Poppythroat [done]

[Pyro]

N A M E | Poppythroat G E N D E R | Tom A G E | 21 moons R A N K | Warrior C L A N | FogClan B E L I E F S | Raised in the regime, one would suppose Poppythroat believes in StarClan with every fiber of his being. And to a certain point, he does believe in StarClan. While they may not be deities in nature, beings to be worshiped and cowered before, that does not lessen their importance. The dead should be respected. And so he respects them. But they are not all he respects. From a very young age it was pressed upon him by his mother that all things have a soul. From the birds to the many trees of the forest, all were as cats: in that they had a soul and something to teach. Little Deer spoke of Fox's cunning, and Rabbit's tricks, and Bear's bravery, and Willow's wisdom in bending to the wind so as not to break. But even as she told him these stories, she told him also of how it was the greatest disrespect to treat them lightly. Did not the mouse die so that he might live? Would he not one day die so that others might do the same as he once did? "You must respect your ancestors as FogClan says you must. But you must also remember to give respect to all else as well." For it wasn't the Dark Forest that awaited little kittens who disobeyed their mothers. It was reincarnation as the thing they wrongly thought so little of. Is he blasphemous to follow his mother's beliefs rather than the rigid regime of worship imposed upon all by the council? Perhaps. But he'd rather honor her memory and suffer a few scratches than forsake her and live unbothered. P A R E N T S | Jaywhisker [father-unknown-np] Little Leaping Deer "Little Deer", Deerstripe [mother-unknown-np] S I B L I N G S | Light on the Stream, Palekit [sister-unknown-np] O T H E R K I N | Hawk Shadow [aunt-alive-np] Godwitclaw [grandsire-unknown-np] Lichenheart [greatgrandsire-alive-dc] M A T E | not yet C R U S H | Pipitpaw [f-lover-deceased] K I T S | [he should totally adopt a daughter or something. |8] A P P R E N T I C E | not yet A P P E A R A N C E | Skinny with short, coarse, ginger fur and green eyes, Poppythroat can still prove a striking and tall figure on a good day. His gait though, is often hampered by a slight limp; the source of which is an old injury to his right hind-leg. His markings are relatively simple: a splash of white that goes from his throat to his belly and almost invisible darker ginger stripes. P E R S O N A L I T Y | [boisterous] Happy medium? Haha, nay, nay. Not for Poppythroat. He's a real hotspur: diving straight into the thick of things with a temper and attitude to match his enthusiasm. He is a loud cat to say the least, and although not incapable of shutting up when it's required of him, he still likes to make sure his opinions are heard. Could you call him hardheaded for that? Why yes, yes you could. Poppythroat, afterall, seems to take his lessons from then unyielding oak rather than the bending willow. [strict, hypocritical] This tom, for all his loose-cannon tendencies, can be viewed as quite the military dog. He is very much into the 'chain-of-command' and appreciates insubordination about as much as he does rocks in his nest. Call it a product of the regime or hypocritical--surely it's both all said and done. Oh yes, he's no stranger to pranks and tomfoolery, but he can't stand to see it from someone he outranks. Especially if it's unjustified. No, he doesn't care what time it is, you should have been out on patrol hours ago. What if an enemy had chosen that time to attack? They wouldn't have had anyone to warn them in advance. Ahem. Poppythroat did not suffer through beatings and the nonsensical faith test just so some uppity apprentice could make his life even harder. Perhaps another side of his hypocrisy in this matter though, is that he would rather not see others go through what he went through and occasionally still goes through (although. nowadays it has more to do with his beliefs than pranks). Because if there's one thing he knows, it's pain. And not just physical pain, either. [boughts of instability] Poppythroat has suffered through the loss of his father, mother, sister, and lover. All at a young age, no less. Though he seems to have gotten over the depression that plagued him for the second half of his apprenticehood, a tinge of crazy still lingers. If he is left to brood over things long enough, the depression returns, bringing with it instability and an even shorter fuse than normal. StarClan help the cat who makes an ill comment toward his absent loved ones when he's having one of his bad days. They might just end up beaten beyond recognition. Not so easy to deal with is it? When one is on the victim end of the beating for once. [determined, hearty] But perhaps the redeeming lights in Poppythroat's less than stellar character are his determination and perseverance. He throws himself into whatever he does. And it doesn't matter what it is. as long as he agrees with it It could be as simple as laughing, and Poppythroat will laugh the loudest and the longest. This tom just doesn't do things half-way. He believes full-heartedly that you need to go all out and finish what you start. Especially when the only other option is moping the days away in your den. S K I L L S | Next to fighting, Poppythroat's voice is probably his greatest skill. Certainly, he's a fair hand at fights of an intellectual nature, but the sheer volume of speech he is able to attain is something to behold. Cats would do well to cover their ears when he shouts, because he's more than capable of making himself heard over the din of