Post by Phoenix on Jun 30, 2017 19:35:50 GMT -5
Basics
NAME: newtkit, newtpaw, newtstripe
AGE: fourteen moons
GENDER: male
CLAN: nightclan
RANK: warrior
AGE: fourteen moons
GENDER: male
CLAN: nightclan
RANK: warrior
Identification
PICTURE: one, two
BRIEF: a small orange tabby tom with pale green eyes with a large scar across the right side of his face
DETAILED:
BRIEF: a small orange tabby tom with pale green eyes with a large scar across the right side of his face
DETAILED:
Stark against the dark browns and blacks of NightClan territory, bright orange fur marked with darker orange stripes suggests that his ability to hunt would be impaired even if he found himself particularly willing to do so. The coat of orange is interrupted by a splotch of brilliant white on his chest and on the tips of his toes. Often alight with wonder at the world, pale green eyes frequently scan his surroundings for any trace of the wildlife that he holds so close to his heart, and never do they ever quite meet anyone else’s gaze; discomfort has given him a habit of staring slightly off to the side of another’s gaze so that his conversation partner can have the illusion of eye contact, though he always seems far more comfortable talking to his paws than anything else.
Indeed, his awkwardness has shaped the demeanor with which Newtstripe carries himself immensely. He is not one to stand up straight and strut around, instead almost shrinking in on himself as if doing so would help him fade into the background. A sheepish smile is always quick to cross his features, and he never seems to relax when in the company of others. Despite never having perfectly clean fur (he spends far too much time with his creatures to be bothered by small matters like that), the small tom does have a sort of awkwardly endearing charm about him, though he is entirely unaware of it himself.
A remnant of an encounter the foxes that invaded the valley, he has a large scar across the right side of his face that has partially blinded him in that eye. The fur along his left shoulder also bears a faint scar from the battle.
Indeed, his awkwardness has shaped the demeanor with which Newtstripe carries himself immensely. He is not one to stand up straight and strut around, instead almost shrinking in on himself as if doing so would help him fade into the background. A sheepish smile is always quick to cross his features, and he never seems to relax when in the company of others. Despite never having perfectly clean fur (he spends far too much time with his creatures to be bothered by small matters like that), the small tom does have a sort of awkwardly endearing charm about him, though he is entirely unaware of it himself.
A remnant of an encounter the foxes that invaded the valley, he has a large scar across the right side of his face that has partially blinded him in that eye. The fur along his left shoulder also bears a faint scar from the battle.
Behavior
SONG: tba
LIKES: leaning new things, life and its wonderful twists and turns
DISLIKES: seeing others hurt, causing pain
DETAILED:
LIKES: leaning new things, life and its wonderful twists and turns
DISLIKES: seeing others hurt, causing pain
DETAILED:
Save for the barest hints of a sadness beyond his years, Newtstripe seems like he could be the happiest cat in the world. Born with a heart of gold, he has a shy, almost sheepish smile and a kind word for almost everyone, though it is not often that many get to hear it, for experience has taught him that his clan mates prefer the company of a more reticent warrior than the outgoing kit of his youth. Although he would never claim to be of any remarkable level of intelligence, he has come to recognize that he has a natural creativity and ingenuity that manifests itself as a talent for problem solving; however, his mind is more suited for puzzles rather than people, and he favors the black and quite quality of knowledge over the gray mess that comes with socializing. He has never truly understood the complexities and subtleties of social interactions. Sarcasm falls flat, dry humor is met with a blank stare, gentle hints pass by unrecognized, and metaphors fly over his head.
Indeed, this particular weakness has shaped his life immensely. Newtstripe naturally tends toward honesty, and while he might appreciate even the harshest truth over the smallest white lie, it has taken him a lifetime to learn that others do not. As a result, he has frequently found himself on the receiving end of a sharp tongue for what others perceive as rudeness, rather confused as to why his clan mate snapped at him. Repeated instances with a general lack of explanation have led him to his own conclusions – perhaps they don’t like when he talks or what he has to say or even him in general – and because he always seems to make a mess of things, he doesn’t like to talk as much as he used to. Although he is just as willing to make conversation as before (truly, he does enjoy interacting with others, even if they don’t share the same opinion about him), he has drawn back into his shell and tends to let others initiate. But he tries not to let that bring him down too much because he is nothing if not an adaptable optimist.
