thunderclan
windclan
riverclan
shadowclan
nonclan
04♂ ▪ 04♀ ▪ 08 TOTAL
ALLEGIANCES & HISTORY

LEADER
erminestar // lanky white tom with blue eyes and a twisted jaw.

DEPUTY
OPEN // this position is currently available.

MEDICINE CAT
finchfur // calico she-cat with long fur, a thick tail, and pale green eyes.

MED APPRENTICE
PENDING // this position is open by request only.

thunderclan reports excellent prey and adequate herb growth. dark clouds gather over the forest, obscuring the moon.
02♂ ▪ 03♀ ▪ 05 TOTAL
ALLEGIANCES & HISTORY

LEADER
mothstar // small long-furred grey and white tabby she-cat with dark amber eyes.

DEPUTY
closed // this position is closed temporarily for plot purposes. check back later!

MEDICINE CAT
lavendernose // dilute tortoiseshell she-cat with cloudy blue eyes.

MED APPRENTICE
PENDING // this position is open by request only.

windclan reports adequate prey and adequate herb growth. dark clouds gather over the moor, obscuring the moon.
03♂ ▪ 03♀ ▪ 00∅ ▪ 06 TOTAL
ALLEGIANCES & HISTORY

LEADER
whitestar // white she-cat with long fur, yellow eyes, and a scarred nose.

DEPUTY
OPEN // this position is currently available.

MEDICINE CAT
quillfrost // gaunt, medium-furred black smoke tabby tom with pale, clouded blue eyes.

MED APPRENTICE
PENDING // this position is open by request only.

riverclan reports excellent prey and excellent herb growth. there is the faintest twinkle in the starlight over the river.
04♂ ▪ 05♀ ▪ 09 TOTAL
ALLEGIANCES & HISTORY

LEADER
rainstar // silver spotted she-cat with tawny markings and blue eyes.

DEPUTY
cedarclaw // large dark tabby she-cat with amber eyes.

MEDICINE CAT
hickoryleaf // brown spotted tom with green eyes.

MED APPRENTICE
PENDING // this position is open by request only.

shadowclan reports adequate prey and excellent herb growth. the stars glitter unreadably over the marsh at night.
loners
01♂ ▪ 00♀ ▪ 01 TOTAL

rogues
00♂ ▪ 00♀ ▪ 00 TOTAL

kittypets
00♂ ▪ 00♀ ▪ 00 TOTAL

awakened
02♂ ▪ 00♀ ▪ 02 TOTAL

NONCLAN ALLEGIANCES
AWAKENED ALLEGIANCES

ANATHAEMA V3
welcome to anathaema, a literate warriors roleplay set on an alternate timeline from the events of into the wild. we are focused on creativity. we offer member-driven plots and lenient application and post requirements. we also feature new concepts, locations, and dynamics that set us apart from other warriors rpgs. feel free to look around and see all that we have to offer.
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WELCOME TO THE FOREST, Guest. YOU ARE IN Guests.

CURRENTLY YOU HAVE MESSAGES FROM STARCLAN AND MESSAGES FROM CLANMATES.
starclan
skin created by STEVE ROGERS at SHINE & CAUTION. miniprofile by AMANDA at SHINE. the custom forum script is credited to BLACK. the toggle cbox is thanks to KISMET. pixel badges are by DANDELION. site graphics are by ELIAS. banner featuring HICKORYLEAF.
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medicine cat
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alias: beck!!
biography: http://anathaema.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showtopic=58
allegiance: brown spotted tom with green eyes.
reputation: No Information
alignment: No Information
augur: robins
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Joined: 21-September 16
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Last Seen: Feb 18 2018, 09:23 PM
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hickoryleaf

shadowclan

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Oct 1 2017, 08:00 PM
[dohtml]<center><div class="doanything">

<table><tr><td><img src="http://imgur.com/YG9OsNg.jpg"></td>

<td class="words">it's a beautiful world,<br>can't you see it anymore?</td></tr></table>

