Post by ambird on Aug 8, 2011 13:08:29 GMT -10
Name |
Gender | Tom
Age | 35 moons
Rank | Loner
Clan | None
Beliefs | Someone up above? Looking down below and seeing all the things he's ever done? And when he dies, they mention every last little thing? Smith couldn't handle that. Partially because he blames himself for the single-handed annihilation of his own cats....by him. Being a pacifist himself, causing all of that death was an impact on everything he had ever believed in and how he saw life in general. If such a thing existed, Smith would be wary because, well, murder obviously isn't a good thing, now is it? Dying? He is not afraid to die. Whatever awaits him shall come at him. Whatever he deserves, he shall get. If some bloody ancestors' existed, then and only then he would accept that. Granted, he does not believe in that to begin with. More so, Smith believes in the things that he can touch and see. In his words, he is a cat of intelligence. If you cannot see it, why assume it is there in the first place, when in what is really reality, such religion is just a cult belief.
Now, now, do not go assuming that he writes off the different religions he has seen in his travels. Though, he has seen some rather ghastly ones. Smith is a cat who prefers not to get too incredibly attached to one cat, or a mingle with cats. Through the moons, he has become far more lenient in this rule he had placed for himself from the beginning. He likes to view things, not ever really trying to get involved, but it just happens. The Clans' Warrior Code is the first firm set of rules he has come across that Smith can actually relate to. They speak of just things, and so far seem to keep the cats at peace with one another. Smith himself, if he ever were to join the Clans, would most definitely break one of these laws(quite frequently), because that's just how he is. Certain things, such as the whole 'leader's word is law'. If Smith thinks the leader in a dingbat, he wouldn't do that well in listening to him or her. Another one is the whole no-kill thing. For example, Fogclan. If Smith could have any say in that, he'd get rid of all of the crazies. But, that is immoral to the eyes of many. He thinks it is foolish to let mad cats that would surely mean harm to every cat stay alive. Smith has his issues with them, and when given the option to become a Clan cat, he declined the offer. Though, he is more than content to watch and observe these cats.
Judging a cat merely on their beliefs? He doesn't believe in such a thing. Being the cool-tempered cat he is, Smith doesn't really think such a thing is necessary. Stereo-typing leads to growing hatred, and that can lead to far worse things. Over his moons, Smith has become more judgmental, however. He'll blatantly say if what a cat is doing is wrong, no matter what the outcome of his smart remark may cause.
Parents | Johns [father - deceased/NP] Mother - Unknown
Siblings | Jones [brother - NP]
Other Kin | None.
Mate | May have had...the identity changes got to be so many, he may have had one and could not remember.
Crush | Not yet.
Kits | Again, he vaguely remembers having some. Their names? A different matter.
Apprentice/Mentor | None.
Appearance | Smith is an averaged size cat, and at first glance, there's nothing special about him. He is lean, of course, from having been born into a harder life than most. What sticks out, though, is the scars on his nose, underbelly and the chink out of his ear. This makes many wary to talk to him, because they like to assume he isn't a very friendly cat. Smith won't deny his appearance can startle cats. Every time he sees an old comrade, he never does look quite the same. Simply because of a new scar, or every time an old friend sees him, he just looks more and more worn out. He has short fur, that only thickens in colder times, but maintains the same look. In warmer times, the thickness of his fur dies down considerably, and he once again looks far thinner. The tabby coloring of his fur has many splotches of ginger that stick out, but the dominant coloring is still light brown. Smith's fur has darker stripes of brown going down and across his body. His underbelly is a defining white, and showcases one of his scars rather well against it. His face is always exuberant and he rarely hides anything. If he does need to hide an kind of emotion, Smith has a mean poker face. Smith's amber eyes showcase his emotions well, and are often clouded in deep thought. His whiskers are starch white and are on the droopy side, like the rest of him, they show wear and tear as well. They twitch if he's thinking, excited or just about feeling anything to a great proportion.
Personality | The best word to describe Smith is eccentric. How he currently behaves is a bit off the wall. Whatever quirks he has he isn't afraid show and if you think he's lost a bit of his brain along the way, Smith wouldn't say no. Don't assume that means he's a dumby. He's a fast thinker and can think of a resolution to a problem sooner than most cats would. While thinking of the resolution, however, if he's really thinking, and some cat attempts to speak up, he'll shush them in no sooner than a heart-beat. Interruptions cause him to be side-tracked, and if its life or death, you really don't want him distracted. If Smith is angry, you'll know it. Most often he'll speak aloud to himself when frustrated or(he'll never say he was) panicking. He's arrogant and will boast if he has accomplished some great feat. Smith's greatest ability would be his capability of sheer smugness and boastfulness.
