Post by Mint on Sept 12, 2008 18:47:27 GMT -5
This is my version of Scourge's history. It's probably going to bend the book. I've just gotten started, so please respect that. Expect it to be far more detailed.
Prolouge
END OF PROLOUGE
Chapter 1
Names
Chapter Two
Sibblings and myself
I have limited time to work on this. On Ww v3, you can see the original thread here.
Prolouge
(QUINCE)
"Do you think he'll survive?" Quince whispered to the un-moving picture of her mate. His ginger pelt glowed like the sun and made her feel at home. There was nothing like his comfort. The queen had bore kits, and was living a nightmare. Only in tales did you get a small kit, weaker than the others.
The first was a healthy black and white tom, who seemed happy to be in this world. Each of his legs had white socks on them, clean and vibrant. She licked him twice, but he wasn't interested in her. Sleep was the only thing he desired.
The second kit was leaning on her, sniffing in the air and all the twoleg scents. Her gray fur was hot, but seemed extremely peaceful. She must've notice her black and white sibbling because she wobbled over to him, embracing him.
It was this third kit in which she was worried his life lay on the line. Quince could tell this was a runt. The way his breathing was labored, and how close he stayed to her- it made her feel unsure. The black kit had a single white sock- his left foreleg- and was trembling. Quince delivered a series of rapid licks, but the kit shrunk closer to her with every single one.
In the name of you, Lyren, let our young survive. If only there was someone, besides the blazing fire and the twolegs. Humph, that would be blessing alright. There were the kittypets in the other twoleg's den, but they were merely kittypets. The queen's forest life was over. She was no longer the forest rouge, the wanderer. So long since she had been called so. Quince was confident she wouldn't notice if someone were shouting her old name.
Suddenly, the mostly black tom gave a small, shrill, squeal. With sudden panic, she spun her eyes from the picture frame and nosed her kit. Her first kits. Her only kits. The only scraps of life still worth living for. If only twolegs did not take them from her as they had the others.
All she could do now was wait for morning. She rested her head on her paws, and asured herself that these kits would become the finest in the land. With a few seconds of quiet, the tired cat drifted into an unwavering sleep.
"Do you think he'll survive?" Quince whispered to the un-moving picture of her mate. His ginger pelt glowed like the sun and made her feel at home. There was nothing like his comfort. The queen had bore kits, and was living a nightmare. Only in tales did you get a small kit, weaker than the others.
The first was a healthy black and white tom, who seemed happy to be in this world. Each of his legs had white socks on them, clean and vibrant. She licked him twice, but he wasn't interested in her. Sleep was the only thing he desired.
The second kit was leaning on her, sniffing in the air and all the twoleg scents. Her gray fur was hot, but seemed extremely peaceful. She must've notice her black and white sibbling because she wobbled over to him, embracing him.
It was this third kit in which she was worried his life lay on the line. Quince could tell this was a runt. The way his breathing was labored, and how close he stayed to her- it made her feel unsure. The black kit had a single white sock- his left foreleg- and was trembling. Quince delivered a series of rapid licks, but the kit shrunk closer to her with every single one.
In the name of you, Lyren, let our young survive. If only there was someone, besides the blazing fire and the twolegs. Humph, that would be blessing alright. There were the kittypets in the other twoleg's den, but they were merely kittypets. The queen's forest life was over. She was no longer the forest rouge, the wanderer. So long since she had been called so. Quince was confident she wouldn't notice if someone were shouting her old name.
Suddenly, the mostly black tom gave a small, shrill, squeal. With sudden panic, she spun her eyes from the picture frame and nosed her kit. Her first kits. Her only kits. The only scraps of life still worth living for. If only twolegs did not take them from her as they had the others.
All she could do now was wait for morning. She rested her head on her paws, and asured herself that these kits would become the finest in the land. With a few seconds of quiet, the tired cat drifted into an unwavering sleep.
END OF PROLOUGE
Chapter 1
Names
(QUINCE)
"Why, gday Quincies." Quince winced at the kittypet next door's screechy greeting. Something between a possum and a bat sonar sound. In truth, it put her hair on end. It was a pain that cat came by so often, and couldn't understand she didn't like him. Heck, he didn't even say her name properly. The most elderly loner she had known never prenounced it wrong once. To Quince's horror, he alighted on the window sill. Her kits huddled by her. After all, they were only a few weeks old.
"Morning, Tormo." Quince answered curtly. "Lookit them kits! Your's, righ? 'M I righ?" Before she could do as much as nod, Tormo started yapping all over again. "How precious! The one with all the socks, you should call him that, yup. And that black one is tiiiiinnny." Quince nodded and briskly trotted into the twoleg sleeping room. She kneaded the red carpet.
Feeling like a pretty poor mother, not even having named her kits yet, she picked each of them up and put them on the pillows up on the bed. She looked at the black one, in which Tormo called Tiny. Gosh, he was really small. Fine, Quince thought twitching her tail. He would be Tiny. No doubt he wouldn't keep the name when he grew. The one with all four socks squealed and pounced on the she-kit. "Socks..." She murmured.
No name for the last kit came to mind. Plain, gray cat. Like herself. The kit looked at the twoleg wood table in amusement. Something there glittered red. Tiny scrambled forward to examine it, but Quince stopped him with a look. The kit was petrified by that stone. She had heard what it was called once... a ruby. What a pretty name. The colors reflected in the kits' eyes, making them red. She had found a name for each of her loved ones.
