Warpaw

[Warpaw]

names: Warkit Warpaw Warfrost
gender: Tom
age: 6 moons
clan: ThunderClan
rank: Apprentice

personality:
{am I talking to a sane man?}
Warpaw.

Taste it on your tongue, describe the way it sounds. Is it a fearful whisper or a battle cry? Do you puzzle over such a name? Does it send shivers down your back at the mere mention? Or do you, like so many, skeptically snicker at the word, deeming it nothing more than a label?

It's likely you'd be sensible not to fear a newly-made ThunderClan apprentice, especially one without any recognition outside his own Clan yet. In the heart of his own Clan, Warpaw isn't particularly special either, besides being the son of his hateful mother, Blueflight. He's the clever, hard-working, determined cat with a lopsided grin nobody really gets to know but doesn't ignore. Warpaw is just like any other ThunderClan apprentice at first glance: a loyal Clanmate.

Warpaw is as much a mystery to his own Clanmates as he is to other Clans; that is, there is not many who could claim they truly know Warpaw on a personal level, since rarely anyone gets to know him. Especially because Warpaw doesn't want them to. He's an odd sort of fellow, not that his Clan suspects much. To them, Warpaw can be very helpful; usually doing the lesser apprentice tasks without much complaint. He's just independent, the reason why he doesn't associate too greatly with his fellow Clanmates or apprentices his age. Why he stays on the sidelines of everyday Clan life is out of courtesy to the far more busier cats. Warpaw is just like any other apprentice, perhaps less involved, while he strives to become the best warrior he can be.

{you're talking to me through the bars of an insane asylum}
Of course, it's all a bunch of lies. His mother had injected the virus of hatred into his soul, and it will be a disease that Warpaw will carry for the rest of his life. To be brutually honest, Warpaw is heartless. Cold and cruel, you will never find him expressing true emotions of compassion and love. There is darkness that lies in his heart, consuming his mind. Who is Warpaw? Why, he's a classy criminal. A smooth-talking son of a gun, he'll lie to your face while stabbing your in the back. Darkly delicious, ThunderClan's bad boy is still a bit too young and busy for she-cats, but it's not to be doubted that Warpaw will become a tom for twisted romance. The select few who actually know Warpaw would say he's a crafty and sadistic devil who'd do anything for a good time. A dangerous combination of a troublemaker and ambitious rebel, Warfrost could be capable of anything- so don't you dare turn your back on him.

Warpaw is, of course, fascinated by battle. He's definitely excited to start his apprentice training, a rarely seen expression of emotion from Warpaw. Hard-working and determined, Warpaw appears to be like any other apprentice: wanting to become the greatest warrior of his time. Of course, Warpaw isn't like other apprentices. Brittle and merciless, yet intelligent and a troublemaker, Warpaw has many plans for his future. What these plans are and what lengths he'll go to in fulfilling these plans is a question left unanswered for now.

Warpaw is quite the little actor, a mixture of purity and darkness; as is reflective of the colors of his fur. Nobody has reason or need to accuse him of anything, and if he's done a good job, there shouldn't be any suspicions. His record, for now, is clean. And Warpaw would prefer for his Clanmates to continue seeing it that way. They wouldn't want him to be himself around them, because even though he's just an apprentice for now, Warpaw will grow up one day into a fierce and unforgiving warrior.

appearance:

Contrary to his name, Warpaw is not a muscled monster or machine of power. He's an apprentice, only six moons old, fresh out of the nursery. Although his legs have gotten longer and he's fit for training, Warpaw falls into the category of any other apprentice. His build is basically just broad-shouldered and sturdy, and he lacks any specific muscle developement since he hasn't had a chance to excercise and hone these elements which will be vital to him later on. He's rough around the edges, sure, but not yet a beast. His height isn't anything special either, perhaps taller than his fellow apprentices his age by an insignificant, unnoticable amount. However little Warpaw stands out from the others, he prefers this "blending in" stage of his life. He'd rather not be noticed too greatly unless it works to his advantage. But with a little dedication and hard work, Warpaw could become a warrior. With his ambition and intentions, however, Warpaw could become a great warrior.

