Post by slack on Mar 6, 2011 14:51:14 GMT -6
Name Cedarstripe
Age 16 moons old
Gender Intact tom
Clan SkyClan
Rank Young warrior
Apprentice None
Love Interest Why? Is somebody interested? That’s surprising.
Kin
Mousewhisker [Litter sister]
Nightflower [Mother::Deceased]
Tacobell [Father::NPC, missing]
Description
When Cedarstripe was born, his kitten fur was just as downy and luxurious as any kit’s. However, as the young tom matured, his pelt became coarser to the touch. The base of his thick fur is a solid light silver color, with the next layer being a clean classic tabby pattern. The swirls and stripes of his pattern are a rich burgundy hue, contrasting splendidly with his silver base color, as well as being noticeably silkier. The left over areas of his body (belly, paws, etc) are unmarred by highlights or spots, being either the burgundy of his stripes or coarse silver.
The shape and size of his body isn’t incredibly impressive or anything. He has a fairly compact body type, with the rest of his body being decently proportionate. His head is sleek and, well, slightly feminine. Although in proportion to the rest of his body, his head is on the smaller side, with two round angular ears jutting out. His face appears a little exotic, but only because his muzzle seems to dominate his face. The bridge of his nose is broad, finishing in a pert, pale nose. His whiskers are long and immaculately white, framing his slender face quite charmingly. His eyes are large and round, always shining with intelligence. The iris parts of his eyes are a shaded reptilian green, ringed by a very light pale gray-blue. The transition is slight and only visible upon deep inspection, though.
Although he’s a little on the dainty side, his muscles are quite defined. The muscles in his haunches are distinctly more powerful than the lean muscles of his front half. Suffice to say, his SkyClan origins are undisputable. Also, when he talks, he has a slight lisp.
Personality
secretive solemn pessimistic apathetic
Cedarstripe doesn’t seem to have learned the meaning of sentiment. His exterior is cold and indifferent to most and he refuses to lift a paw to assist any one cat…besides performing the normal warrior duties expected of him. He keeps largely to himself, only pausing in his tracks to converse with his sibling, Mousewhisker. In fact, she seems to be the one presence he enjoys. Only in her company can the young tom be seen chuckling or seem remotely normal. His apathetic air vanishes the instant she steps near him. Need to wheedle him into doing something? Ask for Mousewhisker’s assistance. It seems he would do about anything the she-cat asked of him.
Not to say that he would outright defy his leader or deputy’s orders. Cedarstripe is a loyal SkyClanner, however reluctant he may seem sometimes. He just, for the life of him, can’t seem to accept the company of other felines. When he speaks, he’s extremely blunt, which can easily be interpreted as rude. He’s very open about his thoughts on somebody, which are usually negative, but refuses to have meaningful conversations with anybody other than his sibling. Although he doesn’t seem to mind crushing feelings, Cedarstripe doesn’t intend to offend. He isn’t an aggressive tom, just frank to a fault. In fact, Cedarstripe surprisingly dislikes physical fighting. He prefers mental warfare, or just no communication at all.
The young tom is actually very pensive. He enjoys his solitude, chiefly because his best ideas come to him when he’s alone. If, in fact, he ever comes out of his shell and embraces somebody OTHER than his sister as a friend, they might learn something from the cranky crankster.
History
The Clan was flourishing, bolstered by a sudden influx of litters. The weather had been fairly consistent for the past moon—warm and splendid, with a pleasant, much-appreciated breeze. Prey was fat and slow, warmed into a lethargic daze by the green-leaf heat. The air was thick with sounds of nature’s vitality, including a sudden cry of distress. The wail, shadowed closely by another one, reverberated against the packed walls of the nursery. A small black she-cat lie panting against the back wall, her pretty face distorted in blatant agony. Outside, scarcely a fox-length away from the den’s entrance, a large beige tom paced anxiously. Nightflower and Tacobell were expecting their first litter.
