Post by forte on Aug 8, 2010 21:54:03 GMT -5
Russetclaw of ThunderClan[/center]
________________________________________________________________
Name: Russetclaw
Age: 41 Moons
Gender: Tom
Clan: ThunderClan
Rank: Warrior
________________________________________________________________
Reason For Name: It's really pretty simple... Russet because he's ginger, claw because he's big and tough and rarely has them sheathed. Some people have remarked that maybe something more... violent... fits him, but really Russetclaw does it. Russet also just has this kind of majestic "rugged" quality to it that really just fits. He's a bit of a vagabond, a hoofer with not much care for anyone but himself.
Previous Names: Russetkit, Russetpaw
________________________________________________________________
One Sentence Description: Russetclaw is a husky, heavy-set red tabby tom with pale green eyes.
Appearance: Russetclaw is a rather imposing figure, despite the fact that he's not actually particularly large. In fact, he's not tall at all, but well-set and square, hardy, even squat to some. He has a bread forehead and a boxy muzzle, with long white whiskers and a nose of deep pink, marked by a single black dot where the nose meets the velvety rim of muzzle. His eyes are narrow and almond-shaped, about twice as long as they are tall, a bit wide-set, and of a rather ordinary shade of gray-green. The ears are medium-height but fairly wide, and, unlike some, are rarely to be seen swiveling around constantly. The neck is short and thick, meeting with a broad chest, well-muscled. He's long compared to his height, and has a large barrel that could be mistaken for a fondness for eating, which it isn't. His haunches are extremely well-formed, as are his shoulders, and his tail is about the average length, not quite so long as his body.
His pelt is of a fairly common length, something between short and medium depending on the month, and fairly thick. In color he is a brassy orange with darker stripes, deep so that he is almost red in coloration. As with most tabbies, his base color is somewhat lighter around the lower legs and tail, given over to creamy highlights where it meets his large paws with their long claws. The tip of his tail is an orange-cream color, the only bit of white on his entire body being near the tip, which fades back into the dark rings around his tail. His muzzle where it meets the nost is fairly dark, as are the undersides of his paws, his pads being nearly the same dark pink-gray of his nose. The stripes around his body are unremarkable for a tabby, being of the common sort seen in thousands of house cats. His cheeks around his whiskers are also slightly lighter, about the same shade as his paws but with a more velvetene texture to them.
Russetclaw has a smooth, powerful gait, though he is not built for flight. While he seems rather clunky and inefficient at rest, in motion he takes on an entirely new appearance, as strong and healthy as any other wild cat. His voice is a deep tenor, a bit harsh at times, with a nice, baritone quality to it at the softest. In all, he is a fine-looking warrior with a good deal of fight and vigor to him, and he is never inclined to be slow, lazy, or any of that sort of thing. He's a good, capable-looking cat if ever there was one.
________________________________________________________________
Personality: In three words, Russetclaw is a grouchy old fighter. Despite the fact that he's not very old and really hasn't seen that much combat, he acts like he's the most seasoned veteran on the entire planer, and he has a been-there-done-that attitude towards almost everything. In his day, he has chased off and fought a good few rogues and, once, got in a fight with a rather large, determined group of rats in an old barn, but none of that justifies his attitude. He's somewhat of a sergeant-major personality. That is, he's always criticising everyone. About everything. Which can make other cats resentful towards him (especially when they don't realize that he criticises himself just as often as he does them.) He has little to no regard for authority, and acts little different towards the leader or deputy or medicine cat than he does towards anything else. The only good thing about this is that he is infallably fair, and never values any one cat over any other.
He's short-tempered, prone to being over-critical, and can be a bit venomous without really meaning to. At the same time, he really hates to be alone, and he has no unjust intentions. He is steady as a rock, unwavering in his loyalty and his affections. And he is loyal, despite all appearances to the contrary. He would never abandon his clan or his clan-mates in a time of need, or in any time, for that matter. He's got a very stony face, really, though, and his true colors never seen to shine much, so must of the time he seems like a big, grouchy, sourpuss. He's a fighter, not a flighter, and he is always seconds away from unsheathing his claws and striking. It's not that he's angry, more defensive than anything, but in playing the defense he often becomes overly offensive. And he's actually a very skilled fighter when one gets down to the nit and grit of things.
Russetclaw has a particular lazy, devil-may-care kind of air about him, unmoved by most things. He never hurries unless he really thinks that something is serious, and he rarely does. He's a bit of a pessimist, and, in a bit of a bold stroke, he has a tendency not to believe in StarClan or prophecy or that kind of thing. He believes that it's generally all the drivel of weak cats trying to make themselves seem important and to garner sympathy and that sort of thing. Of course, in his lifetime, he's never experienced any sort of encounter of the thrid kind, and he believes that one's own actions are infinitely more important than those of the dead. He has a secret affection for young kits, although he would never, ever, let it show, and he really does like having a young apprentice out with him. Even though he gives them a lot of grief and early hours and tough punishment, if he has a soft spot, it's for the young.
Likes: His clan, despite all evidence to the contrary. She-cats (with plenty of evidence...) Hunting, fighting (though a lot less than one would think), ruining a story telling it. Being proven right. Feeling important, having a job to do. Being on the move, or in action. The smells in the woods... the way the light hits the dew at dawn. Treading softly over pine straw, feeling it under his feet. Ladybugs. Owls. Birds of prey, which fill him with a sense of majesty and power in the world. Chasing off rogues. Don't tell anyone, but kits. Being around other cats. Talking. Talking more. Talking still more. Criticizing others. That first bite of fresh kill.