"Why, gday Quincies." Quince winced at the kittypet next door's screechy greeting. Something between a possum and a bat sonar sound. In truth, it put her hair on end. It was a pain that cat came by so often, and couldn't understand she didn't like him. Heck, he didn't even say her name properly. The most elderly loner she had known never prenounced it wrong once. To Quince's horror, he alighted on the window sill. Her kits huddled by her. After all, they were only a few weeks old.
"Morning, Tormo." Quince answered curtly. "Lookit them kits! Your's, righ? 'M I righ?" Before she could do as much as nod, Tormo started yapping all over again. "How precious! The one with all the socks, you should call him that, yup. And that black one is tiiiiinnny." Quince nodded and briskly trotted into the twoleg sleeping room. She kneaded the red carpet.
Feeling like a pretty poor mother, not even having named her kits yet, she picked each of them up and put them on the pillows up on the bed. She looked at the black one, in which Tormo called Tiny. Gosh, he was really small. Fine, Quince thought twitching her tail. He would be Tiny. No doubt he wouldn't keep the name when he grew. The one with all four socks squealed and pounced on the she-kit. "Socks..." She murmured.
No name for the last kit came to mind. Plain, gray cat. Like herself. The kit looked at the twoleg wood table in amusement. Something there glittered red. Tiny scrambled forward to examine it, but Quince stopped him with a look. The kit was petrified by that stone. She had heard what it was called once... a ruby. What a pretty name. The colors reflected in the kits' eyes, making them red. She had found a name for each of her loved ones.
Chapter Two
Sibblings and myself
(TINY/SCOURGE)
I bounded outside for the first time. There was no was I was going to be trampled by Ruby on the way out. I don't understand exactly why she dislikes me, but it just kind of... is that way. Mama tries to get her to stop, but she still does it behind her back. Mama says I have to be strong. That's right. They don't call me Tiny for no reason. It's bad enough that Mama had to name me Tiny, now I'll have to go my whole life like that! Honestly, when I'm a powerful cat with no one in front of me, and have everyone calling me Tiny? Yeah, see? Well, I won't badmouth Quince. But Tormo that mental tom next door says that he picked my name, Mama still denies it.
Well, I have to say. Ruby was very annoyed that I slipped under her, but what else would I do? Besides, if I didn't do that they might've already done everything there ever was to do! I that would be really bad. So, it was kind of embarrassing. I slipped on the damp grass and hit a stick. It hurt, but I couldn't look weak. It felt like Tormo was watching. He can really freak you out from time to time if you don't know him. I wobbled when I stood up, and everything I could see spun. I had no balance either, but regained it after a few seconds.
Luckily, Ruby and Socks were too busy looking at the pokey bush at the edge of the yard. I don't know what I would've done if they saw. Even though they seemed so ready to shoot criticism at me, I still wanted to try to keep them having the best opinion of me as possible.
Without warning, a shriek came from Socks. The fur on my back stuck straight up, and a chill ran through my body. Quince bounded over to Socks, a thorn was burried deep in his pads by the look of things. I winced sympathetically, wanting him to be alright. He made no sound as mama pulled the sharp thorn from the pokey bush from his paw, though it must have hurt tons. I was impressed, knowing I couldn't have been so quiet. Mama called us back inside, and told all of us the twoleg kits were coming to play tomorrow, so be well awake.
I bounded outside for the first time. There was no was I was going to be trampled by Ruby on the way out. I don't understand exactly why she dislikes me, but it just kind of... is that way. Mama tries to get her to stop, but she still does it behind her back. Mama says I have to be strong. That's right. They don't call me Tiny for no reason. It's bad enough that Mama had to name me Tiny, now I'll have to go my whole life like that! Honestly, when I'm a powerful cat with no one in front of me, and have everyone calling me Tiny? Yeah, see? Well, I won't badmouth Quince. But Tormo that mental tom next door says that he picked my name, Mama still denies it.
Well, I have to say. Ruby was very annoyed that I slipped under her, but what else would I do? Besides, if I didn't do that they might've already done everything there ever was to do! I that would be really bad. So, it was kind of embarrassing. I slipped on the damp grass and hit a stick. It hurt, but I couldn't look weak. It felt like Tormo was watching. He can really freak you out from time to time if you don't know him. I wobbled when I stood up, and everything I could see spun. I had no balance either, but regained it after a few seconds.
Luckily, Ruby and Socks were too busy looking at the pokey bush at the edge of the yard. I don't know what I would've done if they saw. Even though they seemed so ready to shoot criticism at me, I still wanted to try to keep them having the best opinion of me as possible.
Without warning, a shriek came from Socks. The fur on my back stuck straight up, and a chill ran through my body. Quince bounded over to Socks, a thorn was burried deep in his pads by the look of things. I winced sympathetically, wanting him to be alright. He made no sound as mama pulled the sharp thorn from the pokey bush from his paw, though it must have hurt tons. I was impressed, knowing I couldn't have been so quiet. Mama called us back inside, and told all of us the twoleg kits were coming to play tomorrow, so be well awake.
I have limited time to work on this. On Ww v3, you can see the original thread here.