Post by MM on Jan 19, 2014 3:22:18 GMT -6
Dawnpaw
and the arms of the ocean are carrying me
NAME: Dawnpaw
AGE: 6 moons
GENDER: Tom
CLAN: WindClan
RANK: Apprentice
and all this devotion was rushing out of me
SHORT DESCRIPTION:
A slim, bright ginger tabby tom with striking blue eyes.
APPEARANCE:
A remarkable contrast to his sister, Dawnpaw is as close as you can get to the colour of the rising morning sun. His short pelt is a stunning ginger occasionally alternated with white, with the tabby markings around his face a darker orange hue. Shrewd, light blue eyes, long legs and a relatively extensive tail are the only things he has in common with his littermate. He isn’t very bulky in build, but that doesn’t mean he’s small; he’s built more for speed and jumping than brawny confrontation.
and the crashes are heaven for a sinner like me
STRENGTHS:
- Shrewd. Keen eyes and a quick mind play their part here.
- Morally steadfast. If it breaks the warrior code but stays true to his own conscience, consider it done.
- Caring. Though he may not show it, Dawnpaw genuinely does care for the cats around him, sarcastic comments aside.
WEAKNESSES:
- Fear of water. Self-explanatory, don’t you think? It also means he doesn’t know deal with large bodies of water, much less swim.
- Sceptical.
- Prone to caustic comments.
PERSONALITY:
Dawnpaw could be described as the quiet genius (take the latter adjective with a grain of salt): he picks up much of his surroundings and is smart enough to draw conclusions from them, but he will rarely contribute in a group conversation. Take, for example, a group training exercise. If the mentor asks a question, chances are Dawnpaw will know the answer immediately, but will not say anything until either forced or everyone’s been stumped. What about emergencies, where every idea counts? Well, in that case, it depends on the level of urgency.
Leaders, deputies, senior warriors: none of the above have any respect attributed to them unless they deserve it, which is a big risk for a young cat, but that’s how it works. Even they are not immune to Dawnpaw’s scathing (sometimes mental) commentary. Medicine cats are a different thing, though. He holds most in a good light. However, unlike some cats, he doesn’t believe wholeheartedly in StarClan. Let me elaborate: in StarClan’s automatic genteelness. Their warrior ancestors may be there, but that doesn’t immediately mean that they cause certain things to happen.
Dawnpaw sees the world for what it really is, and isn’t cheerfully optimistic like his sister. He has a brooding aura about him, like a still pond with two schools of frenzied fish underneath. Though he may not seem like much, Dawnpaw is a good cat to have in a pinch, for whatever the case. He’ll not freak out or jump to overt conclusions, and you can trust him completely. He’s quick on his feet and quicker in his thought process, but if it comes to moving boulders or something he’ll be as much use to you as a limp crow.
With friends and family, Dawnpaw is the most comfortable. He feels free enough to express himself because he knows that those who know him will forgive his comments. Well, they should. Dawnpaw is especially close to his sister, even though in most respects Duskpaw is his exact opposite. In general, he’d go to great lengths to take care and rescue cats, and those lengths increase with cat in question’s proximity to him.
No, he’s not cold or anything. You just might feel turned away by his typical monotone and his not-so-subtle remarks.
She-cats? Dawnpaw grew up with his mother and his sister, so if there was any shy, flustering bluster expected of toms when confronted with the great mate mystery, you won’t find it in him. He’s as cool as they come, and thinks nothing of gestures (sharing tongues, twining tails) which would usually mean something to another cat. Should any cat feel the need to approach him, they’d have to be frank about it. They’d also have to face his sister’s scrutiny.
Leaders, deputies, senior warriors: none of the above have any respect attributed to them unless they deserve it, which is a big risk for a young cat, but that’s how it works. Even they are not immune to Dawnpaw’s scathing (sometimes mental) commentary. Medicine cats are a different thing, though. He holds most in a good light. However, unlike some cats, he doesn’t believe wholeheartedly in StarClan. Let me elaborate: in StarClan’s automatic genteelness. Their warrior ancestors may be there, but that doesn’t immediately mean that they cause certain things to happen.