Kit-like Recklessness
Imagine this scenario: out-numbered, out-matched and its looking bleak. Now, what would most do? Find an escape route and flee. Smith is a completely and utterly different story. He'll stay through the thick of it all, and for what reason? Oh, no, he's not the type to give away his great schemes for these reasoning's(or, what he likes to think of as greater plans). He'd appear to have fled, leaving his friend behind. They're probably assuming he's a filthy piece of badger dung for leaving them with 5 dogs. But, he has a better plan then run and let them eat said companion. The dogs would pick up some scent, follow it, see him and he's run them right of a cliff, while he himself landed on a ledge bellow. Did said dogs die? Without a doubt. His pacifist behavior has slowly begun to disappear through the moons. Smith isn't afraid to kill if its required. This may one day bring his own downfall.
Negotiation vs Aggression?
When he first started out as Charles quite awhile ago, he knew instinctively what was right and what was wrong. This may have been a trait he'd picked up while seeing so many other species besides cats bring their own demises through simply things like fighting amongst themselves for food, or water while causing their own annihilation. He pitied these kind of things ending any life. Whether it be cat, dog or even 'prey', Smith regretted every life lost because he was there when said life was lost and he felt he should have intervened. As he aged, however, he realized that he couldn't stop these things. They were supposed to happen because that is how life goes. You deal the wrong cards and you end up dead on the ground. It's simply the circle of life and he couldn't do the slightest thing about it. For awhile, Smith resolved things by simply discussing the problem with cats' having problems, and that almost always resolved things. The world has changed, though. And so must Smith. Now, if he cannot get them to agree to change ways through peace, he is resigned to the fact he must bring in brute force. Peace is brought, but not in the way Smith originally intended to bring it back when he first began exploring the land.
Sheer Genius Turned to Boastfulness & Arrogance
Again, success has driven a pure, good trait of his to slightly sour. Smith knows he is no idiot. Too many times to count has his quick-thinking saved him and a cat he would call a great companion from a sticky situation. Every time its looked like something down right awful would happen to a large group of cats, he's been there to solve the problem, and fix things before any vast amount of lives were lost. Death brings him no joy, and he will do whatever he can to stop it. Back then, he prided himself when he solved conflict. But now, cats have heard of the destruction he brings with him where ever he goes. More than one cat has tried to end his life because they believe that if such a thing is done, the fear of Smith coming to break a way of life he sees unjust is something many cats do not want. His ability to be smug about his accomplishments to many is not something he should be proud of, either. Word spreads quickly when the rumors about a cat are spread by said cat. He knows of his reputation, and speaks of it to any who will listen. Smith boasts about his knowledge, and what feats he has accomplished to anyone and everyone. He is still proud, but he has let that turn into something ugly.
Selfless & Self-Hating.
If the option was his friend or himself, Smith would rather have himself die than someone who was brought into the mess because of him and his actions. Smith is aware of the fear he has put so many cats into, and feels shameful. Therefore, there is no doubt in his mind, if one day the fate of every cat he had ever met was dependent on him, he would know exactly what to do. You and I both know the answer to that. Self-sacrifice. He has done too many wrongs in his life, and perhaps giving himself up to the fates would make up for some portion of all that he has done. Smith has heard the whispers of hate from disdainful cats, and he cannot help from agree. It pains him when a cat calls him amazing or wonderful. He knows deep down that he is neither. Grateful cats can speak of him being a good cat and a hero. That is not the light he sees himself as. If Smith could describe himself, he would rather say monster. That's what he has become, and is fully aware of it. Many have enemies, have cats they truly hate. The one cat Smith hates the most? Himself.
If you want to describe Smith, here's a simple way of putting it, he'd rather show a fake gleefulness(that he's rather well at) then show the grime truth. Therefore, if the outcome is better than he anticipated, not one of his friends would ever have been worried in the first place. Smith has an outer self he would rather show than his true self. In all honesty, he's not sure if he really is there anymore, or if what's left of him is just a shell of his former glory. Smith is arrogant, pig-headed, slightly crazy and would rather jump into the fray and fight of twenty cats than accept the fact that a life couldn't be saved. His true pacifist nature is slowly leaving him as he sees more and more of what the world truly is. Dark and hateful. Perhaps he's opened himself up for what he has become, and he slightly thinks that himself. When it comes down to it, he'd rather give his life than an innocent cat's who had no idea what was happening. He has his quirks, and is proud of them. Smith is a strong cat, but he may not be strong enough to withstand the force of every cat he has ever fought with.
