Chasmfur of HiddenClan

[C H A S M]

Name: Chasmfur
Gender: Female
Clan: HiddenClan
Rank: Warrior
Age: 39 Moons
Short Description: A sleek, gray she-cat with spooky eyes.
Appearance:

Chasmfur does not have a chasm in her fur, nor does she resemble a chasm in any way. Her name comes from the place she was born- in a chasm. The fur part of her name comes from the large amount of her covering her body. Her pelt is of a medium gray, about the color of a Canadian goose. The fur falls smoothly over her unnaturally small body, and it is usually groomed clean. When she was a kit, her fur had the oily quality of cats who swam often about it, but as she aged (for the most part on land), she lost the slickness and instead became fluffy and furry. Her fur is prone to ticks and bugs, especially in winter. The warmth of her sleek and soft body seems to many a good home, leading to Chasmfur's incessant grooming, licking, biting, and crunching. She hates the little things, especially when she gets one in a hard-to-reach area.

Her body is fairly normal. She is small, yet she has a broad, stocky build. Her face and shoulders are large, and her muscles buldge. She has large face an jaw. Due to a harsh illness as a kit, her growth was stunted greatly. With hard training and grueling stretching excesizing, she finally was able to become a warrior. She isn't much larger than the biggest apprentice, causing her to look disproportionate. The broad features on such a tiny animal look as though someone took part of one cat and smacked it on part of another. Chasmfur doesn't really mind her funny build, it's all a part of life. She is glad for the fact alone that she survived her illness and is a capable warrior.

The eyes- oh, the eyes. Chasmfur has pretty eyes, a sea green color. It is an unusual hue, but it suits her well. After all, with her bulky, disproportionate body and messed up mind, Chasmfur needs something beautiful and alluring about her. Now, her eyes can't look into your soul, see the truth, or read your mind. Nope, her eyes are as normal as those of any average warrior, but slightly prettier. Her eyes are outlined by a darker gray. Her nose and lips are a dark color, which contrasts slightly with the rest of her tiny body. Her paw pads are often cut or ripped, due to her inability to climb on rocks. She manages to get around pretty good- especially when she wants to.

Chasmfur has a voice that doesn't seem to match her body. The tiny she-cat is capable of producing a deep, rumbling voice, with a raspy crackling like dead leaves blowing on a Twoleg path. Her voice is strong when she's confident enough to use it. Although at times her voice is small and undetectable, sometimes it can boom through the area and capture the attention of so many. When she is speaking about something she feels passionately about, her voice is full of feeling and strength. Her voice is pretty, but she does not use it enough. It is unquestionable that Chasmfur will yell out when she needs to, but it is rare that there is such need. When it comes to speaking, Chasmfur feels it is better to shut up and learn rather than to risk embarrassing herself. After all, why make herself feel worse about her pitiful life?


Personality:

Although she is nearly forty moons old, Chasmfur has the endless bursts of energy similar to that of a kit. Chasmfur likes to take many patrols, whether hunting or border. Her day consists of incessant hunting and patrolling, with a good dose of kissing up in the evenings. Determined to win the respect of all, Chasmfur will do almost anything. Don't get me wrong- she won't kill an innocent cat out of the blue because someone asks her to. Other than that, Chasmfur is up for anything. She has big dreams, dreams that she doesn't dare fulfill. She wants to become deputy of the clan more than anything, although she doesn't dare challenge any other warrior. Despite her determination and loyalty, Chasmfur does not see the good in her work. She dismisses her incessant hunting as a normal part of being a warrior, and her border patrols as protecting the cats she loves. Although she believes strongly in StarClan, her ultimate dream is not to speak to them, yet to find their approval. Chasmfur has never committed a major sin against the warrior code, and it is unknown why she thinks StarClan despises her. This feeling of being disliked only pushes her forward, absolutely desperate for approval.

We've already seen that she is determined, eager to help, and all the other qualities that make a good warrior. She may sound flawless, which happens to be the image she gives off to many cats. She strives to make her life look easy and perfect, although it is far from. With her rough past and mysterious ways of thinking, there is a lot more to this feline that what meets the eye. For example, she is self-destructive. In her eyes, nothing she does is good enough. She could have caught more fresh kill, she could have picked up on that scent by the border, she could have done more to help out on that patrol. It's an endless cycle of working and criticizing her job. Failure is one of her worst fears. Her life revolves around not screwing up. To her, not doing good enough is worse than having her tail cut off and shoved down her throat. It's like a scar stuck on her nose, right where she can see it, every day of her life. It's like being branded as no good, worthless, and a complete disaster. Although not many think of her in this way, she does.