battle. And if volume won't get him heard, he's particularly adept at throwing his voice. And if his voice can't get his opinions through a cat's thick skull, he's happy to use his claws. Poppythroat really throws himself into his fights. That's not to say he fights blindly...it's just hard to get him out of roar!attackyourface mode. He is not, as it were, a 'conservative' fighter. It's probably easy then, to infer that he lacks the patience to excel at hunting. A couple minutes of fruitless tracking and he's about ready to hightail it back to camp. A couple hours and he has no problem stealing from someone else's cache. He is, however, moderately adept at climbing--a trait gleaned from watching his mentor scurry up trees like a squirrel. H I S T O R Y | Poppythroat's story begins far from the clans in the Northern Salmon River Tribe. The river from which they took their name had been absent of the fish from which it took its own name for two summers, and the tribe was starting to decline. Without that major food source, they found it hard to maintain their numbers. For the good of the tribe, many cats were driven out upon reaching adulthood. Still, many others left of their own accord, seeing wisdom in leaving honorably. Little Leaping Deer was one of these cats. She had taken a lost clancat as a mate, and together they, with her sister Hawk Shadow, went to find the cats Jaywhisker had been separated from. In time they did, and although Hawk Shadow declined to join the clans, Little Deer and Jaywhisker found a home in FogClan. A good thing too, as Little Deer was pregnant. "Oh just look at his long legs...and her fur! As pale as the moon. Hawk Shadow would insist I name our son 'Tallest Poppy' and our daughter Light on the Stream...Names that any apprentice would carry through the trials with pride." "Better make that Poppykit and Palekit, Deer. I don't like the look that queen just gave you." Poppythroat, then Poppykit was born under the regime. His parents, upon seeing the extent of this religious takeover, were quick to resist it. Jaywhisker upon principle: he had not left one tyrant to be ruled by another. Little Deer, renamed Deerstripe, because she wished to teach her kits the ways and lore of of the tribe. Despite repeated warnings she continued to give them lessons as she would had they been born back in the 'River tribe. This was met with ill will, and it was she who suffered the most at first. Jaywhisker wanted to leave the clan outright, but despite the growing number of sinwounds of her body, Deerstripe insisted that they stay. Where could they go? And with two kits? "I don't care, Little Deer. This has gone far enough, and no matter what the risks, I refuse to stay here and watch you AND my children abused." "And you think I like it any more than you do? You think I like watching you torn apart just for defending us? Maybe things would be better if we just...if we just stopped fighting." "We're leaving. One way or another." Finally, Jaywhisker left, promising to return as soon as he found a suitable place for them to stay. Either he didn't find one, or he died, for he never came back. Deerstripe was heartbroken, and after a moon or so of getting no word from him, she went after her mate herself. Palekit followed her, while Poppykit stayed behind, which was just as well, for how could Deerstripe care for two kits all on her own AND search for Jaywhisker? "Fine! Stay 'ere, scaredy. I'm gonna find momma." "But Palekit..." "Someone has to! Besides, once I do we'll both come back and rescue you, okay?" Much to Poppykit's dismay though, neither his mother, nor his sister, nor his father ever came back for him, and he spent much of his kithood (and later apprenticehood) regretting having not followed his sister after his mother. His solution? Become a troublemaker. Much of the first half of Poppypaw's apprenticehood was spent either bleeding from sinwounds or pranking the council members and even, dare he say it, Volepelt. Mud in the nest, maggots in their prey...Lightning struck a tree? A carefully guided ember into the next resting place of Thrushflower's bum. Safe to say, all were powerful eager to quite literally whip him into shape. And maybe it was his great grandfather Lichenheart finally showin' up in him, but Poppythroat went straight as a poker. In between trying to wrestle down his inherent need to muck about, he managed to catch the eye of a one Pipitpaw: by his account, the most beautiful she-cat in the entire clan. Heavily scarred from sinwounds and deathly close to losing an eye, she had a fire in her that captured his heart. "Beautiful? Really? This ain't some fancy romance novel." "What's a romance novel?" "Aw, Poppypaw, don't tell me you don't know what romance is." "I do so know what romance is! It's all about being the knight in shining armor for a beautiful lady. And that's what I'm gonna be for you...I just don't know what a novel is." And when she died after a beating was taken too far, she took that heart with her. Poppypaw became depressed to say the least. It seemed to be his curse: when he was bad he was the worst, when he was straight, he was as straight as they came, when he was in love, no one loved harder...and when he mourned? Well, no one wailed louder. In time, to his peers, he seemed to get over her, but he never truly did. He earned his warrior name, Poppythroat, after (largely) bs-ing his way through the faith test. C R I T I Q U E | Criticise all aspects of my character Speaking [bg=2b2827][atrb=width,500,true] [atrb=border,0,true]

[Pyro]

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