¤ Hemlocksong of CreekClan ¤

Fur Coloration; Starting off with a handsome coat of cream, almost a light brown in hue, we see every inch of Hemlock's body covered. A sudden swirl of a chocolate shade highlights this cream pelt, twisting into patterns and amorphous stripes all along the outside of the warrior's fur, like a cloak of shadows. Black renegade confetti spots the warrior with randomized loops and gashes, completing his clockwork pelt. Although he is quite beautiful at this stage, he is also much too dark; a splash of white should do. Carefully, a stroke of the cloudy coloration is painted as a locket on the tom's chest, and his right paw is dipped into the paint until the hue covers only his toes. Standing back to appreciate the masterpiece, one can see a marbled tabby of chocolate tones.

Fur Length; Being a Maine Coon, Hemlocksong has a beautiful length of fur. Soft to the touch and fluffy, his pelt is hard to keep clean, though it gives him a good amount of protection from the cold and allows water to roll off of it with ease. His build is completed by the thickness and curves of his fur, and overall the pelt is something that the tom finds both a nuisance and a pride.

Build; Hemlock is not a small cat by any means. His paws are massive and provide not the slightest bit of stealth or speed. His legs are thick and muscled, arching up into broac shoulders and a thick neck. Hemlock's back slopes down into padded sides and thighs, and although the tom is not chubby, he is quite meaty. His hind legs ripple with muscle that can be used for large leaps or bounds, and are useful in swimming and climbing to propel himself forward. The warrior's tail is long and thick, usually set to a sweeping motion, though it is curled gently near the end where he once kinked it trying to slide under a porch. As for the tom's face; Hemlocksong has a broad, traingular shaped head. His direct face is slightly smooshed in, making his eyes appear wide and slightly slanted upwards at the outer corners. His nose is quite large as far as noses go, and has the common upside-down traingle shape. Hemlock's jaw is rounded almost daintily under his muzzle. His ears are proportionally large to his face, two triangles set with a slight outward angle and harboring small tufts of fur on each tip. To top off his large demeanor and size, Hemlock's beautiful fur fills him out completely and makes him appear impossibly larger than he already is. (Hemlocksong is a purebred Maine Coon cat, which gives him his overall size, but he can thank his life as a loner for his muscle and beef.)

Eye Coloration; Perhaps his most noticable feature, Hemlocksong has handsome light green eyes. His irises are a soft mix between an olive and forest green hue, speckled with chips of bright gold and amber. The amount of emotion portrayed through his optics is unbelievable, as one can always tell exactly how the tom is feeling. Pride, love, anger, and even remorse shine through to the world, and the weight of Hemlocksong's soul can be seen simply through his eyes.

Scars; Although Hemlock is not one for fighting now, his days as a loner provided him with his fair share of battles and yes, scars. The most prominent wound you will see is the tear in his left ear, near the top corner. The next are the three gashes that run slightly above his left forepaw. The only other visible scar on Hemlocksong is the faint scratch along the bridge of his nose, though this is not as clear or noticable. Most of the tom's other wounds are hidden by his thick coat of fur.

Voice; Voice is added here into appearance simply because it can change the way you look at someone. For example, if a six year old girl came up to you and asked if you wanted to buy a cookie in a strangely deep voice, you might be a little concerned, and you might think of her as creepy or shocking whereas before you only viewed her as cute and adorable. With this in mind, Hemlocksong has a voice that is quite abstract to his overall appearance. Looking at him, one might imagine his sound to be gruff or cold, if not threatening or deep. Instead, Hemlock has a mellow, almost calming, voice which is light and airy. Sure, his pitch is a bit lower than average, but his tone is the real charmer. After all, he was named after the mesmerizing way he talks, even if he does it unintentionally.

Additional; Hemlocksong has long white whiskers that droop downwards near the center; his muzzle is dotted with black freckles where his whiskers begin. His nose is a bright shade of pink, though its coloration dulls with time. To match his nose, Hemlock's paw pads are a gruff and worn pink hue, splotched with black and brown. His teeth are, for the most part, white and healthy looking. His claws are blunt from his travels, and are a dirty white shade.

