Post by arcanine on Jul 25, 2011 20:49:29 GMT -6
<---- Rookheart
tom, age 59 moons
RANK: Warrior
ALLIANCE: HillClan
APPEARANCE: A black and white tom with yellow eyes.
PERSONALITY:
Cocky: Now when told someone is cocky, they immediately assume that these people are insufferable. Generally, these people are right. They are rarely wrong. Very rarely. In this case, this attitude aspect is rather subdued. You won't really see him strutting his stuff unless he's going after someone, either their attention or their feelings. Think of a guy flexing his muscles, or running down the beach wearing just a low hung pair of swim shorts. This, is when this aspect is seen. He likes to impress those that he likes, even if he is despised by these cats. He rarely takes a hint, and even if he does, it's most likely not taken long, and he'll be back. Again. Some find him amusing and charming, while others find him insufferable. He doesn't care to listen to insults, and often in the middle of a nasty conversation, he'll often just walk away. After all, he has no need to stand around and listen to cruel words.
Apathetic: It's not that he's a mean spirited cat. It's just that, well, he doesn't give a damn about anyone outside of his little circle. He's always been a little strange in that department, but honestly, that's none of your business. He wants to feel sorry and feel bad for his Clan-mates when someone is hurt, or dies, but unless he was personally close with them, he doesn't see why life must pause for their passing. After all, cats die and life goes on. In some eyes, he's a greedy and shallow cat who can't see past the end his own whiskers. However, he's never been one to let words scar him, nor has he been one to get into a verbal fight with those that aren't equipped to defend themselves. He's just not a cat who sees the point in caring about those that could easily be swept away from life, like a card taken off the table in a game of chance. The pain and death of others makes him a little stand-offish with others who are going through emotional pain, but he has no problem opening his mouth and inserting his own foot.
Numbed and curious: You see, when he was a young warrior, there was an accident that he was involved in. I won't bore you with the details here, however, I will tell you the result. He has nerve damage as far as the sense of touch goes, on the right side of his body. It's not gone completely, it just dulled to a point where only sharp sensations can penetrate the damage. Some would see this as a good thing, as that means he can fight harder, even when injured. However, that also means that soft touches, and gentle prods are 'felt' in the way that most cats feel them. He finds it frustrating for the most part, and often his jealousy gets the best of him when it comes to other cats and simple gestures. When a fight comes around, however, he has the advantage and disadvantage of this problem. He also tends not to gauge his blows, and often he might go a step more than just drawing blood. He actually finds it interesting, and uses fights to see just what can do what, with what force. He won't do this to a Clan-mate, however, he's not above sharpening his claws on another cat.
REASON FOR NAME:
Rook for his black spots. Heart for his strong beliefs and ideals.
FAMILY:
Whitefoot - Deceased - Mother
Silverthorn- NPC - Father
Lillypaw - Deceased - Sister
HISTORY:
Kit: Rook-kit was the first born out of the two kits in his litter, and the only tom. His mother died shortly after they were born, leaving them to be suckled by other queens. Their father didn't care for them, as the only reason he had been with his mother was simply for her and her alone. He had no desire to see his kits, one of which who was the spitting image of his mother. Despite the lack of attention from their father, both of them grew up quite splendidly. Out of the two kits, he was the more out going one, the one always leading the adventures, the one who always thought of the games. Something that he found tedious at times ,but he was more than willing to do that. As he grew, his adventures grew more bold, and things slowly grew to a climax, where it them over flowed. He was often snapped at, hissed at, and quite literally shoved out of the way. He tried several times to sneak out of camp, but to no avail. The closest he ever got was halfway there, before a sharp eyed cat saw his tiny, toddling form making it's way out of the camp.
Apprentice: As an apprentice he really didn't settle down. He couldn't being to tell you how many times that he was assigned to help the elders, or to stay in camp as punishment for what he'd done to aggravate his mentor. Of course, in comparison his sister was calm and well behaved. Therefore, it was a deep surprise to those that knew her when she was killed on the thunderpath. Just what she was doing on there, no one was quite sure, except for another she-cat who had been her friend. She said that it was an accident, and that she'd been chasing a piece of prey across the hard surface, and caught it before it got into BrookClan territory. She hadn't had time to run back to safety. When they brought her broken and mangled body back to camp, Rookpaw had nearly lost his voice with the wail that he sent up. They hadn't been too close, but they were still siblings.
In the moons that followed his sister's death, he seemed listless, calmer, focused. This greatly concerned his mentor, for good reason. He had never seen the apprentice sit still for longer than a few heart-beats. It wasn't until he actually said anything to his apprentice that Rookpaw realized that he'd been acting funny. He apologized to his mentor, and said he'd try harder, to be more like his old self. It didn't work, not really. He was subdued from then on. As if he had lost his spark, his will to live just was gone. It took more than just day to day routines. It, in all honesty, took a border skirmish that elevated into a full out fight between the two Clans. By time it was all said and done, bleeding from his own scratches, and nursing one paw, he felt more alive than he ever had.
Not that he went completely back to normal. Instead, he found a comfortable median. Something that everyone could live with, though there were still moments where he let his hyper personality emerge and appear. It was with much relief that he was finally made a warrior.
Warrior: As a warrior, he matured somewhat, though that didn't stop him from voicing his opinion loudly and strongly. He also found it tedious to be constrained by rules that didn't make sense right away. For quite awhile, as a young warrior, he was constantly fighting against his boundaries, and often he did what he had to though this led to quite a few punishments and stressed tensions. Not that he felt an iota of regret really. It wasn't until he was almost thirty moons that he slowed down. Not by choice, either. He was scaling an older oak tree, to get a better look around. He'd always enjoyed climbing, and so this wasn't all that strange to his friends. The tree was dead though and had rotted out, though they didn't know this until the branch snapped from under him. He landed on a branch below the one that fell, which was broken away by the one that had fallen.
When he finally hit the ground, it caught him between the two branches, and everything went black. By time he came around, pain wasn't as much as an issue as he thought it would be. He hadn't broken his back, but nerve damage had occurred. The right side of his body was ruined to gentle touches, and ignorant of pain. To be dual in one body was challenge. His hearing and sight were also reduced on that side of his body. It was more than a challenge to re-teach himself how to handle his body.
Still, by now, he's learned and relearned what he can and cannot do, though that doesn't stop him from pushing limits. His life has been relatively calm, though that doesn't mean it'll stay that way.
RP EXAMPLE: Logstride's bio.
PASSWORD: You'll never know.