Skills | Smith has strong, lean legs and he is lithe in his movements. So, it's only natural for him to be a fast runner. His ability to run so quickly is from moons of running and not looking back. Tracking is a skill he has possessed from since before he was accepted into the Academy. You give him something to work with, and he'll be able to find it using his nose and wit. Hunting? Surprisingly, he doesn't have the patience to wait to get into a perfect position. He'd rather just go head-on and attack the creature. This doesn't work more than half the time, so sometimes he's left hungry at night because of his own stubbornness. From the start he had a pacifist view on life and didn't feel the need to learn how to fight. This quickly changed, however, simply because he needed to defend himself from horrors he had not known existed. Smith is capable of usually using an animal's own stupidity against them, but if he needs to butt heads, he is capable of holding his own until he can plan an escape route.
History |
Nothing seemed wrong that crisp spring morning. The Gallies had dwelled in the same serene location for more moons than the oldest cat of the group could remember. They had their home up in a more mountainous area, surrounded by woods and within the woods there was abundant prey. Not one cat ever had an empty belly. You could say the cat's had a similar system as the Clans', but they had more of a hierarchy, and sub-groups inside of their large group of cats. The Society is a large grouping of cats who act as choice-makers for the entire Gallie group as a whole. Johns, a loyal Gallie came back to the two-leg carved out adobe. Most cats assumed he was coming back from patrolling the borders. Except, that was not the case. He held by the neck a small kitten, no older than a moon. Word spread, and he was confronted by one of the Society, being questioned as to why he brought in another mouth to feed. Then came out the truth. This kit was his, Johns wouldn't say who the mother was, but only that he was now to be taken care of by him. However skeptical they were, the Society permitted him to bring the kit in.
Charles, as Smith was first referred to, wasn't disliked by any of the cats in the group. Well, that he was aware of. Jones, his brother who had been around trainee-age(7-8 moons) when Charlie was brought to live with him, disliked him. Jones had been his father's pride and joy, and his mother had actually be a Gallie. Charlie's mother? No one knew of her and not even Jones himself could get his father to speak of her. This angered Jones, leaving him to take it out on his brother, Charlie, who was still was lost to what he had done in the first place. This didn't last that long, however, once Johns had decided that it was time for the two of them to be sent to the Academy. The Academy was a place for young cats in the Gallies to learn of what being a Gallie truly was. They believed themselves to be direct descendants of the great cats; Tigers, Leopards and Lions. So, what would the descendants of gods do? What else than observe lower cats, mostly for more intelligence to be gained. A Gallie is not meant to intervene and stop the chaos of other cat's lives, because they are higher and more powerful than that. Charlie thought this thinking was a bit skewered, so one night, in he and his brother's shared den, he decided to ask his opinion.
"Jones," he said tentatively, hoping not to have woken his brother.
"Uh?" his brother said groggily, looking up at him.
"What do you think of the whole mindset? That we are all higher than other cats and can't change the course of anything whatsoever. It's all just so muddled." he said, sighing. It was, and there wasn't much he could do about it.
"Char, just go back to sleep. You really shouldn't late-night think." his brother mumbled, who obviously just wanted to sleep.
"Fine, fine." he muttered, curling up again into his nest. This conversation may be over, but Charlie sure as all the stars in the sky wouldn't drop the subject.
Next day, the trainees were sent out with their mentors. Charlie and another cat, black and white with amber eyes, Matthew was his name. Charlie had this sort of charm, and Matthew was envious of how well he already got along with all of the cats that were Matthew's friends. Plus, he knew Charlie had been a nasty surprise for everyone, and loved to mention it. At first, Charlie just thought that Matthew just needed to warm up to him. For awhile, they were good friends, but of course even the best of friends have their fights. And this was one of the biggest contradicted occurrences the Gallies had ever dealt with. Charlie, Matthew and their respective mentor had gone out with Jones. Tensions were high, because Matthew had finally spoken of his doubts to his brother, who had shut him up and claimed he had no loyalty to the only thing he had ever known.
"You three remember this, as this is the word and law of our culture. We are observers of lesser beings, and we watch and wait for the time when we can rightfully take our position once again as the highest cats of them all. We do not interfere with the course of action that occurs. We do not attempt to undo a wrong done by another cat. Remember these things, and generations long past mine will know of the laws and follow them as we all once did." Jones's mentor said, looking at them all, pride gleamed in his eyes. Somehow, this made him even more uncomfortable.
