TC DEPUTY TRYOUTS }{ Applications due Dec 11th

[Amber]

So as we all know ThunderClan is without a deputy. Let's fix that shall we? Over the next couple of weeks anyone who wants (except those who either already have a deputy position, or have two high positions) may try out. You can either try out a cat you already have, or create a new one.

Now, here are some things that are a MUST if you would like your cat to be deputy:

* The cat MUST be a tom. (Since ThunderClan has issues with creating she-cats)

* The cat MUST be AT LEAST 40 moons. This doesn't necessarily mean they have to be either forty moons or above, preferably not over seventy, though. (TC needs an older deputy since the leader is young)

* The cat MUST be a very LOYAL and STRONG cat. (We don't need anyone who wants to join another Clan, or who is weak.)

* Must have trained an apprentice (obviously). (The apprentice can either be made up, or an actual cat in the Clan. Please mention the apprentice in your bio.)

* The tom MUST be ginger to make the plot work (See below)

* YOU must be active.

Now, there is also a plot for the deputy that Amber has come up with. *grin*

Whoever would like to be deputy must also note that the deputy will be the father of Rookpaw and Lilypaw, aka the two new apprentices in the Clan. Turns out the two aren't fully loner blooded. Their father (the deputy) mated with their mother, who is a loner, and Dakota and Shadow were born. The tom came back to see his kits when they were born, but left them with their mother. He hasn't seen them since his mate died, and he thought his kits were killed with his mate.

Now he is mentor to Lilypaw, his daughter. What will happen when he starts asking questions about her past and finds out his kits aren't dead, but right in front of him?


Applications are due on DECEMBER 11th. No later. Also as a reminder the WC Medicine cat applications are due the same day.

[Amber]

LESS THAN A WEEK TO GO, AND I DON'T SEE ANY APPLICATIONS? IS ANYONE EVEN INTERESTED IN THIS?

[Ivy]

Name: Longstripe
Gender: Male
Age: 47 moons
Clan: ThunderClan
Rank: Deputy
Apprentice: Open
Love Interest: Open

Kin:

Description

[/i] like a ThunderClan cat, his hazel/green eyes large and round above his extended muzzle. Long, white whiskers only emphasize the already large tom's size, even if a considerable ammount of his bulk is made up by his pelt. He is an attractive tom, his friendly yet authoritative vibe always shining through with his happy grin. He's viewed with respect by his Clanmates, but isn't the type of cat one must be afraid of. No, he's more like the jolly overseer.

But that doesn't mean he's soft. Oh no, he's not soft.[/ul]
Personality

Loyal, Merry, Concerned, Confident, Friendly, Quick Minded, Protective

History

[/i] great, of course. He took great joy in romping about the nursery, skiddling out from behind an especially fluffy nest and taking one of his denmates by surprise.

His merry personality shone through even as a small kit, and Longkit's parents had very high expectations for him. Their first kit had turned out so well! But the guilt was still wearing on Poppyfur's mind. She loved her Brownpelt very much, and Longkit even moreso. But she couldn't go a day without thinking of her act of betrayal.. and she and Brownpelt grew distant. Longkit didn't notice. He was now big enough to venture about ThunderClan camp on his own, and loved to sneak over to the elder's den to squeeze a few stories out of the aged cats. Only when Brownpelt stopped visiting his mother and him in the nursery every night did Longkit realize anything was up. His apprentice ceremony was only days away when he hid himself away to eavesdrop on his dear mother approaching his father. "Why are you doing this?!" she had hissed, receiving nothing but a low grumble is response. He sat there until his eyes blinked shut and he nodded off into unconsciousness.

It was then that Poppyfur and Brownpelt went there seperate ways once and for all. Longkit's head was still spinning when he was brought into apprenticeship and made Longpaw. The whole time is still a bit of a blur to him (he's always been good at blocking out bad memories). The tom was assigned to a young female warrior, only around 17 moons old, by the name of Wrenheart. She was small and plump, but sharp as a whip and insanely clever. She often confused Longpaw with her sarcasm, but hey, he was her first apprentice. Wrenheart taught Longpaw well, taking advantage of his strong inclination towards hunting and battle. He was easy to teach -- even if his bad memory prolonged the learning processs some -- and listened to his mentor faithfully. She did have a rather loose view on the Warrior Code, and didn't spend much time drilling it into his head. Longpaw grew strong and well, proving himself a capable ThunderClan cat. He was nearing his 14th moon when Wrenheart and a few other mentors and apprentices performed the hunting evaluation. His performance was satisfactory, and his mentor (whom he'd grown quite fond of) decided it was time that he earned his warrior name.

