Iceheart [Princess of Thieves]

[Whiskers [Archive]]

Name | Esmeralda Iceheart Gender | she-cat Age | 26 moons Rank | Warrior Clan | Meadow Beliefs | Iceheart stopped believing in a higher power when her father was ripped from her. The cruelty of her world taught her long ago that life wasn’t fair, but she had once believed that a higher power—God, her mother had called it—watched over them all. She only feels hatred toward this “God” now, IF there ever was one, and the idea of Starclan makes her feel sick. Why would anyone teach their children such garbage when all it does is make them weak and even worse—hopeful? Parents | Amaranto (deceased) Maria (NP) Siblings | Raphael (deceased) Bernardo (NP) Damien (PC) Other Kin | none Mate | None Crush | None Kits | None Apprentice/Mentor | None Appearance | Beautiful and slender, Iceheart has a face that deceives. Her slight, long frame looks easily breakable, and her paws are so small one would think there were no claws hidden inside them. Taller than most females, she is built with lean muscle, though her soft, small paws makes sneaking around effortless. While her face is narrow and dynamic, her eyes are wide. They are a bright, disconcerting green. Her fur would be snow white if she kept clean—but it’s rare that you see it without some sort of mark, whether it be blood or dirt. She always looks a little rough and raw, worse for the wear, though her eyes never show it. Personality | Raised in a world of violence and terror, Iceheart’s childhood taught her to buck up and be brave or die, so she never bats an eye at any challenge or cat that attempts to get in her way. She always charges into everything without any hesitation, even if she knows that chances are, she might not even make it out alive. Such courage is luckily balanced out with her cunning mind. She is a trickster, primarily, and she always aims to outfox her opponent, avoiding physical fights whenever she can. She enjoys having this advantage while not fighting too—and so she’ll lie whenever she can, even to some of her closest friends, her sense of humor sarcastic at best and downright cruel at its worst. And congratulations if she does consider you a friend! She very rarely trusts anyone. She is often, in fact, paranoid of cats’ true intentions. She has one eye glancing over her shoulder constantly. And if she suspects you for anything? Oh lord, run. She’s not one to let a cat explain things and mercy, in her book, is not the best policy. And that brings us to the fine line between villain and hero that Iceheart dances between. She has her own sense of morals that do not follow the crowd. Stealing, lying, bribing, gambling…well it’s all pretty much good in her book. She operates on the “end justifies the means” kind of mentality, which excuses her from “normal people” rules. As long as her lies get her out of trouble, or if she’s stealing for a weaker, needier cat, then by all means. She won’t lose any sleep over it. Killing is another story. She won't hesitate to do so if her own life is threatened or, again, if she sees it benefiting a greater outcome. Killing in cold blood is strictly forbidden and avoided. This moral code of hers is enforced tirelessly by her strong sense of justice. She has her own idea of good and bad and if you ain’t good, then you’re in trouble. She is a proud cat who will defend her honor (and her father’s honor) until the day she dies. This belief makes her positively vengeful and hateful at times, and she is prone to rages if one pushes the wrong button. But her intentions always remain pure at their heart, and her most redeeming quality is her selflessness—her downright inability to walk away from a cat who needs her help. She’s one to drop everything if she sees a weaker cat in trouble and will not rest until they are safe—even if it means putting herself in danger. Though to be honest, Iceheart is definitely a hopeless adrenaline junkie and she has the greatest fun when she is running from something. But normally, she's running toward something instead. Iceheart is never without a purpose. From the beginning of her life, she has had a mission and lives to fulfill that mission day-in and day-out. It has given her a no-nonsense attitude when it comes to fights, wars and plans and it has made toms, kits and romance the furthest thing from her mind. Nothing gets on her nerves more than toms flirting with her when she's trying to think, and she'll claw them if one dares to try. She is not all spitfire though. Her softer side consists of a love of two-leg music, stories and midnight walks. She loves sleeping under starry skies and on rooftops, the closer to the sky the better. She never likes standing still for long and has gotten used to traveling—though she quite likes the plains of Meadowclan now and it won’t be long until the grasses and the skies steal her heart much like her old city once did. Skills | Iceheart is a decent enough fighter and hunter to get by—but her real talents lay in sneaking around, her abnormal sense of balance, tracking scents and her cunning brain. She is a clever, resourceful cat, an escape mastermind. Her many, many, many escapes have made her run fast and graceful without so much as a sound as well. She is also very good at climbing, a skill which will get her no where while she stays in Meadowclan territory. Her greatest weakness is truly her…well, reluctance to engage in physical fights. She’ll do all she can to avoid it, and runs unless there is no way to escape. She is useless when it comes to border skirmishes or defending the