"Of course," Jones said, as if this was the easiest thing in the world.
His mentor purred at this, "All right then, you three go up ahead and find the river and get a drink. You've earned it." he meowed, flicking his tail to point them in the right direction. Matthew smirked at him, for some reason. Charlie furrowed his brows at this, but chose to ignore him, for now.
The three ran up to the river, and the sight they saw slightly shocked them. The area had gotten a considerable more amount of rain over the lapse of quite a few sunrises, but they hadn't expected the river to rise as much as it had. The river bank was now covered at least up to their underbellies in water. Matthew looked to the other two like this wasn't that big of a deal, and decided to wade in and get a drink, giving Jones a challenging look. Charlie bit his lip at this. Jones was one to accept challenges and be the very best. His perfectionist attitude didn't help.
"You're on!" Jones exclaimed, going even further in. Matthew and him went further and further until...
"JONES!" Charlie exclaimed, seeing the Jones was in as deep as his head and none of them knew how to swim. Well, Jones got swept into the river, and down the big logs that normally blocked off the water.
And the rest is history. Matthew was in a state of shock the entire way back, obviously not meaning for any of this to happen. But what really irritated him was when Matthew made up that Charlie
had been the one messing around in the river with Jones. So, who was to blame for his own brother's death? If you're thinking Matthew, you might want to think about what just happened. The Society heard of what had occurred near the river, and for almost two moons, no one was allowed down by there, in fear of losing another member of the Gallies by stupidity like Jones's. Charlie wasn't forgotten about. He was called to questioning and for awhile he was kept under watch, many at first accusing him to have murdered his own brother out of jealousy. This, obviously, angered Charlie because it wasn't really Matthew or his fault. Jones had decided to put his life on the line. Granted, Matthew may have caused some of that to have happened, but Charlie didn't feel questioning him would do any good.
After awhile he was cleared of all charges, and Charlie decided to leave the Gallies. In the dead of night, he left and decided to change his name and how he acted. He didn't want to be found again, only if he came back would he let himself be addressed as Charlie. From Charlie he went to Zacharias, and traveled to places he'd never imagined. Every time it got a bit dicey, or he grew old of the same charades, Zach(or the other three names he went by) would go as far as changing his name once again and devising up a different personality, emphasizing some traits he's always had more than others. That type of thing. Ghosts of his past haunted him by his fifth name change, to Elliot. He was plagued by nightmares of his friends and family. The Gallies.
He decided to go back to his homeland, and see how it had grown. It had been many moons, and he was now fully grown and he had seen much in his short, but well-lived time. However, when he reached the hill right before his home, he was shocked to see thorns and thistles blocking the way. Cats were right behind it, and many were growling in discontent at him. "Are you one of Skar's?" a black cat growled. Zach squinted, realizing who the dark tom was. Matthew! Why would he assume he was one of Skar's? That beast of a cat had left the Gallies alone for moons before he had been born, and he had always assumed that he would leave them alone long after he left, as well. Zach just had to be wrong about that, hadn't he?
"No, no. Matthew. It's me. Charlie." he said, warily. Even if they did recognize him, that didn't mean good would come from it. Zach had left without another word to any of them.
"Charlie?! We thought you had been killed." Matthew said, still questioning if he was in fact who he said he was. Zach could tell of this.
"Alright. Want to know how its me? We had the same mentor, and on the day we received him, you mistook me to being my brother, Jones, because of our resemblance. For a whole moon you called me Jones." he said, smiling.
"It's okay, he's one of us." Matthew said to the cats standing guard, letting him pass.
From there he was brought to the Society by Matthew to be debriefed on the happenings of the Gallies. About 5 moons back Skar had once again tried destroying their way of life. So, the natural thing had been to retaliate. But, unlike all the other times, where it had just been a small battle or two, Skar and the Dake were calling them out into an all-out war. They already had attempted to sneak into the enclosed clearing and kill them all in the dead of night. Zach was sickened by that. If you raged war, he didn't believe you should take it out on the queens or the kits. Skar's problems were with the Society and those who fought with them, not the innocent cats who never left the safety of the clearing.
