Post by ashback on May 15, 2014 19:12:39 GMT -6
ashback
twenty-six moons || bisexual || medicine cat
I'm snared by a nervous twitch and cold desire,
But they say the wretched get their kingdom.
Breathe on, it's my time, let's go, we all die.
twenty-six moons || bisexual || medicine cat
I'm snared by a nervous twitch and cold desire,
But they say the wretched get their kingdom.
Breathe on, it's my time, let's go, we all die.
A long-haired, bobtailed gray tom with a ratty pelt and green eyes.
Once upon a time Ashback's name was just Ash, and it isn't hard to see why; his fur is the flat color of dry soot, smoky and coarse, as if he himself has at one point been immersed in flame. Underneath it all he's actually quite lean and rangy, the body of a cat who was never in a position to eat very well, and has been fighting tooth and nail his whole life, all tough muscle without any fat to speak of, but his pelt makes him appear much larger than he really is, thick and lengthy enough that he's glad he doesn't have to live beneath clinging undergrowth like the cats of TreeClan. The moors suit him just fine, protected from the cold bite of the wind under the open sky.
Ashback can't be said to take care of himself very well, however; 'once a rogue, always a rogue', as the saying goes, and he certainly looks the part, fur perpetually ratty, unkempt, and dull in appearance. A lot of this is just the leftover signs of poor nutrition when he was young, but the numerous scars hidden under his pelt make sure his fur never sits even, growing in all directions and often tangling, missing in places where it never got around to growing back after a scrap. This is said to make him appear as if his hackles are always up in readiness for a fight, never able to be smoothed down by even the most persistent tongue, and it's this quality that earned him his warrior name, although if you ask the tom himself he'll tell you he's named for his strength of character - for having a strong back, metaphorically speaking - rather than for the poor quality of his fur.
Though he looks like a street-stalking delinquent, Ashback isn't without his share of roguish good looks; he'll never be the tom you want to take home to mother, but he has appealing bone structure - an angular, handsome face, broad shoulders, and a confident, even cocky stride. He moves like he knows what he's doing, like he isn't afraid of anything at all, and muddy green eyes reflect that brash self-assurance. He's just as quick with a wink and wolfish grin as he is with a sharp, sarcastic comment, and rather than seeming embarrassed by his chipped fangs and roughly-shorn bobbed tail (the product of a run-in with a dog in his youth), he bears the signs of the life he's led with pride, proof that he survived where others would not have.
PERSONALITY
If Ashback's rogue history wasn't apparent in his scarred, ratty pelt, it's definitely made obvious by his personality; a single conversation with him is enough to show that he's been conditioned by hardship, that he grew up looking out for number one and doing whatever he had to to survive, right or wrong. He's not the type to bother with pleasantries, and manners are a concept he never gave much thought to; what he thinks, he says, and if it hurts another's feelings, that sounds like a personal problem to him. Though in recent moons he's been trying to shape himself up and become a better team player, Ashback is still a bit of a punk; he's quick to solve a problem with tooth and fang, and his sense of right and wrong is jaded at best after a life of stealing, fighting, and even killing if he needed to.
However, being a part of something bigger than himself, discovering how much better his life is as a warrior of HillClan has left Ashback with something of a morality chain. He's blunt, acerbic, and scathingly sarcastic no matter who he's talking to, but he's come to feel intense loyalty for his clanmates, respect, and in some cases even love - before HillClan, he'd have done anything to ensure his own survival, but now that bubble has expanded to include every cat who makes a home on the moors. If you're of HillClan blood, Ashback might just die for you, and he'd certainly kill for you. That's one good thing to be said about his harsh upbringing; it made Ashback endlessly stubborn, which translates to an insane amount of determination. When he sets out to do something, it gets done, no matter the odds; this makes him a hard worker, though he has to consciously stop himself from being selfish, remind himself that it's not all about him anymore.
But dedicated to his own clan as he might be, Ashback still doesn't trust or have much regard for the other clans. They're rivals as far as he's concerned - maybe not quite enemies unless they cross a line, but never truly friends, and if you asked him he'd say that they need to be watched at all times, that HillClan needs to set a strong example so they'll know who they're messing with if they decide to set so much as a toe over the borders. Ashback has a very "HillClan first" attitude toward clan politics, that innate selfishness coming into play; if HillClan stands to benefit from helping or allying with another clan, he'll have no problem with it, but it's unlikely he'll ever feel inclined to help them out of the goodness of his heart. He's suspicious, wary, and in conversation with a cat outside his clan his aggressive tendencies become even more obvious.
