Blackthroat [Windclan]
Oct 11, 2013 20:27:54 GMT -6
Post by wish. on Oct 11, 2013 20:27:54 GMT -6
blackthroat
she-cat ● twenty-nine moons ● windclan ● warrior
black and white she-cat with green eyes
A P P E A R A N C E
She's an average sized cat - average weight - average height. Blackthroat has a small frame, but she eats well. She's thin but not particularly skinny - not windclan skinny. The she-cat looks like your typical thunderclan she-cat, well-muscled and charismatic. Her body's an average length as well. If anythings out of the ordinary it's probably her tail. Her tail isn't long per-say but it's definitely longer than normal. She also has a long torso, giving her a slimmer look than what she weighs. Blackthroat's legs are also more bowed than straight. But overall she's your average looking domestic short-hair - plain and simple.
She gets her name from the black patch of fur that rests from her chin to her chest. Blackthroat has a sleek, rich black pelt with white undersides. Her legs, chest, underbelly, and muzzle are a bright, iridescent white. The white on her face crawls up the bridge of her nose and stops between her eyes, creating a tiny 'blaze'. Black fur completely coats the entirety of her chin, an odd marking typically overlooked on the average cat.
Blackthroat has a round, attractive face. For such a crude she-cat she's entirely enticing. She has lovely, round eyes the shade of fresh cut grass. They're a pop of color against the black and white. Her cheek-bones sit high and white on her face, giving her head a circular appearance. Her muzzle isn't very pointed, rather she has more 'squished' in profile. The she-cat has a dark black nose, a beacon in a sea of white. Lastly, she has two little ears perched on the sides of her crown.
She's an average sized cat - average weight - average height. Blackthroat has a small frame, but she eats well. She's thin but not particularly skinny - not windclan skinny. The she-cat looks like your typical thunderclan she-cat, well-muscled and charismatic. Her body's an average length as well. If anythings out of the ordinary it's probably her tail. Her tail isn't long per-say but it's definitely longer than normal. She also has a long torso, giving her a slimmer look than what she weighs. Blackthroat's legs are also more bowed than straight. But overall she's your average looking domestic short-hair - plain and simple.
She gets her name from the black patch of fur that rests from her chin to her chest. Blackthroat has a sleek, rich black pelt with white undersides. Her legs, chest, underbelly, and muzzle are a bright, iridescent white. The white on her face crawls up the bridge of her nose and stops between her eyes, creating a tiny 'blaze'. Black fur completely coats the entirety of her chin, an odd marking typically overlooked on the average cat.
Blackthroat has a round, attractive face. For such a crude she-cat she's entirely enticing. She has lovely, round eyes the shade of fresh cut grass. They're a pop of color against the black and white. Her cheek-bones sit high and white on her face, giving her head a circular appearance. Her muzzle isn't very pointed, rather she has more 'squished' in profile. The she-cat has a dark black nose, a beacon in a sea of white. Lastly, she has two little ears perched on the sides of her crown.
P E R S O N A L I T Y
Blackthroat's crude - a loud-mouthed, reckless kind of girl. She doesn't have any boundaries. It's like she was born without a sense of modesty. Words leave her lips in obscenities and innuendos. There's a smirk resting beneath her stare - dark and foreboding. She doesn't sugar-coat things, she's blunt and forthcoming. Blackthroat speaks with her gut - all swears and pithy insults. The she-cat's mouth is an endless stream of curse after curse - she even knows a few two-legs swears because of an old friend. Her laugh is deep and throaty - a noise that comes within. She loves inappropriate humor and enjoys making her clanmates uncomfortable.
Her chromosomes might spell female but Blackthroat's body reeks of testosterone. She's as rowdy as any tom - loud, obnoxious, and ridiculously crude. She's your stereotypical tomboy. Blackthroat doesn't care about her appearance, doesn't flip shit over kits, or gives a rat's ass about your petty drama. The word love sends shivers down her spine and involuntarily makes her gag. She never imagined herself in the nursery and she definitely never dreamed about her prince charming.
He'd have to be one hell of a tom to sweep this monstrosity off her feet.
Blackthroat's loyalty toward her clan is almost unnerving. There isn't any sort of doubt in her mind that Windclan's number one. She'd be the first to make the sacrifice if Windclan needed it. She's a tough girl with punches to throw. She'll tussle in the dirt with the rest of them and she'll be last left in battle, blood dripping from her pelt.
When it comes to herself, Blackthroat's frighteningly callous - she doesn't care about herself. She's indifferent, her life means nothing to her. She's quicker to put herself down than a rabbit on the moor. Blackthroat doesn't want to waste time with herself - she hates herself - she wishes she could be different - more like the other girls - but each night she goes to sleep - knowing she never will be.
