Finchpaw

[Whiskers [Archive]]

I look up to the sun~

~It only hurts my eyes

Name | Finchpaw

Gender | Tom

Age | 15 moons

Rank | Medicine cat apprentice

Clan | Fogclan

Beliefs| Finchpaw doesn't know what to believe.

Yes, he is a medicine cat apprentice, and yes, he is a Fogclan cat. But Finchpaw is pretty darn agnostic-going-on-atheist, though his father is the DEVOTED Rowanheart. After having lectures about Starclan beat into his head, Finchpaw grew to... well... loathe his father and his teachings and didn't like the idea of cats staring down at him, controlling his fate. As he has grown, the idea seems more and more ridiculous and Finchpaw doesn' see any proof. With his more logical way of looking at things, this makes believing in Starclan hard for him.

Of course, the way Rowanheart liked to rant about how Fogclan was the honored one, and all the other clans would one day be conquered or would perish affected his opinions a little bit.

He often tests Starclan, but he never gets results or answers. His agnostic attitude is kept to himself, as he is sure his father would hate him if he knew that his son didn't really believe. So Finchpaw says he believes, if necessary, though mostly he just does his work and lets Hailstorm be the one who interprets signs. It's possible, through time, he might come to believe, but at the moment, Finchpaw doesn't see it happening.

His view on Pineclan? He thinks it would be a relief to work there-- he could have the freedom to think and say what was in his head without worrying about his father, his brother, or the cats around him.

Parents and Kin |

Mother- Zoe- deceased (NP)
Father-Rowanheart-warrior (DC)
Brother-Firepaw-apprentice (PC)
Uncle- Red- unknown

Mate or Crush| None

Kits | None

Apprentice/Mentor | Brightnose

Appearance | Finchpaw resembles his mother more than his father. He has neat, short fur lying on a nimble body. His legs are lanky, long, and he is taller than the average apprentice of his age. Finchpaw pretty much has the make of an excellent hunter-- speed and stealth built into his very muscle and bone. He's both skinny and a little feminine, with his dainty paws and narrow shoulders.

His pelt is pretty much a copy of Zoe's. On the top, there is a ginger color (I imagine it paler than this picture) that extends down from his head to his tail, where it abruptly stops to make room for a cute white tip. His entire underbelly is white, along with his legs, paws, chest. His muzzle, too, is white, and it travels up the bridge of his nose before the ginger starts. He is a tabby, so he has stripes by his cheek bones and on his tail.

His eyes are a dark, warm almond and again, they are very much like his mother. They are always reflective and thoughtful-- though Finchpaw is very careful about displaying his true emotions and usually can hide them from his father. When around others, he isn't as worried and so he's much easier to read.

Personality |


Finchpaw has always had a very virtuous personality, even as a young kit. His moral code is his own and he sticks by it, more so than the warrior code. (though some aspects of it is in his own 'code.') This young cat is intelligent beyond those his age, though he is endlessly, annoyingly, curious and there is nothing that he enjoys more than asking questions. Sometimes these questions are simple, other time they are surprisingly deep and philosophical. It all depends on his ever-shifting mood and conscious.

Finchpaw does a lot of thinking in his spare time-- and he has a lot of it now that he has to sort herbs all day-- though he's not really quiet. In fact, he's pretty outspoken when around certain cats he's comfortable with. He always makes sure he's thought through his words before he says them-- many times this leads to periods of silence. He's rather restless, and he likes to keep busy-- honestly he would rather be outside, running around, then cooped up in a den all day.

As a medicine cat, he's snappish when it comes to working with patients, especially if they are whiny or difficult to work with. He's very precise though, and never rushes his work for fear he'll make a fatal mistake. With most patients, he simply doesn't talk to them-- he does what he's supposed to do and moves on to the next cat.

When not in the den, working, he'll be more relaxed though still, remain pretty quiet, listening more than talking. Only around his brother will Finchpaw let completely loose and just mess around like a regular tom would.

