Post by gray on Mar 13, 2013 18:57:08 GMT -5
CINDERFOOT
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=valign,top] 24 MOONS MALE WINDCLAN MEDICINE CAT APPRENTICE | [atrb=style, width: 296px; padding: 5px; background-color: e3e3e3; border-top: 4px solid #000000;] GENERAL INFORMATION NAME, Cinderfoot EXPLANATION, |
BRIEF DESCRIPTION, a lean gray tom with wide, pale eyes
FAMILY, mother, unknown
father, unknown
possible siblings, unknown
Blackpelt, adoptive mother, deceased
Coalkit, adoptive brother, deceased[/div]
APPEARANCE
PERSONALITY
STRENGTHS/POSITIVES
[/u]Intelligent & Quick-thinking
Almost scarily smart, Cinderfoot is a strong-minded and quick-thinking sort of cat. He can look at a situation and analyze it, quickly thinking of several different outcomes and solutions to problems and choices. He’s witty and quite sarcastic, with a very sharp tongue and quick mind. With his high intellect, he is easily frustrated with those who act or seem to be stupid in any way, shape, or form. Cinderfoot is also willing to try some rather ‘experimental’ ways of healing, all with the intent of promoting the health of his Clan, of course. He also has an almost impeccable memory, especially for herbs and cures.
Charismatic & Diplomatic
With his sharp mind and rapid-fire thought process, Cinderfoot is an excellent talker. He can charm, flirt, and swindle his way through many situations. He’s charismatic, good at gauging the emotions and responses of those around him (making him an excellent medicine cat), and very smooth when he wants to be. When needed, Cinderfoot can be an excellent diplomat, able to talk away many sticky situations. With that silver tongue of his, he can get out of a lot of trouble and smooth over a lot of ruffled pelts. He’s good with words, obviously, and is also very careful with them. Were he a nicer cat, it would be considered tact. However, Cinderfoot’s carefulness is more for his own gain; he also loves riddles and plays on words.
Strong & Fierce
Due to his earlier warrior training, Cinderfoot’s natural ferocity is coupled with impressive strength. He is a powerful and rather fearless cat with a lot of determination. He is physically strong, emotionally strong, and definitely mentally strong. His ferocity is unmatched by that of any medicine cat, giving him an edge when it comes to getting troublesome kits to take their remedies.
Nurturing
An unexpected aspect of such a cat as he, Cinderfoot is very nurturing and is actually rather fond of kits and apprentices. It’s only when cats get older that he starts to notice all of their flaws developing… Anyways, Cinderfoot’s smooth words and nurturing persona instantly put younger cats at ease and he enjoys their innocence and boundless energy. At times, he can reach an almost mother-henning attitude, but all for the best.
Strict ‘Honor Code’
Although his sense of right and wrong may be skewed, this cat lives by his own strict code of morals. Cinderfoot gives his allegiance to those who truly deserve it and no one else. He does not feel any allegiance to WindClan, but he is extremely loyal to Barkface and so does what Barkface asks of him. Cinderfoot would never let any young cat go untreated or unattended, and watches out for others in his own way. If someone trusts him or does him a favor, he will always be sure to repay in kind; the same goes for acts of betrayal or rudeness. One could say that Cinderfoot keeps a system of karma, of balance; a system of debt-and-repay that goes on throughout his life.
WEAKNESSES/NEGATIVES[/u]
Sarcastic
With all those words and his intelligence, Cinderfoot has the drawback of being an extremely sarcastic cat. His tongue is sharper than his teeth and claws combined; very acerbic and at times, condescending, Cinderfoot is definitely not a kindly- or gently-worded feline. His words can be as poisonous as deathberries. At times when his temper gets the best of him, his silver tongue and diplomacy will fail, and a viciously barbed retort (or two, or three, or dozens) will slip out.
Vengeful & Angry
Cinderfoot is not forgiving. He is a bitter and angry cat, full of resentment and fury. His anger always simmers very close to the surface. With his strict honor code, once a cat breaks his trust or wrongs him, whether the wrong is perceived or real, Cinderfoot will never forgive them, nor will he forget. He holds a lot of angry with him and carries it around, never letting it go. He will hold a grudge until the day he dies and probably take it with him even then. He can be angry, he can be malicious, and he can definitely hate.
