Post by Chinchilla on Nov 19, 2012 20:02:59 GMT -5
Mistpaw
[/b][/size]For his silver fur[/font]
[/center]AGE Six moons
GENDER Tom
RANK Medicine Cat Apprentice
CLAN Cloudclan
LOOKS
Mistpaw is still recovering from the hard journey and the toll it took on his growing body. As such, he is a small tom, built to be swift and agile rather then tall and bulky. He is on the scrawny side, though he is rapidly filling out into a sleeker body structure then the miserable pile of bones and awkward limbs that he had been as a kit.
He has a delicate head with large blue eyes and a significantly lighter muzzle then the rest of his body. He is a silver tabby, with darker stripes on his hindquarters and tail then the rest of his body. His legs are fairly short compared to his length, with dainty paws that aren't well suited to battle.
LIKES Dark places, company, rhymes, mysteries, riddles, cuddles, herbs, storms.
DISLIKES Loud noises, bright lights, seagulls, hot weather, crowds, being bored.
FEARS Failing as a medicine cat and someone dying because of it, Forestclan, beetles.
HOPES To become a great medicine cat, to be respected, to avoid beetles.
OVERALL
Mistpaw was raised on tales of brave warriors and mysterious, wise medicine cats. He has spent his kit-hood with a very firm idea of what a medicine cat should be in his mind. Wise, brave, always level-headed. He does his very best to appear to be all of those things, even if that's far too hard of a task for such a young cat. Mistpaw's bumbling attempts at being the mysterious medicine cat he was told about often come across as awkward and dorky, a kit playing at being leader. He has yet to grow into his own as a medicine cat, and to find a way that works for him.
Mistpaw is just awkward in general, really. Outside of his passion of herbs and healing, he has a hard time connecting with others. He tends to ramble on forever on the things that interest him, such as herbs, only to later remember that it's polite to let others speak. He does his very best to befriend others, but his too forward attempts at friendship may drive others away from him. He is nosy. It isn't that he doesn't care for others, it's just that Mistpaw sometimes forgets that other cats don't want to spend hours talking about the multitude of uses for mouse bile. It doesn't help that Mistpaw has no mind to mouth filter whatsoever: he says what he thinks, when he thinks it. Luckily, he doesn't tend to think nasty things.
Despite his flaws in the realm of social interaction, Mistpaw is a very intelligent cat. He has an extraordinary memory, and a long attention span that means he can sit and listen to a mentor drone on for hours. It helps that he is absolutely fascinated by herbs and Starclan. As a kit, he lurked around the medicine cat den to ask various questions about each herb. As an apprentice, he is trying his very best to learn the various herbs and their uses. He has a passion for his duties, and doesn't even seem to get bored of pulling thorns out of paw pads and organizing the herbs.
Mistpaw has a love of riddles and mysteries. If not on medicine cat apprentice duties, he'll spend his time thinking up riddles and pondering the mysteries of life. He is a naturally curious cat, and will ask question after question if allowed to. He is nosy and likes to poke his nose where it doesn't belong, even if this gets him in trouble.
Mistpaw, when befriended, quickly reveals himself to be fussy. He constantly frets over the health of those he cares for, and will make many off handed comments regarding this. He will constantly plague them about important things, such as patrols and changing their nest. He will also always be a shoulder to cry on, an ever-silent confidant, and someone who will never judge his friends for the secrets they entrust him with. It's a matter of balancing the good with the bad.
Shy isn't the right word for Mistpaw, but it is close. He happily seeks out company and enjoys the companionship of others, but he is easily intimidated outside of his medicine cat duties and is terrified of violence. Threats make him clam up, and being yelled at is enough to make him cower. While he will come to the rescue of another cat, he hasn't learned to be brave. He is still mourning Stormkit, and because of that can be withdraw at times.
Mistpaw is loyal to Starclan above all, and is absolutely entranced by the dead cats. He has never received a prophecy in his young life, of course, but he secretly hopes and wishes that they have found him acceptable for his role. He is a firm believer in Medicine Cats being outside the skirmishing of the clans, especially with the tense atmosphere of the move and being the new neighbor to the already well established Forestclan.
PAST
Silverfur was a she-cat who valued her privacy. No one was really surprised when she refused to disclose the identity of the father of her impending litter. Few dared to push the cat, who was known for her temper and sharp tongue. Silverfur was an excellent warrior, and any kits she brought to the clan would be valuable indeed.
