Post by Bracken on Oct 27, 2011 13:06:29 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: dddddd; border: #cccccc solid 8px; width: 420px; padding: 15 5 15 5px;] Fog gender: Tom age: 36 Moons clan: Windclan rank: Warrior [style=text-align:center;font-size:15px;letter-spacing:5]APPEARANCE The tom's pelt was one solid color a deep rich blue-gray. The fur was a thick short coat, with a long tail. As a kit he had a lighter gray coat, giving his name of Fog, yet as he grew, it darkened, by the time he was at the end of his apprenticeship his pelt was the rich blue-gray it is now. His eyes were a light green color, almost with a hint of blue in it, his eyes were one of the few things the tom liked about his appearance. His ears were pointed, with a narrowing towards the base of it at his head and rounding out just up and then making a rounded point at the top. His limbs were longer with the slender physique of most Windclan cats, able to run swiftly catching rabbits and feeling a though he and the win were one. PERSONALITY The Respected: Towards those he regards as friends, comrades, the lucky few he is kind, respectful and honorable. He will speak fairly openly with them, act as he would with any friend, gossip a bit, although he felt that was better left for the queens and elders. Friends he only regarded as cats within his own clan, friendships with cats outside Windclan would only cause trouble. The tom does hold some respect for cats outside his clan, yet only mild respect, if a cat earns it it is a lucky one. He will speak to them calmly and politely, yet always cautious, hardly trusting. The Distrusted: Those he distrusts he speaks openly against, those he fears are against Bloodclan or any he believes may have ill thoughts towards his clan or harming them he will watch, stalk, haunt even. He readily confronts those he distrusts, fighting with vigor and determination to protect his clan no matter what cost. Any who threatens Windclan deserves the wrath of Bloodclan's leader in his eyes. Kits: Around kits the tom was an awkward fellow, he fears being near them, unsure how to act and fearful of stepping on one and breaking it. The warrior would do all he could to avoid the kits, keeping as far from the nursery as though it had a permanent case of greencough. Secretly the tom wanted them, he wanted to be a father and contribute to his clan, yet the idea of love was something he could not comprehend. He had never seen a she-cat he found remotely interesting or had never made the attempt, perhaps that was his downfall. He did not see a point in making an attempt in getting to know any she-cat, thinking his awkwardness around kits and avoidance of the nursery would drive any she-cat as far from him as possible. Fears: He feared little, not even kits, only feeling awkward around them. His one true fear was thunder. The loud sound, the way it makes the earth shake and everything around him feel as though it could crumble at any moment would make his body quiver with fear, his pupils dilate, ears press against his skull, fur fluff out and body press against the earth in cowering. He held a deep respect for the elements and what they could do, yet this was the one thing he was unsure if he could face should that happen during a battle. Every time, although he would aim to act calm and collected, the tom would usually cower within a den, shaking and avoiding all until it passed. HISTORY Born in a clear new-leaf season he grew as any other kit would, the son of one Windclan she-cat and a Bloodclan warrior. And like most kits he grew adventurous, one day venturing out not listening to whispers of the warriors that a storm was coming, he had wanted to explore the camp. Wandering outside the camp he was determined to hunt a rabbit, prove himself to his clan and his parents as the warrior he knew he could be and hopefully be leader one day. He did not notice the sky darkening above his head, the wind picking up and ruffling his fur more or the change of scent to rain in the air. He was focused, trying to be a warrior. It was not long after his little adventure began that he heard the first boom, the thick, reverberating sound of thunder. Unsure what it was he jumped, his fur bristling and body shaking for a moment. Yet he shook it off, warriors were not afraid of things like this. After the second boom he hid within an old rabbit den, curling up and begging for his mother and praying they would not be angry when he returned. He did not know they were out searching for him, warriors, his mother and father. Nor did he know what his adventure what make him into. Once the storm passed he wandered out, bounding back to camp and nearly there when a patrol found him. He was whisked back to camp quicker than he could have ever gotten there. Once there he saw it, or her. The lifeless body of his mother, she had fallen into an abandoned badger set, breaking her neck in search of him. His wailing and that of his father's were heard within the camp. From that moment on he was fearful of storms, particularly thunder. The kit avoided the nursery from then on, feeling guilt as the scent of his mother still clung there. The death of his mother was a part of the reason he avoided the nursery, begging to never gain that task as an apprentice, and his mentor allowing it, understanding his shame. And he continues to avoid it even after becoming a full warrior, after his courage in a border skirmish with Riverclan he was allowed to end his apprentice training. His proudest moment or what should have been, had it not been for the storm that came three sunrises after. He could not decide if it was his mother disapproving or just mother nature. Either way it felt like a cruel joke. Something only a dark and twisted creature would play on a cat still haunted by a memory and fear form kithood. After gaining his own apprentice soon after the battle, he felt proud, ready to prove himself and did. The cat was a credit to his clan, now the warrior hoped to be made deputy or leader, hoping he had proved himself to both Bloodclan and his clan in his want and willingness to lead them and let them thrive. Yet could the clan follow a cat who would cower at the sound of thunder? [/style][style=width: 390px; background-color: dddddd; padding-top: 3px; padding-bottom: 0px; text-align; center; text-transform: uppercase; font-family: arial narrow; font-size: 8px;letter-spacing: 2px; color: 272727;]created by ADE! Pb-ified by WILL[*/style] |