Skewed Sense of Morals
Cinderfoot has a very skewed sense of right and wrong. He lacks a strong conscience and tends to do what he wants to do, even if it might seem a bit… questionable. He may be loyal to the few cats he feels he owes his allegiance to, but that doesn’t seem to do much for his morals. He would have no qualms about experimenting different mixes of herbs on sick cats, even if a mixture might prove fatal, if it weren’t for Barkface and his sense of duty to Barkface and his beliefs. Cinderfoot isn’t necessarily an evil cat, more of a misguided type who was never truly taught right from wrong.
Brutal
As a former warrior apprentice, Cinderfoot of course learned to fight—and in a fight, he is brutal. He is vicious and violent and will fight like a rogue if someone lands an unfair blow to him. He’ll stop himself short of killing another cat—he is a civilized Clan cat, after all –but other than fatal wounds, all else should be considered fair game. When another cat rouses his quick temper, Cinderfoot has no mercy. Luckily, he spends more time healing than harming nowadays.
Detached
Taking into account everything else about Cinderfoot, its not really surprising to find out that he is very detached from what could be considered normal aspects of life. He is unable to connect to much of it, and chooses not to connect to the rest of it because even he realizes that he’s much different from most other cats. He realizes that there’s probably something wrong with him, but at the same time, he does nothing to change it. This results in him being quite detached from others—a stark contrast to his nurturing character.
LIKES,[/font]
♥ herbs & mixtures
♥ fighting, battle, & bloodshed
♥ loyalty & duty
♥ word games
♥ running & jumping
DISLIKES,[/font]
✗ stupidity & foolishness
✗ snow & cold
✗ peace (peace is incredibly boring and uneventful)
✗ bossy cats
✗ his birth family[/div]
HISTORY
0-6 Moons
I remember most of my story, but for my very early moons, I must rely on the elders’ stories and the accounts of the Clan. I was told that on a viciously cold day in leaf-bare, soon after WindClan returned from their ShadowClan-induced exile, a hunting patrol heard the piteous wailing of a kit. When the patrol found the source of the wailing, they were horrified to find an abandoned two-moon-old kit shivering in the deep snows. He was barely old enough to have had his eyes open, and so the patrol immediately gathered up the kit and took him to camp. This kit, needless to say, was me.
Upon returning to camp, I was instantly delivered to Barkface in the medicine cat’s den. The only queen in the nursery at the time, Blackpelt, offered to take me in. She was a very plain looking cat, as plain looking as her name implied, but she was a wonderful mother and friend. Her mate had died two moons earlier. She had also recently lost all but one of her litter to greencough. She named me Cinderkit. It took Barkface several days to stop my shivers. After being left in the cold that long, many thought I would probably die. Barkface and Blackpelt refused to give up on me, though, and I pulled through. My adoptive littermate, Coalkit, died a moon after I arrived. I was a rather sickly kit, and so spent much of my time curled up quietly in the curve of Blackpelt’s belly. Barkface kept a close watch over me, as I was the only kit in the entire Clan. About a moon before I was apprenticed, Blackpelt died of severe greencough, a freak case she managed to contract as the last snow slipped away. I contracted a case of whitecough and so moved into the medicine den for the remainder of my kithood. I proved even then to have an excellent memory for herbs and remedies.
6-11 Moons
I was apprenticed as is typical at six moons, although I had only just recovered. The Clan desperately needed a new apprentice, though. I was renamed Cinderpaw. My mentor, a gruff old she-cat by the name of Fireflower, was only given such a beautiful name for her appearance. She was as pretty as Blackpelt had been plain, but Fireflower just the opposite of my gentle, sympathetic, compassionate adoptive mother. Fireflower trained me well, make no mistake. I was the fiercest and strongest fighter among the apprentices, even though they were all a good four moons older than I. I held my own in hunting, as well, though I preferred fighting and learning new moves to deal damage to enemies. Fireflower encouraged this bloodlust and brutality in me and fueled my natural angry temper, teaching me to show no mercy because mercy was for the weak and the stupid—and I was far from stupid. She showed me advanced battle moves and techniques, called me out whenever I made a mistake, not letting anything slide. I learned to carry a deep disdain for others and only give my loyalty to the very specific few who actively earned it, not necessarily the Clan as a whole. The only exceptions to this rule, she said, were obviously the leader and deputy—for they had obviously earned the ultimate trust of the whole Clan, and that should be good enough. Fireflower never once complimented me. I worked hard for her praise, never earning it, only receiving more critiques on things I should be doing better. I trained harder than any other apprentice under the toughest mentor in the Clan. It was good enough for the Clan, and it was good enough for the leader, and it was good enough for the deputy—but it was never good enough for Fireflower.
