Post by ilyich on Jun 22, 2011 7:21:24 GMT -6
Name: Crookedstep
Age: 85 moons
Gender: female
Clan: riverclan
Rank: elder
Love Interest: N/a
Kin: faclonswoop - brother // krestalwing - father // brackenstep -- mother
Description:
Large for a she-cat, Crookedstep was once called Heavybranch. As a younger warrior the girl's fur was thin and sleek as any riverclan warrior's would be expected to be. In age the deep black has been marred with scars and flecks of gray. The worse of old wounds preside on her ear and leg. The left ear is docked halfway up it's base, a reminder of some far off battle, and the right hind leg would be the reason for her retirement and her renaming. As a senior warrior she had found a fox quiet by surprise and found herself trapped. In her fighting the creature crippled her hind leg, smashing in the bone beyond repair.
The limb is twisted awkwardly halfway down the femur, and scars radiate away from the primary crushed area for a few inches. A particularly bad one stretched up over her hip. Despite this crippling injury the woman, having always been a bit intimidating has not lost her warrior appearance. Sharp yellow eyes still stare around alertly, free of blindness. Her ears, no matter their outward appearance still work well, and she will at times insist on siting with the younger warriors at sentry posts inside the camp due to this.
Personality:
Crookedstep is a rather course personality. Never a very affectionate creature, the girl finds herself generally bored. She had always been a very active cat and in old age she finds herself rather anxious. Refusing to give up any of her remaining strength the stubborn she-cat tends to sit sentry with the younger warriors. Determined and harsh the girl trained quiet a few apprentices in her time and in that tale she remains the one enthusiastically giving kits and warriors alike knowledge.
Despite her generally temperamental personality Crookedstep has always been a mentor. A good patient mentor. When it comes to wisdom her ability is high, and her willingness to share is endless. She simply adores training, and will happily talk with kittens for hours on end. Kittens ask rude questions sometimes, and though she gives reprimands, she generally answers them as well. For her no story is too harsh for children. Her attitude is pessimistic, and she shines no false light on the life of a warrior.
With others she tends to be a bit rude herself. Her voice has always held that slightly annoyed edge. Crookedstep was always the task oriented cat, and now with no task to create she gets antsy. In getting antsy she gets mean and snappish. Her tongue is sharper then her claws,and it enjoys grinding across others ears. Stupidity is a thing she despises, and though she will offer advice she will still think of that cat as a moron for the rest of her life. Her thoughts about cats are a one time deal. First impressions are everything, and should you make a bad one she will never altered her views.
History:
As a child under the name Heavykit the girl was tough. She had been born tough. Her litter mate was weaker then she, and like any kitten she took full advantage. She and her brother were never close due to this constant bullying. For those moons she drifted away from her mother far too often, being the more adventurous and thus more problematic kit in her litter. As a child she found no reason to withhold her arrogance, and showed it openly; much to the annoyance of everyone around her.
At the age of six moons, she being a strong child, Heavykit found herself
under the care of a senior warrior by the name of Foxtail. His russet tabby coat marred by scars, Heavypaw could not help but be in awe over her mentor. The half tailed warrior had been chosen for his calm attitude, and such came into play in Heavypaw's training. Slowly over the course of her six months in training her shooed the arrogance away from her heart. Under his soft command the kitten became an adult. Heavypaw became a more patient, more aptly made warrior.
Gaining her warrior name under her proud mentor's gaze, Heavybranch became an appreciated warrior. Despite her sometimes coarse personality the woman made many friends. Loyal to the core the girl fought by their sides for many moons. She patrolled and fought and hunted for season upon seasons. Heavybranch was an asset to her Clan, as any good warrior was. Until after all those moons she began to feel the past in her bones. So many days. So much strife. A warriors life is hard, and the senior warriors know it most of all. Refusing to retire the girl made her way towards being the eldest senior warrior, and in the end her weakening state ruined her.
Having caught a fox on patrol the graying warrior could do little to fight the creature, having sent her patrol into the trees. Unable to run as fast as she once could the girl was caught and thrashed. Bloody and battered she was rescued by her returning patrol, who had in seeing their patrol leader fall had refused to stay hidden. Finding herself in the medicine cat den she was told that she would have to retire. She was told she may never walk properly again. But arrogance is a hard thing to completely destroy, and in the end the elder found herself with little more then a heavy limp and a new name. Given to show her injury and her age. She was no longer a branch so strong that in a storm it could kill. She had become a cat named for the injury that almost finished her, though she walks crookedly proudly.
Other: Nope.
Roleplay Example:-explanation-
the character in this post is a Servile named Montego who up until a few days before this post thought she was a male. A war happened, stuff was shoved in her face and now with some heavy injures she is being obsessive xD so... yeah
Dust rose up in furious puffs every time she hit the ground. Tears of pain pricked at the edges of her eyes, wet reminders that she refused to respond to. Again. Leap again. Legs catapulting her upward, claws slashing once again at the ragged branch too high above her head. The red hot scabbed scars pulled across Montego's ribs screamed in protest. She ignored that as well. All she wanted was to rip that dead branch from its post. She just wanted to tear it down. Was that too much to ask? She just want to know she could. Just want to know I still can.
Agony, her lungs were on fire. Aching sides crying now Montego landed harshly, claws scrapping the dirty uneven ground as she came down. The impact was jarring, the girl hadn't landed properly. Falling to her knees to avoid damaging joints she rolled in a heap of tawny fur and dust. Coming to a stop a few feet down into a deeper pot hole the woman sighed, laying upside down on her back, legs hanging in the air uselessly above. God I'm pathetic. And I'm going to hurt myself.
She'd only just gotten back on my feet, too. After being deposited back in camp Montego had crawled into a dark corner and refused to look at anyone. Of course the pride come back and she was the only one injured. Her pride had snapped,and with it most of my happy childhood memories. Over the last month Montego's time had consisted of forcing herself to stand and trying to negotiate around her lie of a life. Oh the joy. Ears flicking backward the servile limped back up to it's original standing under the dead branch, glaring up at it with utter venomous hatred.
At least I still had sarcasm.
Plunking down into a seated position she glared at the thing, as if it would fidget itself broken in response. Refusing to admit she would not have been able to reach the spot easily before that damn war, Montego stood once more. It didn't matter that it was too high. She would reach it. What little trust she had left in herself determined that she must reach it. Lowering her front down, chest touching the earth Montego stared upward. The position hurt her neck but it was better to see then just blindly jump.
Long tail coiling behind her, snake like in its insistent weaving Montego shuffled. This was going to hurt. Like hell it was, it hurt every time she jumped. It hurt to walk out here. It had been a month and her body still ached when she stood, her left front leg wouldn't pull back all the way. Eyes narrowing Montego snarled up at my target. She. Was. Not. A. Cripple. These wounds would heel, and everything would come back. It had too. That furious raging panic in her head Montego lurched upward every ounce of power in her body spring boarding into her hind legs.
Blinding fire caressed her sides, like ever attempt before that. Both front paws arched upward, sharp curved claws aimed for wood. Anything solid really, Montego just wanted to rip something. Anything. The ends skimmed the bark, once again, wrenching at one of her toes before she fell away again unable to grasp her goal. Landing once again too heavily Montego rolled side ways this time, tail slapping against the dust in defeat. Montego couldn't win, but she couldn't give up either.
Dragging herself up right and posting herself once again to my stance of panicked importance she glared. Good God It hurt.
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