Warpaw's fur is what Twolegs would call a tuxedo pattern. Almost entirely black, Warpaw has an area of white on his muzzle and chest, which is connected. His forepaws are white, as are his back paws. The length of his fur varies throughout his body, and although primarily medium in length, his fur does thicken and feather in areas. This often makes others present him as long-furred, despite not being entirely accurate. It does give him an advantage on looking a bit bigger than he truly is, though as of late Warpaw still hasn't grown into himself really yet. The quality of his fur is still slightly soft and feathery, being as he's just gotten out of the nursery and into the apprentices' den, but this is bound to change soon.

His fur is long, giving the deceptive image of him even being larger than he truly is. Although his fur isn't Persian long, it is quite considerably lengthy. Strange enough, his tail isn't feathered or long-furred like you usually see on long-furred cats. Because of this, it's safe to make the conclusion that in certain places on his fur, the length ranges from short to long, varying slightly in-between

As for his eyes, there isn't much to say. They're a dull yellow color, darkening to a dark amber right at the outer rim. Unlike some cats, his eyes aren't as expressive as they are for others. Warpaw usually portrays his emotions through his ears, tail, and facial expression. Because of this, his eyes are normally portraying a cold stare or dark glare, even when he's in a good mood.

Although it is debatable whether voice traits are of physical description or not, they will be included here for lack of better place to put them. Warpaw's voice is normally of two tones used either independently or dependently together, varying when affected by emotion or intention of what he's speaking of. Warpaw is still a young cat, so his voice isn't a raspy whisper like some creepy cats. Rather, it's quite normal. Deep and low like most toms, strong and steady with youth, and calm and controlled with experience. His certain and precise tones make him an excellent speaker, so he's very persuasive. many can find comfort in his deep, rumbling tones of reassurance. Warpaw hopes this voice tone will help him rise in rank in the Clan. His second tone of voice is rarely heard by others, and consists of smooth and silky quality. However, it usually bounces back and forth between shrill hisses and fiery growling. In example, what you'd hear from a cat who just got its tail stepped on and is very pissed. Not likely something you'd want to encounter or be near when that happens.


history:
It wasn't easily explainable, the way it happened. Darkfang and Blueflight had slowly discovered each other as young warriors, having not really associated with each other much as apprentices. Darkfang respected Blueflight's determination, while Blueflight admired Darkfang's strong manner. It wasn't anything more than a foolish crush, although the two young cats swore it was true love as they grew closer. Darkfang seemed more in love with the idea of being in love than he did with his supposedly "made for each other" partner. Blueflight, on the other hand, truly believed they were destined to be mates. But this relationship was built upon an unrealistic and deceptive illusion, and Darkfang grew bored of this silly little game. Soon his affections secretly grew for another far more attractive she-cat, Nightclaw. Yet he enjoyed the ability to switch between she-cats whenever he pleased, and so he continued to do so. Until Blueflight excitedly shared the news with him that she was expecting kits!

Nightclaw, well-aware of Darkfang's deeds but previously having certainty that his love for her was genuine, was jealous by such a turn of events. She approached Darkfang in secret and demanded that he either stay with Blueflight and his unborn kits, or choose her as his mate and begin an entirely new family. Darkfang's choice wasn't a hard one, and he easily left Blueflight for Nightclaw. Of course, Blueflight was heartbroken. But her brief sorrow boiled into venomous anger. Enraged that Darkfang cursed her with his kits and then left her for some other she-cat, she slowly began to distance herself away from her Clan. ThunderClan preferred to stay as onlookers, rather than getting involved in the whole mess. Blueflight grew more bitter and cold as she waited sourly for the day that drew closer. She was driven mad by being treated like crowfood, and allowed this madness to consume her sane state of mind. She let the hatred swallow her into it's comfortable, falsely reassuring darkness.