Dislikes: Anyone with violent intentions to his person. Rogues who dare cross the ThunderClan border... Being put on border patrol at slow times of day. Feeling bored or ignored, especially the latter. He hates it when others don't listen to what he has to say. Rats. Possums. Anything slightly rodentine that may or may not have teeth and want to bite him. Things that he cannot understand (particularly when it comes to StarClan and that kind of thing.) Having it proven that he's not actually the best fighter in the entire world. When other cats are hurt (don't tell anyone) and killing other cats (again, shh.) He's deathly afraid of... wait for it... frogs.
________________________________________________________________
History: Russetclaw wasn't actually born in ThunderClan, however, he doesn't exactly know that. Someone might have mentioned it once or twice, but since he doesn't remember that, he doesn't care about it. He was born to a lone she-cat who'd been roughing it up in the countryside, a tough female with a lot of issues. The worst of which was the fact that she'd been badly injured in a fight with a dog that had gotten loose from it's pen and decided that it would be fun to attack a cat. Russetclaw was the only live kit in the litter, and by that time his mother was on the brink of death, so in a final, lucid act she dropped him off past the ThunderClan borders and then slunk off somewhere to die. This was probably the best thing that ever happened to Russetclaw, who received the name Russetkit shortly after his arrival because of his coloring, for at the time there was a queen with kits who took him in and suckled him.**** Before you read this, you should know that this cat is crazy... and suffers memory loss. This was another site, if I need to do one starring Russetclaw, I will.... ****
He grew up with two littermates, who were not his true brother and sister but could have been, for all it was worth. Even as a young kit, Russetkit enjoyed making fun of his siblings, criticising them when they did something wrong. Of course, whenever he did something wrong he rarely acknowledged the fact (although he scolded himself for it inwardly and without inhibition, often making himself repeat tasks literally hundreds of times until he was passable at it.) They noticed, and as he grew he diverged from them, and most other cats, even further. He was rude and impudent to his foster mother, and gained a reputation for having spurts of violence much akin to those of his dead mother. In truth, he did have such bursts, exploding at random and oftentimes attacking a much larger, more experienced cat in a brash, stupid sort of way.
He was saved by his mentor, an old, wise warrior called Reedtail. Some said that Russetkit should be ousted from the clan before he even became an apprentice, but, as luck would have it, Reedtail urged the leader to let him have a go at the young cat. It was the beginning of a major turning-point in Russetkit (then paw's) life, in which he was to become a true warrior after all. Reedtail shaped him up over the moons and gave him more constructive outlets for his volatile energy, which Russetpaw appreciated greatly. His training did not progress quickly, he was always impudent even to his mentor, but in the end he became as promising a future warrior as ever. One occurence, however, would leave a lasting impression on Russetpaw's mind. Shortly before his initiation ceremony, Reedtail was killed in a fight with rogues on the border. He had been fatally wounded and died a few days after the fight (at which Russetpaw was present.)
This solidified Russetclaw's loyalties, and on the day of his initiation ceremony he was a cat forever changed. No longer could his loyalty to the clan be questioned (all though many would and still do.) He would always do his duty, whatever it was, to the best of his ability. None of his critical pessimism was lost, in fact, if anything, it became more marked. He became more reserved, better able to hide his emotions behind a mask of apparent indifference. And he became a warrior. He has been a warrior for two years no, and a good one at that. His attitude is really all that stands between him and promotion in the clans, and he obstinately refuses to acknowledge that fact.
IC Example:
"Hoi, hoi. Where is this, and who am I?"
The cat came stalking along the dirt path, glimmering white and making no effort to hide as he, seemingly bold, rubbed up against a tree. Burrs unhooked from the long, tangled fur, splashed by mud and more off-white than glimmering, to tell the truth. His pupils contracted as he came full out into the sun, looking out at the here-and-there dance of the light and shade that dappled the woods beyond. A confused sort of light was in his brilliant blue eyes, which in the sunlight glittered and looked around without concern. Of course, he knew who he was. At least he knew his name - it was Whitewind, and as far as he knew that was all it had been since he became a warrior. ...A warrior? That part sounded wrong. So he knew who he was, but at the same time he didn't. An essential part of his past was eluding him, he knew that much.
Where was he? That was another question altogether, of course. He scented the air quietly. Over everything was the kindly scent of the forest, of open plains, of squirrels (he shuddered) and birds up in the wood ahead. But there was also a pervasive smell that he recognized as that of cats - a musky odor of toms and queens who patrolled borders and hunted everything that moved. For a moment Whitewind swooned out of sheer nostalgia, for there was only one sort of place where the smell of cats was so close all the time, all around. It was comforting, almost, in a strange way, although at the same time he knew that he shouldn't be here.
"Cats? Why... this must be a clan. But which one is it? Is it Bloodclan? We don't like Bloodclan. Or at least that's what the stories say... stories say. I wouldn't know, myself. Could it, perhaps, be Windclan? I should think not. They don't like woods. Maybe its Starclan. That would be nice. Hello?! Are you there, Starclan? Am I dead? It would make sense if I were. Maybe that's why I don't remember anything yet, because I'm dead. Oh, it's wonderful to be dead."
So saying, he sat down at the edge of the path and licked at his chest. Better get clean, if he was dead. Wouldn't want to spend eternity covered in mud. It made perfect sense. He vaguely remembered a fire... Maybe he'd burned to death. And after wards, some other cats - young cats, apprentices. Poor cats, didn't know that they were dead, too. But they might have already found the rest of Starclan, after all. That was a happy thought.
________________________________________________________________
[/size]Who Are You? Iris
How Did You Find Us? By accident. And I mean, really, complete accident. Only that accident happened twice, so it was /fate/.
Other Characters: Nope!