Crimsonclaw [Riverclan]
Oct 9, 2013 23:27:48 GMT -6
Post by wish. on Oct 9, 2013 23:27:48 GMT -6
Crimsonclaw
tom ● forty-six moons ● riverclan ● warrior
red tom with green eyes
A P P E A R A N C E
He's thick - Crimsonclaw's a heavy-set tom with a lot of muscle. He's not particularly tall nor exceeds in height; rather he's broad shouldered and set. The tom has big paws, big shoulders, and a barreled chest. It seems every inch of his body is well-muscled. His back, legs, and even his neck. To make matters worse his muscles ripple effortlessly beneath his pelt - he's your stereotypical jock. The tom is ripped.
His fur is thin and sleek - silky to the touch. It's a rare shade of crimson-red. It's been rumored that he has abyssinian blood and it's fairly believable. His fur isn't littered in stripes. It's a solid rusty, crimson-red. A darker brown stripe of fur runs from the crown of his head to the tip of his tail. His chin is dusted with aging grey, while the tips of his chest, toes, and tail carry a few white hairs.
Crimsonclaw has a very lion-esque face. He has a large defined chin and high cheek-bones. This gives him a regal, handsome look. His ears are small and triangular, while his brow is heavily defined. He has two almond shaped eyes in shades of green. They're light, often referred to as the color of fresh new-leaf leaves. His nose is a deep nude color tinged with black. The tom's whiskers are long and white, resilient against his dark pelt.
He's thick - Crimsonclaw's a heavy-set tom with a lot of muscle. He's not particularly tall nor exceeds in height; rather he's broad shouldered and set. The tom has big paws, big shoulders, and a barreled chest. It seems every inch of his body is well-muscled. His back, legs, and even his neck. To make matters worse his muscles ripple effortlessly beneath his pelt - he's your stereotypical jock. The tom is ripped.
His fur is thin and sleek - silky to the touch. It's a rare shade of crimson-red. It's been rumored that he has abyssinian blood and it's fairly believable. His fur isn't littered in stripes. It's a solid rusty, crimson-red. A darker brown stripe of fur runs from the crown of his head to the tip of his tail. His chin is dusted with aging grey, while the tips of his chest, toes, and tail carry a few white hairs.
Crimsonclaw has a very lion-esque face. He has a large defined chin and high cheek-bones. This gives him a regal, handsome look. His ears are small and triangular, while his brow is heavily defined. He has two almond shaped eyes in shades of green. They're light, often referred to as the color of fresh new-leaf leaves. His nose is a deep nude color tinged with black. The tom's whiskers are long and white, resilient against his dark pelt.
P E R S O N A L I T Y
Crimsonclaw is usually grumpy. He's seen a lot, he's experienced a lot, and he's tired of it. He doesn't have time for any of your shit. He wakes up to a routine - get up, eat breakfast, go on a patrol, take a nap, eat again, etc. If you disrupt his flow he's going to be annoyed. He's particularly annoyed by younger cats. He hates their high-pitched voices and rampant personalities. He'd prefer if they'd just go fuck themselves. He's the grumpy old man yelling at the kids to get off his lawn.
Remarkably he is devoted to his clan. He participates in the meetings and usually has a word or two to chip in. A lot of cats come to him for advice. He's smart and the clan knows it. Younger cats look up to him and some even aspire to become him. They don't take his grouchy attitude to heart - everyone knows he cares.
The crimson-colored tom is serious. He doesn't joke around and seems to lack any sort of funny bone. He'll usually respond to a joke with a scoff or a snort. Crimsonclaw doesn't get amused. This makes him a reliable mentor - you would never see him goofing around with his apprentice. He's all work and no play.
His voice is deep and gruff - for an older tom he talks as if he's smoked his entire life. It's scratchy, dark, and direct. He only talks if he has to - otherwise he communicates through grunts. Crimsonclaw likes to be left alone. He enjoys his own company more than anything. Unfortunately he does have a softer side.
He has few strong connections in the clan and will fight tooth and claw to keep them safe. He gets jealous very easily and won't take kindly to horny toms. Crimsonclaw watches his mate like a hawk - if you so utter a word to her you're going to get your throat ripped out. He's known for his death stare.
