Post by L O S T on Jul 24, 2011 10:44:02 GMT -6
{The eyes are yellow then green/jade. }
<---- Dustpelt
Tom-cat, 24 moons
RANK: Warrior
ALLIANCE: Goldenclan
APPEARANCE: A brown tabby with dark yellow eyes.
More;; Dustpelt was never one of muscle. He's only a step ahead of being skin and bones. His wiry, light-boned frame is a traditional WindClanner's, made for speeding along the fields they call their home. Brown-ringed legs connect round, soft paws to narrow shoulders. The tom's neck is short and normally curved, head hanging down. A tail shorter than most sits limply behind him. Clumsy like a rope, it tends to hover a mere inch above the ground. He walks as if stalked, head tucked low and paws placed carefully, often glancing behind him. Dustpelt is a poor fighter, and if you lash out at him he'll flinch and skid out of the way. He tries to make up for it via hunting, but he's not great at that either. He isn't a fast thinker when it comes to physical activities. As Clan life rotates mostly around that, he's often left with dull jobs to do. Patching up holes in the camp walls, clearing out rotting prey, guarding; not that he minds it, really. Dustpelt likes being useful.
His coat doesn't help him to stand out of a crowd. Along his back, it's mostly a dark brown, with hints of a lighter shade. His tabby markings are difficult to spot, with the exception of on his limbs, tail and chest. As his underside and throat are a light ginger, the dark-brown-almost-black stripes stick out there. Thin stripes hug him resembling necklaces, and a dark line stretches across both legs like handcuffs. Ginger fills the gap between these stripes, up until his chin, where it fades into a beige. Dustpelt has the typical M marking on his forehead, the one no tabby can leave the nursery without. Many long, crisp white whiskers protrude from his muzzle and eyebrows. His sharp ears are filled with timber colored fur that ensure warmth. He doesn't groom very often, which gives him a raggy, windswept appearance.
Dustpelt has no scars, or any sign that he's fought something other than a cold. He's occasionally mistaken for a younger cat. The tom seems completely average until you glance at his eyes. They're a murky, dark yellow, nothing too strange. It's once you notice the expression in them that something in your head shouts 'wrong'. Often, he looks uncomfortable, startled, even lost. Thanks to an accident moons ago, his short-term memory isn't the best, and he'll often forget your name unless you drill it into him.
PERSONALITY:
QUIET & ABSENTMINDED -- Indeed so. First thing you'd notice- if you even notice him - is how Dustpelt can come off as shy. He rarely begins a conversation, as he is, frequently, too absorbed in his own thoughts. When you get him talking, he'll hesitate and speak slowly, mumbling, like he's carefully picking out his words. Most of the time, he is. Dustpelt isn't cold, far from it! He might be a little spaced out, but he'll most likely throw a smile you way. He's definitely lonely, and his spaciness doesn't help. He's scared of warming up to anyone, scared that he'll frighten them away with his quirky ways. She-cats especially, but that has more to do with his past then his timid attitude.
INTELLIGENT -- Indeed so! He's got a brilliant mind, a brilliant head on his shoulders, but he lets off way less than he knows. He's quite keen on everyone's emotions, a knack that would've come in handy if he were a little more social. He's noticed a couple things that would've been obvious to a human, but not so much to a cat. For example, when the Thunderpath seems to get the most busy (around sunhigh and dusk). He learned quickly as an apprentice, stowing away hunting and fighting techniques into his brain - when the time came to practice those techniques, that was where he failed. Dustpelt's a philosophizer at heart, also a bit of a cloudcuckoolander. Ask him about his theories on warrior life and you'll know what I mean.
UNSTABLE -- Alas, he has his bad side, too. Due to a grave incident (he doesn't like to speak of it), he's been knocked off his rocker. This tabby is prone to anxiety, often having to resort to herbs to calm down and keep him sane. His memory sustained a couple blows; like mentioned before, he has trouble remembering trivial things. If you tell him your name, he'll remember it for a couple hours - then say goodbye and come back next morning, and he won't have a faintest clue of who you are. It's not exactly a perfect reset button; a couple things will stick, especially if he concentrates. Only time will tell if he'll get better. If you become his friend, remember to bring along a bucketload of paitence.
MISC -- Dustpelt is an obedient warrior, loyal to the warrior code. He's extra cautious and quiet around other Clans, but he's definitely proud of his Clan: if his patrol happens to get into a border scuffle, he'll break his code of conduct and stand firmly by his fellows. He doesn't believe that StarClan is the way the Clan Leaders state it to be. He knows that there's something up there, but he doesn't believe it's almighty. Where dead cats go is something that confuses him, one of the only things Dustpelt doesn't have a theory about. On a more random note, he's absolutely terrified of thick, black smoke.
