Post by S h i v e r foot on Sept 29, 2007 14:03:20 GMT -5
Name: Shiverfoot.
Gender: Tom.
Clan: NeedleClan.
Rank: Medicine Cat.
Age: 48 moons.
Short Description: Large brown & white tom with sea green eyes.
Appearance: The first thing other cats usually notice about Shiverfoot is his size. It's a surprise to find such a large, muscular cat in NeedleClan, especially as a medicine cat. For most cats, the first guess as to his clan when they meet him at a gathering, is DawnClan. Second, Ashclan. Because Shiverfoot happens to possess eyes That absolutely scream AshClan; sea green, soft and welcoming, heart-melting eyes that captivate the soul. However, ShiverClan was born into NeedleClan. It is the clan his parents called family, were loyal to, and fought for, so it is the clan that Shiverfoot calls family, is loyal to, and fights for. At least, that's what he thinks. And Shiver really doesn't fight. Being the medicine cat, he's more interested in healing wounds than causing them. But when he does cause them, oh boy is someone in for it. When he feels that it is necessary, if the Clan is in danger and only he can help, Shiverfoot is a fearsome foe.
This applies also to when Shiver hunts. Thanks to his size, he's not particularly stealthy, and because he's built for fighting and not running, Shiver takes an alternate route when it comes to catching prey: ambush. He hides in a strategic place, say a bush, and waits for a squirrel, rabbit, bird, anything to come too close. The poor unsuspecting animal is quickly finished off and taken back to camp. However, because this method takes much longer than the way other cats hunt, Shiver is rarely found out for that purpose. He is however often found gathering herbs or just taking a break, especially in the fall. Despite his rather thin fur, Shiverfoot has a high tolerance for cold weather. This doesn't mean that he likes to sleep out in the snow at -40ºC, but it does mean that he would rather be out in the fall than in the summer.
Shiver's limbs are shorter than the average cat's, and he is thus a slow runner. And as if he wasn't already slow enough, a fight that took place in his youth, before he made the decision to become a medicine cat instead of a warrior, has left him crippled. A broken leg that didn't heal properly left Shiver limping rather badly, and for a long time nearly unable to cope. But after some time he naturally adapted to the disadvantage, and although he is still encumbered by it, he's much better off than before. Shiver has a rather rough look to him on the whole though; his fur maybe smooth and clean, but the limp, along with one of his ears split in two until about halfway down (luckily not impairing his hearing) and his tail bent at the tip, it's clear that Shiver's seen his fair share of fights. It makes one wonder how on earth he became a medicine cat. But that is of course for him to know, and perhaps someone else to find out.
Personality: After getting over the shock of Shiverfoot's appearance, it calms most cats to assume that his personality is a bit more suitable to his clan. It's actually not, but we won't tell them that. We don't want to scare them even more. The reason they assume Shiver's personality corresponds with NeedleClan's norm is because he's quiet and reserved. This is usually mistaken for shyness. Really, Shiver's just the strong, silent type. He fears little; he knows he's big and scary and most things wouldn't threaten him for all the food in the forest. Needless to say, this has granted Shiver quite a bit of confidence. When he was younger, before he became medicine cat, he would accept any challenge, fight anything that looked at him funny. He had the warrior's spirit. He still does, deep down, but he's smothered it, tamed it, learned to keep it under control. He's no longer the crazy hot-head that he was as a kit, as an apprentice, in the single month that he was a warrior. Shiverfoot has learned things that some elders don't know, and he's still far from being old enough to be tucked away into their den for good.
Naturally, Shiverfoot is universally respected. Being big, strong and wise, it's hard to find a reason not to like him and admire him. Especially since he's such an important member of the clan. But Shiverfoot has his faults, just like everyone else. For one, he's prone to getting irritated, frustrating, and angry easily, and once you've got him a little bit angry, he's a lot angry. In order to stop himself for hurting anyone (because he knows that that's what he'll do if he stays) he'll go off by himself to a quiet place. It's never certain what he'll do. Yell, hunt, brood, hack apart trees... All things he's been known to do. It's best that everyone leaves him alone when he's mad. Despite all this anger, Shiverfoot's unbelievably patient. If you try to annoy him, you'll face the wrath of his uncanny ability to simply tune you out and carry on with normal activities. If you're being slow or you're just plain stupid, he'll do his best to explain to you what you need to know. He has no problems with waiting, having learned by now that things will happen when they happen, and that trying to force things only makes it worse. At the same time, he's learned that procrastination is just as bad, and that when you're given an opportunity, it is your duty to take it. If you weren't supposed to, why would you be given a chance in the first place?