Crimsonclaw is usually grumpy. He's seen a lot, he's experienced a lot, and he's tired of it. He doesn't have time for any of your shit. He wakes up to a routine - get up, eat breakfast, go on a patrol, take a nap, eat again, etc. If you disrupt his flow he's going to be annoyed. He's particularly annoyed by younger cats. He hates their high-pitched voices and rampant personalities. He'd prefer if they'd just go fuck themselves. He's the grumpy old man yelling at the kids to get off his lawn.
Remarkably he is devoted to his clan. He participates in the meetings and usually has a word or two to chip in. A lot of cats come to him for advice. He's smart and the clan knows it. Younger cats look up to him and some even aspire to become him. They don't take his grouchy attitude to heart - everyone knows he cares.
The crimson-colored tom is serious. He doesn't joke around and seems to lack any sort of funny bone. He'll usually respond to a joke with a scoff or a snort. Crimsonclaw doesn't get amused. This makes him a reliable mentor - you would never see him goofing around with his apprentice. He's all work and no play.
His voice is deep and gruff - for an older tom he talks as if he's smoked his entire life. It's scratchy, dark, and direct. He only talks if he has to - otherwise he communicates through grunts. Crimsonclaw likes to be left alone. He enjoys his own company more than anything. Unfortunately he does have a softer side.
He has few strong connections in the clan and will fight tooth and claw to keep them safe. He gets jealous very easily and won't take kindly to horny toms. Crimsonclaw watches his mate like a hawk - if you so utter a word to her you're going to get your throat ripped out. He's known for his death stare.
H I S T O R Y
Crimsonclaw was a carbon copy of his father - from the leaf green eyes down to the rusty red fur. He was the son of Riverclan's former leader, Lionstar. The tom ruled during Riverclan's renaissance. A time of rebirth. He was fifty-six moons when his children were born. For many years he lived comfortably without a heir - he had his mate and he was happy. But Willowfoot was feeling sentimental and one thing led to another and Crimsonclaw was born.
There were three of them, two she-cats and a tom. His sisters were as gorgeous as his mother - pure white fur and bright blue eyes - Lilackit and Soaringkit. They shared the nursery with his mother's sister, Icestorm. The she-cat wouldn't give birth for another moon or two but she carried Riverclan's future leader, Snowstar, in her womb.
As a kit Crimsonkit was fearless. He dove head first into battle, clawing and biting. He wanted to become just like his father - he wanted to be brave and noble. He saw how the clan looked at Lionstar, he wanted them to look at him too. His father would visit the nursery as often as he could. He adored his children - he'd tell them stories, teach them battle moves, and bring them treats. Crimsonkit was enamored with him.
At four moons old he watched his aunt give birth. They were lounging lazily in the nursery when Icestorm went into labor. The she-cat screeched and writhed into the dusty floor - her eyes clouded over. Moondust entered the nursery almost immediately, her mouth pressed into a furrowed frown. Snowkit was the only kit born that night, and as the she-cat let out her first cry the medicine cat murmured ominously, "Death will shroud her like a cloud-"
The nursery remained quiet for the remainder of the night - a chill heavy in their skin.
At six moons old Crimsonkit became an apprentice. His mentor was the clan's aging deputy Midnightstreak. He was an old tom, serious and stern. He set Crimsonpaw in his ways - teaching him to set aside leisure and fun and to focus on training. Crimsonpaw trained tirelessly everyday, he had to prove to his father that he would fill his footsteps. He was Riverclan's rightful heir.
It was during Crimsonpaw's final moon of training when Riverclan entered a haughty rivalry with Windclan. They were disputing bitterly over the boundaries near the gorge. For moons Riverclan had been advancing - Lionstar was oblivious to his warrior's actions and didn't know the extent of their idiocy. In an act of last resorts Windclan launched a vicious attack on the Riverclan camp.
Crimsonpaw had been hunting that morning when Windclan attacked. He had padded into camp with an impressive fish dangling from his jaws. He felt resilient - nothing could bring him down. With a bounce in his step he decided to bring in the mother-load, despite his oncoming fatigue the apprentice left camp again for a second hunting patrol. He couldn't wait to see the shine in his father's eyes when he came back to camp with a Thunderclan squirrel. Sometimes the plump critters would scurry across the border and find themselves trapped in Riverclan reeds.
