Post by badger on Apr 18, 2014 18:09:49 GMT -6
Badger
this template was made by dannimarie for darkened skies
stealing is not tolerated and will be reported.
Mark my words: these Clans will drench the forest in blood.
Luckily I’ll either be blind or dead by then.
Luckily I’ll either be blind or dead by then.
APPEARANCE
- With a lot of generosity and a little bit of imagination, it’s not hard to think that Badger might have once been a handsome young tom. Once he sat beside the creek and bathed his long fur until the black was sleek in the sun and the white shone like new snow. That his long whiskers twitched inquisitively at every shake of a branch and his golden eyes gleamed in the night as he tracked unwitting prey among the trees.
But time has passed and he's fallen far. Too old to be bothered, his fur is rarely groomed unless it’s to bite vainly at some hard-to-reach-tick. His pelt is matted with dirt and debris and would make a more discerning cat recoil at the thought of having to run their tongue through it. His left eye becomes more clouded every day and he guesses in only a couple moons it will lose sight entirely as his right eye slowly follows suit. His old bones ache at the whisper of a cool breeze, but it’s especially noticeable in his right foreleg: the shadow of an old battle wound.
Even in his increasing age, Badger’s not helpless. He still boasts a large size and enough strength to fend off an unwary opponent and his long teeth have even proven lethal when enough was at stake.
PERSONALITY
- Though it might be difficult to imagine someone seek the company of a cat so outwardly unwelcoming, Badger is quick to reveal that he has a good heart beneath the layers of grime. He’s happy to give pointers or advice to younger cats, though he’s prone to talk their ear off as he does. He’d give a cat who needed it the pelt off his back if he liked them and doesn’t take any joy in seeing even his enemies suffer.
But a nice core does not a nice cat make. Being rather talkative, it doesn’t take someone long to realize that Badger is a noxious combination of opinionated and self-righteous. He’s quick to dismiss the opinions of others, especially if they’re younger, and isn’t shy about expressing it with insults. So far, it’s done him well in driving away cats who might have cared about him in his old age.
As his blindness advances, he’s becoming much more easily agitated and has been known to lash out at cats who come too close on his left side. He’s growing weaker as he ages, but his sheer size alone is enough to help him stay a formidable foe to most cats who would bother him and he’s not bothered by fighting a cat who provokes him, though he won’t go to any trouble to start a physical fight.
Though he still stands by his idea that cats in groups are unnatural, badger finds himself growing lonely. he dreams of Trout laughing at his limp and of Grass sharing prey with him only to wake and find himself alone. Occasionally, when he’s gone a particularly long time alone, he’l soften his tongue to passersby and try to coax them into a conversation. Once they’ve settled down, however, he can return to his venomous old ways quickly.
HISTORY
- The oldest of four kits, Badger quickly became the ringleader of the litter. Poppy and Jump were quick to follow his lead and Trout, who was tiny but headstrong, was bullied into tagging along for fear of being left out. His mother, Pebble, was a fearsome she-cat who was old enough to know this litter would be her last, so she passed onto them all she could. She taught them to hunt for themselves, to fight against those who wished them harm, and passed down all she knew.
Among those tales were stories of the Clans. The kits were often entranced by tales of cats living together in groups. Trout, in particular, enjoyed playing games where he was the leader of the fierce cats of TroutClan. Badger, equally starstruck, often took the same role and used the name of the Clan from where his ancestors came: ThunderClan. Being nearly twice as big, he almost always came out the victor.
It was upon watching these games that Pebble realized her error and admonished her kits with angry blows to the ears. She reminded them that there were no more Clans: that those cats had fought until they wiped themselves out. Even ThunderClan, brave and true, had destroyed themselves. Cats lived alone now, as it should be.
When he came of age, Badger left to make his own way in the forest. Poppy, still unsure of herself, joined him. The two enjoyed their newfound freedom, hunting and sleeping as they pleased and laughing to each other whenever they did something that Pebble would have scolded them for. At night, when they curled up together in whatever shelter they could find, Poppy would wonder how they might find their siblings or if they should check on their mother.
“Every cat walks their own path,” Badger would repeat their mother’s words to her. “Trout and Jump and us have to live our own lives.”
After a moon, they came across a small group of cats led by a tom named Stone. He asked them to join him, promising plentiful territory and prey. Scornful, Badger refused. Poppy, however, thought it over and left a few suns later to join. Badger shrugged and watched her leave, finally on his own. He heard rumors the the small group from time to time, including word that his sister was having Stone’s kits, but he never reached out to her. They walked their own paths now.
Badger went on to father a litter of his own. Though he grew to dislike their mother, who seemed more kittypet than loner, Grass and Sky were his pride and joy. The toms both resembled him and squealed with delight whenever he came to visit. Until one sun only Grass came out to greet him. He told the story of a fox coming upon them while they were playing and snatching Sky away. Badger mourned his son, but continued to look after Grass until the tom had grown and left.