Unlike many of his peers, he has never lost his sense of wonder, and to him, the world is a wide and marvelous place full of so many mysteries to unravel and questions to answer. An inherent curiosity and sheer love for life in all its forms leads him to marvel at even the smallest phenomena with a near-endless stream of questions perched on the tip of his tongue. In particular, the creatures that also call NightClan territory home fascinate him. Not far from camp, there is an ant colony that has claimed the area under a rather nondescript rock as their own, and he loves watching the little army of soldiers go about their business in a manner not entirely different from the cats in their clan. The frog pond has captured his attention, for he has yet to figure out how exactly tadpoles transform into frogs. And, of course, he has an unusual fondness for any newts that cross his path. Sometimes he finds himself talking to them, telling them about his day or about his thoughts, and they never seem to mind. Because they have stood by him when few others have, Newtstripe has grown to love them as his own.
Despite his quirks and awkwardness, the orange tabby always means well and never intends to hurt others. He has a gentle heart and holds nothing closer to it than the well-being of those incapable of defending themselves, especially his little creature friends. Whenever possible, he avoids violence and confrontation, always conceding unless doing so would endanger others, in which case he will reluctantly but resolutely be dragged in to fight for his beliefs. If left to his own devices, however, he is much more of a flight rather than fight feline, and he is, admittedly, more than a little intimidated by the stronger personalities in his clan and does his best to stay out of their way.
Indeed, this particular weakness has shaped his life immensely. Newtstripe naturally tends toward honesty, and while he might appreciate even the harshest truth over the smallest white lie, it has taken him a lifetime to learn that others do not. As a result, he has frequently found himself on the receiving end of a sharp tongue for what others perceive as rudeness, rather confused as to why his clan mate snapped at him. Repeated instances with a general lack of explanation have led him to his own conclusions – perhaps they don’t like when he talks or what he has to say or even him in general – and because he always seems to make a mess of things, he doesn’t like to talk as much as he used to. Although he is just as willing to make conversation as before (truly, he does enjoy interacting with others, even if they don’t share the same opinion about him), he has drawn back into his shell and tends to let others initiate. But he tries not to let that bring him down too much because he is nothing if not an adaptable optimist.
Unlike many of his peers, he has never lost his sense of wonder, and to him, the world is a wide and marvelous place full of so many mysteries to unravel and questions to answer. An inherent curiosity and sheer love for life in all its forms leads him to marvel at even the smallest phenomena with a near-endless stream of questions perched on the tip of his tongue. In particular, the creatures that also call NightClan territory home fascinate him. Not far from camp, there is an ant colony that has claimed the area under a rather nondescript rock as their own, and he loves watching the little army of soldiers go about their business in a manner not entirely different from the cats in their clan. The frog pond has captured his attention, for he has yet to figure out how exactly tadpoles transform into frogs. And, of course, he has an unusual fondness for any newts that cross his path. Sometimes he finds himself talking to them, telling them about his day or about his thoughts, and they never seem to mind. Because they have stood by him when few others have, Newtstripe has grown to love them as his own.
Despite his quirks and awkwardness, the orange tabby always means well and never intends to hurt others. He has a gentle heart and holds nothing closer to it than the well-being of those incapable of defending themselves, especially his little creature friends. Whenever possible, he avoids violence and confrontation, always conceding unless doing so would endanger others, in which case he will reluctantly but resolutely be dragged in to fight for his beliefs. If left to his own devices, however, he is much more of a flight rather than fight feline, and he is, admittedly, more than a little intimidated by the stronger personalities in his clan and does his best to stay out of their way.
History
FAMILY
KIT:
APPRENTICE:
KIT:
Newtkit’s story starts out much like a fairytale: his mother, Lightstep, and father, Sunstorm, were happy and very much in love with each other. They were both older cats, senior warriors who had never quite prioritized settling down and starting a family, until they woke up one day after many seasons of sharing a nest and changed their minds. Lightstep had always had a fondness for the youngest cats of the clan, and despite his reservations, Sunstorm, was eventually convinced that he could be a proper father. They had expected a single kit, perhaps two, but much to their pleasant surprise, Lightstep delivered three young kits: two she-cats, Pipitkit and Stoatkit, and a tom, Newtkit. Even in the beginning, it soon became clear that these three were very different cats. Where Newtkit began to develop his father’s odd love for wildlife, Pipitkit dreamed of winning the favor of every kit in the nursery and their sister seemed determined to reach for the stars. Lightstep and Sunstorm did their best to encourage each of their children to pursue their interests while also trying to instill in them an appreciation for family that would hold them together despite their differing personalities. Something must have worked, for Newtstripe remembers his days in the nursery with a warm fondness.