<div class="body">
it starts with a dream- jumbled up words, a phrase repeated over and over until it echoes and reverberates and he's certain that's the whole of it, some eons old message transcending time and space to sit snug between his shoulder blades. a pressure, an acknowledgement. it's inky blackness, a wretched existence that simmers and slurps at the ground before his paws. it's the river off riverclan's border overflowing with the castoff of the rains, the storm that screeches overhead and the sloshing of the black waters below. it's cliffs and a cave and the dirt tunnels of windclan, the swamps that dot shadowclan's border, the whipping winds that make the trees moan and groan in thunderclan. it's everything and nothing and an absurdity that he's long since written off as nightmares and make believe.
it is not, nor ever was, starclan. the old whispers in his head, the dying breath of a civilization that still clung to him as an apprentice. <p>
by the time he is made medicine cat, they don't talk to him anymore. <p>
he can feel them in the winds, sometimes, the way they stir up the leaves in leaf-fall and make the snow twist about in leafbare. they don't talk to him, don't ask of him, don't inform him like they used to, like he was promised they would. did they doubt him? did they hate him? he knows it not personal, thinks absently as such as the winds of his dreams pick up and shriek louder, as if disturbed by the thought. the waters are lapping at his paws now, the sensation of being dragged in and wrested of control. it's the brightmire all over again, it's the brightmire and he's going to die-- no<p>
no. <p>
it's not the brightmire. it is the everywhere-nowhere place, and maybe that includes the swamps he swims through during his waking days. but here, now, even as something yet nothing demands control of the dream, he does not give it. it's not starclan.<p>
it was never starclan.<p>
he keeps that mantra up as the winds and the rains smack against his pelt, too-real for a dream but not quite right, no warmth or cold to it. it's just an endless sensation along his sides, like maybe if he concentrates hard enough it'll turn out to be a friend pressed to his side. it's nights like these when he thinks of gorsethroat the most. it's been hard to find time to reflect. not necessarily easy with the impending doom the forest was determined to thrust upon them. there was the war, and the wyrdwalking, and the way quillfrost wouldn't throw barbs at him anymore, or how finchfur couldn't look when he came to visit. the way windclan always seemed torn between happy and sad to see him. it was all taking up so much time, so much energy, thoughts scattering to the wind as it pummeled him. gorsethroat would have known what to do. to think, such a mentor, stuck with him! and here he was. wasting his nights haunted by something he couldn't quite name. <p>
the waters are rising again, determined to drag him back to the moment. they swirl and swarm, and he bites back a tired sigh. he hasn't felt fear since that night, nothing the dreams could throw at him comparable. <p>
except, of course, when they could. when there are foxes braying at his heels, snapping and snarling even as he runs faster and farther. those, he could usually tell they were dreams, even as the heat of their breath and pain of his wounds returned to him. those dreams weren't dictated by anything other than his memories, and always played out the same, over and over- but this one? this one changed.<p>
he blinks, sudden, entire field of water falling into silence, as if aware of the realization. the pounding had fallen into a pattern, whispered words in a language he couldn't comprehend, as if knocking it into his body and mind. a rhythm he couldn't quite catch up to until given the cipher. "it feels like change is coming," the voice is saying, a cacophony of sound to the tune of all the thousands of the rain drops. figures, that rain would be the thing to tell him. rainstar'd never let him live it down, should whisper of it get out. the rain is soft on his pelt now, not the harsh screeching wind-rushed thing of before, happy that he'd clue into its message. change was coming it kept on saying, over and over. he knows he can recognize the voice, the way that words tilt into each other, sleep-ridden and exhausted from a life he himself couldn't quite understand. it's like a foreign language all its own, the way a warrior speaks after a battle or a patrol gone bad. the only thing he can discern is the tensing of muscle as he pulls at thorn or wraps wound in spiderweb, or the way a poultice will make a cat snarl at him, guttural and not like their normal countenance. <p>
this was change. the world was change, even! it was always changing. they couldn't, and certainly shouldn't, rely so heavily on their ancestors. maybe that was what they were telling him- but no. it's still not starclan. he can thank the winds and the rains and whoever he couldn't see laughing at him later. and just like that, with the sudden realization that he had to figure out who had said that, because they were important, starclan, was he certain of it--<p>
the waters rose and he was underneath all at once, gaping for life and breath, confusion following through as he woke with a start, gasping and choking out a startled cry. the den does not move, and no water rushes forth to consume him. hickoryleaf sighed, hard, gaping for a moment before the memories came to him. the winds, with their whispering, and the voice they had taken the shape of. he stood, sure in a way he very rarely was, and broke through the fern curtain, blinking into the early morning light. the dawn patrol had already left, he could gather, or at least guess. rainstar's gaze held his own for a moment from across the camp, and he realized all too suddenly the conversation he'd have to have with her. for all the blood they shared, he couldn't help but pray she understood what he meant. a vision-- no. maybe not a vision. he couldn't believe it as such. not after mothermouth. hickoryleaf took a long, shuddering breath, steeling himself before picking his way across the bustling camp.
<p>
when he looked at blackstorm, peering at the figure, bones weary for the punishment of the past moon, he thought of gorsethroat and of stormheart. thought of the past bleeding into the future. thought of cycles, of forgiveness, of change.
<p>
"hey. blackstorm?" he called as he stepped forward, ignoring the possibility of interrupting something. this was more important. "i was wondering if you had a moment."
<p>




