on broken wings ,,

[paint]

{ preen your feathers, sharpen your talons }

An angry talon here, a sharp beak there, and drops of blood on her own silvery feathers. Her wings spread, her beady eyes widened. The little phoebe couldn't take it anymore, watching the songs of the bittern and the swift merge into a single tune of concealed anger. The gray bittern was still calm, but he was adding on to the screaming tune, fueling the flames that poured from the black swift's beak. The flames scorched the phoebe's feathers, brought tiny beads of water to her dark eyes. Talons now, quick and fast, scarring the phoebe's wings, her legs, her white breast. Her feathers were soiled, pure soul pouring from the wounds in place of blood. Now she was falling from the branch that had once been strong for her, and the branch dissolved into hopeless wisps of cobweb. Her claws reached for the cobweb in a last desperate attempt, but it blew away. She was falling now, losing all motivation to fly. She looked up at the kestrel, her last hope, but the kestrel just looked away. And then, all was black, and the phoebe faded silently into shadowed guidance.

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No cat talks of it. Kittens grow up only hearing the hushed tales of crippled elders, their parents — felines who fought in the Great Annihilation as young warriors and apprentices — strangely reluctant to speak of the mystery-shrouded war. It's been many moons since PhoebeClan was nearly obliterated by the fiery talons of destruction, their reduced numbers beaten from the forest and forced north, to the mountains in which they would surely die within leaf-bare's unforgiving approach. Even though the time of immense bloodshed has long passed, the threat of scarlet tension has not completely dimmed. A generation after their exile, PhoebeClan's territory is still being fought over by the remaining three clans, tactics of traditional tooth and claw often exercised. Little do the remaining clans know, however, is that PhoebeClan is not lost, and their vengeance burns ever brightly.

In the mountains dwells a well-respected tribe, their beliefs and perspective far different than those of the Clans. The massive, stone-muscled felines of the hardy terrain live a stern, guided life; frequently giving sacrifice and blood to their sacred ancestors of war. However, when the remains of PhoebeClan stumbled upon them, change had been irreparably set in place. Falling under a treacherous tyranny, the Tribe of Guided Flight began to stray from their spiritual paths, blazing dark, bloody trails of newfound immorality. Their young are now raised to kill, not in the name of their Gods, but rather in the simple grace of satisfaction and thrill. Coupled with the fallen, revenge-seeking clan of faraway lands, the Tribe is given incentive and opportunity to exercise their hunger for domination... and the dangerous desire to expand their territory. Is PhoebeClan's need for redemption so strong, that they're willing to allegiance themselves with something that defies their own beliefs? Broken and weak, do they really have a choice?

On broken wings the flight of morality and justice often go askew. So, join us, and you shall discover hidden wonders of betrayal and vengeance.

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* brand new site ,, staff auditions, tons of open high positions, unique plot, four clans & two tribes, neat environment and an eager, active, and very excited administrator