With a beaming Poppyfur waiting in camp, Longpaw was promoted to Longstripe. His lush ginger fur seemed to glow in the warm sunset rays as he left behind the days of his apprenticeship and joined the ranks of the warriors. He had finally made it. Longstripe sat out his vigil ever-smiling, he just couldn't get over the fact that he had come to this point in his life. All of his hard practice and training had payed off, and he was now a full ThunderClan warrior. And now, he was free to do as he pleased.

After an incredibly unsuccessful attempt at courting Wrenheart ("What do you think I am, Longpa- stripe? Some perverted she-cat going after toms half my age?"), the cat reached his 20th moon. It was at this time he was given his first apprentice, a young tom named Swiftpaw. He was timid and awkward -- completely opposite from his mentor. Longstripe tried his best to train the thing, showing him all of his techniques and secret moves with the steady persistance of a practiced warrior. He'd always loved youth. The little thing just wasn't filled with the fire Longstripe eminated, and the two barely supplemented each other. If there was one redeeming quality to Swiftpaw, it was his ability to take in every word Longstripe uttered. His training passed with ease, and in the very beginning of his 12th moon the fully matured Longstripe decided he was worthy of a new name. He was made Swiftleaf, and the ginger tom was amazed at the feelings of pride that surged through him as he watched his first apprentice pass out of that crucial stage. With an approving nod, Longstripe had retired to his nest, mind buzzing with the excitement of his (now former) apprentice's coming of age.

He carried out his duties as a warrior faithfully, mentoring two more young cats (Lillypaw and Mudpaw, both eager to learn and bright) before he reached his 39th moon. Longstripe had developed a reputation, an image of a joyous, friendly tom who's devotion to ThunderClan shone through in his every action. The Clan respected him, and he was the rock as the Shadedstar's last life slipped away due to sickness, his daughter was named leader. Now, Longstripe assumed he'd just stay a senior warrior when it came time to choose a new deputy. To his surprise (and the Clan's joy), Ashwhisker was now Ashstar, and the young leader appointed Longstripe her deputy. It was a wise choice for such an inexperienced cat.. well, perhaps that was the point of it. Longstripe had always shown good leadership qualities, and he was a nice cat in general (even if he is a bit over protective). He stood next to his leader with his chest swollen in pride and his amber eyes aglow with passion.

Since that day the ginger tom has adjusted well to his newfound rank, pushing himself to help the Clan and help Ashstar deal with being mad leader at such a young age and he continues to do so now.

But what comes next?[/ul]
Other

Roleplay Example
UP IN TEN MINUTES, I PROMISE.

[slack]

Name Whitethroat

Age Fourty-two moons

Gender Intact Tom-cat

Clan ThunderClan

Apprentice
        Thrushwing[Former apprentice::NPC]
        Ashstar [Former apprentice::Amber]

Rank Deputy

Mate/Crush None

Kin
       Foxbound[Father::Deceased]
       Swanfeather [Mother::Deceased]
       Mintwhisker [Older Brother::Deceased]
       Gingertail [Sister::NPC]
       Lightwillow [Younger Brother::Deceased]
       Foxflight [Younger Brother::NPC]