PERSONALITY

A personality, more than appearance or even one's history, defines a cat. Hemlocksong is no different in this aspect. Upon first meeting the tom, most would describe him with a solitary word: (-) awkward. Hemlock was born into the soft life of a kittypet, then chunked into the harsh world of a loner. Most of his time has been spent with nothing but the birds and the trees; no way in hell is even the most sophisticated of intellectuals going to pick up on the proper do's and don't's of a warrior society in the blink of an eye. His dialect is different, and makes for some discomfort in the social region. For another thing, the tom is just genuinely (-) spacey and a morbidly awful (=) over-thinker; if you give him a simple problem, he'll ponder it for days, then return to you with a solution far more complex than you ever couod have wanted. On the off-note, his intelligence is also suckered to the fact that he's a bit too (-) trusting, and falls into the snare of gullibity all too often when the situation isn't viewed as pressing. However, many come to terms with his obvious social struggle based solely on the fact that Hemlock is quite (+) friendly. He's the cat that will go out of his way to say good luck to an kit becoming an apprentice, or wish a pregnant queen a healthy and prosperous litter. It seems that not a thing in the world gets him down, and one can always count on Hemlocksong to be (+) optimistic when everyone else is in doubt. Unfortunately, the warrior is also extremely (=) curious, and his optimistic nature provides for a somewhat (-) precarious individual. It never fails that Hemlocksong will be working on some crazy scheme, whether it be to climb a high tree in search of prey or herbs, swim to the most dangerous section of the creek to collect a pretty flower for a kit, or on rare occasion, simply walking across the border because he wants to examine some shiny rock or rather. It's clear that although Hemlock is (+) studious and always up to learn something new, he can often leap before he looks. Fortunately, the tom is (+) intelligent enough to know that anything he does should directly fall to his shoulders; he's (=) honest and (+) responsible, and will never fail to take the blame for his actions. This being said, Hemlocksong is (=) loyal to anyone and everyone, not just his direct clan. He has a distinct mindset that everyone, no matter who they are or what they have done, deserves a second chance. His (=) caring personality often leads him to help those who are not under his direct order; in a war, he'd be the one who would defend both sides, simply because he cannot stand the suffering one cat chooses to bring to another. He finds it sickening, to say the least, and because of this he is viewed as distinctly (+) benevolent. On most matters, however, Hemlocksong is very (+) calm and collected. He fights for what he believes in with gentle words and logical appeal instead of blunt force and physical reprimands, and that is what Hemlock who he is.

HISTORY

- There lived, in an subdivision of a neighborhood buried deep within a city, a family of happy twolegs. With them there was a beautiful white show-cat, flawless in every aspect of appearance and gentle in nature, named Kailani's Mourning Dove. Her twoleg family treated her with the upmost of care and affection, and when they decided to breed their precious jewel with another award winning tom of a marbled tabby coloration, they cared for her children in the same way. Four healthy kits were born to Dove, a mixture of two gorgeously pelted she-kits, a handsome white tom, and a large marbled baby boy. Each was named in regards to their mother, and although they were given the extravagant names of show-quality cats, they were known simply as as Robyn, Jay, Larkin, and Phoenix to their twoleg owners.

Not too many moons into their lives, the kits found themselves thrust into show prepartion and training, along with many artificial contests and amateur events. It as clear from the start that Larkin, known to the breeder comunity as Larkin of the Fifth Vinci, was the natural competitor. Not many could match his flowing white pelt and bright amber eyes, nor could his fanatical and flashy personality be ignored. There was something about being in his presence that simply required all attention to be directed towards the young tom, and in Larkin's light, his siblings were cast into the shadows. This was particularly true for Phoenix, the only other tom-kit, with his paws too big for his body and his randomly patterned fluff of a pelt. He was awkward and happy-go-lucky, always wanted to play when others wanted to rest; always curious about what laid beyond his simple home. His main problem was that grew too quickly, as his owners couldn't put a collar on him before it got too small, and his agility was nothing short of non-existent. Eleven moons into his life, Phoenix found that he had outgrown his home in the same way he had outgrown everything else, and expecting to return shortly after he left, set off on adventure without a word to his family.