Another thing about Chasmfur is that she is very much inside herself. She isn't exactly what you would call self-centered, no, not at all. Her heart is in the right place for the most part. The thing is...she is shy! She tries, she really does. Yet, it's still hard for her to speak to other warriors without a good reason. She has trouble chatting and gossiping as most cats would do. She prefers to work alone, when there is no one around to see her when she messes up. Keeping all flaws hidden is the only way for this she-cat to go about life.

The final thing to know about Chasmfur is that she is that she can be wicked. Her rough past tied into her self-destructive nature form a strange attribute in Chasmfur. She fights like a warrior- and more. Once she gets past her fears and finds her courage (which may take awhile), she launches herself into the battle, full force. The dramatic change in this shy she-cat is sparked by a desire to win respect an honor. Her fighting skills are so-so. In comparison to other warriors,
she is merely average. She wants to defend her clan, and once that feeling is there, it's hard to make it go away. She loves it- the tingling of her belly, the blood roaring in her ears, heart pounding, paws drumming on the ground in anticipation- it all adds up to a thrill, an exhilaration. The sensation feels so different to her than her normal self, she wants to live in it forever. To be great for the rest of her life, to be free and happy, eager and excited is the ultimate dream in life for Chasmfur. When achieving brief moments of such a state, the world around her feels excellent, like nothing is wrong. She feels as if she were a normal warrior who was made to fulfill the life that she was living. From the self-destructive young cat to the fierce warrior, Chasmfur truly suffers from multiple personalities. She strives to find just the right one- where she can live happily yet work hard. Life is an unbalanced horror to her, which she needs to make right. Finding and keeping the balance is hard, yet Chasmfur tries. She will do whatever it takes, even if it means leaving a part of herself behind. In fact, there really are some parts of herself that she would love to lose forever.



History:


Chasmfur's history is complicated. She never met or knew who her father was. He left long before she and her littermates were even born, and her mother is unsure of his identity. Her mother was a weak rogue who gave birth to her kits in a chasm, hence Chasmfur's name. The queen knew she would die soon, due to a terrible illness that was slowly working its way through her veins. She made the long trek up the chasm, losing her tom kit in the process. She grieved for the death of this kit for one night. The next day, she continued the long journey. Once she found the clan territory, she hid in the trees until late at night, when she stuck her only daughter in the nursery and left. When the queen awoke, she found a strange scented kit by her side, curled up with her other kits. The scrap was pitiful- hardly older than a few days. She agreed to take care of the kit.

Chasmfur was raised as a normal clan cat since that day. She played and tumbled through the camp just as any other kit, with dreams of becoming a warrior. She learned and grew just as any other cat. It came as a shock to her to find out that she was not clanborn, yet she didn't want to try to find her family. The clan had become her family. From the moment she first opened her eyes, these were the cats she saw. What good reason did she have to leave? She decided to stay, and grow up just like any other cat. For the most part, the clan accepted her. She was loyal and honest, even though she didn't do everything right.

At the age of five moons, Chasmfur fell ill. The disease took a lot out of her- it made her weak and sleepy for most of the day. Her growth was stunted. To this day she is no larger than any normal apprentice. While ill, her body became so weak she was unable to fight off other diseases or regain her strength. Seeing herself as doomed, Chasmfur gave up all desire to live. After all, what use would she be to the clan if she was so terribly ill and weak? After some encouragement from friends, but eventually Chasmfur embarked on the long road to recovery. Her seventh moon on this earth was filled with pain, endless stretch exercises, and long nights of wondering if she would ever be normal. During the middle of her eighth moon, it was decided that she was in a healthy enough state to be apprenticed. She had a lot of catching up to do, but Chasmfur was up to the challenge.

For ten long moons, Chasmfur trained. The first three moons moved slowly due to her illness, but as it slowly faded away, Chasmfur became even stronger. She worked hard, feeling nothing but pure desperation and desire to prove herself. From frustration to fear to failure, Chasmfur felt it all. Her mind was full of negative words to describe herself. The one thing she had yet to feel, and she wanted to feel it more than anything else in the world. She exercised often, and eventually, her hard work paid off. When she was eighteen moons old, the tiny gray feline became a warrior and received the name Chasmfur. Her sea green eyes filled with emotion and her heart felt full of joy as she accepted her warrior vows and became an official warrior of HiddenClan.

The many moons after that flew by. Life was just as it is now. She worked hard and fought with herself, yet she began to feel just a little bit better about the cat named Chasmfur. Receiving her warrior name, it was the ending of an era for Chasmfur. She was no longer a kit, she was an adult cat. It was time to live up to that and become the cat she was always meant to be, or at least figure out who she was supposed to be. She had changed so much, Chasmfur couldn't figure out what past personality she was living in before she realized...she wasn't living in a past personality of herself, yet she was a completely new cat. She would fit in... or at least she would try.