Description

       Built with the frame of a bear, Whitethroat is a daunting sight to behold (judged next to a genuine bear, he may not actually be very intimidating, but it sounded sweet). In reality, the tom is still quite titanic, though. His body structure isn’t ‘compact’, per say, but he isn’t long and swift like a WindCanner, either. He stands comfortably in between, with an average length tail. His legs appear shorter than standard due to the vast extent of his mane, but they’re actually fairly normal in length. He’s a broad-shouldered tom with a thick neck, cavernous chest, and wide haunches. He’s naturally robust and a tad hefty, due to his extremely thick ginger pelt. He isn’t pure muscle, though, and he isn’t all brawn. As expected from a cat feral by birth, his body is lean from relying on nature for nourishment. His muscles are a blend of compact and wiry. His body wasn’t built for speed, though.
       Although his mane swathes his entire front end, his head and face are exceptionally defined instead of being lost within his fur. His ears are short and round, set wide on his broad head. His bright green eyes have just a slight exotic slant on the outside ends and unfathomable depth within. His thoughts or emotions are sometimes vaguely distinguishable within his rich green eyes, but he tends to blink them away the next second. The whiskers around his pert pink nose are slightly askew, but he seems to pull it off with his dignified expressions and demure smiles.
       The length and thickness of his pelt borders ridiculous. However, during the frigid nights of leaf-bare, he’s more than grateful for his fur (as are the warriors sleeping closest to him). The majority of his pelt is an almost dull ginger color, with the exception of a white patch stretching from the inside of his neck to the very top of his chest. It’s not very big, but it’s always noticeable and clearly his namesake.

Personality

reliable | compassionate | emotionally reserved | focused | proud | intelligent | protective | strong-willed

       Although not the most social of cats, Whitethroat is by no means anti-social. He doesn’t necessarily search for conversation, and definitely doesn’t push it, but he doesn’t mind it. He’ll hold his end quite well in a discussion, especially if the current topic is ThunderClan. He doesn’t take well to gossip, though, and the rumors usually expire at his end. However socially stable he is, conversation with depth makes him extraordinarily uneasy. He’s hesitant to talk about himself. Anything ranging from his past to his emotions usually slams against a brick wall. He’ll cordially, and quite smoothly, switch the chat to a topic that allows him to steal away from the spotlight. Whether it’s because of his very confidential affairs with a certain lanky rogue, or simply because he’s shy about his feelings, Whitethroat avoids chatting about himself in depth. However reserved about his feelings he is doesn’t influence his ability to be a superb listener, though. Within his vast chest rests a truly golden heart. He actually enjoys aiding others, emotionally or physically.
       When confronted with a dilemma, Whitethroat is very shrewd. He’s forever a thoughtful tom, but even more so when the decision could make it or break it. He tries to be as reasonable as he can, depending on how high the stakes are at the time. The only things that will really get the tom angry are threats to his Clan or challenges to his integrity. His strongest traits are his need to protect and his pride. Over the moons, he’s worked hard on keeping his pride solid and his name good within the Clan. He isn’t plagued by the haughty ‘I’m better than you’ pride. Other cats’ thoughts matter to him, especially when they’re about him. He likes to play it off like they don’t, but who doesn’t want to be liked? Whitethroat makes a solid attempt to be on light terms with everybody. He’s big on first impressions, and it takes a bit of work for him to change his mind once it’s set on something. He isn’t incapable of mercy, though. He won’t forget, but he’ll more than likely forgive.
       His largest fault lies in his inability to trust other individuals. Certainly, he trusts that his Clan will back him if he’s ever in trouble. It isn’t that kind of faith that binds the tom’s heart. Rather, it lies again near his timidity to expose his inner thoughts. He trusts his Clan with his life, but no living cat holds enough trust to truly know the way he ticks.
       Also, despite being a stoic and considerate being, Whitethroat harbors a shameful secret within him. In battle, he turns downright vicious. It brings out a terrible, ugly side rarely seen otherwise. However unappealing it is, though, fighting pleases the tom. He relishes the way his muscles tense and release during a blow, the distinctive feeling of enemy flesh yielding to his fangs. It’s a distasteful attribute, but he unleashes himself in battle nonetheless.

History
       Note: I'm creating a time line, so you don't have to read all of this. I got carried away.]