Now, in my eleventh moon, I was nearly ready to become a warrior. I was fierce and I was proud; Fireflower was fierce and… well, she was Fireflower. Fireflower, a senior warrior, a warrior and his apprentice, and myself were racing towards ThunderClan because, on word from their messenger, RiverClan was attacking and trying to take Tallpines. We arrived in the middle of the battle, in the bloodiest and most brutal part of the fight. Our WindClan patrol jumped into the fray, fiercely defending our allies. In the heat of the battle, I found myself pinned down by a huge RiverClan warrior. He dealt me a near-fatal wound, and killed Fireflower. Both our WindClan patrol and ThunderClan conceded defeat, giving up Tallpines to RiverClan. Fireflower was left behind, and the senior warrior wrapped me in cobwebs as best she could, and I was raced home as quickly as possible.
11 Moons-Present
I nearly died on the way back to camp, almost bleeding out on the way. I swear, a cat could probably to this day still sniff out the trail of my blood all the way to camp. I almost didn’t make it. I was given the name Cinderfoot, for the paws that nearly froze off when I was a kit; Barkface told me that no one wanted me to go to StarClan without the warrior name I so clearly deserved. But, I lived. The first words I spoke were the only plea I had ever spoken: Barkface, make me your apprentice. I’ll admit that I shocked the Clan—the brutal and relentless apprentice of Fireflower, turning soft and wanting to heal, rather than harm? Barkface knew me, though; he remembered me in my kitten days, before I was hardened by Fireflower and the world, and he remembered the curious fluffy kit who coughed and scampered around the herb stores. I think my hatred for others scares him, though; my temper frightens him. I don’t blame him. StarClan accepted my apprenticeship, as did my leader, which was good enough for me. Barkface and I grew close in the absence of my warrior mentor. We make a good pair, I think—I temper his kinder nature and we strike a balance, although we don’t always get along.
Sometimes, it’s hard for me to remember that I am no longer a warrior, that my job is to heal and to mend now, not fight and battle and yes, even kill. For example, a couple moons ago when ShadowClan claimed and won hunting rights for the tunnels under the Thunderpath, I very nearly leaped out from Barkface and my hiding place. We were supposed to stay low and treat cats as they came to us, but I was itching to leap into the fray. I hadn’t fought since that fateful battle where I nearly died and I desperately wanted to show those ShadowClan carrion-eaters what a real WindClan warrior was made of. Instead, I had to sit and treat the fools that weren’t smart enough or quick and strong enough or brave enough to handle the battle. I realize it sounds hypocritical of me to say that—but it is true. But I owe my loyalty to Barkface above all other cats, and herbs and how they work is quite interesting… so being medicine cat isn’t all that bad.
Most of the time, I guess I enjoy it. But don’t you dare think that means I can’t still shred you—because I guarantee you I can!
I remember most of my story, but for my very early moons, I must rely on the elders’ stories and the accounts of the Clan. I was told that on a viciously cold day in leaf-bare, soon after WindClan returned from their ShadowClan-induced exile, a hunting patrol heard the piteous wailing of a kit. When the patrol found the source of the wailing, they were horrified to find an abandoned two-moon-old kit shivering in the deep snows. He was barely old enough to have had his eyes open, and so the patrol immediately gathered up the kit and took him to camp. This kit, needless to say, was me.
Upon returning to camp, I was instantly delivered to Barkface in the medicine cat’s den. The only queen in the nursery at the time, Blackpelt, offered to take me in. She was a very plain looking cat, as plain looking as her name implied, but she was a wonderful mother and friend. Her mate had died two moons earlier. She had also recently lost all but one of her litter to greencough. She named me Cinderkit. It took Barkface several days to stop my shivers. After being left in the cold that long, many thought I would probably die. Barkface and Blackpelt refused to give up on me, though, and I pulled through. My adoptive littermate, Coalkit, died a moon after I arrived. I was a rather sickly kit, and so spent much of my time curled up quietly in the curve of Blackpelt’s belly. Barkface kept a close watch over me, as I was the only kit in the entire Clan. About a moon before I was apprenticed, Blackpelt died of severe greencough, a freak case she managed to contract as the last snow slipped away. I contracted a case of whitecough and so moved into the medicine den for the remainder of my kithood. I proved even then to have an excellent memory for herbs and remedies.