</div></div><a href="http://shine.jcink.net/index.php?showuser=8549"><span style="font: bold 8px/20px calibri; opacity: .5; text-align:center;">BY MITZI</span></a></center>

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Sep 24 2016, 11:15 AM
[dohtml]<center><div class="doanything">

<table><tr><td><img src="http://imgur.com/YG9OsNg.jpg"></td>

<td class="words">it's a beautiful world,<br>can't you see it anymore?</td></tr></table>

<div class="body">
the morning pulses with life. there's moments of silence, when the entire surrounding area settles in on itself, as though the birds have been given pause by something swaying in the undergrowth. the ground here is just a tad bit wet, not the same sinking expanse of the bogs that encompass the edges. for one so accustomed to the sensation of bog mud clinging to limbs, hickoryleaf can't help but appreciate when the terrain isn't out to get him. almost-lithe figure, carefully picking his way from bush to bush, nose twitching almost endlessly. he'd once attempted to teach granitepelt of plant-keeping, but that had only ended in dead leaves. <p>
perhaps starclan had to gift the ability to care for vegetation to the medicine cats. it'd always come rather naturally to the cat, but perhaps there was a deeper meaning to it all. after all, there was a deeper meaning to anything, if one was to put effort into it. the tiny bundle left trapped between parted maw was all he'd collected thus far, though it wasn't for lack of herbs to collect. shadowclan had been blessed with plentiful bounties of herbs, though none cared much for it save hickoryleaf. all that mattered was prey to them--- as it should, rightfully. they needn't worry their heads over it when they had someone trained to protect them from illness. <p>
if only it was still easy to protect them. the very thought of the affliction running rampant left a chill to run down his back, though for the time being the sun beat down upon him, a break in the trees just as he came, finally, to his destination. the bundle of herbs is placed carefully a few tail-lengths from the edge of the water, though the tailwend was never capable of strong currents or rushing water. warm water that bubbled ever-so-slightly, the muted sound that meant, perhaps, his luck would hold out. <p>
he allowed himself a moment to lap at the waters, the always-there taste of the thunderpath that left a sharp taste in the back of the mouth, but was something to ignore. cobwebs clumped together along the edge of the tiny creek, dew and water droplets shining bright amid the spun webs. he stared down at them, paws already sinking into the muck of the bottom of the creek, considering how much he could carry. he'd have to make a return trip, though. for now, his attention remains on the plantlife, the sprouts that he'd been watching so carefully over the past few days. of late, he'd spent more time out of the brightmire than in, something he'd not done in a moon or more, now. <p>
but even if he were to spend all his hours there, he still had a job to do. his clanmates needed him, for all that they liked to pretend otherwise. white and yellow flowers catch his eye, and his mind turns instead toward their use, sniffing carefully at the tiny leaves beneath the flowers, eager to harvest a few. with a moment's hesitation, he finally sticks his whole head within the plant, nipping at the joints of a few stalks, eager for the addition to his hoards of herbs. with leaf-bare right around the corner, it was imperative to stock up for all the usual illnesses that reared their ugly heads.