The day came for the last battle against the Dakes and the Gallies. Zach was unsure if he was ready for it, though. The war had made him a murder, looking down at his paws. Just two sunrises ago he had killed a Dake who had tried entering the enclosure. He knew it was what he had been ordered to do, but it still changed him nonetheless. Currently, the full forces of both sides were on the beaver dam, its width no further than 10 tail-lengths. That was another thing that worried him. How could the large amount of cats not have the thing cave in? That gave him an idea. In one quick maneuver, he was by the leader of the charge. Zach asked if he could use his plan, and the Society member gave him the go ahead.
Nodding his head, he found his way down the dam to a ledge formed from wind and water crashing against the earth. He jumped down onto it. Carefully, he found a sturdy looking stick that probably held a good amount of the weight currently on the dam.
Zach awaited for the leader's signal to pull out the log, meaning they had made it off safely. It hadn't come...too many heart-beats had gone by. What else was he to do? He had his orders and was to carry them out. Gingerly he yanked at the log, and the whole thing came tumbling down. In a single moment, the river dam on which they had been fighting gave way. Zach saw bodies fly down into the ravine. Bodies that were....his own cats and Dakes alike! What was this...? With a great tremor, he realized what had happened. Skar must have cornered them onto the dam and had known of their plan.
The old 'if I'm dying, then so are you!' trick. Deeply shaken, he found his way down and saw the destruction and murder. Zach named off every single cat. He didn't realize one was missing. Matthew. Struck with grief, he left the sigh of the debris and the mascaraed bodies of both the Gallies and the Dakes. He changed once more. And again, and again. Until he was John, in honor of his father, and a little tribute to the Gallies themselves. John was wandering about, far away from the lands of the Gallies, not wishing to remember all that had happened to him the last time he returned.
This time, his ghosts followed him. When John saw the black cat stalk him back to his makeshift den, he was startled. Who would possibly need to find him? Anyone he had known had forgotten about him by now, or was dead. Or, so he had thought. John still had his eyes on the black cat, and then something clicked. Black cat? And his eyes....cold amber. Like a certain tom he had presumed dead. "Matthew?" he called out.
"Right again, Charlie. Or is it Zach, or John, or whatever the hell you've decided to call yourself?" the black tom snarled, walking out into the open. He was skinny, and his bones pointed out in awkward angles. Whatever had happened to him, he was not doing well. John flinched at his accusation. Word had spread fast about him. Wonderful. Just what he needed.
"Matthew... I know I'm not the only one who's lied and cheated. What exactly--?" he was cut off.
"You can explain yourself later. I have a bulletproof way of getting back everyone we've ever cared about. Bear with me, it isn't crazy, Sure, sacrifices are involved, sure we'll need to kill lesser cats to bring them back, but it's all worth it in the end." Matthew said, a hungry look in his eyes. John looked at him like he was insane. At this point, that was definitely a possibility.
"What are you talking about?! Killing? I've accepted their gone, now you should too!"
"No, that's the thing. One of truth and of justice is needed as well. I suppose that'd be me then, wouldn't it?" Matthew spoke, bleary eyed. John became wide eyed, and then looked closer at him. He was skinny of his own choice. His frame was small and he looked ready to pass out. The loss had driven him mad. Matthew started walking, and John followed, mostly out of worry for someone he had once called a friend. Then an enemy. Now all he was was lost.
"Matthew, what are you doing?" he asked, seeing him going closer and closer to the edge of the cliff of the mountain type of place John now called home.
"Going out the way everyone else did. When they come back, tell them I did this all for them." Matthew said, and jumped off.
"MATTHEW! NO!" he shrieked in alarm as he saw his black silhouette hit the ground far bellow.
For longer than he would admit, John felt survivor's guilt. When he saw Matthew still alive, he was truly filled with joy. He was not the last of his cats. And then....and then Matthew had to go and turn crazy and believe he could bring back everyone both of them had ever cared about. John knew that wasn't possible. And Matthew had held onto that hope and let it fester inside of him. Turning him to the crazed cat he had been before he had decided to part the world as.
Moons passed, and he's now calling himself Smith. He's moved on from his troubled past, and has opened a new chapter in his life. Smith is no longer scarred by the deaths of the Gallies or of Matthew. If he does speak of it, he just calls it a day that went for the worst, and doesn't like to dwell on those depressing bits of life. He's realized they come and go, and the real focus is on what goes on around you at that moment, not something that happened moons ago. Smith has changed, he's more reckless than before, a bigger ego and definitely more willing to kill than he was back when he first left the Gallies. Now, he resides in the territory out by the Clans, not getting involved, but observing. If one day they were to need him(he couldn't see why they even would) he'd be there, ready to stop whatever peril probably awaited.
Critique level | Criticise all aspects of my character.