With each step he became more and more tired. A large yawn stretched across his face - he needed to do this. So he drove on, pushing the thoughts of sleep further into the depths of his mind. The tom could feel his eyelids flutter, and for a second he swore he could taste Windclan on his tongue.
It was dusk when the apprentice reopened his eyes. The scent of blood hung heavy in the air - lightning crackled across the sky. Crimsonpaw scampered to his feet, his heart hammering - what happened? Where am I? He had fallen asleep, hidden amongst the reeds. The tom sprinted back to camp - the rain thundered maliciously behind him.
He could hears the cries well before he reached home and when he entered camp the stench of death was overwhelming. Bodies littered the floor and at the center sat his father - his crimson colored pelt stained with blood. The tom lifted his gaze, meeting the eyes of his panting son - where were you?. Crimsonpaw bowed his head in shame, too embarrassed to meet his father's disproving gaze. Where was he?
The clan lost four warriors that day, one of them being his mother. Three apprentices were slaughtered and the medicine cat laid slain. His sisters were dead, their little white bodies running red. Crimsonpaw had to leave. He couldn't stay in camp. He couldn't do this.
He didn't return for three days.
When he finally returned home there was something off about him. His determination had vanished, the light was gone, and instead a quiet, lonesome quality took over him. He didn't look his father in the eyes - the two never spoke again.
He was given his warrior name almost mockingly - the named him Crimsonclaw in honor his fighting spirit. The words were almost spat. The clan looked at him with pity, his father didn't look at him at all.
At fifteen moons he was given his first apprentice - a fidgety little thing by the name of Finchpaw. The apprentice feared him - he had heard stories, lies fabricated from the mouths of foolish kits. Despite this Crimsonclaw grew close to the tom, he could see something in him, something that no one else could see. He knew Finchpaw would be destined for greatness.
When he was twenty-two moons old Midnightstreak retired. Lionstar had grown quiet and bitter. He rarely spoke to his clan anymore and spent the majority of his time in his den. In response to Midnightstreak's retirement the tom chose the young and inexperienced Snowcloud as his deputy. The clan was shocked.
Snowcloud was an average warrior, a quiet pretty she-cat who belonged in the background. She wasn't someone you noticed. But Crimsonclaw could see it in his father's eyes, he saw what Lionstar saw. Snowcloud was an exact replica of Willowfoot - of his mother. Lionstar was old, deranged, and lonely. Snowcloud brought a smile to his face, she reminded him of brighter days.
Lionstar died before the year ended.
At twenty-nine moons Snowstar approached Crimsonclaw with a proposition.
"Crimsonclaw?" The she-cat questioned curiously, the tom responded with a grunt, his eyes lazily watched the white she-cat shuffle her paws. Snowstar blinked a few times, opened and closed her mouth, and then continued, "Will you be my deputy?" Crimsonclaw raised his brows, amusement tickled his lips, "Are you out of your mind?" The tom scoffed.
"No." He added quickly, sternly. The tom shook his head, "I'm not the cat you're looking for." He didn't want to be deputy. He didn't want to deal with foolish apprentices and whining warriors. He didn't want to deal with anyone - but he knew someone who could, someone who would. Snowstar slumped in defeat, "Oh-"
The tom interrupted her, "Finchtail." The words left his mouth with a smile.
He was young, but so was she. Because of Crimsonclaw's suggestion Riverclan grew under the partnership of Snowstar and Finchtail for six moons.
Before Snowstar's death Crimsonclaw was assigned his fourth apprentice - a young tortoiseshell she-cat with a sharp tongue. She breathed just to infuriate him. They called her Sorrelpaw. Crimsonclaw went to bed with her on his mind. She crawled into his thoughts and set up camp - she was in for the long-haul.
She was also twenty-three moons younger than him.
His feelings were conflicting, wrong. This resentment blossomed into affection - somewhere along the line he fell in love with her. The way her nose crinkled when she shot him a glare, the hot fire in her eyes; just the way she called his name - Crimsonclaw - it sent shivers down his spine. He couldn't take his eyes off her.
But she wouldn't know this until many moons later.
It was during a gathering when Riverclan lost their leader. Slain by a murderous rogue Snowstar lost five lives at once. Her clan watched in horror as their leader writhed violently on the blood-soaked floor. There was nothing they could do. Finchtail trembled the first time he spoke to his clan as their leader - Crimsonclaw gave him a reassuring nod - Riverclan would beat on.