It was disappointed when the litter of three she brought into the world was sickly and weak. A tom-kit passed away the first night, much to the misery of his mother. The surviving kits, Mistkit and a little she-cat named Stormkit, were weak but managed to pull through.
They pulled through quickly, and within a few days were just as healthy as any other kit. Their mother breathed easy, satisfied that her kits would survive. They grew healthy and happy over their first few moons. Both were slightly over protected by their paranoid mother, who rarely let them out of her sight.
Then Duskclan attacked.
Stormkit and Mistkit had been playing outside when the warriors launched their raid, and were quickly lost in the confusion of the battle. Stormkit was nearly trampled by a bigger warrior, before a warrior came to his aid and pulled him from the confusion and battle.
The warrior carried him to the retreating clan. His mother trailed behind, carrying Stormkit who had been injured after being caught underneath a pair of fighting warriors. Silverfur had been injured herself, one ear torn off when she wrenched her daughter free.
Stormkit had been badly injured in the flight, as the warriors had accidentally hurt her badly in their scuffle. Had they had access to the medicine cat den and safety, Stormkit would have pulled through and survived. But she passed away shortly after the group fled, giving in to infection and stress. Mistkit was shocked by the death of his surviving litter mate, falling into a bizarre silence interrupted only by the occasional question.
These tragedies led to him embracing Starclan, rather then rejecting them. How could Starclan be fake, if the clan kept living and breathing and moving on despite all the odds against them? Surely someone was watching over them, right? Maybe Mistkit just needed something to believe in. He wanted to believe that his sister was happy, that she was watching over him and not hurt or miserable.
Now his questions were even more focused. His passive interest in herbs and healing developed into a full blown passion. His curiosity about Starclan developed into demanding stories about the deceased cats. He followed the medicine cat to ask them about herbs, trying his childish best to give aid by running little errands or bringing prey to sick cats.
Reaching the camp was a new experience entirely for the kit. He had never actually had a permanent home before, and he still doesn't know how to react. He woke up quite a few mornings, expecting his mother to rouse him and tell him that they had to keep moving.
He became the new medicine cat apprentice shortly after arriving in the new territory, much to his delight. The newly named Mistpaw immediately went to trying his very best to help his exhausted clan, despite his inexperience and his own exhaustion and grief. The work worked well to distract him from his quiet mourning of his sister.
The reveal of another clan already living in the territory was terrifying to Mistpaw, who spent a few nights absolutely convinced that another raid was going to be launched at any moment. He is still anxious about the rival clan, not quite certain whether or not he can trust them not to be another Duskclan.
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE
Mistpaw wasn't sure he liked the new medicine cat den. It was vastly superior, of course, to merely scavenging off of whatever was available nearby as they had during the journey. But it wasn't yet up to the standards required for the proper keeping of herbs. The young apprentice lifted a paw and suppressed a squeal of shock when a bug jumped out of a tangled mess of roots and nearly crawled over his paw. "No. This is gross." He said to himself, his tail swishing. His mentor would surely be disappointed if they saw what the medicine cat den looked like! Even worse, the clan would be disappointed!
The apprentice folded his ears back. He wasn't sure that herbs could even be kept with the den so cluttered with debris. "I'll start cleaning it. My mentor will probably ask me to anyway." He decided, stepping forward and gingerly picking up a clump of disgusting leaves and grass. He carefully carried them outside, making the beginnings of a neat pile outside of the entrance of the medicine cat den.
He turned back, staring mournfully at the insides of the den. That was one bit of debris gone. There was a lot more bits to go. He took a deep breath and mentally steeled himself for the likely long and boring task ahead. He would have to clean out the den and make it suitable for the storing of herbs and sick cats. It wasn't that he was afraid of the dirt, though the bugs were unpleasant, but more that the job seemed like it would be boring.
He cast a hopeful glance around the camp, hoping to see an apprentice or warrior that was off duty and thus available for slave labor. He grumbled, ducking his head and crawling back into the den. He bit down on a branch, dragging it out of the den with a few mighty heaves of his small body. He dropped it outside of the den, looking yet again to the camp.
"Is everyone busy?" Mistpaw mused out loud. A bit of a passive aggressive way of encouraging his clan-mates to help him, but Mistpaw didn't want to actually demand someone come and help him clean out the den. That would be rude! Besides, he was just an apprentice and they would probably ignore him. Mistpaw did his very best to look miserable and put upon, folding his ears back and letting his tail hang low.
Truth be told, he didn't mind the work. It kept his mind off of darker things such at kits with stormy pelts and barely remembered raids. But it would be nice to have some company while working.