Post by Acez! on Oct 29, 2010 17:14:29 GMT -5
TITLE: Longear Onefang
RANK: Healer
HOME: BlazeClan
SEX: Tom
AGE: 72 moons (6 years)
CLICK!: SHOOP DA WOOP!
APPEARANCE:
RANK: Healer
HOME: BlazeClan
SEX: Tom
AGE: 72 moons (6 years)
CLICK!: SHOOP DA WOOP!
APPEARANCE:
Onefang has a rather shabby coat, thick yet short with a bristly feel to it. With a base tortoiseshell tom, his spine is dark grey, almost dark ash. This color follows down his spine and stretches down his back legs in various dark spots yet his ribcage is stretched with stripes. Where his body isn't covered in these spots is light grey color, ash.ACTING:
Although it doesn't stay that way. His stomach is a light brown that only appears once again on his front paw and tinges his muzzle and nose, giving it a darker, stained look. His eye is a piercing green look and with the thin dark grey streaks that surround his eyes and forehead give him an angry look, even when he's relaxed.
Onefang is harsh, with a short temper. You would think he'd belong in the elder's den then in the medicine cat's den but don't say that to his face. His short temper practically explodes when someone tells him he should retire and let someone else take up his role as medicine cat. He rarely has any patience when it comes to those who have to heal, snapping at those who sob and whine, while his respect goes to those who can take the pain and won't give up.PAST TENSE:
Because of his legs, Onefang is slow but he would rather be eaten by a fox than have anyone help him, which causes him to snap at those who try to. He doesn't have much patience for apprentices and kits, especially if they bother him all the time. In fact, he has a tendency to spit at the warriors and deputy. But with age comes wisdom, and Onefang has plenty of that. To the lands outside the clan to the other leader's and the choices they made, Onefang would easily share his wisdom so long as it doesn't go to waste.
WHEN I WAS YOUR AGEIN CHARACTER:
I wasn't known as Longear forever you know, ya whippersnapper. Back then, I was Longkit with my brother, Rushingkit. I was rather cocky back then, strutting what I could with a flick of my tail, desperate to prove myself to the leader and warriors that I was an asset to the clan, despite I was blind in my right eye. Rushingkit, well, we were quite close, especially when both our parents were loners, adopted into the clan by a gentle tortoiseshell she-cat, Turtlerock.
We loved her dearly, and she was just a little past her prime, frail to sickness and disease but a skilled hunter. I am proud to call her my mother. She taught the two of us about StarClan and how when her kits and mate died, when her family died, they took them under their wings. Sometimes I see them Longpaw. Sometimes I see them, and I know that they wait for me. She would whisper and we would believe her.
Once we were apprentices, we trampled over each other to prove ourselves, competing to find the biggest amounts of prey. When the medicine cat's apprentice died, Rushingpaw stepped forward, saying he had always hoped to be a medicine cat. I was jealous, bristling with fury when Turtlerock crowed and praised my brother whenever he collected herbs or healed a sick patient.
Yet we were still close. He was like a babbling brook, my brother, whispering under his breath herb names and what they did and often accompanied me while I hunted, where I often had to help him collect herbs. However, before we reached our naming ceremony, Turtlerock, as I mentioned before, was frail, died by sickness, a simple cold yet it attacked her, and she died. Rushingpaw broke down and sobbed while we had our grievance, and yet I was as still as stone. I could not fathom why StarClan would do that? She was old, that was true, but another elderly warrior was showing his love for her and she had us? Was she not happy with us? I could not move pass that, why? What was so important that they would rip our only family member from us? I became angry at the stars and refused to believe that they had our best interest in mind. They were cruel and unjust.
When we became warriors, I was Longear due to my large ears and Rushingpaw became Rushingbrook, the reason was quite obvious. As I reached the age thirty-nine moons, I had knowledge in my herbs, due to Rushingbrook's many searches and accompaniments in hunting. It was during one of those searches that we were attacked. A fox, a youngn' but a fox nonetheless. Rushingbrook was killed at first, grabbed by the scruff of his neck as he screamed my name. I assisted any way I could, nipping the fox's ankles at first, but when my brother's voice started to gurgle, I bit and I bit hard on the fox's tail. It snarled, let go of my brother and turned on me. I faced and scratched it's face. It grabbed my paw and ripped it off it's hinges so to speak. I fell to the floor, the right side of myself hitting the forest floor where I broke a tooth.
I was weak but it was because of my brother's knowledge of herbs and ability to share it, that I healed myself, now blind and crippled. I was the obvious choice for medicine cat and I took, changing my name to Onefang. And I've been like that for years.
He was awake and ready to go. A little stiff in the joints, but slowly, Onefang got to his paws. He sat, debating if should get an apprentice to clean his den, or he should do it himself. He sighed, raising his shoulder to scratched behind his ear. After moons and moons of experience, Onefang had learned that if he tried to use his one back leg, at this point in time so early in the morning, he would only end up toppling. And it's not like his right leg could reach his left ear. The scratch not fully satisfied Onefang pushed himself up wards, before walking out of the den into the camp. A little past dawn, it could be officially called morning. A few called greetings to the elderly cat and some nodded in his general direction in which the tom replied with a gruff growl. He wasn't anything worth talking to without something in his stomach.WHAT NOT:
One paw, then the other which was followed by a little hop from the one leg in the back. This was a pattern that Onefang had implanted into his brain, he often did this pattern in his sleep. He growled under his breath as a young apprentice scrambled past him, threatening to run over his tail. He turned on the young one who had stopped to converse with his mentor. Watch where your'e going you mousebrain! He snapped, whiskers twitching as he pulled his shabby, scarred tail closer to his body. He bent down to pull a plump shrew from the fresh-kill pile before pulling it aside to sniff the pile itself. Everything smelled nice, but his senses were sharper than ever in his age, and he detected something rank. He continued to search, sniffing delicately when a young kit came along, ready to pull a robin wedged between a mouse and crow when Onefang bared his teeth in a hiss. Don't touch that! He hissed, his sudden outburst of anger sending the kit scrambling. Lifting a wing with his paw, he saw the smallest hint of maggots. Crowfood. He spat, picking the robin with his teeth before hobbling off to bury it in soil away from camp.
It took longer than the older one wanted to spend, but if the kit had eaten the bird, then he would surely be sick and no one would know the cause. And Onefang hated to waste herbs when everything could avoided in the first place. Once he had trudged back into camp he had found his meal gone and curled his lips back, revealing the one fang that earned him his name chipped and ragged. Sighing, he picked a mouse, slightly skinny before turning to seek refuge in front of the medicine den, curling his tail tight around the stump that used to be his left leg. He twitched his nose once before slowly starting to his mouse, content with watching the other cats race around in preparence of the day.