territory, though she’ll do her best to lend her mind and use that to get her clanmates out of any messes. Most of the time though, such behavior makes her look lazy and/or weak. History | “This child will cause you nothing but trouble, “ “I would expect nothing less from my daughter.” Iceheart’s story truly starts before she was even born in the grimy, bloodstained streets of Mexico. Underneath the hot sun, a war started with the arrival of a coal-black cat named Amaranto. A loner for all his life, Amaranto found his paws stayed when he reached this overcrowded city and saw the terror on every cat’s face. He learned from the natives that a large, violent tyrant ruled most of the city with bloodthirsty claws. This cat, named Antonio, had long established his power, gaining followers who helped enforce his rules. This gang of cats acted much like a clan, with its own hierarchy, its “Militia” hunting for food throughout the city, and defending its ever-growing territory. Any cat that resisted Antonio’s Militia when they came was killed, she-cats kidnapped and used for kit-producers for Antonio’s army. Amaranto knew he had to do something to fight back and release the city from Antonio’s suffocating hold. So, well… he did something stupid. When the Militia came, demanding his food, he resisted, declared war on Antonio and fought the soldiers. Though he was desperately outnumbered, Amaranto was cunning and tricked the soldiers into falling into a sewer. He escaped and word traveled throughout the city, a whisper of hope: Someone had faced the Militia and won. Who was this cat who dared? Who fought? The whisper grew louder and carried the name Amaranto. He gained followers and became the leader of his own group, a ragtag group of rebels that went out and stole from members of the Militia, giving to the poor, the sick and the needy. He pushed back Antonio’s territory, but still, he was not completely successful. Antonio’s Militia was massive, his soldiers loyal, and those toms that were not drafted into his army were few, often old or wounded. Very few were willing to stand up like Amaranto was. And then Amaranto grew even more daring. On one of his nightly raids, he had snuck into Antonio’s own den and caught sight of what he called “the pearl of the city”—a stunning white she-cat named Maria. He instantly fell in love. He learned through his spies that she was Antonio’s chosen mate, a young she-cat kidnapped from a family that lived underneath a Catholic church. Amaranto did not waste any time. He quickly devised a plan to rescue his pearl. The rescue mission went almost perfectly. Maria and her three kits, all Antonio’s sons, were brought back to Amaranto’s hideout safely. It was on this mission that Amaranto and Antonio met face-to-face and fought. Amaranto once again used his cunning and trickery to escape, leaving Antonio with a long angry scar on the side of his face. When the city heard that Amaranto had faced Antonio and lived—that he had escaped, lived AND bestowed upon the evil tyrant a scar—Amaranto was lauded as the King of Thieves. His numbers multiplied as more and more cats sought to serve their king. Now there was hope. It was at this time, in the middle of this war, that Esmeralda was born. Maria had easily returned Amaranto’s feelings (who wouldn’t fall in love with the dashing raven-haired thief?), and Amaranto named his only child Esmeralda, for he thought of her as “the greatest treasure that he ever stole.” He loved her fiercely and decided right away that he would make her strong, so she would never be a victim of Antonio, or any of the toms in his army who lusted greedily after she-cats. Her training began right away—there was no moment for kithood. As soon as she could walk without tripping over her own paws, she was by her father’s side whenever he went on one of his raids. Iceheart loved each adventure. She had her mother’s looks but her father’s cunning mind. Her small size at the time proved useful, getting into places other cats could not reach. And she quickly volunteered herself as bait, using her kittish innocence to lull the soldiers into a false sense of security. But her mother was uncomfortable with such a crazy, dangerous life, and she insisted on teaching her about God, to ground her. Every Sunday, Esmeralda, along with her three brothers, Bernardo, Raphael and Damien, slipped out to the old Catholic church of Maria’s childhood, where they would listen to the sermon and the music. The music stole into Esmeralda in a way she could have never imagined and it became one of her greatest loves. She grew, as did her beauty and her talent. She insisted on leading her own raids alongside her older brothers and she became frightfully good at it. Her own reputation grew—the Princess of Thieves, they called her—and the war looked as though it could be won. It was during this time when the strange loner Holliday entered Esmeralda’s life. The rough-and-rowdy tom had arrived in the city and heard of the war, naturally, and he sought out the Princess of the Thieves, eager to get a glimpse of the fabled she-cat. Of all coincidences, he ran into Esmeralda when she was alone and fending off three of Antonio’s soldiers. Though Holliday had no idea who she was, he saved her life. He did not recognize her as the Princess in the tales, and so Esmeralda decided to lie about her true identity. She claimed she was just another one of Amaranto’s supporters, called “Essie,” and promised to take Holliday to the Princess if he helped her steal some food from a group of soldiers. While that mission didn’t go