RP Sample:
If it weren't for the steady rise and fall of her flank and the slight rasp of air coming from her dark nose, one could have easily mistaken the sleeping HiddenClan leader as dead. Her pearly gray fur was ruffled slightly, and her body was stretched out. Her paws were curl up and tucked close to her belly, and her eyes were shut tight. The peaceful dream that she was deeply absorbed in relaxed the typically tense she-cat's aching muscles. In her vivid dream, she was running through a forest, with dew on the ever so green grass, the sun shining brightly, and birds whistling in the trees. Her tiny gray paws beat out a steady rhythm on the forest floor, which felt uncharacteristically soft. Her eyes didn't dart back and forth as they usually did, instead moving slowly, taking in the scene before here. In this world, she was no longer Graystar. She didn't have to live in fear. This was her own little world, where she could curl up and sleep without worrying about who will try to kill her at night. Sitting down in a bush full of blue berries, the she-cat curled up in a tight ball and fell asleep.

The real Graystar, however, woke the moment her dream-self slipped off into it's own dream. Wondering how she could possibly be related to the dream-self that was clearly her, Graystar stretched her muscles. She trotted to the edge of camp, where she watched the going ons of everyday life. Warriors and apprentices came and left, cats ate, kits played, and queens gossiped. Nothing was out of the ordinary. As her muscles returned to their typical tension, Graystar padded around. She greeted the cats before her. She ate a mouse. She carried on with life as she always had. The real Graystar was back, the Graystar who feared and fretted for her life and the lives of her clan. She shook away the dream. Already, the possibility of true inner peace had slid away from her, like rain slipping off her thick, oily pelt. She didn't, wouldn't, and couldn't live in such a world. Right?

The gray she-cat's mind was elsewhere as she continued her incessant pacing around the camp. True, today was a beautiful day. The thick canopy of the forest hid the majority of the sky, but the few patches visible were a bright, clear blue. The sun warmed the earth, even through the thick trees. The camp was built up well- as always. Everything was in order, but something felt amiss. Was it the fact that Graystar had just seen a world she had been deprived of since kithood? Did she get a taste of inner peace, only to have it snatched away? It would be impossible to retrieve that feeling, except in her dreams. Gone was that feeling of being content and not worrying about who is waiting to strike and what that rustle in the leaves was. Graystar thought about herself- her nervous stance, her achingly tight muscles, ready to strike at any given moment.

Graystar saw her life as a cat in an elder's tale. To her, the world felt like it had all been planned and put here for her to live in. There was a plan for her life and death, a plan that she didn't know. Not knowing how and when she would die, if it would be painful or easy, who would kill her, and what would happen to her clan scare Graystar immensely. Not knowing something would give Graystar an awful feeling, the feeling that you get when something terrible happens and you feel really stupid. Stupidity, along with death, was one of Graystar's biggest fears. Embarrassing encounters and fear of dying give her trouble getting to sleep, usually leaving her tired and weak for the daylight hours. For once in her life, Graystar had been napping frequently. She didn't get prophecies every time she lays her little fluffy gray head down to sleep, yet her dreams were filled with strange things these days. Joy, kits, chasing butterflies, and that odd sort of pure happiness.

Graystar was having the dreams of a kit- chasing things that she couldn't feed her clan with, goofing around, and just being happy for absolutely no reason at all. This made no sense to the logical she-cat. She was an adult cat, although her compact, furry body certainly didn't show it. There was no logic behind this insanity. It would be understandable if she's been loading her unnaturally small stomach with fresh kills, but she wasn't. It would be understandable if Graystar was a psychotic old rogue queen, but she was only a slightly psychotic clan leader. Her dreams in the past hadn't been anything major: just chasing prey and fighting epic battles that the elders told her about when she was a kit. Aside for the occasional rare prophecy, her dreams had been no different than that of other cats. Her dreams had either made sense to her or were able to be dismissed as too much food. What went on in her mind was nothing spectacular- nothing special at all.

Still deeply pondering the meaning of her unusual dream, Graystar walked headfirst into the large weeping willow located in the center of the camp. Shaking her head, she decided to pull her mind out of her dream world. She was awake, and she needed to be active and alert. She may be the leader of the clan, but she still had a duty to HiddenClan. Her clan was her home and family, and wandering around like a sleepy kit all day wasn't doing anything to help anyone. Giving her chest three quick licks, the dark gray she-cat padded to the edge of the camp. She smelled the air to check for returning patrols. The air was still aside from the typical forest scents. Deciding that all was okay, Graystar ventured just outside of the camp. There was a rabbit warren nearby the edge of the clearing, and if she could just find those pesky little animals, the fresh kill pile would grow considerably. As her nose caught the tasty scent, her mouth watered and her body instinctively dropped into a hunter's crouch. She moved quickly and quietly, making her kill. She carried the food back to the camp, her tail held high with pride in her latest accomplishment. Just for good measure, she glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was behind her before pushing her way into the clearing.

[C H A S M]

Accepted.