Post by Rolo on Jul 7, 2011 11:56:17 GMT -10
No-ears
Name |
Gender |
Tom
Age |
79 moons
Rank
Oldest Elder
Beliefs
Like the rest of Pineclan, No-ears has no belief in starclan. Even as a young cat in Forestclan, he was sceptical of the idea of magical cats controlling the forest, however he still 'believed'. As he grew older, Starclan remained silent to him, even at a time when he really needed them. and. His hope that they existed faded and he's remained atheist ever since. He has little opinion on Starclan believers as, having lived with them the majority of his life, he has learned to be passive about his beliefs. Upon hearing a cat ramble on Starclan, the only hint he gives about his distaste is a small, well-disguised, roll of his eyes.
Clan |
Parents |
Mother; Whitefur [NP] Deceased
Father; Spottedclaw [NP] Deceased
Siblings |
Sister; Orangespots [NP] Deceased
Other Kin |
None
Mate |
Redtail [NP] Deceased
Crush |
None, too old
Kits |
All by Redtail. He had many more, but many of their names have been lost from his memory.
Gingerkit [NP] Deceased
Patchpaw [NP] Deceased
Creamheart [NP] Stayed in Forestclan
Tallclaw [NP]
Foxfur [NP]
Apprentice/Mentor |
None
Appearance |
No-ears is certainly a weathered old tom.
His short coat, once a combination of a shining white with a few sparse bright orange patches, has lost a lot of it's old sheen and has become coarse and hard to groom. His claws, once deadly weapons in battle, are blunted. The bottoms of his paws are cracked with age. He is an old cat, and it very much shows.
From a battle long ago, the one that caused his retirement in fact, No-ears right back leg was badly damaged. When it healed, though it was just about usable, movement was restricted in it. It is permanently bent and, though there is no pain in it now, this makes it difficult for him to walk and to sit. He is permanently wonky, his gait always slightly leaning to the right, and this is particularly notable when he limps about.
His body is littered with battle scars, the healed wounds showing plainly through his short fur. The most notable of these wounds, however, would be the two stumps where his ears once were. This gives his face a very peculiar look, one that does take a lot of getting used to. Along with his green eyes, his appearance has an edge, which has been known to inspire fear and respect in one hard glance.
Personality |
Calm, loyal, dry-humoured, content, strategic, grateful
No-ears is a mixed character. Unlike some elders, he still retains the same lust for life he had when he was a kit, it's just not too noticeable sometimes. Most cats who meet him instantly fear him, purely because he looks so... strange. Yet, almost as soon as he opens his mouth, they realise he is just a kindly old cat with a slightly dry sense of humour.
No-ears loves telling stories to the young cats who are not frightened of him. He is a very sociable cat, despite his ability to snap or be very grumpy at will, and he always enjoys a chat with whatever apprentice comes to feed him. He tries to be good-natured and to inspire faith in the clan throughout Pineclan.
Pineclan, his recently adopted clan, has come to mean more to him than he would have expected. He is so very glad to be able to have the chance to help run it, having once dreamt of becoming leader of Forestclan. Pineclan's morals are something he holds close to his heart, as he lost his faith a long time ago, and he wants so much for it to survive and to flourish. He shall lend his skills to them for as long as he can, even if it's only for a short time.
No-ears is content with life, almost serene despite his behind-the-scenes job of running the clan. He gives off a vibe that makes most cats think that he is always relaxed, as if nothing fazes him. The truth of the matter is that No-ears has lived through so much, he sees no point in the nervous energy a young cat may have. He has seen so much trouble; he does not worry himself with the idea that his clan may not survive. He knows that everything will turn out alright in the end, it always had before. He has reached a peace that only a cat that has seen much and lived through many hardships can experience, and it shines from his very being. Yet, at the same time, he seems so very concerned about every issue. His interest in the clan's affairs never dwindles or fades as he realises that Pineclan needs help to keep things under control. He tries to lend his experience and strategic mind to Pineclan, knowing his knowledge may well help the clan one day. He sees Pineclan as much his clan as Gingerstar's, a strange possessiveness he has never held over anything, save one cat, and he will do whatever he can to help guide Gingerstar through times of crisis.