entirely according to plan, Holliday proved himself once again and Esmeralda escorted him to Amaranto’s hideout—a den located in the sewers beneath the city. It was there that she revealed her true identity, taking much delight in Holliday’s reaction. For the next three moons, Holliday melded perfectly into Esmeralda’s life, becoming a persistent part of every raid, though his swashbuckling take-charge attitude clashed loudly with Esmeralda’s own style of leadership. The two butted heads all the time, but Esmeralda secretly enjoyed the loner’s company and the different methods he brought to the war effort (even if he flirted annoyingly). Yet at the end of the third moon, what should have been a simple, run-of-the-mill raid turned into a disaster. Things went wrong, mistakes were made and Raphael, Esmeralda’s half-brother was murdered. Crazed with shock and grief, Esmeralda turned on Holliday, blaming him for the death. The next morning, Holliday left, telling her simply that the war wasn’t his fight and it was time for him to move on. She would never admit it out loud, but part of her heart broke that day, as the only tom to ever get under her skin tore his way out again, and proved himself to be more selfish than she ever knew. And things from that point on got worse. Damien was jealous of Esmeralda, of her cunning, her close relationship to Amaranto, and the power she had among the thieves. And as the son of Antonio, Damien was faced with prejudice and he was filled with hatred for those that refused to respect him. The death of his brother, Raphael, has only deepened his bitterness. He went to his father and betrayed Amaranto, revealing the location of the thieves’ hideout. The Militia swarmed, led by Antonio and the traitorous Damien, and the hideaway was seized easily, all cats trapped inside the dark, wet confines of the sewer. Esmeralda was dragged to the front of the mob as Antonio stepped forward. “So this is the Princess that has been fooling my soldiers,” Antonio’s lips curled and eyes glittered. “A pretty face, just like her mother. One would never think a devil hides behind those green eyes, hmm?” Amaranto was dragged, snarling, forward, held down by three large cats, face pressed into the dirt. “And here is the King. King of Fools,” Antonio spat in his face. “Now it’s time for me to show you who truly rules this city. You have reached the end of your life, Amaranto. Any last words before I paint the city with your blood?” Amaranto’s eyes darted to his daughter’s. They did not quiver in fear. “My beautiful Esmeralda, I need you to listen to me. This is important. Protect the weak. Fight for those who cannot. And always, always choose hope.” “Father, no—!” Antonio struck and the blood filled her eyes. The second Amaranto died, the thieves flew into an uproar, fighting back with newfound rage and strength. An all out blood bath occurred. The Militia were slaughtered, one after the other, and Esmeralda managed to free herself. With Bernardo at her side, they flew at Antonio and tore him apart. The battle ended. The street was littered with bodies from both sides, blood caked Esmeralda’s legs and the war was finally over, with both leaders dead. Without a leader, the rest of the militia fled, scrambling in all directions. Esmeralda didn’t care about them though. She only cared when she saw Damien and his traitorous behind rounding a corner and disappearing. She had only managed to give that traitorous ratface a nasty scratch down the side of his face, a gift that he would carry for the rest of his days, just like his father had before him. She scoured the city for him, slipping through every alleyway, rounding every bend, but she found nothing. He had escaped. She had left him alive and he had escaped, taking her father’s honor—her honor—and shattering the remains of her trust on his way out. She was filled with rage over his betrayal and subsequent disappearance. All of her friends and her father were dead and it was because of him. Though the remaining thieves turned to her for guidance, she dismissed their loyalties, too caught up with anger and grief, too desperate to find Damien and make him pay. She left Bernardo in charge of the remaining cats. She said goodbye to her mother and left without another word. Revenge was the only thing in her mind. And it kept her going, for miles and miles. She left Mexico behind as she followed rumors of Damien, never wavering in her quest to find him and finish what she started back on that bloody day in the sewers. That is, until she came across the clans, the structure of which was so close to Antonio’s Militia that Esmeralda was certain that Damien would seek them out and ask to join himself. Her mind was made up when by chance Holliday—now renamed Elkstep—approached her. The shock of finding the tom again filled her with mixed emotions, but once he told her of the Meadowclan rebellion and asked for her help, she couldn’t say no. Her father’s teachings and his last words had long beaten in her blood, and she could never turn down cats in need. After some begging on Elkstep’s part, she was let into the clan and renamed Iceheart. She does not quite understand the clan ways, but after living among them for a while and seeing Cedarstar’s unfair leadership, she’s quite eager to teach him a lesson and tear up the clan from the inside out. Critique level | Criticize all aspects of my character speaking thinking -A special thanks to Pyro for the table and Poi for the eye manip. [bg=3e0515][atrb=width,500,true] [atrb=border,0,true]

[Pyro]

SEAL OF APPROVAL. [1/2]