       When two warriors love each other very much, they want to show it to each other. Sometimes, this results in kits. In Whitethroat’s case, only two kittens. It was Swanfeather’s third time kitting in her life. By that time, she was fairly accustomed to the process and how things should flow. Whitethroat and Gingertail’s births went as smoothly as a feral birth can be expected. Their parents hovered over the two at first, almost smothering their kittens with attention. Gingerkit and Whitekit became quite spoiled, in fact, until about three months into life. At that age, Foxbound had decided it was time to begin instilling lessons into his offspring. Although they fought it at first, they soon became quite well mannered, considering their young age. Nobody could have disputed that Foxbound and Swanfeather were excellent parents. Despite being forced to mature before they may have wished, the kits admired and respected their parents. The family maintained a strong bond and when the kits were finally handed over to new paws as apprentices, Foxbound and Swanfeather could not have been more proud.
       Although the siblings often trained together, it soon became clear that Whitepaw was pulling ahead of his sister. She excelled at hunting, but she wasn’t quick enough for the fighting moves that her mentor was trying to drill into her head. Her mentor was a strict old senior tom who expected nothing less than the best out of his apprentices. Whitepaw’s mentor, a pretty warrior named Minnowstream, was quite the opposite. She was gentle with the young tom, but recognized his potential. She explained everything thoroughly and praised her apprentice when he did well. Whitepaw enjoyed pleasing his mentor and strove to better the skills she taught him. When his sister pleaded for him to help her train, fearing she wouldn’t be made a warrior in time, Whitepaw warmly obliged. Without realizing it, he instantly slipped into mentor mode. When her paw slipped, he nudged it back into place. When she didn’t move fast enough, he gently nipped at her, spurring her on to avoid his fangs. He used the same tactics as Minnowstream continued using on him, encouraging Gingerpaw when she failed and congratulating her when she succeeded. Although he didn’t apprehend it then, Whitepaw enjoyed helping others thrive. Foxbound’s pride in his kin was unfathomable, and all seemed well within the camp.
       However, with one moon left of their vigorous training, a dispute sprang up between ThunderClan and ShadowClan. The first attack on ThunderClan’s camp was abrupt and the warriors were caught off-guard. Whitepaw fought wherever he could squeeze himself in. It was in that battle that the young tom uncovered his voracity for fighting. He wrestled toms twice his size, snapping wherever he could reach and slashing with outstretched claws. He was too young to escape unscathed, though. Afterward, he bore shallow cuts on his face and ears, the most vulnerable spots on his body. Tufts of his thick pelt had been pulled free, but his body was virtually unharmed. By the time ShadowClan struck again (perhaps a week and a half later), Whitepaw’s wounds had healed, leaving fresh pink scars in their wake. Once again, the young feline unleashed his borderline-corrupt passion, his usual sagacity misplaced behind a wall of blazing red. Only once his last opponent had turned and fled did the lustful haze in Whitepaw’s mind begin to dissipate. At first, everything seemed okay in the camp. The warriors, though breathless and disheveled by battle, wore tired grins of triumph. That is, until closer inspection. Their deputy, proud Redpelt, lie gasping and dying near the thorn tunnel. Whitepaw was horrified, but the sensation was a phantom next to what he experienced next. A broad-shouldered tom stumbled numbly into camp and fell with a groan next to Redpelt. Whitepaw’s stomach seized uncomfortably, his mouth suddenly became dry, and his body went rigid. ”No…” he whispered, his brows beginning to furrow and his insides starting to constrict. Before he could move, a flash of white streaked towards the warriors. Swanfeather threw herself at her fallen mate with a yowl of grief. Whitepaw’s face twisted in anguish at the sight, a sight that would haunt his dreams for moons to come. In that moment, the trembling apprentice’s mind touched mental maturity and clung to it.
       A moon later, Whitepaw and Gingerpaw received their warrior names, as well as commendation for their strength during the raids. Whitepaw humbly traded his apprentice title for a respectable warrior name. Despite the tragedy that struck his blood kin, Whitethroat’s personality never skipped a stride. Some may argue that his steady level-headedness was detrimental to his mental health, but it was the best (and quite possibly the only) way the tom knew how to handle the sting of losing his father. He lent his all to renovating the camp, which in turn helped him extricate himself from his hurt. He saw very little of his snowy mother, mostly because his new polished mentality couldn’t tolerate the sight of her despair. Alternatively, he poured his strength and heart into the Clan’s necessities, often over-exerting himself in the process. His Clan-mates whispered about him. It was unhealthy, the way he passed out as soon as his head hit his forepaws every night. However, nobody challenged him. Instead, after moons of watching his new warrior repeatedly drive himself too hard, Shadedstar assigned Whitethroat an apprentice. Fresh from the nursery, Thrushpaw brought luminosity to Whitethroat’s dull life. At last, the young warrior could avert his attention to another living being.
       Thrushpaw wasn’t the brightest cat in ThunderClan, but his passion to become a warrior outshone his slight lack of intelligence. Whitethroat dedicated his very spirit to making Thrushpaw the finest warrior that he could. Time spent teaching the young cat was never wasted. The moons passed quickly and a resplendent new aura emanated from the large warrior, which seemed to spread to his kin. Swanfeather had always relished being a mother and soon she was with kit again, although the sire remained anonymous this time. So long as she smiled, Whitethroat didn’t mind how she chose to live. Too soon, Thrushpaw’s training came to a conclusion. The moment Thrushpaw’s warrior name rang out across the camp, Whitethroat’s broad chest swelled with pride and he felt his first smidge of complacency. In the following moons, Thrushwing grew more distant from his mentor, seeking his place in the Clan. Swanfeather birthed two new kittens. Gingertail was too distracted by her own new apprentice to relax with her sibling. For a moment, Whitethroat felt alone again. The world wavered, but it was over in the next instant. His large paws were set on firm, solid ground. His Clan-mates slept peacefully at his side.
       It happened just as abruptly as before. Preparations were being made for a naming ceremony. It was early morning. Two kits were about to be named apprentices. The warning yowl came from one of the senior warriors, but was quickly cut off. Chaos reigned in the ThunderClan camp. Warriors screamed their cries of fury and pain, filling the forest with their voices. It was over almost as unexpectedly as it had begun, but the camp stunk of death for days afterward. It was only after Whitethroat’s wounds had been seen to that he learned of the attack on the nursery. Naturally, both of ThunderClan’s resident queens had given their lives to protect the young kits inside. Although all of the kits survived, Swanfeather and Silentstep had joined the ranks of StarClan.