No-ears, despite his obvious weakness physically, holds an authoritative quality for some reason cats cannot quite work out. He is opinionated but he recognises that alot of his opinions are not in the 'interest of the clan'. Most of the time, he will not share his own opinion if it is likely to cause trouble. He realises now that his time as an active part of interclan and clan battles are over, and that all that matters now is making the clan good for the young ones who will live long after he has gone. His own ideals should play no part in any matter.
Despite his cheerful exterior, sometimes No-ears' melancholy edge shines through. No cat can live through hardships and go through such a long life without losing things and regretting actions. In return for the peace he now holds, there is some parts of him that still hurt and yearn for the past, and others filled with remorse. Sometimes, upon seeing newborn kits, close families or cats that are so obviously in love, he heaves a sigh. Some days he is quiet, wishing to be alone with the memories of the past he holds so dearly.
Skills |
Advice giving, strategy, story-telling
No-ears could not hunt even if he wanted to, his constant limp making it impossible to step lightly enough to stalk any prey. If needs be, he can raise a few claws against an enemy, but his lack of mobility gives him a great disadvantage in battle.
No-ears prefers to spend his time advising the leader on what to do and how, lending his strategic mind to clan matters. He is good at seeing the logic in things, and reasonably good at understanding the emotional matters. However, he believes that a clan must be ruled with your head first, with some input from your heart.
He is fantastic at telling stories, his long life providing just the material for a good gripping tale. He keeps many a kit amused with his dry humor and expressive voice.
History |
Kithood
Patchkit was born to Forestclan, raised as any normal kit was. He was a happy kit, curious and decidedly reckless even when he was just a bundle of fluff. Both his parents were very close to him, his mother kind and his father a cat he looked up to. His sister, Orangekit, was his playmate, his accomplice and friend. Even as an elder, he looks back on the memories of these times fondly.
Apprenticeship
Patchkit and Orangekit became apprentices at 6 moons, like any other kits. As Patchpaw had grown older, his spontaneity and unpredictability grew, getting him into a lot of trouble with his mentor. Often, he would disobey the rules on one of his childish whims, letting his desire to ‘go explore’ or ‘hunt’ when told not to overtake him. His mentor, Lionfang, a senior warrior, was patient with him, knowing he would grow out of it. He wasn’t a bad apprentice, indeed his skills in fighting were above an average apprentice’s, but his tendency to completely disregard the warrior code worried Lionfang and the leader. They often wondered if he would ever make a decent warrior. Unlike his sensible but clingy sister, Patchpaw was incredibly ambitious, but his wish to please often overcame his sense altogether.
After many moons of training, things all came to a head when a fox stumbled into camp on the night of the Gathering. Patchpaw and his sister had both been left behind with a handful of warriors and so they, despite their inexperience, had to rush into the battle. Patchpaw and Orangepaw both fought bravely and persistantly, but when the fox began to head away and they were told to hold back, Patchpaw ignored the order. Trying to show his worth by continuing the fight, Patchpaw irritated the fox so much that it turned around and swiped him from the base of his neck to his flank. Patchpaw immediately limped away, but the fox followed him back to camp and attacked again.
Two warriors very nearly lost their lives in the battle that followed. Patchpaw's insolence caused their injuries and he had been too injured to fight the fox he had teased into coming back. He was scolded horrifically for not following orders by many of the cats.
And, as if to add salt to injury, Orangespots was made a warrior for her bravery.
Scolded and miserable, Patchpaw felt fed-up seeing Orangespots become a warrior. It made him bitter to see his ambitions completed by her and not him. Yet, instead of sulking about it, he decided to try again. He would become a good warrior if it killed him.
With careful guidance and stern words from the leader, Patchpaw began to make process. Realising where he was going wrong, he worked extra hard on becoming a warrior. He took a leaf out of Orangespots’ book and calmed down his behaviour, slowly managing to make his recklessness a rare occurrence and not a dangerous bad habit.
The leader was impressed with his progress and, after moons of hard work, finally awarded him his warrior name. He became Patchstorm.
Warriorhood
Patchstorm settled into a normal warrior’s life, his skills and behaviour slowly maturing. Soon he became one of the best fighters in the clan, despite never being one for hunting. He grew to be well respected, although his mischievous streak remained. As he grew older, he adopted a dry sense of humour, finding the laughs he earned from it as much a thrill as breaking the warrior code (which he no longer did… much).
When he was around 25 moons old, however, things in the clan turned for the worst. A clan from a far off land, driven from their own territory, had eyed up Forestclan’s territory, deeming it good enough to fight for. The clans were plunged into war, their future was uncertain. They prepared for a battle, and they got one, but it was short and the alien clan backed off quickly.