Blackthroat's crude - a loud-mouthed, reckless kind of girl. She doesn't have any boundaries. It's like she was born without a sense of modesty. Words leave her lips in obscenities and innuendos. There's a smirk resting beneath her stare - dark and foreboding. She doesn't sugar-coat things, she's blunt and forthcoming. Blackthroat speaks with her gut - all swears and pithy insults. The she-cat's mouth is an endless stream of curse after curse - she even knows a few two-legs swears because of an old friend. Her laugh is deep and throaty - a noise that comes within. She loves inappropriate humor and enjoys making her clanmates uncomfortable.
Her chromosomes might spell female but Blackthroat's body reeks of testosterone. She's as rowdy as any tom - loud, obnoxious, and ridiculously crude. She's your stereotypical tomboy. Blackthroat doesn't care about her appearance, doesn't flip shit over kits, or gives a rat's ass about your petty drama. The word love sends shivers down her spine and involuntarily makes her gag. She never imagined herself in the nursery and she definitely never dreamed about her prince charming.
He'd have to be one hell of a tom to sweep this monstrosity off her feet.
Blackthroat's loyalty toward her clan is almost unnerving. There isn't any sort of doubt in her mind that Windclan's number one. She'd be the first to make the sacrifice if Windclan needed it. She's a tough girl with punches to throw. She'll tussle in the dirt with the rest of them and she'll be last left in battle, blood dripping from her pelt.
When it comes to herself, Blackthroat's frighteningly callous - she doesn't care about herself. She's indifferent, her life means nothing to her. She's quicker to put herself down than a rabbit on the moor. Blackthroat doesn't want to waste time with herself - she hates herself - she wishes she could be different - more like the other girls - but each night she goes to sleep - knowing she never will be.
H I S T O R Y
She was the only kit birthed in her mother's fifth litter. Ravenstream was a seasonal queen, she had kits whenever possible - her only goal in life seemed to be procreating the entire clan of Windclan. She had many lovers and held a significant relationship with Goldentooth - a noble Windclan tom. Her blood lines can be traced through numerous living Windclan warriors today - Sunstar's kit for example - being that she was Shadowtalon's mother.
Her fifth litter was born through a sadistic travesty with a nasty, Windclan tom by the name of Gorsefur. He was fierce with the she-cat - almost demanding her to have kits with him. He wanted to let his blood run through the veins of Windclan warriors for moons to come. And when Ravenstream gave birth he was disgusted with his child. There was only one, a measly she-cat with her mother's rich black fur.
She was nothing to him.
Gorsefur acted violently in return. He lashed out at Ravenstream relentlessly, driving the she-cat into a spiraling depression. Fed up and bitter, Gorsefur left Windclan during the night of a gathering and he never returned. Ravenstream felt useless, worthless and she too gave up. Blackthroat grew up remembering the sadness in her mother's eyes and never knowing why.
As a kit Black-kit didn't have any siblings her age and the nursery had gone quiet with Ravenstream's absence. She didn't have anyone to play with so she made friends with the older apprentices. The she-cats didn't like her that much - she was loud, dirty, and too aggressive. She was also pretty - prettier than them. The toms adored her though. They treated Black-kit like a little brother. They'd dote to her, play with her, and give her something to look forward to. Black-kit was oblivious to the sex segregation - she didn't see gender - she just wanted to have fun.
At four moons old she met Kiteswoop, her elder brother. He was a large tom with their mother's bright green gaze. He was ten moons older than her and had a different father. He had received the news of Black-kit's birth as any other - his mother had many children, another sibling meant nothing to him - but he took a liking to Black-kit. She was persistent in learning about her family. She wanted to know what her mother was like before Gorsefur. Kiteswoop became a father figure to the young kit.
When she was six moons old she left the nursery to become an apprentice. By then her mother had passed and had left Blackpaw with her sleek black fur, and enchanting green eyes. She was an attractive cat and she couldn't care less. Her mentor had been one of Hazelstar's closest friends, Frostbite, an aging senior warrior with a friendly heart. He instilled this sense of devotion upon the apprentice - he taught her to love her clan.
Blackpaw had been taking an evening stroll when she met her. The apprentice was gazing at the flickering stars when she heard a voice - old, raspy, and close. The she-cat jumped, her heart thudding fervently in her chest. "Come here child." Something unexplainable grabbed her paws and pulled her closer - this intense curiosity. It was an aging she-cat, rusty-red fur and dark amber eyes. Her mouth was crooked, fangs poked out like burrs - and her body reeked of death, "Shit, you look terrified." The she-cat mused quietly, her eyes laughing. Blackpaw pursed her brows, "Wh-who-wha-what are you?" She stammered quickly.
The she-cat smiled, "Doesn't matter - look you gotta listen." The apprentice narrowed her eyes intently, what's happening? "Life isn't going to easy, fuck it never is, but listen here kid, listen you gotta grab it by the scruff and you gotta live. Don't make the same mistakes I did. Don't dote yourself on some tom - don't piss around - don't fucking miss a second-" The she-cat rambled, her words slipping and turning. Blackpaw listened her eyes wide, she didn't - couldn't possibly know how to respond. The night hung heavy with clouds and the world was illuminated only by her dying eyes.