What about Shiver's mood? Is he happy-go-lucky? Is he angry, does he snap at everyone who speaks to him? Is he dark and brooding? Is he childish? Clueless? It's actually really hard to classify Shiver. I suppose he's mainly thoughtful. Not really brooding, although he does have his off days. When he's really happy, you can tell. He's playfully, dancing around the camp like a kit, but this mood is rare for him. He's more likely to be passive, thoughtful but not unhappy, untalkative but very charming when he does decide to speak up. Shiver's a tough nut to crack. There are very few people who know 'what makes him tick'. But Shiver's happy that way. Why should people know what goes on in his mind? Other than StarClan, of course. Shiverfoot's always had a strong connection with StarClan, even as a warrior. One of the reasons he turned away from that life. Shiverfoot may have made a great warrior, but for some reason he's just always felt that he was meant to be a medicine cat. And all his life, StarClan's been sending him signs. Now all he has to figure out is why.
History: They've always told Shiverfoot his parents were loyal members of NeedleClan. They've always said that. But were they? If they were, then why is it that Shiverfoot looks so different from the rest of his clan? Why is he bigger, why does he have AshClan looks? It's because they lied to him. For his own good, of course, but does that make it right? Poor naive Shiverfoot... His clan would never lie to him. That's what he's always said when teased about the way he's different. By other kits and apprentices when he was young, by rival, unfriendly cats at gatherings... He tells them what his clan told him, and says, 'My clan would never lie to me.' But they did. Shiverfoot's story began long ago, in NeedleClan, when his mother, Eveningpelt, was a kit.
She was a small, weak, runty animal, fur the colour of a dirty tea cup - an ugly, yellowy-white - and nobody even expected her to live. No one really wanted her to live, in truth. But she survived, just barely, because she was born in spring. She gained strength unbarably slowly, it seemed to the clan, and as winter approached her chances were slim. She was still an ugly little runt, one dead eye, the other a dull grey, her ears permanently folded down halfway, paws much too large for her body... A right mess, she was. But they took care of her, and showed her the smallest amounts of kindness, and she survived each day, just barely. When she made it through the winter, it was a miracle. Nobody was sure whether it was a good one though. Now they could not openly show their disdain though, because she was aware of her environment by now. The majority of people took to avoiding her. Her mother and father were ashamed of her, but determined to make something out of her. The clan leader decided she was too weak to be made a real apprentice, so her father taught her in private. She was a slow learner, but after many moons, she was much better off than she had been.
Despite her father's hard work, she was still a disappointment. Her parents gave up on her, and openly abandoned her. The clan, not wanting to be cruel, kept her, but hid her. She lived in the elders' den, and did not train to be a warrior. She didn't train to be a medicine cat, and no tom would consider taking her to be his queen. She was left to rot, never brought to gatherings or on patrols. Of course she hated her life. So she ran away. And where did she run? Straight into AshClan territory. Oopsies, the ugliest cat in all the clans wandering in the territory of the cats obsessed with looking good? Not good, not good. She was lucky though. A young tom, taking a walk through the AshClan lands alone happened to find her. He was absolutely fascinated by her, and his curiousity turned out to be greater than his repulsion. As unbelievable as it may seem, he had never met an ugly cat before. And, after learning all about her and talking to her for the rest of the day and half of the night, he decided that he liked it.
So there they were, beautiful AshClan tom and the ugliest intruder possible. Eveningpelt, as she had been named by the leader rather disdainfully, was so shocked that the handsome cat would even look at her let alone spend all this time with her that she would have done anything for him. She stayed on AshClan territory, hidden, for the next few days. She and the tom, who's name was Clovereyes, spent many long hours together; as many as they could get away with. They fell in love (or at least, something like it) and before they knew it, poof, she was pregnant. It was not long after this little incident happened that Clovereyes decided he was tired of Eveningpelt and her ugly, deformed little body. He, beautiful and black and white with emerald green eyes, wanted a queen from his own clan, a good-looking cat. However, not being one to bear bad news, he decided to get rid of her in a different way. He told his clan leader that he had found a pregnant she-cat intruder wandering in the woods. The clan chased her out, Clovereyes was rewarded for finding her, Eveningpelt was forced to go home and have his kits.
Needless to say, she wasn't really welcome home. They let her stay out of pity. She died while giving birth. Only one of her kits survived. He was stuck with another litter from another queen, and he never knew. He was told that the queen he nursed from wasn't his real mother, but he was never told who was his mother.