Forestclan were puzzled, unable to work out why this clan had retreated so quickly. However, after a period of high alert, they relaxed again believing the clan had given up.
One day Patchstorm went deep into the forest for a solitary hunt. It had been an uneventful day so far, but it came to be one Patchstorm was to remember for the rest of his life.
Whilst stalking a mouse, four unknown cats leapt on him. Patchstorm fought back, but with such uneven numbers he knew he wouldn’t win. He was clawed and bitten into submission, too exhausted and injured to fight anymore. The foreign cats forced him to his feet, pushing him along. They marched him for half a day before they came to an area where the invading clan had set up camp. By this time, Patchstorm was so overexerted that he could barely resist as he got shoved into an old fox den near the centre of camp. Patchstorm welcomed the darkness, just about managing to hear a cat saying that he was to ‘stay here’ until the Forestclan came to get him and that he was their ‘prisoner’ and that he shouldn’t fight or he would be ‘punished’, before collapsing with exhaustion.
For over 1 moon, Patchstorm was trapped in that burrow, being given meagre rations and only being let out to make dirt. It was a living hell, the solitary confinement making him want to weep. He missed his clan greatly, and it very nearly sent him mad. He prayed to Starclan every hour, but his pleas were never answered.
Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, Patchstorm decided to make an escape attempt. When the guard came into the burrow to give him his daily meal, he struck out at him and bolted out of the fox hole. However, he emerged into the sun so quickly, the light made him dizzy and he got no more than a few fox lengths from the burrow before he was caught. The guard, a bulky character named Stonetail, was furious.
Stonetail, anger plain in his very stance, dragged him in front of the clan who jeered at the warrior, telling him his clanmates had abandoned him. Patchstorm was helpless, surrounded by too many cats to make a run for it. Stonetail looked at him, telling him that for his 'insolence' he would be punished. He and the three other surrounding warriors then turned on him.
They scratched him into submission, forcing him to lie belly-down on the ground. A cat secured his neck. That was when Patchstorm gained the attribute he would later be named after. Stonetail bit off both his ears.
Patchstorm yowled in anguish and pain, the blood from the wounds blurring his vision.
However, just then the sound of fighting cats reached his damaged ears. The cats were pushed off of him, and the sounds of familiar voices echoed in the air.
Forestclan had come for him… and 4 other cats who had also been kidnapped but somehow kept from his knowledge. The clan fought hard, managing to kill most of the rogue cats and drive off all the rest. Unfortunately, some Forestclan cats also lost their lives, one of which was his sister Orangespots. It was a crime Patchstorm never forgave himself for. He had been too weak to save his sister… if he had escaped or had been strong enough to fight the cats in the first place, she would never have given her life for him…
Patchstorm returned to Forestclan camp, feeling both sadness and happiness in returning to camp. After a moon of recovery, he took back the duties of a warrior.
His ears healed with time, his heart did not.
His experiences had greatly traumatised him, and his guilt over his sister ate away at him. His humour and mischievous streak disappeared and he became brooding and miserable. Even worse, Patchstorm mourned over the loss of his ears. Vain as it was, he felt so alienated when kits ran away from him in terror, thinking him to be scary looking. The looks of pity he got for his appearance was unbearable.
How could someone love someone like him? Such an ugly cat who let his own sister die?
But then, something happened. He would have called it a gift from Starclan if he hadn’t lost his belief after his time as a prisoner.
Along came Redtail, a cat a little younger than him, a cat he’d never paid much attention to. Redtail, after seeing how much he moped in the corner, came up to him and asked him why he was always so sad. Patchstorm had snapped at her, too wrapped up in himself to answer properly, asking her “How can a cat as traitorous and ugly as me ever be happy?”
Redtail was shocked, of course. Her pretty little innocent soul couldn’t comprehend what this cat was talking about. “Ugly? How could a cat like you be ugly? And you’re not a traitor, you’re the bravest cat I know.”
Patchstorm was so stunned by her reply, the sweet naivety in her voice, that he turned and looked at her. He could see from her eyes that her reply was genuine, and he instantly softened to her. “You don’t think a cat like me is ugly? Are you really that mouse-brained?” He had asked her in a deadpan voice.
The cat had only giggled at her, reassuring him that battle scars didn’t make him less attractive. Why could such a physical formation of loyalty towards his clan be seen as a fault?