REASON FOR NAME: Dust > Brown like the dust.
Pelt > From his clean fur
FAMILY:
Mother & Father; Unknown
Siblings; Unknown besides October(gonna make)
HISTORY:
Perhaps it would be right if I explained the origin of Duskpelt's odd name. He wasn't called Duskkit because of him being alone of his kithood mostly? - no, he was called Duskkit because of his mother's reaction. See, Kestrelfoot never wanted kits. The news was an unplesant surprise to her, but she came to terms with it. No one knew who the father was, for she never told a soul - some suspected it was Falconshadow, a tom Kestrelfoot had a crush on, or Leafstorm, who had a tabby pelt similar to the kits'. No one knew for sure. On chilly autumn afternoon, the yellow-eyed she-cat gave birth to two kits: one male and one female. She chose the name Robinkit for the she-cat, given her ginger coloring. When it came to the little tom, nothing seemed to fit him. In the end, she settled with Duskkit because... well, we know the story. Duskkit and Robinkit were playful young kittens, not veering too far from the typical.
At six moons they were apprenticed. An elderly, grumpy she-cat, Birchtalon, became Duskpaw's mentor. She could have been mistaken for an elder, but pointing out suh would drive her into a rage. She was foul-tempered, but a good mentor. And her grandchild, Silverpaw, became one of Duskpaw's only friends. Silverpaw was a cheerful she-cat, quite down-to-earth in contrast to Duskpaw's spaciness. The two apprentices took an immediate liking to each other when Birchtalon introduced them. They were two peas in a pod. Anyone could tell it was a budding romance.
His apprenticehood was rather average. One or two border skirmishes, an encounter with a fox, nothing big. It bordered 'boring and dull' until, well, the incident. Just like the identity of Duskpaw's father, no one knew for certain what had happened. One moment, Silverpaw and Duskpaw were patrolling the far end of WindClan's territory, when a furious four-legged beast came stomping towards them. Snorting and braying, the creature trampled the two felines, who were too shocked to flee. The twoleg on its back slid off and picked up the WindClanners. Their injuries weren't horrible, but bad enough to need a vet. The human stuffed them into a cardboard box and took them there. It was awfully bumpy inside the box. He remembered looking at Silverpaw's wide, scared eyes, feeling the exact same thing.
He didn't know how long he stayed at the vet. It wasn't a plesant place, full of noise and icky smells, but it did have a good side. Thankfully, the twolegs didn't separate him from his gray-furred friend. That was comforting. Their wounds were bandaged and their bellies were filled. Inside the metal cages where they slept, the two apprentices were begining to feel their warrior instincts grow soft. After being admitted from that place, they went to another. The noisiness and smelliness were worse here. The cage was cramped. Days stretched into weeks, maybe a month until they were moved again. This time, to a twoleg home. It smelled strongly of cigarette smoke which made the cats' noses prickle. There were five other cats there, but they didn't act like a Clan. Far from it; they squabbled and bickered and had no sense of honor. This place (at least initially) was worse then the cramped-cage place. Duskpaw and Silverpaw took refuge underneath a musty old couch. They rarely left their shelter, determined to stay out of the other cats' way. They spent five months at the twoleg home.
The two had left their Clan when they were eleven moons. The time at the vet and the shelter totaled up into another moon, plus five - if they were still at WindClan, they would no longer be apprentices. The two were determined to keep their warrior side present, however, often practicing or holding mock battles. Duskpaw didn't like the training, but he obliged to please Silverpaw. The smoky old living room just wasn't the same, though. Instead of an earthy floor there was a thick carpet, tables and dressers substituting rocks and bushes. The pair's "owner", an elderly old twoleg that reminded Shockpaw of Birchtalon, enjoyed watching the two playfight.
As time wore on, Duskpaw eventually became accustomed to his lifestyle. He was still shy and quiet, sometimes missing his Clan, but he didn't mind it. Can't fret over what you can't change, right? His bond with Silverpaw became stronger than ever. They began to fall in love. At the begining of their fifth month of kittypet-ness, Silverpaw told him she was carrying his kits. Duskpaw was ecstastic. Their mock fights ended and they began to answer to their kittypet names (Tigger for Shockpaw, Katie for Silverpaw). They decided they were going to settle down there, become house cats. But alas, it was too good to last.