In the later day, the two warriors eventually landed themselves with a lucky son painted silver and a petite daughter dyed creamy taupe. The son was called Cedarkit, dubbed for the burgundy stripes spreading across his body. The she-kit, Mousekit. She had been noticeably smaller than the male, but the medicine cat had assured them she was healthy. The warriors were enamored with their newborn kits and raised them as well as could be expected from two fresh parents. For their first few moons of life, the kittens led an average Clan-born life and thrived off of it. However, when the kits were nearing their third moon, it became apparent that their simple family was changing. Their father didn’t come around as often. Their mother’s shoulders sank lower with every day her mate didn’t visit. The kits noticed the sudden change in their once tranquil atmosphere, but couldn’t comprehend it. Before long, their father’s absence and mother’s dejection became ordinary. Outside of the comforting nursery walls, Taco was becoming restless. He performed his duties well, but snapped at any cat that walked in his path. The Clan soon learned to steer clear of the hotheaded tom to avoid his random snarls and terrible temper.
A few days after their sixth month, the kits attended their apprentice ceremony. The ceremony went swimmingly and when Cedarpaw looked out over his Clan-mates, he saw his father’s pale eyes shining proudly up at him. He chirped in pleasant surprise and automatically straightened under Taco’s stare. In the weeks that followed, Cedarpaw learned from both his mentor (pretty Rookflight) and his father. His parents began meeting on friendly terms again. His mentor taught him the basics, taking it slowly with her new apprentice at first. His father, however, showed him the different branches of what Rookflight had taught him. He trained his son both mentally as well as physically. Cedarpaw learned how to control his juvenile emotions. His father instilled in him a deep thoughtfulness, while also warning him of tricky curiosity and the dangers it imposed. The young apprentice trained hard for both of his mentors, letting his training dominate the majority of his time. The only apprentice he was remotely close to was his sibling, and she was beginning to slip out of his reach. Cedarpaw allowed it, his eyes locked on some distant prize of winning his father’s praise.
Near their ninth moon, Taco began training his son harder than ever. When Cedarpaw fussed or slipped up, the warrior would, quite simply, snap. It was a terrifying experience for the young tom. He strove harder, struggling to stay within his father’s good graces. Taco’s impatience was fragile and his temper erratic. It was a difficult time for the apprentice, but he threw himself into his training. By that time, his parents had become quite the pair. It came as no surprise to anybody when Nightflower announced that she was pregnant. To Cedarpaw, it wasn’t the best news. He was nervous about any future sons Taco might have. What if he loved his new sons more than Cedarpaw?
The following weeks were unswervingly awful for the apprentice. He constantly dreaded his mother’s next litter and trembled under his father’s heavy paw and unwarranted tantrums. He continued heaving himself at his father’s challenges, living for a breath of praise. He thrived under Rookflight’s gentle nature, but it wasn’t her commendation that he sought. By that time, Mousepaw only talked to him when he instigated a conversation, never on her own. However, the appalling shock the siblings felt when their mother died hit one of them just as hard as the other.
She had been torn from her nest under the cover of night’s dark blanket. When she was announced missing, the Clan tore the quarry apart in search of her. Her broken body was discovered by one of the newer, young warriors near the outskirts of the forest. It was clear that she’d been murdered, along with the unborn kits in her belly. It didn’t take long after that to ascertain whom her killer was. Taco was missing from the warrior’s den, but his scent was all over the murder scene. The older warriors followed his scent to the border, but refused to pursue across their scent lines. If he came back, which they doubted, he would be taken care of.
control yourself, take only what you need from me
Cedarpaw and Mousepaw were traumatized. If they rarely spoke before, they clung to each other’s sides after that. Rookflight comforted her apprentice as best as she could, but he seemed inconsolable by anybody other than his sibling. He finished his training in time, but he graduated as a completely different cat.
Other
My lispy, awkward, sad boy.
Roleplay Example
No! :}