APPRENTICE:
On the other hand, his time in the apprentice’s den does not invoke such pleasant memories. Suddenly the brutal but simple honesty of youth gave way to subtle cues and double meanings, and where Newtpaw’s eager optimism had earned him the fondness of others, it now failed him. Ever eager to be seen as adults, none of the other apprentices wanted to spend time around the tom who was not only incapable of keeping up with the others but also had a habit of (unintentionally) insulting his conversation partners. In her quest for popularity, Pipitpaw almost entirely stopped associating with him when it became obvious that he had lost the favor of his peers. Similarly, the ever ambitious Stoatpaw developed a habit of putting him down – good fodder was never too hard to find – to make her feel better about her own insecurities, and so Newtpaw was left to try to find his own way in the world. He tried not to mind too much that his sisters had both opted to find happiness at his expense, but sometimes being left behind hurt more than he wanted it to.
However, a demanding training schedule set by Jadefang, his somewhat intimidating mentor, did not give him much time to dwell on the state of his social life. The long days formed the foundation of a firm friendship between the warrior and her apprentice, and the young tom came to appreciate her ability to explain complicated ideas and techniques with the simple clarity he required. Wanting to impress her and to prove to others that she was a good mentor, he spent the first few moons of his apprenticeship training hard under her patient eye, but over time, even her patience wore thin when it became evident that her apprentice would much rather converse with his prey than catch it. Once-pleasant training sessions became filled with tension as his reluctance to harm other creatures warred with her growing desire to make him accept that doing so was one of the simple facts of life. She became frustrated. Her apprentice had some tracking skill and patience that could be put to good use for hunting, but he absolutely refused to do so. Entirely averse to both this conflict and the subject matter, Newtpaw began to dread spending time with his mentor (which wasn’t fair because he was genuinely fond of her), and so his training dragged on.
It was during this time that he used his would-be training sessions to explore NightClan’s territory. His father, Sunstorm, had spoken lovingly of the variety of different creatures that, with enough patience and the knowledge of where to look, could be found across the clan’s land, and ever curious, Newtpaw made it his goal to try to find them. In hindsight, perhaps it was inevitable that he should grow to love animals the way he has. The orange tabby had, by this point, already discovered some of his creature friends, but his fondness for watching them slowly transformed into a general fondness for them, which, naturally, further lowered his willingness to hunt. When he had only the wildlife around him for company, he didn’t have to see Jadefang’s frustration or his mother’s concern over why he was already 13 moons and no closer to becoming a warrior than before; his sisters, now Pipitwing and Stoatclaw, had already left the apprentice’s den.
For him, however, warriorhood seemed like a distant fixture on the horizon, and it very well might have remained that way if not for the greencough epidemic that swept through NightClan. In an attempt to slow the spread of the disease, the sickly were quarantined deeper in the territory away from camp, and his was among those families who were split apart. Lightstep had fallen terribly ill, and though she eventually managed to pull through, the strain of worrying for his mother sent Newtpaw out to seek the company of his creatures more often than ever. One of his outings drew him again to the little frog pond, where he found himself completely fascinated as the tadpoles began to grow their legs, and it was much to his surprise that he was not the first one there. A kit with gray fur and yellow eyes was standing dangerously close to the water – and batting at his dear tadpoles like they were some inanimate pinecones. Horror at the younger cat’s actions jolted him into action, and he sprung forward, awkwardly picking up the little cretin by the scruff of her neck. It was luck that a patrol of concerned warriors found him just as he turned, preparing to deposit her far away from any innocent creatures that she could further harm.