Willowstorm - an older, senior warrior was selected as Riverclan's deputy - a good choice.
Crimsonclaw was thirty-seven moons old when Sorrelpaw became a warrior. They named her Sorrelstrike. The tom smiled, it was fitting. The first couple of days were uncomfortable for the tom. He was hopelessly in love with her and he didn't know how to tell her. They were no longer mentor and apprentice - he had no reason to talk to her. He was terrified of losing her.
It was a rash, stupid decision but he told her regardless. He didn't know if she'd like him back, he didn't know if this would ruin what they had, he didn't know shit - except for one thing - he knew that he loved her. And to his surprise she loved him too.
Crimsonclaw was a carbon copy of his father - from the leaf green eyes down to the rusty red fur. He was the son of Riverclan's former leader, Lionstar. The tom ruled during Riverclan's renaissance. A time of rebirth. He was fifty-six moons when his children were born. For many years he lived comfortably without a heir - he had his mate and he was happy. But Willowfoot was feeling sentimental and one thing led to another and Crimsonclaw was born.
There were three of them, two she-cats and a tom. His sisters were as gorgeous as his mother - pure white fur and bright blue eyes - Lilackit and Soaringkit. They shared the nursery with his mother's sister, Icestorm. The she-cat wouldn't give birth for another moon or two but she carried Riverclan's future leader, Snowstar, in her womb.
As a kit Crimsonkit was fearless. He dove head first into battle, clawing and biting. He wanted to become just like his father - he wanted to be brave and noble. He saw how the clan looked at Lionstar, he wanted them to look at him too. His father would visit the nursery as often as he could. He adored his children - he'd tell them stories, teach them battle moves, and bring them treats. Crimsonkit was enamored with him.
At four moons old he watched his aunt give birth. They were lounging lazily in the nursery when Icestorm went into labor. The she-cat screeched and writhed into the dusty floor - her eyes clouded over. Moondust entered the nursery almost immediately, her mouth pressed into a furrowed frown. Snowkit was the only kit born that night, and as the she-cat let out her first cry the medicine cat murmured ominously, "Death will shroud her like a cloud-"
The nursery remained quiet for the remainder of the night - a chill heavy in their skin.
At six moons old Crimsonkit became an apprentice. His mentor was the clan's aging deputy Midnightstreak. He was an old tom, serious and stern. He set Crimsonpaw in his ways - teaching him to set aside leisure and fun and to focus on training. Crimsonpaw trained tirelessly everyday, he had to prove to his father that he would fill his footsteps. He was Riverclan's rightful heir.
It was during Crimsonpaw's final moon of training when Riverclan entered a haughty rivalry with Windclan. They were disputing bitterly over the boundaries near the gorge. For moons Riverclan had been advancing - Lionstar was oblivious to his warrior's actions and didn't know the extent of their idiocy. In an act of last resorts Windclan launched a vicious attack on the Riverclan camp.
Crimsonpaw had been hunting that morning when Windclan attacked. He had padded into camp with an impressive fish dangling from his jaws. He felt resilient - nothing could bring him down. With a bounce in his step he decided to bring in the mother-load, despite his oncoming fatigue the apprentice left camp again for a second hunting patrol. He couldn't wait to see the shine in his father's eyes when he came back to camp with a Thunderclan squirrel. Sometimes the plump critters would scurry across the border and find themselves trapped in Riverclan reeds.
With each step he became more and more tired. A large yawn stretched across his face - he needed to do this. So he drove on, pushing the thoughts of sleep further into the depths of his mind. The tom could feel his eyelids flutter, and for a second he swore he could taste Windclan on his tongue.
It was dusk when the apprentice reopened his eyes. The scent of blood hung heavy in the air - lightning crackled across the sky. Crimsonpaw scampered to his feet, his heart hammering - what happened? Where am I? He had fallen asleep, hidden amongst the reeds. The tom sprinted back to camp - the rain thundered maliciously behind him.
He could hears the cries well before he reached home and when he entered camp the stench of death was overwhelming. Bodies littered the floor and at the center sat his father - his crimson colored pelt stained with blood. The tom lifted his gaze, meeting the eyes of his panting son - where were you?. Crimsonpaw bowed his head in shame, too embarrassed to meet his father's disproving gaze. Where was he?