I sleep so I don’t have to feel.

       Whitethroat’s grief was short-lived. He was granted a mere moon to mourn his mother before Shadedstar bestowed upon him another apprentice. The she-cat was from the nursery, but not his blood. She was Shadedstar’s kin. Although his mother had lost her life protecting the kits, Whitethroat harbored no resentment towards the young she-cat. Rather, he instantly saw potential within her shining green eyes. She was clever, compassionate, and stubborn! Whitethroat admired her hardheadedness, despite the trouble it posed for him as her mentor. Indeed, her mulish behavior often created a rift during their training, but the warrior pushed her. With a little time and a lot of pushing on both of their behalves, Ashpaw was caught up to her sibling in training. Despite reaching their goal, he didn’t lighten her training. It was three moons into her education when Whitethroat made a new acquaintance. During a scout for better training places, the tom came upon a loner near Tall Pines. She was a sweet feline, with an exotic name that felt warm on his tongue. Julian. After their first chance meeting, Whitethroat would often find himself strolling through Tall Pines. On several occasions, he would coincidentally find Julian peering down at him from a Twoleg fence nearby. Their friendship flourished from the beginning. Not once did Whitethroat consider that his behavior was going against the warrior code. It seemed, to him, a simple companionship outside of ThunderClan. Besides, she wasn’t stealing food from his Clan or threatening them in any way. Rather, she was curious about his home. She would listen, enthralled, while he recanted ThunderClan’s tales. He spilled the tumultuous events of his life to the gentle she-cat, never once hesitating. It was all so new to the ginger tom. He had never developed feelings for another feline before, not like this. When she grinned at his jokes, it made his head spin. Although it embarrassed her, he adored the slight lilt in her voice and her radiant laughter. She seemed like an innocent soul, and instantly Whitethroat was seized by the urge to protect her from his forest life. Although she pleaded with him to show her his home, he always declined. He knew she wasn’t fit for Clan life. Besides, why would she want to gamble what they had already?
       Ashpaw’s training continued all the while, never slowing. He was always exceptionally cautious about his meetings with Julian. Although he felt that he wasn’t doing anything immoral, he also knew that his Clan wouldn’t understand. They wouldn’t see what he saw when he looked at her. They wouldn’t feel the way he felt when she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. His very breath would catch in his throat and a welcome warmth would spread through his massive body. Inside, his stomach would flutter nervously, followed by a gentle soothing tremble. They wouldn’t, couldn’t if they tried, experience how he felt when she leaned her head into his broad shoulder. She made him feel real. Her presence was his anchor, her sweet words kept him grounded. At night, when he would lie in his nest in the warrior’s den, he would envision Julian’s body pressed warm against him instead of his fellow warriors. Their relationship thrived on their close bond. Five moons after their first encounter, his young love announced that she was bearing his kits.