Impatiently, he found himself listening to her story when all he really wanted to do was make sure his tadpoles were fine, but as she spoke, he could not ignore the similarity of their situations. Lichenkit, as she was apparently called, had only wanted to find her father. Her mother kept telling her that he had been sent off with the other sick cats and that he would be back soon. But she missed him, so like the headstrong cat she was, she had taken it into her own paws to try to find him. Never having been beyond the confines of camp, she had, naturally, gotten lost and subsequently distracted by everything that there was to see and do. They turned to Newtpaw, ready to praise him for finding a wayward kit whom he hadn’t even known was lost, and he opened his mouth to protest that he really didn’t deserve their praises. By chance, Jadefang happened to be on that patrol, and knowing that her apprentice would not recognize the fortuitous opportunity that had presented itself, she interrupted him and wove a tale of how he had gone off in search of Lichenkit.
And so, at the age of 14 moons, Newtpaw earned his warrior name, Newtstripe, and could finally join the rest of his family in the warrior’s den.
However, a demanding training schedule set by Jadefang, his somewhat intimidating mentor, did not give him much time to dwell on the state of his social life. The long days formed the foundation of a firm friendship between the warrior and her apprentice, and the young tom came to appreciate her ability to explain complicated ideas and techniques with the simple clarity he required. Wanting to impress her and to prove to others that she was a good mentor, he spent the first few moons of his apprenticeship training hard under her patient eye, but over time, even her patience wore thin when it became evident that her apprentice would much rather converse with his prey than catch it. Once-pleasant training sessions became filled with tension as his reluctance to harm other creatures warred with her growing desire to make him accept that doing so was one of the simple facts of life. She became frustrated. Her apprentice had some tracking skill and patience that could be put to good use for hunting, but he absolutely refused to do so. Entirely averse to both this conflict and the subject matter, Newtpaw began to dread spending time with his mentor (which wasn’t fair because he was genuinely fond of her), and so his training dragged on.
It was during this time that he used his would-be training sessions to explore NightClan’s territory. His father, Sunstorm, had spoken lovingly of the variety of different creatures that, with enough patience and the knowledge of where to look, could be found across the clan’s land, and ever curious, Newtpaw made it his goal to try to find them. In hindsight, perhaps it was inevitable that he should grow to love animals the way he has. The orange tabby had, by this point, already discovered some of his creature friends, but his fondness for watching them slowly transformed into a general fondness for them, which, naturally, further lowered his willingness to hunt. When he had only the wildlife around him for company, he didn’t have to see Jadefang’s frustration or his mother’s concern over why he was already 13 moons and no closer to becoming a warrior than before; his sisters, now Pipitwing and Stoatclaw, had already left the apprentice’s den.
For him, however, warriorhood seemed like a distant fixture on the horizon, and it very well might have remained that way if not for the greencough epidemic that swept through NightClan. In an attempt to slow the spread of the disease, the sickly were quarantined deeper in the territory away from camp, and his was among those families who were split apart. Lightstep had fallen terribly ill, and though she eventually managed to pull through, the strain of worrying for his mother sent Newtpaw out to seek the company of his creatures more often than ever. One of his outings drew him again to the little frog pond, where he found himself completely fascinated as the tadpoles began to grow their legs, and it was much to his surprise that he was not the first one there. A kit with gray fur and yellow eyes was standing dangerously close to the water – and batting at his dear tadpoles like they were some inanimate pinecones. Horror at the younger cat’s actions jolted him into action, and he sprung forward, awkwardly picking up the little cretin by the scruff of her neck. It was luck that a patrol of concerned warriors found him just as he turned, preparing to deposit her far away from any innocent creatures that she could further harm.
Impatiently, he found himself listening to her story when all he really wanted to do was make sure his tadpoles were fine, but as she spoke, he could not ignore the similarity of their situations. Lichenkit, as she was apparently called, had only wanted to find her father. Her mother kept telling her that he had been sent off with the other sick cats and that he would be back soon. But she missed him, so like the headstrong cat she was, she had taken it into her own paws to try to find him. Never having been beyond the confines of camp, she had, naturally, gotten lost and subsequently distracted by everything that there was to see and do. They turned to Newtpaw, ready to praise him for finding a wayward kit whom he hadn’t even known was lost, and he opened his mouth to protest that he really didn’t deserve their praises. By chance, Jadefang happened to be on that patrol, and knowing that her apprentice would not recognize the fortuitous opportunity that had presented itself, she interrupted him and wove a tale of how he had gone off in search of Lichenkit.
And so, at the age of 14 moons, Newtpaw earned his warrior name, Newtstripe, and could finally join the rest of his family in the warrior’s den.