"You aren't listening-" Blackpaw opened her mouth but the she-cat's eyes tilted, "But you'll listen one day." She turned then - vanishing into the moor and letting the night swallow her whole. Blackpaw stood, her mouth sweeping the floor. She didn't, what - what happened.
She went back to camp with a weight on her shoulders. As the days went by she found herself whispering pieces of the conversation to keep herself sane. She never saw the she-cat again but her message was embroidered in her soul.
At sixteen moons she was announced to the clan as Blackthroat, an tributary name in honor of her unique pelt. She's a cut-throat kind of girl with a wild streak. She lives in the moment, never wasting a second, and in her heart she knows there's something waiting for her on the horizon - good or bad she's ready.
She was the only kit birthed in her mother's fifth litter. Ravenstream was a seasonal queen, she had kits whenever possible - her only goal in life seemed to be procreating the entire clan of Windclan. She had many lovers and held a significant relationship with Goldentooth - a noble Windclan tom. Her blood lines can be traced through numerous living Windclan warriors today - Sunstar's kit for example - being that she was Shadowtalon's mother.
Her fifth litter was born through a sadistic travesty with a nasty, Windclan tom by the name of Gorsefur. He was fierce with the she-cat - almost demanding her to have kits with him. He wanted to let his blood run through the veins of Windclan warriors for moons to come. And when Ravenstream gave birth he was disgusted with his child. There was only one, a measly she-cat with her mother's rich black fur.
She was nothing to him.
Gorsefur acted violently in return. He lashed out at Ravenstream relentlessly, driving the she-cat into a spiraling depression. Fed up and bitter, Gorsefur left Windclan during the night of a gathering and he never returned. Ravenstream felt useless, worthless and she too gave up. Blackthroat grew up remembering the sadness in her mother's eyes and never knowing why.
As a kit Black-kit didn't have any siblings her age and the nursery had gone quiet with Ravenstream's absence. She didn't have anyone to play with so she made friends with the older apprentices. The she-cats didn't like her that much - she was loud, dirty, and too aggressive. She was also pretty - prettier than them. The toms adored her though. They treated Black-kit like a little brother. They'd dote to her, play with her, and give her something to look forward to. Black-kit was oblivious to the sex segregation - she didn't see gender - she just wanted to have fun.
At four moons old she met Kiteswoop, her elder brother. He was a large tom with their mother's bright green gaze. He was ten moons older than her and had a different father. He had received the news of Black-kit's birth as any other - his mother had many children, another sibling meant nothing to him - but he took a liking to Black-kit. She was persistent in learning about her family. She wanted to know what her mother was like before Gorsefur. Kiteswoop became a father figure to the young kit.
When she was six moons old she left the nursery to become an apprentice. By then her mother had passed and had left Blackpaw with her sleek black fur, and enchanting green eyes. She was an attractive cat and she couldn't care less. Her mentor had been one of Hazelstar's closest friends, Frostbite, an aging senior warrior with a friendly heart. He instilled this sense of devotion upon the apprentice - he taught her to love her clan.
Blackpaw had been taking an evening stroll when she met her. The apprentice was gazing at the flickering stars when she heard a voice - old, raspy, and close. The she-cat jumped, her heart thudding fervently in her chest. "Come here child." Something unexplainable grabbed her paws and pulled her closer - this intense curiosity. It was an aging she-cat, rusty-red fur and dark amber eyes. Her mouth was crooked, fangs poked out like burrs - and her body reeked of death, "Shit, you look terrified." The she-cat mused quietly, her eyes laughing. Blackpaw pursed her brows, "Wh-who-wha-what are you?" She stammered quickly.
The she-cat smiled, "Doesn't matter - look you gotta listen." The apprentice narrowed her eyes intently, what's happening? "Life isn't going to easy, fuck it never is, but listen here kid, listen you gotta grab it by the scruff and you gotta live. Don't make the same mistakes I did. Don't dote yourself on some tom - don't piss around - don't fucking miss a second-" The she-cat rambled, her words slipping and turning. Blackpaw listened her eyes wide, she didn't - couldn't possibly know how to respond. The night hung heavy with clouds and the world was illuminated only by her dying eyes.
"You aren't listening-" Blackpaw opened her mouth but the she-cat's eyes tilted, "But you'll listen one day." She turned then - vanishing into the moor and letting the night swallow her whole. Blackpaw stood, her mouth sweeping the floor. She didn't, what - what happened.
She went back to camp with a weight on her shoulders. As the days went by she found herself whispering pieces of the conversation to keep herself sane. She never saw the she-cat again but her message was embroidered in her soul.
At sixteen moons she was announced to the clan as Blackthroat, an tributary name in honor of her unique pelt. She's a cut-throat kind of girl with a wild streak. She lives in the moment, never wasting a second, and in her heart she knows there's something waiting for her on the horizon - good or bad she's ready.