As the moons passed, he learned that Stone’s group had fought. A younger she-cat had tried to take power and almost the entire group, Stone included, had died in the resulting battle. He never inquired after his sister, but when he heard of Stone’s kin being slaughtered he knew the truth. Poppy had learned the hard way what living in unnatural groups did to cats.
As his youth passed him by and old age crept upon him, Badger began to hear whispers of a word he hadn’t heard in moons: Clans. Some cats had taken it upon themselves to reform the Clans, they said. Badger scoffed and decide quickly to stay out of their way: he had no interest in their game. As TreeClan established a territory within the forest, he moved farther out to avoid them and now only lives near their border because the land is prey-poor further out. If he were younger he might be wary of a confrontation with a TreeClan cat if they expand their border, but as of now he knows his moons are numbered and he might as well go down fighting.
SAMPLE
- It had been a sweet little calico who taught him to fish. She reminded him of Jump in many ways: quiet but clever and with a sharp sense of humor. She’d showed him how to keep his shadow from casting over the water, how to wait for a fish to come close and strike out as fast as an adder to thrust the wriggling prey onto the shore where it could easily be killed.
“It’s a good way to hunt,” she’d told him, “for a lazy old fleabag like you.”
“It’s a good way to drown,” he’d retorted, though his stinging reply might have been lessened coming from a mouth full of fish.
Now, watching and waiting for a morsel to wander too close, Badger remembered her happy purr when he’d caught his first fish. They’d eaten together and shared some time before she had to be back to her mate. Only when she’d mentioned that had he noticed how rounded her belly was. That night he had dreamed of tiny calicos wading through a bloody creek while thunder and lightning shook the sky.
A bad time for kits, he thought as he sat alone. Young cats were idealistic, malleable, gullible: everything a cat seeking power could want in their followers. If they had any scrap of Clan blood in them, they’d be snatched up quicker than a juicy mouse. His thoughts flickered to Grass, but he refused to linger on thoughts of his son. Badger never told him of the Clan blood in his veins, so it wasn’t likely he’d be caught up in the nonsense to come.
Badger allowed his thoughts to flow until he noticed a ripple. Fish! Lashing out a forepaw, he cooked his claws into scaly flesh and ripped it out of the water and onto the grass. The killing bite delivered, he grabbed his catch and began to quick walk back to his den in the roots of an old oak tree. There he could dine in peace without worrying about some young kit thinking his fresh-kill might be an easy steal.
- With a lot of generosity and a little bit of imagination, it’s not hard to think that Badger might have once been a handsome young tom. Once he sat beside the creek and bathed his long fur until the black was sleek in the sun and the white shone like new snow. That his long whiskers twitched inquisitively at every shake of a branch and his golden eyes gleamed in the night as he tracked unwitting prey among the trees.
But time has passed and he's fallen far. Too old to be bothered, his fur is rarely groomed unless it’s to bite vainly at some hard-to-reach-tick. His pelt is matted with dirt and debris and would make a more discerning cat recoil at the thought of having to run their tongue through it. His left eye becomes more clouded every day and he guesses in only a couple moons it will lose sight entirely as his right eye slowly follows suit. His old bones ache at the whisper of a cool breeze, but it’s especially noticeable in his right foreleg: the shadow of an old battle wound.
Even in his increasing age, Badger’s not helpless. He still boasts a large size and enough strength to fend off an unwary opponent and his long teeth have even proven lethal when enough was at stake.
PERSONALITY
- Though it might be difficult to imagine someone seek the company of a cat so outwardly unwelcoming, Badger is quick to reveal that he has a good heart beneath the layers of grime. He’s happy to give pointers or advice to younger cats, though he’s prone to talk their ear off as he does. He’d give a cat who needed it the pelt off his back if he liked them and doesn’t take any joy in seeing even his enemies suffer.
But a nice core does not a nice cat make. Being rather talkative, it doesn’t take someone long to realize that Badger is a noxious combination of opinionated and self-righteous. He’s quick to dismiss the opinions of others, especially if they’re younger, and isn’t shy about expressing it with insults. So far, it’s done him well in driving away cats who might have cared about him in his old age.
As his blindness advances, he’s becoming much more easily agitated and has been known to lash out at cats who come too close on his left side. He’s growing weaker as he ages, but his sheer size alone is enough to help him stay a formidable foe to most cats who would bother him and he’s not bothered by fighting a cat who provokes him, though he won’t go to any trouble to start a physical fight.
Though he still stands by his idea that cats in groups are unnatural, badger finds himself growing lonely. he dreams of Trout laughing at his limp and of Grass sharing prey with him only to wake and find himself alone. Occasionally, when he’s gone a particularly long time alone, he’l soften his tongue to passersby and try to coax them into a conversation. Once they’ve settled down, however, he can return to his venomous old ways quickly.