       Ecstatic though he was, Whitethroat was nervous about his kits coming into the world. His apprentice had finally been made into a warrior, which Julian was thrilled to hear. Of course, she would have been overjoyed to meet Ashwhisker, but Whitethroat was still hesitant about introducing Julian to his home. It was this reluctance that became the seed of his doubt in his kits. What would become of them? Would they roam the Twoleg Place like their mother? These thoughts and similar kept the tom awake at night. His mind was it’s own torture chamber. Over the time of Julian’s pregnancy, Whitethroat’s doubt grew. When at last she kitted, though, he couldn’t have been more rapturous. Together, their love had created two beautiful kits, a tom a she-kit. At first, lovely Julian wished to give them Clan names. However, at Whitethroat’s gentle protests, she obliged. Thus, Shadow and Dakota.
       Rather than go against the warrior code (or he just found a loophole), Whitethroat would hunt for his mate and kits within Twoleg Place. At times, they would trade roles, giving Julian a break to hunt for herself if she wished. He didn’t mind, of course. On one such occasion, though, Julian didn’t come back. At first, he assumed she needed a longer break, and thought nothing of it. However, when she still didn’t return, he became concerned. He was torn between protecting his small kits and protecting his mate, but eventually Julian won out. ”Shh, kits. I’ll return,” he whispered to his mewling kin before slipping away. Padding away from his hushed kittens, Whitethroat feared the worst. With every stride forward he took, cold dread flooded the warmth in his veins. He followed the all-too-familiar perfume of his beloved mate, stalking the winding paths of the small urban area. He didn’t have long to search, though. Her crumpled body brought his paws to a dead halt. For a moment, he could only stare. Emotions raced through his eyes, but none of them stayed for longer than a second. Grief was the first sensation to strike. He felt it deep within him, twisting at his insides and placing them in utter turmoil. The sudden discomfort caused his belly to seize up, contracting and loosening spastically. His breath came in ragged pants. The harsh, quick inhales dried out his mouth and throat, making him choke on his breaths. He took a hesitant step towards the rumpled heap of his mate, followed by another, his lips pulling back in a grimace. He nosed her sleek shoulder gently, as he’d done so many times before to wake her from slumber. ”Wake, my heart,” he whispered, his voice a rough tremor. His ears flicked uneasily at her stillness, yet he persisted. He nudged her again, a bit firmer this time. ”Julian, enough.” His voice held a light growl, but the tremor remained. A part of his mind refused to believe what clearly lay before him. However, rationality eventually emerged on top. He closed his eyes momentarily, his face twisting in misery. Gently, he lowered his giant body to her side and pressed himself close to her. ”Our kits, my queen. What will I do without you?” His voice was a soft trembling wail. He pressed his nose into her fur, at a loss for words. Mutely, he rasped his tongue over her soft fur. For the last time, Whitethroat shared tongues with his beloved mate, knowing even then that she wouldn’t be joining his warrior ancestors. Not even in death would he be reunited with his Julian.

       when it's cold i don't feel alive


Roleplay example
It was a quiet morning, almost as if the forest hadn’t yet woken from slumber. The local birds, normally an obnoxious bunch at sunup, were silent. As a constant resident of the area, the cats of ThunderClan found it a tad peculiar, but continued with their day as they’d planned nonetheless. A naming ceremony was about to take place in the camp, so the majority of the members lounged within the camp in wait. Whitethroat lie sprawled near the warrior’s den, his massive russet body stretched into a comfortable position. He flicked an ear back lazily and glanced towards the leader’s den, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the sun. Shadows shifted within the dim lair, but no cats emerged. With a soft sigh, the warrior extended his thick neck and rested his chin on his outstretched forelegs, boredom subtly ensuing.