Difficult as it might be to see through all the posturing, there really is more to Ashback than aggression and stubbornness. A lot of that behavior is a front, armor he's built up over his lifetime in order to get what he needs and defend himself from anything that might try to hurt him; underneath the jaded cynicism there's a young cat who once dreamed of being part of something great, being something more than just a ragged stray fighting to scrape out a living. Underneath the devil-may-care attitude there's a cat who wants nothing more than for his existence to mean something, who wants to matter to someone and make a difference. Underneath it all, there's a rash young tom who is nonetheless willing to work hard to change himself if it'll make him better-able to take care of the cats who have become his family.
And that desire, at its heart, is what drove Ashback to volunteer when the call went out for medicine cats to be trained. Without a tail he's not nearly graceful enough to hunt efficiently on the moors, and his fighting ability is only useful when HillClan goes to war; that lack of usefulness ate away at him for moons, and when he was presented with a new way, a better way he could look out for his Clan, he jumped at the opportunity. For once his sharp, sly mind has found a use other than in cheating his way to victory in battle, but even in his new den amongst stores of herbs, battle is what it seems to be to Ashback. He fights sickness and injury as if he were at war with them, merciless and unwilling to accept defeat even in the direst of circumstances; to him, these things are just another force to protect his clanmates from, and though his bedside manner might not be the softest, any cat in his den can trust that he'll do everything in his power to see them healthy again.
HISTORY
Ashback's story started not on any Clan's territory, but deep in the heart of Twolegplace, where he was born to a rogue named Blue and an unknown sire; there were three kits in his litter, but one was stillborn, and the other, who would have been named Smoke had she lived, died within mere days of their birth. Blue was malnourished, as so many city cats are, and could not produce enough milk to support both kittens; thus, it was the most assertive, the one that pushed hardest that was able to get the food necessary to survive those first days, and that one was Ash, only a day old and already clawing his way to survival at the expense of others, which would soon prove to be a pattern in his life.
Blue fought hard to raise her one remaining kit well, to teach him the skills he would need to get by in a harsh world that she knew wouldn't do him any favors, and later in life she would become Ash's shining ideal of what a cat should be like; tough, uncompromising, ferocious, but willing to use those traits to do anything to care for those they love, because at the end of the day, even when your belly is empty and aching, you still have family, and family is all that really matters. Blue taught him to fight, taught him to hide, taught him how to treat a wound, to scavenge and hunt and steal, and at the end of the day, both of them exhausted and hungry more often than not, she told him grand stories of times long past - stories her father had told to her as a kit when her spirits needed lifting.
These were the stories of WindClan, of which Blue's great-grandparents had been a part before the fall of the Great Clans of the Forest. When WindClan had disbanded a number of its members fled to Twolegplace, where they attempted to settle, and though their ways and traditions didn't hold up under the strain of city living, their stories did, and Ash grew up hearing about a Clan that was swift and strong, fierce like a biting winter wind and just as elusive. They were stories of love and loss, honor and sacrifice, heroism, which to a city rogue was nothing but a pipe dream, an idealistic fairytale. Ash had no foolish hope at the time of ever living those fantasies, but they lit a fire in his heart all the same, and though it would fade to an ember with time, it would later be rekindled into an inferno that would change his life forever.
Blue died when Ash was eight moons old. He grieved, but he didn't complain - many rogues never got to keep either of their parents even that long, and who had time to cry when they had to fight to survive? And so Ash's life began in earnest; he was still a kitten by all definitions, too small to win a fight against anyone, and so he scraped by on Twoleg trash and the occasional mouse or pigeon. He didn't grow quickly, couldn't when he still went hungry quite often, but those moons alone hardened him, turned him vicious, and by the time he was a year old he was beginning to become formidable in his own right. His education was finished at the school of hard knocks, and he was an apt student, never one to miss a trick.
When he was big enough and strong enough to win a fight, he started eating better by ambushing kittypets that wandered too far from their garden to play at hunting, finding them perfect targets - healthy and well-fed enough to catch prey he was too malnourished to chase, but easy to scare away from it so that he could eat practically for free. He grew stronger, gained practice with all the tricks his mother had shown him to intimidate and fight as nasty as possible, and eventually he graduated to attacking loners passing through, even other rogues if he deemed them an easy enough mark. By that point he was strong enough from regular meals to hunt on his own, but why bother when it was so much easier to just take what he wanted? It was a selfish attitude, but not one he ever regretted, at least until it landed him in hot water when he was fifteen moons old.