If you know anything about neighborhoods buried deep within cities, you might know that every house looks exactly the same, from the windows to the lawn. This is what Phoenix discovered as his little journey turned into a moon long trip of sleeping under porches and rumaging through garbage in search of food. Never had the tom been so degraded in his life, with his final collar, a once nice, bright red one with a jingling bell on the front, bleached in the sun, his fur matted and grimy, his paw pads rough and aching, and his stomach growling in hunger that made his insides feel like they were twisting and gnawing through his skin. Most of all, he felt the effects of his journey in his heart, which became heavy with the burden of loneliness. No matter how desperate the tom was to return to the warmth of his home and family, he seemed to only get further and further away from his destination. He found salvation in a pair of loners who claimed to have come from the forest, a place Phoenix had never dared to go. There was a female, only a bit older than himself, who called herdelf Kayden. Her travelling parter was a fair sixteen moons in age, a massive tom named Faen. When they offered to help the sorry mess of a tom back home, he jumped at the opportunity. The three locacted Phoenix's house in less than four weeks, but were surprised to find it quite empty. Refusing to leave, and sure his family would not have deserted him, Phoenix laid on his porch for a grand total of fifteen days, only occasionally getting up to make dirt or accept food from Kayden. When it was clear that no one was returning, Phoenix reluctantly agreed to seek out a life in the forest with his new friends.

The first order of business, as suggested by Faen, was to get Phoenix cleaned up. It took many hours, but with the patience and skill of Kayden, the marbled tabby was rid of most of his tangles and grime. He was shown how to properly groom his fur without damaging it or having all of it come off onto the rough pad of his tongue. Phoenix, eager to learn more of the ways of a forest cat, slowly developed into an acceptable warrior. He gathered strength and was taught by Faen the basics how to self-defend, forging his build and size to his advatage. Through Kayden, however, Phoenix learned the more essential skills of surviving in the wild. The tabby she-cat improved his hunting, his tracking, and even his overall knowledge of the forest. What interested Phoenix more than his survival lessons were the stories that Kayden would tell him when the sun had just begin to set. She would speak of tales told by her grandmother long ago, when everything was still young and new. She would emphasize the great power of a large group of cats, called RiverClan, who could swim like the fish in the streams, and who had the delicate balance of the breeze through the reeds, swooping over the waters and picking out prey without causing so much as a ripple of disturbance. At the end of her bizarre tales, Kayden would even throw in the extra highlight of claiming to be related to these wild cats through many, many generations. Although Faen would roll his eyes and chuckle, saying that Kayden was just making up fairytales because she was happy to have an audience, Phoenix couldn't help but feel that the stories held truth, no matter how feeble, and would listen with intent.

A year passed, and with Phoenix reaching the peak of twenty-five moons, his body had gained muscle, his fur had adopted a beautiful flow, and his eyes had become alight with passion and strength. Although he found he was best at swimming and fishing, Phoenix had learned the overall gist of self-defense and combat, as well as the tactics and strategies of hunting on land. As his skills grew, the memories of his lost family gently faded and were replaced by those of Kayden and Faen. The three together were closely knit, a family in themselves, and this became physical with the announcement of Kayden's pregnancy. As it would turn out, Phoenix had fallen head over heels for the beautiful tabby she-cat, and she had genuinely felt the same way. For the first few weeks, things were normal, if not better, than ever before. Phoenix had a renewed sense of pride and purpose, and he struggled to work harder to support his family. However, as time grew on, Faen began to act strange; he distanced himself from his friends, and rarely spoke in their presence. The prey he caught was almost nearly impossible to eat, as it was carelessly shredded and damaged. Although the two tabbies worried for their larger friend, they made no move to bring it up, thinking he might accidentally hurt them out of frustration. Besides, none of it really seemed to matter when two moons later, Kayden would bear her first litter of kits.