</div></div><a href="http://shine.jcink.net/index.php?showuser=8549"><span style="font: bold 8px/20px calibri; opacity: .5; text-align:center;">BY MITZI</span></a></center>

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Sep 21 2016, 06:30 PM
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<div class="gtemp-one"><div class="gtemp-two">
HICKORYLEAF
</div><div class="gtemp-three">
HICKORYKIT - HICKORYPAW
</div></div>
<Div class="gtemp-app">
<img src="http://i.imgbox.com/02RUaWFm.jpg" width="100%">
<div style="width="100%"><br>

<div style="overflow: hidden;"><div style="float: left; width: 170px;">
<b>age:</b> 47 moons <br>
<b>gender:</b> male<br>
<b>sexuality:</b> non-existant <br><br>

<b>allegiance blurb:</b> <br>
a brown-spotted tom with green eyes
</div><div style="float: right; width: 170px;">
<b>clan</b>: shadowclan <br>
<b>rank</b>: medicine cat <br><br>

<b>reason for name:</b><br>
<i>hickory</i>: hickory for the spotted brown of your coat<br>
<i>leaf</i>: leaf for the skill you've brought to every task, the exceptional prowess you've shown

</div></div><br><br>

<h3><center>APPEARANCE</center></h3>
<div style="text-align: justify; height: 150px; overflow: auto;">
you are brown-- so much brown. brown fur and dark brown markings, splotches and spots that cover your pelt and give you a sort of stream-lined look. the only thing that isn't brown on you would be your eyes. they are a hazy sort of green, and are more often than not sort of 'squinted,' giving you a generally exhausted look. you are lankier than most of your clanmates, as though you are stretched out more than the average cat. you are built bigger than most might assume a medicine cat to be, but it's all length and gangly limbs rather than coiled muscle, ready to pounce.
</div><br>

<h3><center>PERSONALITY</center></h3>
<div style="text-align: justify; height: 150px; overflow: auto;">

you are considered the absolute middle in all things. never too quick to anger, but never too prone to jokes and humor. mild-mannered, eager to please. you've been called boring before--- run of the mill, every day. your mind is more preoccupied with herbs and whispered, barely-there spells, eager to heal and eager to help. in all things except your job, you are forgettable. but even if other cats turn a blind eye, there are parts of you that friends might point out. you've a soft sort of humor, always quick to be polite to your seniors. you are the type to make silly faces to calm kits when no one is looking, the type to laugh sheepishly at any praise, the type to duck your head and ignore others if it means getting work done. <p>
you are the type to be deeply troubled by even the most innocent of things, the type to hold superstitions close to your chest. you prefer the 'old ways' to change, though you've learned long ago to adapt as best you can to change. you struggle with your own shortcomings, and more often than not blame yourself for the deaths of others, even if they were unavoidable. you're described as always slightly awkward, dragging out silences and placing emphasis in the wrong places, but every cat seems to agree that you are trying your hardest, and mostly mean no harm.
</div><br>

<h3><center>HISTORY</center></h3>
<div class="appinner" style="text-align: justify; height: 200px; overflow: auto;">


