Post by Egotistic on Nov 22, 2021 9:46:29 GMT -6
Rabbitfern
LichenClan
a stocky, golden-ticked tabby w/ green eyes.
warrior
male | tom
38 moons
Appearance
A product of ancient lines, although Rabbitfern does not harbor his Clan’s traditionally leanness, he does possess a veritable strength in the stockiness of his build. From the broadness of shoulder to the stoutness of limb and swell of plush paws, each stride he takes contains a weightiness that suggests the cumbersome nature of his build. He stands heads over his clanmates, a size that is only further accentuated by the corded muscle that binds him and the thickness of his coat. And while his size has aided him in combat, in the belligerent exchanging of blows, it has taxed him in other areas, for he is the antithesis for grace. Indeed, his prowling, weighted steps can rarely be seen above a light jog, and he is a trampling brute in heavy brush.
Of his face, a history of altercations shows plainly. At his throat, the ears, the muzzle, and cheeks, pale and puckered flesh glares against a sea of golden ticked fur, growing further heinous the further down his body one’s eyes progress. But if he is greatly hindered by his scars, he does not show it and bears the marks proudly, to flaunt the scarred jowls, the brutalized shoulders and tattered ears like tokens honorably won—and, indeed, they were.
Of his face, a history of altercations shows plainly. At his throat, the ears, the muzzle, and cheeks, pale and puckered flesh glares against a sea of golden ticked fur, growing further heinous the further down his body one’s eyes progress. But if he is greatly hindered by his scars, he does not show it and bears the marks proudly, to flaunt the scarred jowls, the brutalized shoulders and tattered ears like tokens honorably won—and, indeed, they were.
Personality
witty, idealistic, altruistic, impulsive, courageous.
bull-headed, naïve, self-loathing, capricious, brooding.
bull-headed, naïve, self-loathing, capricious, brooding.
To the Foolish Minds of Youth,
A character of justice, though moons too old to believe in the nattering of kit stories, Rabbitfern has always—and undoubtedly will continue to—had a deep infatuation with tales of valor. No nobler task is that of the brave warrior who risks his life on the frontier, nor is there anything more honorable to shed one’s blood for their Clan and those they love, and though he knows better and has seen far too many things to continue to believe such things, still, he clings to the fickle reality of them. And so he carries himself as the warriors in his kit tales, and on the subject of love, he is exceptionally altruistic, assuming only the best even when the chances of such things are close to nonexistent, and pursues them with such a mindless passion one cannot help to admire him for nothing if not his tenacity.
related traits… altruistic, idealistic, impulsive.
With their Baseless Dreams,
To uphold the standard of ancient warriors requires a certain air of bravado and courage—both of which Rabbitfern feels as though he possesses. He is unrivaled, daring, and forceful on the battlefield, and amongst his peers, he is witty and quick of tongue. Rarely does he stumble in the face of adversity and prides himself on possessing a mind as quick and sharp as his own claws. Of course, his witticisms are not infinite in their wisdom, and while Rabbitfern may hide his inexperience behind a cocksure tongue, he buries a lack of experience in it too that shames him. But to his credit, he carries himself well enough to hide such insecurities—though they have, on occasion, showed themselves all too brazenly to the world.
related traits… courageous, witty.
And Heads Wound up in Fairytales,
If there is anything Rabbitfern fears, he has not been quick in showing it. Himself maintaining a sort of detached chivalry, there is very little room for the discretion of apprehension. And as such, he approaches every obstacle with a stubborn determination and drive to succeed, carried on the hopeful and naïve insistence that no harm can be dealt to his person. So tenacious is he, so reluctant to yield from his own personal pursuits, that when he is met with that which he cannot overcome, he becomes fixated upon it. Never do such failures escape his focus, never does his attention waver from them, for to be cowed by anything goes beyond the reality he has created for himself—himself have succeeded so much in his younger moons. As such, he grows almost obsessive in the face of such adversity, deliriously impassioned to rectify a perceived wrong or failure, and to all external sources can appear almost entirely inconsolable.
related traits… bull-headed, naïve.
Few of Which Ever Come True,
Beneath the protective airs, the gaudy display of gallantry and bravery lies a self-loathing that taints all such inner thoughts Rabbitfern is loath to utter aloud. These thoughts, fed by an inclination for lofty success, have bred beneath his boastful and cunning exterior a criticalness towards the self that gnaws at all that he does and cannot do. To face failure is a crippling afront to his person; met by such an instance, it is not uncommon to find Rabbitfern consumed in the recesses of his mind, sullen, brooding, and fickle to all that goes on about him. So demanding is he that it is not unheard of for him to isolate himself for days, once even a moon, and steep himself in prayer and meditation to ‘cleanse’ himself. Yet even then, it never seems to resolve that which he feels, himself always lingering on the influences of his family, his father, and all he failed to do to satisfy their expectations.
related traits… brooding, self-loathing, capricious.
History
Mother: Rippleshell (npc)
Father: Stonefall, deceased - killed in battle.
Littermate(s): Otterpaw (petal )
Mate(s): n/a
Offspring: n/a
“Your father will be here any moment. Why aren’t you getting ready?” his mother mewed, and her voice was soft and filled with knowing despite the question. Because he fears him. His own son fears him. “You know how he gets when…” her voice faltered.
“I know. And I don’t care,” Rabbitkit muttered as he nestled deeper among their nest—their nest, his and his mothers. Never his fathers, who never visited, who rarely if ever showed his face. It was their place, and it was safe from him… until he got an itch to be a father again and got to sniffing about. Those were always the worst days, when his temper grew hot with impatience, and his bark echoed off the stones. Rabbitkit had seen the way others had watched him when he strode beside his father, the sympathy in their eyes.