Dawnpaw sees the world for what it really is, and isn’t cheerfully optimistic like his sister. He has a brooding aura about him, like a still pond with two schools of frenzied fish underneath. Though he may not seem like much, Dawnpaw is a good cat to have in a pinch, for whatever the case. He’ll not freak out or jump to overt conclusions, and you can trust him completely. He’s quick on his feet and quicker in his thought process, but if it comes to moving boulders or something he’ll be as much use to you as a limp crow.
With friends and family, Dawnpaw is the most comfortable. He feels free enough to express himself because he knows that those who know him will forgive his comments. Well, they should. Dawnpaw is especially close to his sister, even though in most respects Duskpaw is his exact opposite. In general, he’d go to great lengths to take care and rescue cats, and those lengths increase with cat in question’s proximity to him.
No, he’s not cold or anything. You just might feel turned away by his typical monotone and his not-so-subtle remarks.
She-cats? Dawnpaw grew up with his mother and his sister, so if there was any shy, flustering bluster expected of toms when confronted with the great mate mystery, you won’t find it in him. He’s as cool as they come, and thinks nothing of gestures (sharing tongues, twining tails) which would usually mean something to another cat. Should any cat feel the need to approach him, they’d have to be frank about it. They’d also have to face his sister’s scrutiny.
but the arms of the ocean delivered me
MOTHER: Ashwing
FATHER: Foxfeather (deceased)
SIBLINGS: Duskpaw (sister)
OTHER FAMILY: -
MENTOR: (will update)
HISTORY:
Born a minute after his sister, Dawnkit was a kit of newleaf, a time of new beginnings. Foxfeather had been killed in an accident two moons before they were born, but Ashwing’s rose-coloured glasses never dimmed. At least, she never made it obvious. She had a thing for thematic naming, and from where she was she could see the sun rise and set over WindClan’s hills, so she bestowed Duskkit on the grey scrap and Dawnkit on the orange one. Forget that it makes other cats think Dawnkit was the she-cat and Duskkit the tom.
As the moons passed, their personalities confused things even more. Dawnkit, though named for an energetic time of day, was the relatively reserved one. Duskkit, named for the snoozing time of day, was upbeat and jolly. Even so, they did everything together, much to the delight of their mother, who thanked her past self’s naming judgement.
Dawnkit was fond of sneaking out of his mother’s embrace at night to take a walk around the clan camp. Most of the time he was accompanied by Duskkit, and the two would quietly observe their still, dark surroundings, stars twinkling above them like guardians. Both were soft-footed, Dawnkit even more so than his sister, and even freshly made warriors on their vigil failed to notice the two (Dawnpaw would say that while he was sneakier, Duskkit had fur that blended better in the night).
One night though, while on a solo outing, (Duskkit had turned lazy that day) Dawnkit was caught out in a hit-and-run rainstorm, which lasted for approximately five minutes but dealt him enough damage to last a lifetime. He had been soaked to the bone (marrow!) and Ashwing had been wroth. Duskkit had been writhing from laughter. That had been the end of his nightly wanderings, but by then he had already seen all there was to see of the surrounding moorlands. Well, most of it. Some. The camp, at least. Please, he was just a kit, what did you expect? Duskkit, however, occasionally continued on her own, but soon stopped as well. Ashwing had turned up the security level (snuggling them very closely), and Duskkit said that it wasn’t the same without Dawnkit, anyway.
Now that they’re both six moons old and ready apprentices, what adventures await these two siblings of the waking and dying sun?
As the moons passed, their personalities confused things even more. Dawnkit, though named for an energetic time of day, was the relatively reserved one. Duskkit, named for the snoozing time of day, was upbeat and jolly. Even so, they did everything together, much to the delight of their mother, who thanked her past self’s naming judgement.