The elderly woman smoke a lot. One day, she went to toss a cigarette snub in the ash tray, missing and letting it fall to the wooly carpet. She did not notice this. A flame flickered to life on the fabric. The woman left to run an errand. When she returned, her house was in flames. The fire had been controlled mostly, but deep inside it still raged. Shock - er, Tigger and Katie were enjoying a nap underneath the couch when they were caught by surprise. A wall of flames blocked their exit. Tigger pawed, trying to knock the wall down. It didn't work. He eventually found a gap, turning to Katie. "We have to get out," he had said. He nudged Katie with a paw. The gray cat stirred but did not rise. Duskpaw gripped her scruff between his teeth and tried to drag her out. The thick black smoke curled above them. Black edged his vision, soothing and tempting. "Katie," he said. "Silverpaw." But she was already dead.
Duskpaw panicked and fled. He ran as fast as his blistered and burnt paws would take him. He did not know what happened to the other cats the elderly woman kept. He didn't care. He kept running and running - sidewalk and asphalt became moorland. He ran until he couldn't run any more. A WindClan patrol found him hours later. Duskpaw was a wreck. His fur was covered in soot and he was rolled into a ball, shivering and close to fainting. The WindClanners recognized him as the apprentice who had gone missing all those moons ago - only a bit bigger, of course. They carried him back to the medicine cat's den.
When the tremors stopped and the burns faded away, Duskpaw began to speak. He told WindClan what had happened, more or less - from the horse trampling them to the fatal fire. He also spoke about Katie - well, Silverpaw - and her death. His voice lowered and he cringed. The tabby tom did not mention that she was expecting his kits. The Clan accepted him again, though before he could become a warrior he had to go through more moons of training, to make up for his absence. Birchtalon was getting quite old, but she agreed to continue to mentor him. Duskpaw became Duskpelt at 22 moons. He had lived almost two apprenticeships, but he didn't mind. The suffix "wave" was bestowed for his emotional instability. He waved and swayed like a leaf in the wind.
RP EXAMPLE:
The ground was cold; the leaves had turned color and fallen, rolling acrossed the ground and landing in patches of snow that still touched the ground. I lifted my nose to that breeze, drawing in drag after drag of the scents that played there. It was a warmer day, but the bite of winter had just begun to fade from the lands. A shiver raced acrossed my spine. I hated the cold, wet seasons. Sure, I didn’t mind jumping into the river now and again, but no one liked winter. My fluff coated tail lashed from side to side for a moment. My temper cooled though and I continued one my way. I wasn’t really out here to hunt. I was patrolling, making sure that no one that shouldn’t be here, was kept out. My limbs picked up to a trot, head low and body ready for just about anything. I drew in quick breath after quick breath, trying to keep each scent cataloged in my mind. That was about the time I realized that one of these scents was off. We had an outsider close to our territory. I snarled the sound a low rumble in my throat as I shot forward with a quick burst of speed. Muscles bunched and curled under my coat. They would regret this.
Thump, thump, thump. The beat of my paws against the ground echoed the thrum of my heart in my chest. I would not let this feline get away with this. I shoved through bushes, fallen leaves and several other things. I didn’t care that I was sending prey flying to the wind. Teeth bared as I took a sharp turn, nearly running into a tree with the harshness of the turn. I broke from the brush and glared acrossed the bank. I saw the cat. That stupid cat. Why did they have to come so close? It put the whole clan on edge and I wasn’t one to pick a fight if I could avoid it. My long, lush tail lashed this way and that as I locked summer sky hued eyes on the feline. I opened my mouth, jaws only just showing the tips of my fangs as I drew in the scent acrossed the way. It was a she-cat! Why did they always have to decide to be warriors? It was pointless. More than half of them couldn’t keep up with a tom no matter how hard they tried.
Ears pinned flat and sat in the most graceful of manners to watch her. “I see you over there, she-cat.” The words were a low drawl, but loud enough to carry over to her. I was sure that from here and with all my thick coat that she couldn’t see how skinny I was. Sure, pray was coming back, but still. It would take awhile for Brookclan to build up their weight and become the strong warriors we were known for being. My tail flicked from side to side, coming to warp lightly around my paws. Those amber eyes never left the she-cat. I was no fool. She was alone, so she was hunting. No warrior went on patrol alone. She was doing the same thing I had been. Looking for food to feed the clan. Well, she would find none this way. Either this she-cat would move out or we would have a fight on our hands. I ignore the dizzy feeling behind my eyes. I wasn’t going to let my lack of feeding affect me now. I need to take care of the clan before I took care of myself and that meant making sure this one moved on.
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