SAMPLE
- i would like to see one sample of your writing, at very least three hundred words so i can see you in action with your character. don't worry, this is more just to develop a stronger understanding of your character's personality and state of mind.
Once upon a time Ashback's name was just Ash, and it isn't hard to see why; his fur is the flat color of dry soot, smoky and coarse, as if he himself has at one point been immersed in flame. Underneath it all he's actually quite lean and rangy, the body of a cat who was never in a position to eat very well, and has been fighting tooth and nail his whole life, all tough muscle without any fat to speak of, but his pelt makes him appear much larger than he really is, thick and lengthy enough that he's glad he doesn't have to live beneath clinging undergrowth like the cats of TreeClan. The moors suit him just fine, protected from the cold bite of the wind under the open sky.
Ashback can't be said to take care of himself very well, however; 'once a rogue, always a rogue', as the saying goes, and he certainly looks the part, fur perpetually ratty, unkempt, and dull in appearance. A lot of this is just the leftover signs of poor nutrition when he was young, but the numerous scars hidden under his pelt make sure his fur never sits even, growing in all directions and often tangling, missing in places where it never got around to growing back after a scrap. This is said to make him appear as if his hackles are always up in readiness for a fight, never able to be smoothed down by even the most persistent tongue, and it's this quality that earned him his warrior name, although if you ask the tom himself he'll tell you he's named for his strength of character - for having a strong back, metaphorically speaking - rather than for the poor quality of his fur.
Though he looks like a street-stalking delinquent, Ashback isn't without his share of roguish good looks; he'll never be the tom you want to take home to mother, but he has appealing bone structure - an angular, handsome face, broad shoulders, and a confident, even cocky stride. He moves like he knows what he's doing, like he isn't afraid of anything at all, and muddy green eyes reflect that brash self-assurance. He's just as quick with a wink and wolfish grin as he is with a sharp, sarcastic comment, and rather than seeming embarrassed by his chipped fangs and roughly-shorn bobbed tail (the product of a run-in with a dog in his youth), he bears the signs of the life he's led with pride, proof that he survived where others would not have.
PERSONALITY
If Ashback's rogue history wasn't apparent in his scarred, ratty pelt, it's definitely made obvious by his personality; a single conversation with him is enough to show that he's been conditioned by hardship, that he grew up looking out for number one and doing whatever he had to to survive, right or wrong. He's not the type to bother with pleasantries, and manners are a concept he never gave much thought to; what he thinks, he says, and if it hurts another's feelings, that sounds like a personal problem to him. Though in recent moons he's been trying to shape himself up and become a better team player, Ashback is still a bit of a punk; he's quick to solve a problem with tooth and fang, and his sense of right and wrong is jaded at best after a life of stealing, fighting, and even killing if he needed to.
However, being a part of something bigger than himself, discovering how much better his life is as a warrior of HillClan has left Ashback with something of a morality chain. He's blunt, acerbic, and scathingly sarcastic no matter who he's talking to, but he's come to feel intense loyalty for his clanmates, respect, and in some cases even love - before HillClan, he'd have done anything to ensure his own survival, but now that bubble has expanded to include every cat who makes a home on the moors. If you're of HillClan blood, Ashback might just die for you, and he'd certainly kill for you. That's one good thing to be said about his harsh upbringing; it made Ashback endlessly stubborn, which translates to an insane amount of determination. When he sets out to do something, it gets done, no matter the odds; this makes him a hard worker, though he has to consciously stop himself from being selfish, remind himself that it's not all about him anymore.
But dedicated to his own clan as he might be, Ashback still doesn't trust or have much regard for the other clans. They're rivals as far as he's concerned - maybe not quite enemies unless they cross a line, but never truly friends, and if you asked him he'd say that they need to be watched at all times, that HillClan needs to set a strong example so they'll know who they're messing with if they decide to set so much as a toe over the borders. Ashback has a very "HillClan first" attitude toward clan politics, that innate selfishness coming into play; if HillClan stands to benefit from helping or allying with another clan, he'll have no problem with it, but it's unlikely he'll ever feel inclined to help them out of the goodness of his heart. He's suspicious, wary, and in conversation with a cat outside his clan his aggressive tendencies become even more obvious.