And finally, the dreaded day arrived. Blueflight gave birth to three kits. All of which were toms, of which every single one looked exactly like their father. Considerably pissed now, something snapped inside of Blueflight. In a rage, she gave each a horrible name that reflected her intense hatred. Bloodkit, Deathkit, and Warkit were all defenseless against their mother's insanity. With a bloodcurling screech she fell upon her three kits; slashing, snarling, biting, and beating. Blueflight pleasured herself in her revenge as she brutally beat the life out of her own sons. In shock and desperation, many of her Clanmates finally managed to pin her down as she sought out to kill the innocent life she'd given birth to. By then, the damage had been done. Bloodkit and Deathkit were unrecognizable as kits, their black-and-white fur mangled and matted with their own blood. Miraculously, Warkit had somehow been spared of the worst of Blueflight's attacks. Although bruised and bloody, he still was breathing. The medicine cat was quick to react with treatment of Warkit's shock and injuries. For now, the kit would survive.

Warkit would make a quick recovery, as the medicine cat had decided in relief. He had definitely been spared from the worst of the physical wounds, and hopefully it wouldn't cause any pyschological damage, seeing as the relatively newborn kit could not yet see or hear. He probably didn't know or understand what had happened, and it was likely he'd be unable to remember it when he got older. With perhaps a few scratches and bruises, it was agreed upon that he was healthy enough to leave the medicine cat's den. Of course, there was the matter of who would take care of him. The kit needed milk, and giving him back to his mother was out of the question... right? Blueflight couldn't be trusted with the kit she had, unsuccessfully, tried to kill. Yet when the matter arose, no queen was entirely enthusiastic or willing to take on Warkit, son of crazed Blueflight. This was a considerable concern, and rightfully so; in the occurance that Blueflight decided to try to kill Warkit again, would her anger overflow to the nursing queen and her kits as well? Proving too risky, the cats troubled by the caretaking of little Warkit were at a dead-end of the situation.

That was until something shocking happened. Blueflight asked (or rather, demanded) that Warkit be returned to her care. She'd feed and raise the kit, for after all she was his caretaker by blood. Everyone, however, were very skeptical of her reasoning, fearing she'd only finish the job she started. But if they were not to let her have the kit, and no other queen would take him, what would they do? Allowing the kit to starve would be against the Warrior Code, even if Blueflight had broken it by killing her own two kits in the first place. So ThunderClan made an important decision that day. Blueflight would be granted responsibility of Warkit again, but under very close watch. The matter of what would happen when Warkit no longer relied on Blueflight's life-supplying milk would not come to mind until it finally became a current question. Blueflight, in all her hatred and anger, was still clever. As long as Warkit needed her, the Clan would need her, thus preventing her from being exiled for now.

Time marched on, day by day. After a week or so of having been returned to his mother's care, Warkit's eyes opened for the first time and he gained hearing. The first sight he saw, however, was Blueflight looking down on him hatefully. Although just a kit, he sensed something was wrong even if he didn't know quite yet what it was. His mother had expected this day, and filled his head with negative words. These discouraging and hateful thoughts paraded in his mind often, if not constantly. Warkit was a victim to his mother's growing grudge as she watched him grow stronger and stronger on her milk. Warkit also grew darker and darker as she told him how worthless he was. That he'd grow up to be weak and stupid like his father. She also told him that love can be the greatest weakness or the greatest strength, but in the end it was a fool's illusion. Blueflight taught him that it is far better to be feared than to be loved. It was these thoughts that Warkit kept with him as he grew older.

Warkit developed a strong body, quite able to romp and play like the other kits, although this was an activity he participated less frequently as he grew older, becoming more and more less involved as he neared his sixth moon. Blueflight hated Warkit, and in turn he despised her. He had also fed off her anger toward his father, which Warkit also embraced, blaming his poor kithood on Darkfang's stupid choices. But now, Warkit is six moons old, awaiting his apprentice ceremony with shadowed eagerness.

sample rp:
An evening sky was dramatically painted over the world as the sun began to fall from its throne in the celestial kingdom overhead. Bright amber was melted into shades of dark crimsons and rosy pinks, making the scattered clouds stand out with their dark black hue. For a moment, the world was the color of a sunset; the soft light from the retreating sun deepening and smoothing shadows. This beautiful minute in time was enough to take one's breath away, as the exchange between dominance of the sky took place. As the sun sank ever lower towards the horizon, its brilliant colors played in the warm river. Red and gold danced along its moving surface and played in its rolling depths. The winding river had become a liquidated sunset, desperately holding on to these magnificent colors as if trying to preserve their rare hues. The enchantment of this time caused the birds to quiet and the breeze to still. Earth and heaven seemed to be holding its breath, until it couldn't stand it anymore. The quick disappearance of the sun breathed life back into the now nightly canvas of nature. It wasn't as grand as the sunset, but the midnight blues and dark greys worked well with the silvery moonlight whites.