6-11 Moons
I was apprenticed as is typical at six moons, although I had only just recovered. The Clan desperately needed a new apprentice, though. I was renamed Cinderpaw. My mentor, a gruff old she-cat by the name of Fireflower, was only given such a beautiful name for her appearance. She was as pretty as Blackpelt had been plain, but Fireflower just the opposite of my gentle, sympathetic, compassionate adoptive mother. Fireflower trained me well, make no mistake. I was the fiercest and strongest fighter among the apprentices, even though they were all a good four moons older than I. I held my own in hunting, as well, though I preferred fighting and learning new moves to deal damage to enemies. Fireflower encouraged this bloodlust and brutality in me and fueled my natural angry temper, teaching me to show no mercy because mercy was for the weak and the stupid—and I was far from stupid. She showed me advanced battle moves and techniques, called me out whenever I made a mistake, not letting anything slide. I learned to carry a deep disdain for others and only give my loyalty to the very specific few who actively earned it, not necessarily the Clan as a whole. The only exceptions to this rule, she said, were obviously the leader and deputy—for they had obviously earned the ultimate trust of the whole Clan, and that should be good enough. Fireflower never once complimented me. I worked hard for her praise, never earning it, only receiving more critiques on things I should be doing better. I trained harder than any other apprentice under the toughest mentor in the Clan. It was good enough for the Clan, and it was good enough for the leader, and it was good enough for the deputy—but it was never good enough for Fireflower.
Now, in my eleventh moon, I was nearly ready to become a warrior. I was fierce and I was proud; Fireflower was fierce and… well, she was Fireflower. Fireflower, a senior warrior, a warrior and his apprentice, and myself were racing towards ThunderClan because, on word from their messenger, RiverClan was attacking and trying to take Tallpines. We arrived in the middle of the battle, in the bloodiest and most brutal part of the fight. Our WindClan patrol jumped into the fray, fiercely defending our allies. In the heat of the battle, I found myself pinned down by a huge RiverClan warrior. He dealt me a near-fatal wound, and killed Fireflower. Both our WindClan patrol and ThunderClan conceded defeat, giving up Tallpines to RiverClan. Fireflower was left behind, and the senior warrior wrapped me in cobwebs as best she could, and I was raced home as quickly as possible.
11 Moons-Present
I nearly died on the way back to camp, almost bleeding out on the way. I swear, a cat could probably to this day still sniff out the trail of my blood all the way to camp. I almost didn’t make it. I was given the name Cinderfoot, for the paws that nearly froze off when I was a kit; Barkface told me that no one wanted me to go to StarClan without the warrior name I so clearly deserved. But, I lived. The first words I spoke were the only plea I had ever spoken: Barkface, make me your apprentice. I’ll admit that I shocked the Clan—the brutal and relentless apprentice of Fireflower, turning soft and wanting to heal, rather than harm? Barkface knew me, though; he remembered me in my kitten days, before I was hardened by Fireflower and the world, and he remembered the curious fluffy kit who coughed and scampered around the herb stores. I think my hatred for others scares him, though; my temper frightens him. I don’t blame him. StarClan accepted my apprenticeship, as did my leader, which was good enough for me. Barkface and I grew close in the absence of my warrior mentor. We make a good pair, I think—I temper his kinder nature and we strike a balance, although we don’t always get along.
Sometimes, it’s hard for me to remember that I am no longer a warrior, that my job is to heal and to mend now, not fight and battle and yes, even kill. For example, a couple moons ago when ShadowClan claimed and won hunting rights for the tunnels under the Thunderpath, I very nearly leaped out from Barkface and my hiding place. We were supposed to stay low and treat cats as they came to us, but I was itching to leap into the fray. I hadn’t fought since that fateful battle where I nearly died and I desperately wanted to show those ShadowClan carrion-eaters what a real WindClan warrior was made of. Instead, I had to sit and treat the fools that weren’t smart enough or quick and strong enough or brave enough to handle the battle. I realize it sounds hypocritical of me to say that—but it is true. But I owe my loyalty to Barkface above all other cats, and herbs and how they work is quite interesting… so being medicine cat isn’t all that bad.
Most of the time, I guess I enjoy it. But don’t you dare think that means I can’t still shred you—because I guarantee you I can!
OTHER INFORMATON
Mother and father are probably rogues, and I highly doubt he has siblings.
I'm super excited for this guy!(: <3
I'm super excited for this guy!(: <3
ETCETERA
OTHER CATS,
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