Legend has it that a war would break out between two factions, those of the mountains and those of the marshes. These factions are of a magical world, but as their magic was gradually drained from them, they grew more and more hostile, blaming each other for their loss in magic. Neither of these factions knew however, that their magic was being drained and stored by a weed-like forest stationed in a valley in between the two territories. The war would last centuries until that forest was burned, releasing all the magic back to its original holders.
And as all legends do, this would come to pass. One cat, a hermit unaffiliated with either warring side, found this legend and knew what they had to do. But they did not know how to spread a fire, and so they went to the factions offering a future of peace in return for their assistance.
Whichever faction it was that had killed the hermit does not matter, as perhaps the other might have done the same.
What matters is that the hermit is dead, the prophecy died with them, and the world dies with the prophecy.
This is the information Passion and Rush knew when they were brought to this world. The two cats also knew it was their mission to fix it. What they didn’t know, was why it had to be them? What was so special that they were chosen to take on such a task? Rush was just a simple craftscat, a milder of wood and metal. Passion studied magic, although back where she came from it was simply seen as a sort of artistic science.
“It seems the only way of getting out of this is to do the job,” Passion said after a couple seconds of silent observing.
“What makes you say that?” Rush retorted. “Some divine sense? Some cryptic prophecy that revealed itself to you in a dream?”
“No, simply the fact some higher-worldly entity scooped us up and told us to do something. Now do you want to go home or not?” Passion demanded sternly.
“I’m not going to do something some dumb butterfly told me to do just because it magically kidnapped me or something. I’ll find a different way to get home.”
“I wish you luck on your attempt then. Especially regarding your amount of knowledge I’m the arcana,” Passion remarked sarcastically, and began down the hill they had appeared on. A war between the mountains and marshes, one of these factions would be able to direct her to the fated forest. Passion looked about her, seeing if she could spot either of the hailing territories. Easy enough, she saw the mountains in the east towering over the horizon. Doing a final check
of any important belongings, she began her trek toward the mountain range.
Rush was busy chasing butterflies. To disturb the very creatures that the fates had taken the form of, surely that would invoke them to take him home? “Take that!” And “Now bring me home!” are things that flew through his mind as each delicate insect was crushed under his paw. After several minutes of this not working, he turned back, searching the landscape for any inspiration in dealing with the fates. It wasn’t surprise he felt, but he didn’t really expect to see a speck moving in the distance, the speck of the fellow kidnapped cat he came here with. “She’s going to the mountains!” Rush thought in annoyance. “I’ll show her, I’ll go to the marshes and find a way to burn the forest before her. She’ll be proven wrong, and I will be right in thinking that those butterflies had lied to us.”
Rush was confident in this, as he had an advantage that Passion did not. Metal squeaked and wood creaked as he lifted his self-made wings. He stood for a moment trying to understand the flow of the wind, as he did not have the special sense for this as birds did. Finally he leapt, and lifted off to try and find the marshes.