A supernatural hush came over the land as the night introduced an intimidating realm of shadows. The sound of water rushing over rock was the only noise heard, as if the river did not mind the eerie stillness. An icy claw of the moon hung high above the ground, surrounded by sharp thorns of cold stars. But not as cold as the beast that disguised itself effortlessly into the ebony and ivory of a hauntingly silent night. It was barely noticeable in the colorless world, but dull yellow eyes betrayed its presence. Stalking through the reeds, the creature continued on its way, sure of its destination. The reeds were disturbed by a chilling breeze, rattling as if talking. What is this creature? they whisper. What intent does this beast have? But these questions remained unanswered as the bulky monster prowled out of the marshy lands and into a field of subtle brush. It passed a Twoleg nest, unconcerned by the hairless beings that never came out much in the late hours. Finally it drew to a stop a fair distance away from the Twoleg nest- it could still be seen but the creature was well out of sight if the Twolegs did happen to venture out into the night. Its shape was more defined against the sky now that it had left the marshland behind. It was a cat- and a rather large and muscular one at that. Power and strength could be sensed beneath that black-and-white fur, as was made obvious by its next set of actions.

The tom's yellow eyes darkly searched out a certain element. Finally, they landed on a low bush with thick, protective leaves and strong branches. Crouching, his muscles strained to contract, bulging as all that strength and power was concentrated in his central, entire being. Suddenly, all this restrained summoning of power was unleashed with fierce motion. His muscles rejoiced as he released the clenching command, shooting off the ground in a mighty lunge. His claws quickly became unsheathed, and the warrior landed heavily on the bush. Many moons of practice had left him expertly skilled: professional and advanced battle moves left the tough plant shredded, down to even the wooden stalk. The tom stepped back to size up his success with a criticizing eye. This was what he was born to do, this was his purpose. War. Whiskers twitching in satisfaction, he sat quietly, resting for awhile to allow restoration of his energy. He was a battle strategist, and a very talented one at that. He took in consideration his strengths and weaknesses. Although his large size and muscle bulk did make him very strong and hard to bring down, it also set him at a disadvantage. He wasn't at all agile or quick with running, so he had to make up for that with his other strengths. Much training when he was an apprentice and regular practice while he was a warrior led him to better himself in this art of battle. Rightly so, for he might as well live up to his name: Warfrost. A name that he darkly wished would be feared upon the tongue of his enemies.

One day that name might just change. Warfrost was ambitious for the leader position of his Clan, wanting to make "Warstar" be the greatly feared name of the RiverClan leader. Surely then his Clan would be led to greatness, and long after he was dead and gone the cats would learn stories about how RiverClan became possibly the most powerful and fierce Clan under the guidance of their fearsome leader, Warstar. Even the queens would frighten their kits into obedience by saying if they didn't behave, the mighty Warstar would steal them away while they slept. Not that Warfrost wanted to be remembered as a carelessly bloodthirsty villain. Rather as one of the greatest leaders ever known that he was feared and respected, even in death. But for now, he remained as Warfrost, the helpful, kind warrior his Clanmates knew and loved. Or, thought they knew. Warfrost was disgusted by their blindness, but he needed to keep them in their current opinion of him until he rose to power. The last thing he could possibly want was any aroused suspicion before he had a chance to get his claws on the leader position. But first the deputy and leader would have to die before then, and Warfrost would be risking much to arrange that. The black-and-white tom turned his track of thought away from the careful planning he had to do for the future, and concentrated again on searching for a suitable bush for his battle practice.

characters: Hollowstep, Twistedheart (wip), and Warpaw (wip)
c-box name: Navigator

[cricketleap.]

Accepted! Warpaw seems like a really cool cat! I'll PM you soon ~