Patchstorm was fascinated by this cat, and for the first time in 10 moons he felt his mood lifting.
What followed this conversation came to become the stuff of Patchstorm’s fondest memory. Redtail, such an understanding she-cat, listened to him so tenderly over the next few moons, Patchstorm felt himself feeling things he’d never felt before. He became her light in his dark world, a romance blossomed that made Patchstorm want to live.
Redtail single-handedly brought Patchstorm back to life. Slowly, his guilt faded under her care, his old personality brought back to existence. He became happy and delighted in the life of a warrior.
Patchstorm and Redtail were a pair every cat knew about, the looks of pure adoration for each other giving them away. It was no surprise when Redtail and Patchstorm paired.
For 25 moons, they lived happily together, baring many kits. Yet, when Patchstorm was reaching about 55 moons, Redtail got whitecough. Her health deteriorated, and within days both of them knew that Redtail was not going to make it.
On her deathbed, Redtail pleaded that he lived his life to the fullest, even without her. He begged him not to give up because she was gone, telling him that she would always be with him in his heart. She made him swear before taking her last breath. Patchstorm, tearfully, swore to her. He let her go… wishing for once that Starclan existed.
However, Patchstorm kept his promise. He did not succumb to the sadness he had lurked in once before, he remained strong for his mate. He cherished his life and worked on being the best warrior he could be.
Elderhood
Shortly afterwards, Patchstorm got caught in a fight with a badger, and he was left with a wound on his back leg which completely tore it apart. With time it healed, but it was so severely damaged that he was left with a limp. He had to retire from warrior duties. He accepted the break semi-readily, a bit put out to have to spend his time lazing about in the sun.
A few moons later, upon watching his own clan slowly fall apart under the corruption of a new leader, Patchstorm agreed to travel with Cedarstar. Though he struggled with his bad leg, which no longer pained him, he managed the journey and witnessed the birth of the current clans.
Originally, Patchstorm had been intending to stay with his old clanmates in Meadowclan, but one cat caught his eye. Gingerstar. He couldn’t believe his ears as he heard what she was saying. A clan with no belief in Starclan? It sounded perfect for him. He had always hated those who yakked on about Starclan as if they were really there, especially since his time as a captive proved they weren’t. He knew immediately that this was his calling. Instead of rotting away in the elder den, he could actually help a clan to work! Finally, he could become the cat he’d always strived to be. He joined Pineclan with a promise to help them until the day he died, and they gratefully accepted him.
To this day, No-ears has been fulfilling his promise, holding elder meetings and advising Gingerstar. Although he is not as young as he once was, he is content within Pineclan and will continue to offer his services until the day he dies.
Role Play Example |
Patchstorm emerged from the elder den, his pace painfully slow as he limped on the hard ground. His pads had been hurting him today and it was extremely displeasant to put any amount of weight on him. It made him feel old.
Patchstorm sighed, his mood lower than usual. The lack of warmth in leaf-bare always did it to him. He lusted after green-leaf, a time when all cats were not preoccupied enough to talk to him and when his joints did not pain him.
The elder slowly lowered himself into a sitting position, seating himself awkwardly on his wrecked leg. At least it wasn't snowing today.
He chuckled. Redtail would have hated to see him being so sorry for himself... he really had to stop complaining.
He cast his eye over the camp, watching as a few warriors organised themselves for a patrol.
"No-ears?" Asked a small voice from behind him.
No-ears turned his head, a serene look on his face. It was a small tabby kit, one of Rainfur's he thought.
"Yes?" He asked in his rasping voice, fixing his gaze on the kit. He was surprised that it was bold enough to come and talk to him directly. So many young cats were scared of his appearance, this kit had to be particularly brave to come to speak to him.
"I heard you tell good stories. Can I listen to one?" Asked the kit, backing off slightly now that the elder was looking at him directly.
Patchstorm's face crinkled with amusement, "Of course, young one. Come over here. I shall tell you the story of the battle where I got this scar here." He waved his head in the general direction of a long scar that stretched the length of his body, "It is a tale of both stupidity and bravery. It's quite appropriate, since you yourself shall become an apprentice soon, yes?"
His voice, though cracked with age, sounded instantly wise and enchanting. It was suddenly humble, all the authorititive quality it usually held gone to be replaced with a more casual one.
The kit nodded and settled down for the story.