And how precious those kits were. Two tiny, crawling baby girls, each whom looked a dead ringer of their father. Feeling like he was the luckiest parent in the world, Phoenix hardly ever left Kayden's side. Faen seemed never to be around, though he visited once or twice. Shortly thereafter the kits were born, about a week or two later, Phoenix's life would change in a way he never deemed possible. To him, a young tom who had never truly experienced the death of someone close, love was immortal. He was reckless, careless, and overall too trusting. He left Kayden's side to fish in a nearby stream, hoping to bring his mate a tasty treat for her hard and diligent work as a mother. When he returned, his whole world collapsed. There, lying by Kayden's torn and shredded corpse was none other than a clealry distraught Faen. It took Phoenix only a moment to piece together what had happened, for when the giant black tom looked up, his amber eyes were full of love, sorrow, hate, and envy. Faen roared in a pitiful way, screaming that it was all his fault, that it was Phoenix who killed Kayden because he had driven the black tom into an intentional madness. Jealousy had peaked chaos in Faen's mind, and when he had tried to kill Kayden's kits, the mother had retaliated. Although she was weak, the tabby she-cat had fought with a force driven purely by instinct, and she had given her life in hopes of a future for her daughters. Now it was Faen who was weak and unstable, his anger crushed by his grief and guilt. He lunged for Phoenix, and although he was superior to the younger tom in every way, the classic tabby fought with a resiliance. The battle lasted no more than five minutes, though at the end the clearing was drenched in the metallic scent of blood. Phoenix took one last swipe at the monster, catching Faen in the eye, and while the big cat bellowed he quickly dived into the den were his kits should have been. He found only one still alive, the other cauht in the wreckage of Faen previous rage. He grabbed his daughter, and ran like he had never run before, though he was quite positive that Faen's wounds had been fatal in the end.

Unfortunately, without a mother to give her milk and not yet weened, the small she-kit starved to death. It drove Phoenix nearly mad, watching the last of his life and love slowly fade away before him. For many moons, the tom nearly withered away himself, only bothering to catch the prey that jumped into his paws, sleeping wherever his feet carried him, and never minding where he went. He hated Faen, loathed him with a rage so hot it burned his heart. It was only after one night, staring up at the stars, did Phoenix realize that Kayden would never have allowed him to behave in such a way. She would have told him to get up on his feet, to live the rest of his life in a way that would do her and the kits proud. That burning in his heart was not hate, as he had originally thought it was; it was instead a longing. He felt so empty without his family, no matter the shambles they had left his life in. He made two promises to himself, and to her, that night. The first was that he would never take another mate. The hole in his heat was a wound that could never be a filled, a void that could not accept a mere replacement. The second was that he would do all that was in his power to help others, and that in doing so, he would never intentionally hurt anyone, no matter their grievances or misdoings. He became a different tom entirely that night; unsurprisingly, Phoenix could never return to the happy-go-lucky and excitable cat he had once been. Instead, he gained an understanding for life, a passion for knowledge and the gift of life. Like a flower blossoming, Phoenix felt his existence, shattered on the ground all around him, rise up to create a masterpiece of acceptance and forgiveness. He was finally who he was supposed to be.

Now thirty-one moons in age, the tom set off with a purpose to his step. He slowly became his image of what he had hoped to be on that night so long ago, calm and collected, powerful in presence, and intelligent to the outside world. He discovered a talent buried deep within his soul; a persuasive tone to his voice, making no matter what he said seem like it was worth listening to. He was particularly good at charming young kits, keeping them calm in their times of distress and, on more than one occasion, Phoenix reunited a lost child to their mother simply by talking everything he needed to know out of them. Although Phoenix found he could help others by doing menial tasks, like helping an inexperienced loner catch prey, or swimming across a particularly rough stream with kits in his mouth to help their mother get them to the other side, he felt like he could only do more. When one of his friends told the nomad of three large groups of cats who had settled nearby, the tom listened intently. The loner mentioned something called CreekClan, and memories of Kayden relaying him stories with the wicked fire of passion burning in her eyes filled his mind.