HISTORY
- The oldest of four kits, Badger quickly became the ringleader of the litter. Poppy and Jump were quick to follow his lead and Trout, who was tiny but headstrong, was bullied into tagging along for fear of being left out. His mother, Pebble, was a fearsome she-cat who was old enough to know this litter would be her last, so she passed onto them all she could. She taught them to hunt for themselves, to fight against those who wished them harm, and passed down all she knew.
Among those tales were stories of the Clans. The kits were often entranced by tales of cats living together in groups. Trout, in particular, enjoyed playing games where he was the leader of the fierce cats of TroutClan. Badger, equally starstruck, often took the same role and used the name of the Clan from where his ancestors came: ThunderClan. Being nearly twice as big, he almost always came out the victor.
It was upon watching these games that Pebble realized her error and admonished her kits with angry blows to the ears. She reminded them that there were no more Clans: that those cats had fought until they wiped themselves out. Even ThunderClan, brave and true, had destroyed themselves. Cats lived alone now, as it should be.
When he came of age, Badger left to make his own way in the forest. Poppy, still unsure of herself, joined him. The two enjoyed their newfound freedom, hunting and sleeping as they pleased and laughing to each other whenever they did something that Pebble would have scolded them for. At night, when they curled up together in whatever shelter they could find, Poppy would wonder how they might find their siblings or if they should check on their mother.
“Every cat walks their own path,” Badger would repeat their mother’s words to her. “Trout and Jump and us have to live our own lives.”
After a moon, they came across a small group of cats led by a tom named Stone. He asked them to join him, promising plentiful territory and prey. Scornful, Badger refused. Poppy, however, thought it over and left a few suns later to join. Badger shrugged and watched her leave, finally on his own. He heard rumors the the small group from time to time, including word that his sister was having Stone’s kits, but he never reached out to her. They walked their own paths now.
Badger went on to father a litter of his own. Though he grew to dislike their mother, who seemed more kittypet than loner, Grass and Sky were his pride and joy. The toms both resembled him and squealed with delight whenever he came to visit. Until one sun only Grass came out to greet him. He told the story of a fox coming upon them while they were playing and snatching Sky away. Badger mourned his son, but continued to look after Grass until the tom had grown and left.
As the moons passed, he learned that Stone’s group had fought. A younger she-cat had tried to take power and almost the entire group, Stone included, had died in the resulting battle. He never inquired after his sister, but when he heard of Stone’s kin being slaughtered he knew the truth. Poppy had learned the hard way what living in unnatural groups did to cats.
As his youth passed him by and old age crept upon him, Badger began to hear whispers of a word he hadn’t heard in moons: Clans. Some cats had taken it upon themselves to reform the Clans, they said. Badger scoffed and decide quickly to stay out of their way: he had no interest in their game. As TreeClan established a territory within the forest, he moved farther out to avoid them and now only lives near their border because the land is prey-poor further out. If he were younger he might be wary of a confrontation with a TreeClan cat if they expand their border, but as of now he knows his moons are numbered and he might as well go down fighting.
SAMPLE
- It had been a sweet little calico who taught him to fish. She reminded him of Jump in many ways: quiet but clever and with a sharp sense of humor. She’d showed him how to keep his shadow from casting over the water, how to wait for a fish to come close and strike out as fast as an adder to thrust the wriggling prey onto the shore where it could easily be killed.
“It’s a good way to hunt,” she’d told him, “for a lazy old fleabag like you.”
“It’s a good way to drown,” he’d retorted, though his stinging reply might have been lessened coming from a mouth full of fish.
Now, watching and waiting for a morsel to wander too close, Badger remembered her happy purr when he’d caught his first fish. They’d eaten together and shared some time before she had to be back to her mate. Only when she’d mentioned that had he noticed how rounded her belly was. That night he had dreamed of tiny calicos wading through a bloody creek while thunder and lightning shook the sky.
A bad time for kits, he thought as he sat alone. Young cats were idealistic, malleable, gullible: everything a cat seeking power could want in their followers. If they had any scrap of Clan blood in them, they’d be snatched up quicker than a juicy mouse. His thoughts flickered to Grass, but he refused to linger on thoughts of his son. Badger never told him of the Clan blood in his veins, so it wasn’t likely he’d be caught up in the nonsense to come.
Badger allowed his thoughts to flow until he noticed a ripple. Fish! Lashing out a forepaw, he cooked his claws into scaly flesh and ripped it out of the water and onto the grass. The killing bite delivered, he grabbed his catch and began to quick walk back to his den in the roots of an old oak tree. There he could dine in peace without worrying about some young kit thinking his fresh-kill might be an easy steal.
Salv
this template was made by dannimarie for darkened skies
stealing is not tolerated and will be reported.