A fur-raising yowl shattered the silent morning air. Terror shrieked in the sudden cry, but the underlying tone was furious defiance. Whitethroat’s broad head shot up and his eyes blinked open, alarm flashing through the jade depths. For a half of a second, his muscles tensed, gathering the energy to spring the large tom to his paws. He whipped his head towards the entrance to the camp and his eyes widened in pure, unadulterated horror. Titanic shadows were shouldering their way into through the thorn tunnel and heaving themselves at the closest cats. Whitethroat stared for a second longer, his mind seemingly unable to process the scene unfolding before his eyes. However, his training soon kicked him in the side and his eyes narrowed to smoldering slits. His blood felt as if it flowed quicker, vehemence bubbling in hot rivulets through his veins. The wide ears atop his skull flattened against the sides of his head and he rushed at the nearest badger, his fangs bared in an enraged grimace.

Gingertail was upon the badger first, spitting curses and slashing with deadly accuracy. Seizing his chance, Whitethroat charged at the badger’s vulnerable side, coming up quickly from behind. He aimed at the lumbering creature’s hind leg, slashing and ripping with untamed abandon. Whitethroat watched, through a haze of murderous scarlet, as a stout muzzle swung in his direction. Alarm shrieked in his mind, but the tom was on a warpath. Undaunted by the snapping fangs, perhaps unwisely, the red warrior sprung at the badger’s face. He clung to the badger’s head briefly, sinking his translucent claws into the giant mammal’s fur. The fur was shorter on the badger’s face, making the flesh vulnerable. The animal howled his pain and snapped viciously at the cat blocking his view. Whitethroat’s thick belly fur protected his vital spots when the badger snapped, but he flung himself away from the beast before he could be harmed nonetheless, shoving off with enough force to leave a few deep scratches in the badger’s face. He landed heavily and whirled around as quickly as he could. Unfortunately, agility isn’t one of Whitethroat’s finer traits. Pain screamed in his mind and Whitethroat yowled it aloud. The badger’s wide paws had landed a hard blow on his hind leg. He spat his fury and backed away from his enemy, watching him through livid slits.

Gingertail hadn’t deserted him yet. She continued living the nightmare on the badger’s other side, but her eyes glowed passionately. Whitethroat circled around the badger, his muscles tense. At his sister’s side, he matched her blow after blow, forcing the creature to back away or risk more scars to his blunt muzzle. His leg throbbed with a dull pain, but the warrior forced a limp out of it as he fought. It wasn’t much longer before the badger turned and shambled away, tearing his way through the camp walls in his clumsy haste.

Whitethroat stood staring after the animal, panting, his leg still aching terribly. When he glanced around himself, it became clear that the battle was almost over. Holes glared from the camp walls, revealing where the beasts had departed. Warriors boldly forced back their nightmares with unsheathed claws and bared fangs. The terrifying ordeal was over.

Other
Forgive the terrible choppy example D:

--Born late summer
-6 moons -- Apprenticed
-11 moons -- Foxleap killed in battle of Thunderstorm
-12 moons - made warrior
-17 moons - given apprentice (Thrushpaw)
-23 moons - Thrushpaw made warrior
-26 moons - badgers attack (Swanfeather killed)
-27 moons - given apprentice (Ashpaw)
-30 moons - Met Julian
-33 moons - Ashwhisker made warrior
-35 moons - Kits born
-37 moons - Julian dies
-44 moons - Present

[Amber]

Nice to see I had a couple bios to look over. Might I say there were both very interesting and I enjoyed reading both of their stories. Geez, this was a hard decision. They both seemed like they would fit along great. So whomever I don't choose if you would like to keep your cat in ThunderClan as a warrior, I would definitely allow it, just lemme know. ^^

It took me several times reading each bio and debating on who would be the better choice. I finally came to a conclusion, and I'm hoping that it will allow me to post.

Congratulations to:

WHITETHROAT. You are the new ThunderClan deputy.

Grim, if you wouldn't mind making a bio in the Character Creation board, I will gladly accept it as the deputy. ^^

And Ivy, like I said if you would like for Longstripe to be a warrior, post him in the same board. If not we can just poof him. XD