Dawnkit was fond of sneaking out of his mother’s embrace at night to take a walk around the clan camp. Most of the time he was accompanied by Duskkit, and the two would quietly observe their still, dark surroundings, stars twinkling above them like guardians. Both were soft-footed, Dawnkit even more so than his sister, and even freshly made warriors on their vigil failed to notice the two (Dawnpaw would say that while he was sneakier, Duskkit had fur that blended better in the night).
One night though, while on a solo outing, (Duskkit had turned lazy that day) Dawnkit was caught out in a hit-and-run rainstorm, which lasted for approximately five minutes but dealt him enough damage to last a lifetime. He had been soaked to the bone (marrow!) and Ashwing had been wroth. Duskkit had been writhing from laughter. That had been the end of his nightly wanderings, but by then he had already seen all there was to see of the surrounding moorlands. Well, most of it. Some. The camp, at least. Please, he was just a kit, what did you expect? Duskkit, however, occasionally continued on her own, but soon stopped as well. Ashwing had turned up the security level (snuggling them very closely), and Duskkit said that it wasn’t the same without Dawnkit, anyway.
Now that they’re both six moons old and ready apprentices, what adventures await these two siblings of the waking and dying sun?
never let me go, never let me go
ROLE-PLAYER: MM
WRITING SAMPLE:
The day was a bitingly cold one, to be sure. In fact, technically speaking it couldn’t even be counted as ‘daytime’ seeing as the sun was hardly showing its craven face at all. It was still bright enough through the dusty cloud coverage, though, and very occasionally bands of pale yellow light (the same shade of piss, he mused) would break past the clouds and deign to grace the snowy ground with their presence. How pretentious. It also turned certain patches of snow to half-slush, which lapped and pulled at his fur, dampening and dragging. If that wasn’t enough, there was a cutting breeze that kept sweeping across the moorland like a mother’s tongue over her kit’s fur. Only there was nothing warm about it. Thankfully, his thick pelt shielded the worst of the wind’s bite, but it chilled his wet paws and underbelly.
Foxpaw was hunting. Scratch that, had been hunting. The scraggly looking vole he’d been tracking had disappeared into some hidden holdfast under an exceptionally sloping snow mound. He had reckoned that it probably wasn’t worth the frozen face to try to hunt it down then, so he was currently making his way back to the camp, empty-pawed. Some cat was going to scold him for that, no doubt about it. The question was who.
He had nearly made it back, paws sopping and tail held high to avoid the snow, when a stray scent made his whiskers twitch. Odd. That was…oh StarClan, that was the smell of fish. Fish meant water, and Foxpaw unconsciously flinched. Just a little. It was only a scent, but still. What would a RiverClan cat be doing around here? Was there trouble brewing? Probably not, because it wasn’t that strong of a scent, so there couldn’t be that many cats headed WindClan’s way.
A turn of his head and Foxpaw saw the source of that oily odour. It was a single cat, this ball of black making its slow way towards the camp. Towards him, in extension. He blinked. A single cat meant a diplomat, maybe the medicine cat. Therefore: peace. Unless, of course, it was some wayward apprentice or a spy (though it was a small one at that, but it wasn’t like Foxpaw could judge anyone just yet). Unlikely, but who knew with the other clans? There were loose cannons everywhere, you just had to know where and how to look.
The apprentice decided it was probably alright to meet with the cat and see what he or she wanted. Talking with your tongue was always better than talking with your claws. Easier too.
As the other cat neared (a female, it seemed), Foxpaw inclined his head in greeting, not missing the measured smile. It was the kind of smile that those with experience in regulating their facial expressions knew how to pull off. He should know. Both his parents were relative experts.
“hello there. i am.. i'm looking for tallstar.” Ah, Tallstar. It was never a good thing to get involved in business that involved clan leaders, in Foxpaw’s opinion. He opened his mouth to ask why exactly did she to know where his gracious leader was when he felt a presence behind him. Suddenly a cat cemented (herself) next to him and took the words right out of his own maw. Albeit with a little more seasoning.