Difficult as it might be to see through all the posturing, there really is more to Ashback than aggression and stubbornness. A lot of that behavior is a front, armor he's built up over his lifetime in order to get what he needs and defend himself from anything that might try to hurt him; underneath the jaded cynicism there's a young cat who once dreamed of being part of something great, being something more than just a ragged stray fighting to scrape out a living. Underneath the devil-may-care attitude there's a cat who wants nothing more than for his existence to mean something, who wants to matter to someone and make a difference. Underneath it all, there's a rash young tom who is nonetheless willing to work hard to change himself if it'll make him better-able to take care of the cats who have become his family.
And that desire, at its heart, is what drove Ashback to volunteer when the call went out for medicine cats to be trained. Without a tail he's not nearly graceful enough to hunt efficiently on the moors, and his fighting ability is only useful when HillClan goes to war; that lack of usefulness ate away at him for moons, and when he was presented with a new way, a better way he could look out for his Clan, he jumped at the opportunity. For once his sharp, sly mind has found a use other than in cheating his way to victory in battle, but even in his new den amongst stores of herbs, battle is what it seems to be to Ashback. He fights sickness and injury as if he were at war with them, merciless and unwilling to accept defeat even in the direst of circumstances; to him, these things are just another force to protect his clanmates from, and though his bedside manner might not be the softest, any cat in his den can trust that he'll do everything in his power to see them healthy again.
HISTORY
Ashback's story started not on any Clan's territory, but deep in the heart of Twolegplace, where he was born to a rogue named Blue and an unknown sire; there were three kits in his litter, but one was stillborn, and the other, who would have been named Smoke had she lived, died within mere days of their birth. Blue was malnourished, as so many city cats are, and could not produce enough milk to support both kittens; thus, it was the most assertive, the one that pushed hardest that was able to get the food necessary to survive those first days, and that one was Ash, only a day old and already clawing his way to survival at the expense of others, which would soon prove to be a pattern in his life.
Blue fought hard to raise her one remaining kit well, to teach him the skills he would need to get by in a harsh world that she knew wouldn't do him any favors, and later in life she would become Ash's shining ideal of what a cat should be like; tough, uncompromising, ferocious, but willing to use those traits to do anything to care for those they love, because at the end of the day, even when your belly is empty and aching, you still have family, and family is all that really matters. Blue taught him to fight, taught him to hide, taught him how to treat a wound, to scavenge and hunt and steal, and at the end of the day, both of them exhausted and hungry more often than not, she told him grand stories of times long past - stories her father had told to her as a kit when her spirits needed lifting.
These were the stories of WindClan, of which Blue's great-grandparents had been a part before the fall of the Great Clans of the Forest. When WindClan had disbanded a number of its members fled to Twolegplace, where they attempted to settle, and though their ways and traditions didn't hold up under the strain of city living, their stories did, and Ash grew up hearing about a Clan that was swift and strong, fierce like a biting winter wind and just as elusive. They were stories of love and loss, honor and sacrifice, heroism, which to a city rogue was nothing but a pipe dream, an idealistic fairytale. Ash had no foolish hope at the time of ever living those fantasies, but they lit a fire in his heart all the same, and though it would fade to an ember with time, it would later be rekindled into an inferno that would change his life forever.
Blue died when Ash was eight moons old. He grieved, but he didn't complain - many rogues never got to keep either of their parents even that long, and who had time to cry when they had to fight to survive? And so Ash's life began in earnest; he was still a kitten by all definitions, too small to win a fight against anyone, and so he scraped by on Twoleg trash and the occasional mouse or pigeon. He didn't grow quickly, couldn't when he still went hungry quite often, but those moons alone hardened him, turned him vicious, and by the time he was a year old he was beginning to become formidable in his own right. His education was finished at the school of hard knocks, and he was an apt student, never one to miss a trick.
When he was big enough and strong enough to win a fight, he started eating better by ambushing kittypets that wandered too far from their garden to play at hunting, finding them perfect targets - healthy and well-fed enough to catch prey he was too malnourished to chase, but easy to scare away from it so that he could eat practically for free. He grew stronger, gained practice with all the tricks his mother had shown him to intimidate and fight as nasty as possible, and eventually he graduated to attacking loners passing through, even other rogues if he deemed them an easy enough mark. By that point he was strong enough from regular meals to hunt on his own, but why bother when it was so much easier to just take what he wanted? It was a selfish attitude, but not one he ever regretted, at least until it landed him in hot water when he was fifteen moons old.
SAMPLE
- i would like to see one sample of your writing, at very least three hundred words so i can see you in action with your character. don't worry, this is more just to develop a stronger understanding of your character's personality and state of mind.
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