Post by maplefrost on Sept 6, 2010 19:19:05 GMT -5
Name: Cloverfang
Gender: Tom
Age: 17 moons
Clan: RiverClan
Rank: Warrior
Apprentice: Lionpaw
Love Interest: None
Kin:
Birchfur: Father(NPC)
Mousestorm: Mother(NPC)
Reedclaw: Brother(NPC)
Description:
Let's start with the fur. Cloverfang has long fur, which isn't too good for a RiverClan cat. But, because he was born and raised in RiverClan, his fur has adapted to swimming, and a lot of the water slides off his fur. It's also thick, which is good for cold winters, but can be a pain when looking for fleas. His fur is pure white, a trait most likely inherited from his father.
His eyes are very large. They are a dull yellow, and very attentive. He's a very big cat, but he may just appear that way, due to his fur. He has a long body, and his legs are average length, if not a little shorter.
His tail is very long, and he has to concentrate while hunting to make sure it doesn't brush against the grass while he hunts. His whiskers are average length, and his muzzle is very pointed.
Personality:
Cloverfang has been, since he was young, a kind cat. He is always willing to help, and this makes him a good warrior. As a kit, when he play-fought, if another kit tripped, he would always ask, 'are you okay?'
A lot of his Clanmates think he's antisocial, when really, he's just thinking. He often sits by himself and just thinks. He's very smart, and picks up on things fast.
Cloverfang loves to hunt. The solitary work of feeding his Clan thrills him. He's very good at it, as well, especially fishing, because he has the patience to wait.
One of Cloverfang's biggest flaws is his quietness. He's doesn't purposeful make conversations often, and can easily fade into the background. It's not that he doesn't like other cats, he just likes to keep to himself sometimes.
History:
Birchfur and Mousestorm were very close. While Mousestorm was in the nursery, Birchfur would visit constantly. When Mousestorm gave birth to two toms, it was obvious that one looked like the mother and the other looked like the father.
Cloverkit and Reedkit, in the beginning of their lives, got along well. However, Mousestorm was worried that because Cloverkit was all white, that he might be blind or deaf. Her brother, Whitekit, looked a lot like Cloverkit, but Whitekit was blind. Tragically, Whitekit was killed by a fox when he wandered out of the nursery.
Cloverkit was showered with affection by his mother, and, even though she loved both kits equally, Reedkit was jealous. Mousestorm was so petrified that her kit might be blind, so he never let him out of her sight.
It was clear from a young age that Cloverkit was intelligent. His mother found him sitting in camp, with a stick in front of him. He would loom over the stick, and then change his direction, and do it again. When asked by his mother, he said that he heard a warrior telling his apprentice that fish would see his shadow if he wasn't careful. He was pretending that the stick was a fish, and moved so that his shadow didn't fall over it.
As an apprentice, Cloverpaw was eager to learn. So eager, that he often exhausted his mentor. Reedpaw was still jealous of him, and tried to best him in everything, but Cloverpaw was a better hunter and a better fighter.
Cloverfang was made a warrior at the age of 14 moons. He was given his warrior name three moons earlier than his brother. Ultimately, his brother's envy of him led to his death, when he foolishly tried to fight off three ShadowClan warriors instead of fleeing.
Other: Absolutely NOTHING. ^^
Roleplay Example:
Jerry limped into the lobby, his head pounding. The moment he passed through the door, he turned and bared his teeth at the guard who had been escorting him. The guard said nothing; he turned around and left. Jerry leaned against the wall with a sigh of relief. ‘Keep moving.’ A voice in the back of his mind scolded him, feeling like a pin against the stabs of pain in his brown haired skull.
‘GET MOVING!’ The voice yelled, and Jerry took notice, staggering across the floor. Walking might have been easier if all his limbs were intact - and made of flesh and bone. His right leg was missing - why, he didn’t know. The doctor had said something about pressure testing. Jerry had been too groggy to remember.
His right arm, however, was latched to what looked to be a metal in some places, the bone was screwed into the bar with pins and screws; in other places, the skin seemed to form into the metal. However, if you glanced down to where his hand was fused with the bar, you’d see there was a handle.
Jerry’s arm was half human, half golf club. He often found this fact ironic; he hated golf. It was so boring. But, here he was, stumbling across the room with a golf club for an arm. The handle was green, at least, Jerry’s favorite color, but that was of little comfort.
Jerry, or Jeremiah Wasinger, was the son of a poor business woman. His father left his mother before he was born. His mother left when he was five, leaving him with a horrible older brother as a guardian. He
wouldn’t have cared if Jerry had been eaten by a bear, let alone disappeared. He was probably glad.
Jerry fell over onto a couch, letting out a grunt of pain. He had just been delivered from the lab, where he got his weekly shots to keep his right arm’s skin from rotting away. His blue eyes wandered around the room, taking notice of who was in the room, but he didn’t care much. He swung his leg around to sit straight up on the couch, his golf club crossed across his knee. He rested his left arm on his knee as well, resting his chin on his hand. What to do…what to do…
