Post by Smokeleaf on May 15, 2010 19:02:36 GMT -5
Name: Oakears
Rank: Elder
Age: elderly, but far enough from death
Gender: Tomcat
Clan: StreamClan
Kin: xxxxxxx
Mate: Open
Pelt: What was once a pale shade of brown is now flecked with gray, for old age has consumed this cat like a rabbit and a blade of grass. His old markings are still clear—white on the tips of his ears, underbelly, paws, and tail-tip—but the base of his pelt is slowly slipping away. In terms of build, he’s short and stocky, but not stout like you probably thought I was going to say. His tail is very much the same way, and his balance could hardly be called balance at all. He has his fair share of small scratches, but only as a result of his rowdy apprenticeship. The swiftness he once held is slowing into an achy, breaking start. Even the hearing he used to brag about is deteriorating. Poor, poor cat.
Eyes: Oddly enough, Oakears’ eyesight is still pretty decent, and while he can’t exactly hunt, he’s an expert at spotting kits who try to sneak out of camp. These peepers are colored a rich green, and are nicely proportioned. They are almost always glazed over, since his thoughts are almost always elsewhere.
Personality: For some bizarre reason, Oakears is obsessed with birds. Not just a nice, normal, “Oh, hey look at the pretty bird,” or the even more typical, “BIRD! FOOD!” We’re talking secret missions to find their nests and just watch them for hours on end. He goes on these missions alone, of course, so that his Clan mates will not scare away his sacred beauties. He is usually a very gentle, loving cat, but if you make the mistake of hunting a bird he’s watching, beware! You’ll usually be met with “DON’T YOU TOUCH THAT BIRD, YOU NASTY, NASTY CAT!!!” which, while it fails to offend the hunter, does succeed in scaring away every other piece of prey on the territory. His obsession for the flyers has contaminated every other aspect of his personality. A complete free-spirit, he will blatantly defy the warrior code; in fact, the only cat he really listens to is Goldstar. He tends to speak with an elevated tone, and while he will help kits at all costs, he is extremely short-tempered with older apprentices and younger warriors. The only time he grows angry with kits is when they try to leave camp; his biggest fear is that they will hurt his “friends,” or that his “friends” will hurt the kits. Singing comes very naturally to him, and he does it quite often with any random array of words and melodies. Unfortunately, he has a nasty habit of jumping from high places; on the other hand, this particular quirk dulled with age, and this is how he received each and every one of his scars.
History: His quirks probably came from his first journey out of camp as an apprentice. He went hunting with his mentor, and quickly found a sparrow pecking at the dirt. As he leaped forward to catch it, he was mesmerized by how it took flight, and even when his claws managed to snag it, the soft feathers of his first prey were mystifying. Since that day, he has not eaten or caught a bird, even in the dead of winter; he would rather starve.
Rank: Elder
Age: elderly, but far enough from death
Gender: Tomcat
Clan: StreamClan
Kin: xxxxxxx
Mate: Open
Pelt: What was once a pale shade of brown is now flecked with gray, for old age has consumed this cat like a rabbit and a blade of grass. His old markings are still clear—white on the tips of his ears, underbelly, paws, and tail-tip—but the base of his pelt is slowly slipping away. In terms of build, he’s short and stocky, but not stout like you probably thought I was going to say. His tail is very much the same way, and his balance could hardly be called balance at all. He has his fair share of small scratches, but only as a result of his rowdy apprenticeship. The swiftness he once held is slowing into an achy, breaking start. Even the hearing he used to brag about is deteriorating. Poor, poor cat.
Eyes: Oddly enough, Oakears’ eyesight is still pretty decent, and while he can’t exactly hunt, he’s an expert at spotting kits who try to sneak out of camp. These peepers are colored a rich green, and are nicely proportioned. They are almost always glazed over, since his thoughts are almost always elsewhere.
Personality: For some bizarre reason, Oakears is obsessed with birds. Not just a nice, normal, “Oh, hey look at the pretty bird,” or the even more typical, “BIRD! FOOD!” We’re talking secret missions to find their nests and just watch them for hours on end. He goes on these missions alone, of course, so that his Clan mates will not scare away his sacred beauties. He is usually a very gentle, loving cat, but if you make the mistake of hunting a bird he’s watching, beware! You’ll usually be met with “DON’T YOU TOUCH THAT BIRD, YOU NASTY, NASTY CAT!!!” which, while it fails to offend the hunter, does succeed in scaring away every other piece of prey on the territory. His obsession for the flyers has contaminated every other aspect of his personality. A complete free-spirit, he will blatantly defy the warrior code; in fact, the only cat he really listens to is Goldstar. He tends to speak with an elevated tone, and while he will help kits at all costs, he is extremely short-tempered with older apprentices and younger warriors. The only time he grows angry with kits is when they try to leave camp; his biggest fear is that they will hurt his “friends,” or that his “friends” will hurt the kits. Singing comes very naturally to him, and he does it quite often with any random array of words and melodies. Unfortunately, he has a nasty habit of jumping from high places; on the other hand, this particular quirk dulled with age, and this is how he received each and every one of his scars.
History: His quirks probably came from his first journey out of camp as an apprentice. He went hunting with his mentor, and quickly found a sparrow pecking at the dirt. As he leaped forward to catch it, he was mesmerized by how it took flight, and even when his claws managed to snag it, the soft feathers of his first prey were mystifying. Since that day, he has not eaten or caught a bird, even in the dead of winter; he would rather starve.