granitepelt - sibling | rainstar - cousin | owlfrost - mother | leopardpelt - father
<p>
you aren't necessarily born for greatness. there are tales of cats like that, chosen by starclan to protect their clan, to speak for those long departed. but you are not one of those cats--- you don't think starclan has the power they once did, to gift heroes with great skill.<p>
you've always dreamed of the stars. trailing eternities that spiral above you, populating your dreams and reminding you of the sheer size of the world well before you leave the nursery. there's no reason to think of this as anything out of the ordinary. dreams are just dreams, and though you share the little bits that you remember with your parents, those dreams are never anything more than that. signs? prophecies? whispers from dead warriors? there's nothing to make you inclined to think as much. and maybe they weren't anything more than an overactive mind, too big for a tiny body.<p>
perhaps your parents whispered their worries to gorsethroat. perhaps he knew, as intertwined as medicine cats were meant to be with their ancestors. perhaps it was just sheer, dumb luck. whatever the cause, he chose you long before you chose him. you and your siblings had never necessarily caused trouble, nor spent much time in the tom's den, but all the same he seemed to keep popping up into your life. whispering with your parents, watching on as your and your littermates played, approaching when you sat alone, relaxing. sometimes he would ask you things. you always found that part a tad strange, for what little you knew. none of the other warriors or cats paid your siblings any heed. you played in the clearing and laughed too-loud and all enjoyed life, but no one except gorsethroat ever seemed to bother acknowledging you. <p>
so eventually you start to smell that change is coming. you can't tell if you convinced yourself as much after the fact, or if you had dreamed of change, whispered to you by the nothingness or the horizons, forewarning you of his decision long before you consciously came to acknowledge it. you weren't sure what to expect, when you parents brought you before the leader, or all cats. some shadowy figure they'd told tales of, as you all laid in the nursery together, so far removed from reality. emberstar, a great hulking figure. he tells you of littlecloud, and of stormheart, and of their work with the wyrdwalking illness. he finds it funny, though you're not so sure, that you are born just a moon or two after stormheart's passing. as though starclan, even as weak as they were now, had brought you down from the very heavens as a gift. as someone to help gorsethroat in further studying the wyrdwalkers. <p>
gorsethroat sits there and sings you stories and praises, as though he knows all the things you'll do in the future. so you sit in silence and listen to these two strangers tell you what you're meant for. it's hard to imagine some bigger picture that you fit into. your life is the nursery and the clearing of camp and your parents that laugh when your siblings do something strange. all in all, you don't think there's any reason not to assume this was meant for you, or you were meant for this, or whatever gorsethroat tries to tell you. you say yes. you become a medicine cat.<p>
your naming ceremony is the last time you and your siblings will spend all that much time together for a long time. you are carried off into the forest to learn about herbs, their purposes, their locations, how to keep them. sometimes your eyes spin with all the knowledge, but you learn fast and you find it relatively easy. <p>
your first time in the brightmire, your mentor frets in a way you haven't seen him fret before. it's been only a moon since your appointment, and what little he's told you of wyrdwalking thus far hasn't instilled the great fear in you that it will when you finally witness it. but the brightmire is just some unfortunate swamp-y place, as far as you can tell. there is nothing sinister plotting within, no dark force coming forth to coil around you and steal your life. it is just bog water and unfortunate smells, and the more time you spend there the more certain you are of it. you come to recognize wyrdwalking as debilitating. the very idea of losing your own identity boggles your mind. gorsethroat teaches you whispered things, spells and sayings that he superstitiously clings to. you learn enough of the other medicine cats to know that their frustration and their lack of superstition is different than that displayed by your mentor.<p>
you spend most of your days there, silent in your watch. you walk and, in some unfortunate moments, you swim, and you search the entire thing over, desperate to find the 'cure' that everyone is so sure hides within. crowstar lets quillfrost in, one day when you're so deep in the muck you think you might become a part of it. it's easy to watch in the shadows, whisper your own prayers for whitestar. it's even easier to understand that some fundamental part of the brightmire is either to blame, or to use to cure cats. was it the water? was it the air? was it some unseen spore in the air? when gorsethroat passes you are left alone in your worries, and when crowstar passes you are left with rainstar. <p>
the other medicine cats beg you for entrance, and you'd give it to them, let them run across the entirety of the swamps if it meant curing them. but rainstar doesn't want anyone on their territory. you were never raised to hate your contemporaries, or to fear borders. you wish you could understand her, or maybe even understand this damned illness.
</div><br><br>

<div style="width: 250px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><h3>BECK</h3>
<div style="text-align: center; font-family: lekton; text-transform: uppercase; font-size: 9px;">EASTERN STANDARD TIME --- CLERIC.BEAST (SKYPE)<br>
---</div></div>
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SKIN BY STEVE ROGERS of SHINE & CAUTION.
TOGGLE
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CURRENT SEASON: NEWLEAF
( 2MO OOC = 1MO IC )
green buds have begun to line the boughs of the forest, heralding the long-awaited arrival of newleaf. after a particularly vicious leafbare, the clans welcome the lengthening days and turn eagerly to the face of a warmer sun as the forest once again sets itself to grow.


deep in the meadow {warriors} The Warriors Forest
in flore