RP Sample:
The moon showed only at certain intervals, bright and pale, its eery appearance enhanced by the dark grey clouds that drifted across every few minutes and blocked out the light. It was truly fall now; the cold air sunk its metaphorical teeth into Rave's skin, penetrating the thick fur that covered his thin body almost effortlessly. He tossed his head somewhat irritatedly, trying to undo what a sharp gust had just done - that would be blowing several strands of long, silver fur into his murky grey eyes. The world in general was grey and silver tonight; the valley below was sunk in shadows, dark and foreboding. The plateau, the entire cliff, all grey and just as dull as always, even in the fleeting shafts of moonlights that cast tiny reflections. The sky, which was visible in small patches when the wispy clouds moved away momentarily, was the colour of slate, an almost blue grey. Rave wondered if it had been this way when the valley hadn't been separated. Had the nights like this still been grey and silver? Had anybody noticed it before? Did anyone think it was significant back then? From his perch above, he could see the homes of all the other foxes. But no one stirred. It was still and quiet, from the outside at least. Was it possible that they were moving inside, and he just couldn't see it? He knew that the shady foxes definitely weren't. He glanced behind him at the wide, black hole that indicated the entrance to the tunnel. He could see foxes lying in there, dark forms most of them, until the moonlight hit. Some glowed white or silver, some remained just darker patches of night - the black foxes, the plain gray foxes.
Why wasn't Rave huddled over there with them, fighting the warmth and the sadness and the hate, just long enough so that he could get some sleep? Because he didn't want to fight it for a few hours. He wanted to fight it for good. That was why he hadn't slept in days, why he hadn't eaten in days. Well, not completely because he was 'fighting the power'. He was also just completely unable to concentrate. He couldn't figure out why that was. Possibly a mixture of exhaustion and starvation, but Rave had a feeling (other than faint and generally unwell) that it was something more. and slumped down, into a lying position, even that small movement making his insides groan. His eyelids drooped, but he did not close his eyes. He knew that even if he did sleep wouldn't come. A soft sigh escaped his lips, his eyes once again searching the valley below him for any signs of life. His eyes traced the familiar paths expertly; he knew exactly where the foxes were be if they were out. But they weren't. The closest thing was a raccoon ambling slowly across a path. Most foxes would not have been able to determine what it was from way up there, but Rave had been practising for years. The sight made his stomach growl angrily. Rave ignored it. He was used to the empty feeling and accompanying pain by now.
Gender: Tom.
Clan: NeedleClan.
Rank: Medicine Cat.
Age: 48 moons.
Short Description: Large brown & white tom with sea green eyes.
Appearance: The first thing other cats usually notice about Shiverfoot is his size. It's a surprise to find such a large, muscular cat in NeedleClan, especially as a medicine cat. For most cats, the first guess as to his clan when they meet him at a gathering, is DawnClan. Second, Ashclan. Because Shiverfoot happens to possess eyes That absolutely scream AshClan; sea green, soft and welcoming, heart-melting eyes that captivate the soul. However, ShiverClan was born into NeedleClan. It is the clan his parents called family, were loyal to, and fought for, so it is the clan that Shiverfoot calls family, is loyal to, and fights for. At least, that's what he thinks. And Shiver really doesn't fight. Being the medicine cat, he's more interested in healing wounds than causing them. But when he does cause them, oh boy is someone in for it. When he feels that it is necessary, if the Clan is in danger and only he can help, Shiverfoot is a fearsome foe.
This applies also to when Shiver hunts. Thanks to his size, he's not particularly stealthy, and because he's built for fighting and not running, Shiver takes an alternate route when it comes to catching prey: ambush. He hides in a strategic place, say a bush, and waits for a squirrel, rabbit, bird, anything to come too close. The poor unsuspecting animal is quickly finished off and taken back to camp. However, because this method takes much longer than the way other cats hunt, Shiver is rarely found out for that purpose. He is however often found gathering herbs or just taking a break, especially in the fall. Despite his rather thin fur, Shiverfoot has a high tolerance for cold weather. This doesn't mean that he likes to sleep out in the snow at -40ºC, but it does mean that he would rather be out in the fall than in the summer.
Shiver's limbs are shorter than the average cat's, and he is thus a slow runner. And as if he wasn't already slow enough, a fight that took place in his youth, before he made the decision to become a medicine cat instead of a warrior, has left him crippled. A broken leg that didn't heal properly left Shiver limping rather badly, and for a long time nearly unable to cope. But after some time he naturally adapted to the disadvantage, and although he is still encumbered by it, he's much better off than before. Shiver has a rather rough look to him on the whole though; his fur maybe smooth and clean, but the limp, along with one of his ears split in two until about halfway down (luckily not impairing his hearing) and his tail bent at the tip, it's clear that Shiver's seen his fair share of fights. It makes one wonder how on earth he became a medicine cat. But that is of course for him to know, and perhaps someone else to find out.