The clan lost four warriors that day, one of them being his mother. Three apprentices were slaughtered and the medicine cat laid slain. His sisters were dead, their little white bodies running red. Crimsonpaw had to leave. He couldn't stay in camp. He couldn't do this.
He didn't return for three days.
When he finally returned home there was something off about him. His determination had vanished, the light was gone, and instead a quiet, lonesome quality took over him. He didn't look his father in the eyes - the two never spoke again.
He was given his warrior name almost mockingly - the named him Crimsonclaw in honor his fighting spirit. The words were almost spat. The clan looked at him with pity, his father didn't look at him at all.
At fifteen moons he was given his first apprentice - a fidgety little thing by the name of Finchpaw. The apprentice feared him - he had heard stories, lies fabricated from the mouths of foolish kits. Despite this Crimsonclaw grew close to the tom, he could see something in him, something that no one else could see. He knew Finchpaw would be destined for greatness.
When he was twenty-two moons old Midnightstreak retired. Lionstar had grown quiet and bitter. He rarely spoke to his clan anymore and spent the majority of his time in his den. In response to Midnightstreak's retirement the tom chose the young and inexperienced Snowcloud as his deputy. The clan was shocked.
Snowcloud was an average warrior, a quiet pretty she-cat who belonged in the background. She wasn't someone you noticed. But Crimsonclaw could see it in his father's eyes, he saw what Lionstar saw. Snowcloud was an exact replica of Willowfoot - of his mother. Lionstar was old, deranged, and lonely. Snowcloud brought a smile to his face, she reminded him of brighter days.
Lionstar died before the year ended.
At twenty-nine moons Snowstar approached Crimsonclaw with a proposition.
"Crimsonclaw?" The she-cat questioned curiously, the tom responded with a grunt, his eyes lazily watched the white she-cat shuffle her paws. Snowstar blinked a few times, opened and closed her mouth, and then continued, "Will you be my deputy?" Crimsonclaw raised his brows, amusement tickled his lips, "Are you out of your mind?" The tom scoffed.
"No." He added quickly, sternly. The tom shook his head, "I'm not the cat you're looking for." He didn't want to be deputy. He didn't want to deal with foolish apprentices and whining warriors. He didn't want to deal with anyone - but he knew someone who could, someone who would. Snowstar slumped in defeat, "Oh-"
The tom interrupted her, "Finchtail." The words left his mouth with a smile.
He was young, but so was she. Because of Crimsonclaw's suggestion Riverclan grew under the partnership of Snowstar and Finchtail for six moons.
Before Snowstar's death Crimsonclaw was assigned his fourth apprentice - a young tortoiseshell she-cat with a sharp tongue. She breathed just to infuriate him. They called her Sorrelpaw. Crimsonclaw went to bed with her on his mind. She crawled into his thoughts and set up camp - she was in for the long-haul.
She was also twenty-three moons younger than him.
His feelings were conflicting, wrong. This resentment blossomed into affection - somewhere along the line he fell in love with her. The way her nose crinkled when she shot him a glare, the hot fire in her eyes; just the way she called his name - Crimsonclaw - it sent shivers down his spine. He couldn't take his eyes off her.
But she wouldn't know this until many moons later.
It was during a gathering when Riverclan lost their leader. Slain by a murderous rogue Snowstar lost five lives at once. Her clan watched in horror as their leader writhed violently on the blood-soaked floor. There was nothing they could do. Finchtail trembled the first time he spoke to his clan as their leader - Crimsonclaw gave him a reassuring nod - Riverclan would beat on.
Willowstorm - an older, senior warrior was selected as Riverclan's deputy - a good choice.
Crimsonclaw was thirty-seven moons old when Sorrelpaw became a warrior. They named her Sorrelstrike. The tom smiled, it was fitting. The first couple of days were uncomfortable for the tom. He was hopelessly in love with her and he didn't know how to tell her. They were no longer mentor and apprentice - he had no reason to talk to her. He was terrified of losing her.
It was a rash, stupid decision but he told her regardless. He didn't know if she'd like him back, he didn't know if this would ruin what they had, he didn't know shit - except for one thing - he knew that he loved her. And to his surprise she loved him too.