"Why are you looking for Tallstar? He's too busy to see a scrap like you." Now that the she-cat had talked and Foxpaw could somewhat place her scent, he labelled the cat as the rarely-seen Emberfang. What a charming conversationalist! Of course, he kept his thoughts to himself. After all, he was just an apprentice, and a scrap of a cat, at that. All he could offer the stranger cat was a vaguely apologetic glance and a twitch of his ears.
I should go, thought Foxpaw glumly. The one cat that I’ve seen outside my clan is going to be pummelled down by Emberfang, probably. She took my chance to talk to someone new, for a change, even if the cat in question looks a bit on the secretive side.
Secrets were fine. He could deal with secrets, has dealt with secrets. The ginger apprentice started to take his unannounced leave, edging his paws quietly to the side so as to not inflame the older and larger warrior. Older cats could get so fired up when it came to other the other clans, StarClan bless them. He surreptitiously rolled his eyes.
Foxpaw was hunting. Scratch that, had been hunting. The scraggly looking vole he’d been tracking had disappeared into some hidden holdfast under an exceptionally sloping snow mound. He had reckoned that it probably wasn’t worth the frozen face to try to hunt it down then, so he was currently making his way back to the camp, empty-pawed. Some cat was going to scold him for that, no doubt about it. The question was who.
He had nearly made it back, paws sopping and tail held high to avoid the snow, when a stray scent made his whiskers twitch. Odd. That was…oh StarClan, that was the smell of fish. Fish meant water, and Foxpaw unconsciously flinched. Just a little. It was only a scent, but still. What would a RiverClan cat be doing around here? Was there trouble brewing? Probably not, because it wasn’t that strong of a scent, so there couldn’t be that many cats headed WindClan’s way.
A turn of his head and Foxpaw saw the source of that oily odour. It was a single cat, this ball of black making its slow way towards the camp. Towards him, in extension. He blinked. A single cat meant a diplomat, maybe the medicine cat. Therefore: peace. Unless, of course, it was some wayward apprentice or a spy (though it was a small one at that, but it wasn’t like Foxpaw could judge anyone just yet). Unlikely, but who knew with the other clans? There were loose cannons everywhere, you just had to know where and how to look.
The apprentice decided it was probably alright to meet with the cat and see what he or she wanted. Talking with your tongue was always better than talking with your claws. Easier too.
As the other cat neared (a female, it seemed), Foxpaw inclined his head in greeting, not missing the measured smile. It was the kind of smile that those with experience in regulating their facial expressions knew how to pull off. He should know. Both his parents were relative experts.
“hello there. i am.. i'm looking for tallstar.” Ah, Tallstar. It was never a good thing to get involved in business that involved clan leaders, in Foxpaw’s opinion. He opened his mouth to ask why exactly did she to know where his gracious leader was when he felt a presence behind him. Suddenly a cat cemented (herself) next to him and took the words right out of his own maw. Albeit with a little more seasoning.
"Why are you looking for Tallstar? He's too busy to see a scrap like you." Now that the she-cat had talked and Foxpaw could somewhat place her scent, he labelled the cat as the rarely-seen Emberfang. What a charming conversationalist! Of course, he kept his thoughts to himself. After all, he was just an apprentice, and a scrap of a cat, at that. All he could offer the stranger cat was a vaguely apologetic glance and a twitch of his ears.
I should go, thought Foxpaw glumly. The one cat that I’ve seen outside my clan is going to be pummelled down by Emberfang, probably. She took my chance to talk to someone new, for a change, even if the cat in question looks a bit on the secretive side.
Secrets were fine. He could deal with secrets, has dealt with secrets. The ginger apprentice started to take his unannounced leave, edging his paws quietly to the side so as to not inflame the older and larger warrior. Older cats could get so fired up when it came to other the other clans, StarClan bless them. He surreptitiously rolled his eyes.
Lyrics: Never Let Me Go by Florence + the Machine
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