Personality: After getting over the shock of Shiverfoot's appearance, it calms most cats to assume that his personality is a bit more suitable to his clan. It's actually not, but we won't tell them that. We don't want to scare them even more. The reason they assume Shiver's personality corresponds with NeedleClan's norm is because he's quiet and reserved. This is usually mistaken for shyness. Really, Shiver's just the strong, silent type. He fears little; he knows he's big and scary and most things wouldn't threaten him for all the food in the forest. Needless to say, this has granted Shiver quite a bit of confidence. When he was younger, before he became medicine cat, he would accept any challenge, fight anything that looked at him funny. He had the warrior's spirit. He still does, deep down, but he's smothered it, tamed it, learned to keep it under control. He's no longer the crazy hot-head that he was as a kit, as an apprentice, in the single month that he was a warrior. Shiverfoot has learned things that some elders don't know, and he's still far from being old enough to be tucked away into their den for good.
Naturally, Shiverfoot is universally respected. Being big, strong and wise, it's hard to find a reason not to like him and admire him. Especially since he's such an important member of the clan. But Shiverfoot has his faults, just like everyone else. For one, he's prone to getting irritated, frustrating, and angry easily, and once you've got him a little bit angry, he's a lot angry. In order to stop himself for hurting anyone (because he knows that that's what he'll do if he stays) he'll go off by himself to a quiet place. It's never certain what he'll do. Yell, hunt, brood, hack apart trees... All things he's been known to do. It's best that everyone leaves him alone when he's mad. Despite all this anger, Shiverfoot's unbelievably patient. If you try to annoy him, you'll face the wrath of his uncanny ability to simply tune you out and carry on with normal activities. If you're being slow or you're just plain stupid, he'll do his best to explain to you what you need to know. He has no problems with waiting, having learned by now that things will happen when they happen, and that trying to force things only makes it worse. At the same time, he's learned that procrastination is just as bad, and that when you're given an opportunity, it is your duty to take it. If you weren't supposed to, why would you be given a chance in the first place?
What about Shiver's mood? Is he happy-go-lucky? Is he angry, does he snap at everyone who speaks to him? Is he dark and brooding? Is he childish? Clueless? It's actually really hard to classify Shiver. I suppose he's mainly thoughtful. Not really brooding, although he does have his off days. When he's really happy, you can tell. He's playfully, dancing around the camp like a kit, but this mood is rare for him. He's more likely to be passive, thoughtful but not unhappy, untalkative but very charming when he does decide to speak up. Shiver's a tough nut to crack. There are very few people who know 'what makes him tick'. But Shiver's happy that way. Why should people know what goes on in his mind? Other than StarClan, of course. Shiverfoot's always had a strong connection with StarClan, even as a warrior. One of the reasons he turned away from that life. Shiverfoot may have made a great warrior, but for some reason he's just always felt that he was meant to be a medicine cat. And all his life, StarClan's been sending him signs. Now all he has to figure out is why.
History: They've always told Shiverfoot his parents were loyal members of NeedleClan. They've always said that. But were they? If they were, then why is it that Shiverfoot looks so different from the rest of his clan? Why is he bigger, why does he have AshClan looks? It's because they lied to him. For his own good, of course, but does that make it right? Poor naive Shiverfoot... His clan would never lie to him. That's what he's always said when teased about the way he's different. By other kits and apprentices when he was young, by rival, unfriendly cats at gatherings... He tells them what his clan told him, and says, 'My clan would never lie to me.' But they did. Shiverfoot's story began long ago, in NeedleClan, when his mother, Eveningpelt, was a kit.
She was a small, weak, runty animal, fur the colour of a dirty tea cup - an ugly, yellowy-white - and nobody even expected her to live. No one really wanted her to live, in truth. But she survived, just barely, because she was born in spring. She gained strength unbarably slowly, it seemed to the clan, and as winter approached her chances were slim. She was still an ugly little runt, one dead eye, the other a dull grey, her ears permanently folded down halfway, paws much too large for her body... A right mess, she was. But they took care of her, and showed her the smallest amounts of kindness, and she survived each day, just barely. When she made it through the winter, it was a miracle. Nobody was sure whether it was a good one though. Now they could not openly show their disdain though, because she was aware of her environment by now. The majority of people took to avoiding her. Her mother and father were ashamed of her, but determined to make something out of her. The clan leader decided she was too weak to be made a real apprentice, so her father taught her in private. She was a slow learner, but after many moons, she was much better off than she had been.