Phoenix quickly found his way to the aforementioned clan. Although he had had no RiverClan or ShadowClan bloodlines that he knew of, he felt sure that his mate had at least some RiverClan, and this semed to somewhat acceptable. He was presented with the prefix of Hemlock- for his brown and black patterned fur, with odd patches of white, and his green eyes. The suffix -song was given to him for his melodic voice, which had a subtly calming effect. For a while, Hemlocksong was content with the thought of upholding a new family, which he found in the members of his new home, and he pulled his weight to help. Wherever he was needed, he would rush to help. It was when he discovered the battle training that Hemlock became uneasy; had he not vowed to never hurt another soul? He sought out soke of other form of warriorship, and stumbled upon the occupation of a Medicine Cat. It seemed perfect to him, to help any of those in need, and to be respected so greatly for it. Although he had no knowledge of herbs or where they might be found, rumor had it that a loner named Storm was willing to teach those who wanted to learn. Hemlocksong seeks to find this loner, and take a rightful place as a Medicine Cat.

SAMPLE

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The morning was peaceful, with scattered rays of sun gently beginning to filter through the leaves of the trees. The sky was a gorgeous shade of red-violet, accented by estanged hues of orange and an almost metallic gold. The wind wasn't too strong, and the sky was relatively cloudless, which was nice seeing as Newleaf could be pretty delicate when it came to the weather. It was the perfect morning to lay back and enjoy, or perhaps it was perfect to get out of camp and do some early hunting, which is what a large tom cat by the name of Hemlocksong had decided to do. He vaguely remembered slipping out of camp, momentarily pausing to pay appreciation to the wonderous weather, and then collectively trotting alongside the silver stream while a hint of moonlight still glittered off its surface. He had even paused to admire the strong fish beneath its slow moving current, scouting with his eyes where he might figure the best fishing would occur; until, something had fluttered past his gaze. He had swivelled his head gently, trying to figure out what it was when he got the clue to look up, and saw a beautifully complex tree, with thick, twisted branches and an accent of large white blossoms.

Now, he was here, about a quarter of the way up the tree, his claws etched into the rough bark of a branch. The flowers where magnifecent in their own right; with five wide petals of white, with traces of faint pink and a center of fiery orange prongs. Hemlocksong had never seen anything like it, and he knew that he simply had to bring one home to give to the newest queen, a youthful she-cat named Jasminepetal, and her two kits, Sagekit and Lavenderkit. She had quite the obsesion with flowers of any sort, and passionately loved anything beautiful, and this would be the perfect gift to give to the new mother. She had, after all, been complaining recently that although she loved her daughters very much, they allowed her no time to admire the outside world. Perhaps that was why the tom now pursued the largest flower he could see, one near the top instead of near the bottom. He could have very easily taken back the wilted, shriveled flowers on the ground, but his desire to show his appreciation for his clanmates told him that they deserved nothing short of the best.

The tom coiled his hind muscles lower, feeling his shaky balance on the branch through every second he waited to pounce. The next level of the tree seemed even less sturdy, but there was only a small chance that it wouldn't hold his weight. With a powerful lurch which left his previous limb shaking, the warrior pushed of of the bark and soared through the open air to land, without even a fleck of grace, on his distination. He clawed gruffly into the branch, letting his mind and body finish reeling as the tree slowly stopped quivering as well. He looked to see the perfect flower only a short distance up; nothing more than two branches away. Feeling his legs tremble with the height and lack of balance, Hemlocksong set his ears flat and prepared for the next leap. He bunched his muscles, his rear wiggling with the small space given, and pushed off once again. Only, this time, he faltered. Even if for only a millisecond, the warrior felt the doubt of his jump and hesitated too late. His bound dipped, and the sensation of falling awakened the tom exponentially.

In a split second decision, Hemlocksong arched his back, feeling his paws reach higher into the air and grasp something solid. He jolted from the force of the impact, then desperately pulled up. As his hind legs scrambled to make contact with the branch on which he had landed, Hemlock heard a sound he had rather hoped to avoid on his little escapade. CRACK! "Beetleshells!" he cursed under his breath, feeling the already unstable limb begin to loosen as his pulled himself completely up. Without much choice, Hemlocksong performed a sloppy pounce, reaching towards what he imagined to be a sturdier branch. Although he almost overshot his landing, the tom got situated just in time to see his previous stronghold collapse and fall, snapping in half like a twig as it met other branches on the way down. With his heart beating faster than a rabbit's, the warrior dared himself to look up. The perfect flower was only four branches from where he was, and he could see a direct path to his destination. Not discouraged in the least, Hemlocksong prepared himself to leap.