When it comes to the topic of 'Starclan' Finchpaw just shuts down. It is one thing that he is totally uncomfortable with. If he is forced to, he'll lie. He sees what Fogclan cats think about cats who don't believe. He doesn't want to be kicked out of the clan and he doesn't want to be hated by his own father and brother. For those reasons, he stays silent.



Skills | Finchpaw is simply okay with medicine cat duties. He's okay with herbs. His intellect, though, gets him through a lot of tight spots and he's able to think of new inventive ways to cure things. When it comes to interpreting signs, he pretty much just fakes his way through it. His connection with Starclan is zilch because he doesn't truly believe.

But as a simple warrior, Finchpaw excels at hunting, his whole body being made for it.

History |

"Firekit, Finchkit, I need you to pay attention..."

As a kit, a very young one at that, Finchkit only remembered life in Fogclan. He was born nearly at the time of the clan's conception and therefore, he only has memory of the clans. Hit kit-hood, though, was filled with stories told by many cats-- but mostly his father.

"Listen carefully. For this is the truth. You must do all you can to serve Starclan."

Finchkit and Firekit were told about their duties to Starclan everyday, over and over, throughout their kithood. Firekit responded with interest, quickly accepting what Rowanheart said. But Finchkit was not so quick.

"But why would Starclan damn Pineclan? They didn't do anything wrong!"Finchkit protested.

"But they did. They denied Starclan."

"So? They didn't kill anyone!"

Rowanheart was eternally patient with his son, but deep inside, he was worried. His wonderful, sweet Finchkit was questioning the truth. And so, Rowanheart decided there was only one way to fix this: Finchkit had to be a medicine cat.

Finchkit didn't really have much choice. Rowanheart took him aside one day to talk with his son.

"Finchkit, your mother wanted you to be a medicine cat. Starclan wants this too. You will grow close to our ancestors, you will speak with your mother and you will heal cats."

Finchkit didn't know what to say. He didn't really want to be a medicine cat. He wanted to train with his brother. "Pa, I wanted to be a warrior apprentice."

"Starclan demands it Finchkit. But don't worry-- you should be rejoicing. This is a happy day! You are a chosen one."

"A... Pa, I--"

"I've already spoken with the medicine cat." Rowanheart continued. "Finchkit, you won't dishonor the memory of your mother, will you?"

Finchkit bowed his head and just looked at his paws. Maybe he could do good... right? Even if it wasn't exactly what he wanted. "No. I won't."

And so Finchkit was thrusted into a world of medicine and stars.


RP Sample:

Finchpaw dropped to the ground, his eyes darting around, searching for the red fur, tasting the air for that familiar scent.

The coast was clear.

He bounced on his paws and then darted out of the den, eyes fixed on the horizon. He would make it. He had to make it out of camp! All he had to do was cross the clearing and then--

"Finchpaw!" The booming voice echoed and Finchpaw winced, dropping his head in defeat.

He had been so close.

Rowanheart, his father, padded toward Finchpaw slowly, eyes serious. "Where are you going? I thought Hailstorm needed you in camp all day-- you know that whitecough is going around. I don't like to see my son racing left and right when he could be in the den, learning and helping."

Breathing room, Rowanheart. Ever heard of it? Finchpaw straightened and his tail-tip flicked-- the only sign that he was annoyed. All morning, he had been slaving in the den. He opened his mouth to speak but his father was not done.

"Finchpaw, I believe in you, you know that, right, son? I love you and Starclan loves you--"

Oh, who says?

"-- but you've got to pull your own weight. Now--"

"Rowanheart," Finchpaw said through clenched teeth and the lie sprang to the tip of his tongue. "I'm just going out to collect herbs."

"Oh. Right. Good. Starclan bless you, my boy."

Finchpaw slinked off into the trees, finally free. "Starclan, if you're really up there," Finchpaw murmured to himself, feeling stupid and foolish-- he was talking to trees after all. And he sounded like his father. "then can't you get my father off my back?"

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