Despite her father's hard work, she was still a disappointment. Her parents gave up on her, and openly abandoned her. The clan, not wanting to be cruel, kept her, but hid her. She lived in the elders' den, and did not train to be a warrior. She didn't train to be a medicine cat, and no tom would consider taking her to be his queen. She was left to rot, never brought to gatherings or on patrols. Of course she hated her life. So she ran away. And where did she run? Straight into AshClan territory. Oopsies, the ugliest cat in all the clans wandering in the territory of the cats obsessed with looking good? Not good, not good. She was lucky though. A young tom, taking a walk through the AshClan lands alone happened to find her. He was absolutely fascinated by her, and his curiousity turned out to be greater than his repulsion. As unbelievable as it may seem, he had never met an ugly cat before. And, after learning all about her and talking to her for the rest of the day and half of the night, he decided that he liked it.
So there they were, beautiful AshClan tom and the ugliest intruder possible. Eveningpelt, as she had been named by the leader rather disdainfully, was so shocked that the handsome cat would even look at her let alone spend all this time with her that she would have done anything for him. She stayed on AshClan territory, hidden, for the next few days. She and the tom, who's name was Clovereyes, spent many long hours together; as many as they could get away with. They fell in love (or at least, something like it) and before they knew it, poof, she was pregnant. It was not long after this little incident happened that Clovereyes decided he was tired of Eveningpelt and her ugly, deformed little body. He, beautiful and black and white with emerald green eyes, wanted a queen from his own clan, a good-looking cat. However, not being one to bear bad news, he decided to get rid of her in a different way. He told his clan leader that he had found a pregnant she-cat intruder wandering in the woods. The clan chased her out, Clovereyes was rewarded for finding her, Eveningpelt was forced to go home and have his kits.
Needless to say, she wasn't really welcome home. They let her stay out of pity. She died while giving birth. Only one of her kits survived. He was stuck with another litter from another queen, and he never knew. He was told that the queen he nursed from wasn't his real mother, but he was never told who was his mother.
RP Sample:
The moon showed only at certain intervals, bright and pale, its eery appearance enhanced by the dark grey clouds that drifted across every few minutes and blocked out the light. It was truly fall now; the cold air sunk its metaphorical teeth into Rave's skin, penetrating the thick fur that covered his thin body almost effortlessly. He tossed his head somewhat irritatedly, trying to undo what a sharp gust had just done - that would be blowing several strands of long, silver fur into his murky grey eyes. The world in general was grey and silver tonight; the valley below was sunk in shadows, dark and foreboding. The plateau, the entire cliff, all grey and just as dull as always, even in the fleeting shafts of moonlights that cast tiny reflections. The sky, which was visible in small patches when the wispy clouds moved away momentarily, was the colour of slate, an almost blue grey. Rave wondered if it had been this way when the valley hadn't been separated. Had the nights like this still been grey and silver? Had anybody noticed it before? Did anyone think it was significant back then? From his perch above, he could see the homes of all the other foxes. But no one stirred. It was still and quiet, from the outside at least. Was it possible that they were moving inside, and he just couldn't see it? He knew that the shady foxes definitely weren't. He glanced behind him at the wide, black hole that indicated the entrance to the tunnel. He could see foxes lying in there, dark forms most of them, until the moonlight hit. Some glowed white or silver, some remained just darker patches of night - the black foxes, the plain gray foxes.
Why wasn't Rave huddled over there with them, fighting the warmth and the sadness and the hate, just long enough so that he could get some sleep? Because he didn't want to fight it for a few hours. He wanted to fight it for good. That was why he hadn't slept in days, why he hadn't eaten in days. Well, not completely because he was 'fighting the power'. He was also just completely unable to concentrate. He couldn't figure out why that was. Possibly a mixture of exhaustion and starvation, but Rave had a feeling (other than faint and generally unwell) that it was something more. and slumped down, into a lying position, even that small movement making his insides groan. His eyelids drooped, but he did not close his eyes. He knew that even if he did sleep wouldn't come. A soft sigh escaped his lips, his eyes once again searching the valley below him for any signs of life. His eyes traced the familiar paths expertly; he knew exactly where the foxes were be if they were out. But they weren't. The closest thing was a raccoon ambling slowly across a path. Most foxes would not have been able to determine what it was from way up there, but Rave had been practising for years. The sight made his stomach growl angrily. Rave ignored it. He was used to the empty feeling and accompanying pain by now.
