy. Patchy Kitty. When she needed something a little fun in her life, it would often be that. Such a strange name.

Kitty's first outing with the top-furs, as she had taken to calling them, was an odd one. Much to her confusion, they had mussed her white fur into a spikey disarray with dirt and water, leaving her itchy and uncomfortable. After that, they had put on strange paw covers and placed her within an odd bush. They watched her for a time, moving around the bush in a strange manner, before calling her. Kitty had quickly learned as she tried to obey that the strange bush was covered with sharp prickles. After a few tries, Kitty had given up, and the top-furs had retrieved her. One had crouched and watched intently, holding a strange object, while the other hissed and yelped at the prickles as it removed her. Such strange creatures... they had forgotten their paw covers.

The top-fur who retrieved her had treated Kitty differently after that. It had bathed her — which was not enjoyable but left her fur clean and soft — and given her plenty of food and water. Its touch was gentler than usual, running softly over her head and back. Maybe this was how it worked. She had done what it wanted, though she was unsure how, and now it liked her. This was hope. This was a nice new life with the top-furs; they would care for her now. This was...temporary. Only a few shifts of the sun later, and Kitty was returned to her small colony, more confused than ever. The older cats had been surprised by the state of her, but it was as though they expected worse, not better.

Kitty's outings from then on only got stranger, scarier, even painful. She would be returned exhausted, cold or sore. Their little colony had shrunk by two, and the young cats had grown closer. Kitty was relieved to have someone to soothe her wounds with a gentle touch, to curl around her on the colder nights. Yet Kitty had never blamed the top-furs, not entirely. Not like the others did. In her eyes they were strange and confused. They always treated her kindly after each outing, leaving her clean and fed. Like an apology. They did not mean her harm, not truly. There had to be a reason.

When they were left alone by the top-furs, Kitty had learned a few things from her little found family. Some helpful, some comforting, and others strange. Among the lessons on the best way to warm, cool or dry herself and others were lessons of the stars. When the first of The Lost had not returned after their outing, one of the oldest cats who was rarely taken out had told them of the stars. That night she had gathered the younger cats around her, and she had sent their lost companion to the stars with something of a mournful song. Kitty had been confused as to how she was so certain the lost cat was among the stars. When the second of The Lost did not return, Kitty had simply accepted that the older cat knew, in some strange way. Age made one wise, after all, and this was the oldest cat she knew. Eleven moons. She had lived more than twice the lifetime of The Lost.

To her little family, soon Kitty would become one of The Lost. It was a fate she could not foresee, going along with the motions as she always did when the top-furs collected her. She had curled in her little transport cage, dreaming of the tasty food and tender care she would ultimately receive after this trip. The small branch she found herself clinging to in the midst of a swift-paced river was not part of her dream. Normally, Kitty knew to wait. To hold onto her perch or submit to whatever position she was in, calling to the top-furs until they came. This time, instinct kicked in first.

The bank had looked closer than it truly was, and something in Kitty knew innately how to move her paws. But as she dove into the current, set on where her top-furs waited, three terrible facts came crashing down. The bank was far, the current was strong, she was weak. Too weak. With a grasping hunger like no other, the water tugged her down. It swirled and snatched, filling her ears and eyes. It was not satisfied. With greed unbound, the water sought her lungs. Something had grasped her scruff.

Dragged to the bank gasping and spluttering, Kitty was expecting to be met with the burst of tenderness from her top-furs. Instead, she had heard a growl. The form above her was tense and dripping, four-legged and furred. A cat! The biggest, oldest cat she had ever seen. He looked sleek and strong. He looked furious. Yet strangely, Kitty did not feel fear in his presence. The top-furs seemed to feel otherwise. They spat and yelped at the cat, one even grabbing for a nearby stick. The cat did not baulk. Instead, as the top-furs scrambled, he grabbed her scruff and bolted. Kitty should not have been small or light enough for him to carry. But she was.

For a time, the top-furs sought after her. Strange voices tinged with anger and annoyance, they called out for her, tried to convince her to return. Part of Kitty had wanted to. They would be sweet to her again, surely. She would be fed and cleaned, and then she would return to her family. But the tom was stubborn, insistent. For some reason, she felt she should listen. She trusted him.

The tom hid her away until the top-furs stopped searching, which took less time than Kitty might have hoped. Frustrated and losing patience, the top-furs had retreated. Kitty allowed the tom to guide her onward. By evening, the numbness she felt during waiting had shifted, leaving shock in its place. Kitty had left her home, her family, all sense of familiarity behind, for a stranger. She could still hear the water rushing in her ears, feel it clogging her throat and stinging her nose. It was all wrong.

With time and the help of a pleasant-smelling herb, the tom managed to help Kitty recover from her shock. Arthek. He told her some of his story as he groomed her, encouraging her to eat what remained of his earlier catch. In return, she told him her own. The story had seemed to sadden him. What lingered in her mind were the supposed truths she struggled to accept. Her life had not been normal. They had never cared, never loved her. That night Arthek had gifted Kitty a new name, if she would take it. Elowen. He spoke the name with such reverence, as though it were a being of its own.

Arthek did not possess much healing knowledge; not like the great healers he told her stories of. However, with his careful attentiveness, Elowen began filling out and her fur looked healthier than ever. Although he broadened her understanding of gender and its intricacies, Arthek embraced that Elowen was in all but birth a queen. He encouraged her to live her truth.

Arthek exhibited a range of skills, although he was a master of none. He was pleased to teach Elowen what he knew, desiring that his knowledge be carried on. Of what he taught her, healing joined with Stumpy's talk of spirits as her passion. Unfortunately, there was not much that Arthek could teach her of the field. Beyond what soothed her shock and chill, he could only teach her how to stop bleeding or keep a wound clean as it healed. He could teach her signs of infection or fever, but his knowledge on how to treat these things was very limited. Without many herbal remedies, he taught her the importance and many uses of water and sunlight. He taught her how to respect and use her environment to her aid.

It was only after five moons with Arthek than Elowen realized the old tom was preparing for the inevitable. What he knew and taught her could not help him. As irrational as it seemed, it was all Elowen could do not to blame herself. There was no one near who could help. And so, with Stumpy's mournful song on her mind, Elowen sent her guardian to the stars. She was alone. Even if she had wanted to, Elowen could not recall the way to her first home. She could only hope they were not all among The Lost. Or perhaps it might be better if they were.

With a heavy heart, Elowen had traveled on. For a few moons Elowen wandered with no destination, letting her paws carry her as they wished. It was not until she heard an extension to Arthek's stories that she felt a renewed spark of hope. The fallen clans, home to the great healers of old. Perhaps if she could find their resting places, their descendants, there might be more to learn. Perhaps she could carry on Arthek's hopes for her and expand on what they knew. Perhaps she could belong.