“…Rabbitkit. No good will come of sulking. You can’t will him from being your father,” the old brood murmured, and he looked at her tired features, the sag of time that left creases in the corners of her once youthful eyes. She had been beautiful once before they had been born. Now the etchings of time clawed at her every recess, great fatigue that had only settled in after their conception... because of him.
“Maybe I can,” Rabbitkit challenged. “If I don’t get up, it’s not like he could make me. I’ll stay here with you and help change the moss. You can’t do it all the time,” he added hopefully.
And he saw how she smiled at him, and there was a great sadness there that grew as she turned her gaze aside. Her tired eyes rested upon a mound of untouched bedding. “You know that you cannot. Your father is hard on you—it is only because he wants what is best. You must forgive him for his nature.”
“But why would I forgive someone like that?”
“Because he knows no other way to be. You did not know him as I once did. He was not always that way. He… was good,” his mother explained, and she prodded the old moss thoughtfully.
“Until I was born,” Rabbitkit could not help but add.
“Stop that. He has other things to worry about now. You would not understand…”
“Only because no one will ever tell me.” And he huffed and forgot his resolve, forgot it as soon as he heard the scuff of paw pads and felt that familiar rousing of apprehension. And his mother watched him from the corner of his eyes before turning back to her moss. And she did not touch it as he left, only stared.
Bodies swelled upon the stone floor, their heads canted up to behold their leader, the thrum of their voices in cadence, easing from the congratulations previously uttered. And soon, his name would be on their lips, and he’d hear it echo off the walls. For moons, he’d waited for this moment—yet he felt empty, enjoying it without even his mother to attend him. Only his father, who was still and silent alongside him.
There for courtesies sake, not a genuine act of caring.
He ground his teeth quietly, and it was perhaps this act that drew his father’s eyes. Those somber eyes, filled with a knowledge he rarely ever shared.
“Your time is coming,” and the war-torn tom’s eyes blinked slowly as if digesting the words as he uttered them.
Rabbitkit only kept his gaze forward, set his ears flat upon his spine at the milk-hungry mewls that echoed from the nursery.
He bit back the urge to cry. He bit it back and grew still as stone.
“I made arrangements,” Stonefall pressed on, and there was an insistence in the words. Thank me. Thank me for all that I have done for you—that was what those words said. But he would not. He kept his gaze fixed. “An old colleague… he’s agreed to take on your training. You will not disappoint me. Are we clear?”
“Mm.”
“Good.” And his eyes shifted aside. He said no more, but he felt his eyes on him still. Waiting, wondering. “You’ve been called. Go. Remember all that I have taught you.”
His apprenticeship had been many things—pleasant had not been one of them. Yet as he steeped himself among those calm waters, felt the pool of it wash over him, the cuts shorn into the skin, he did not comment on it, for those, too, would be washed away—forgotten in preparation for this moment. Yet, he felt nothing. Even as he had uttered his sins, he had felt nothing, had not felt truly absolved of them as he would have hoped. And he felt a trace of bitterness in knowing that... for the fact that he always had known.
But he had done all that was meant for him to do. He had succeeded as he had been intended to—but not beyond his father’s expectations. Only enough to draw eyes, to make certain his loyalty, and subsequently the faithfulness of his own father was not brought under question. So that his younger brother might go through life without having to. And he’d done all these things for them. Yet, he felt nothing for it.
He only felt a gnawing suspicion that he had wasted his strengths. Dulling his skills for the sake of necessity, always blunting his tongue so that it might be regarded by those who had lent support to the right side. But not too much, never that. Too much and suspicions grew, assumptions swelled on tongues, and their standing grew shaky. He knew not why—he did not dare to question. But even to look into Cinderface’s eyes was to see it, that she did not truly trust him, and to look about him, he saw it, too—even in the face of the only one he had ever loved and gazed upon with anything in the way of vulnerability.
Even she would not meet his gaze.
All for the crimes of kin who had long since been buried in the earth. Whose transgressions echoed off the stones even in their passing and tainted their blood even now. Even now, when the name’s of Heronstar and Egretfeather were but legends in the minds of many.
Father: Stonefall, deceased - killed in battle.
Littermate(s): Otterpaw (petal )
Mate(s): n/a
Offspring: n/a
“Your father will be here any moment. Why aren’t you getting ready?” his mother mewed, and her voice was soft and filled with knowing despite the question. Because he fears him. His own son fears him. “You know how he gets when…” her voice faltered.
“I know. And I don’t care,” Rabbitkit muttered as he nestled deeper among their nest—their nest, his and his mothers. Never his fathers, who never visited, who rarely if ever showed his face. It was their place, and it was safe from him… until he got an itch to be a father again and got to sniffing about. Those were always the worst days, when his temper grew hot with impatience, and his bark echoed off the stones. Rabbitkit had seen the way others had watched him when he strode beside his father, the sympathy in their eyes.
“…Rabbitkit. No good will come of sulking. You can’t will him from being your father,” the old brood murmured, and he looked at her tired features, the sag of time that left creases in the corners of her once youthful eyes. She had been beautiful once before they had been born. Now the etchings of time clawed at her every recess, great fatigue that had only settled in after their conception... because of him.
“Maybe I can,” Rabbitkit challenged. “If I don’t get up, it’s not like he could make me. I’ll stay here with you and help change the moss. You can’t do it all the time,” he added hopefully.
And he saw how she smiled at him, and there was a great sadness there that grew as she turned her gaze aside. Her tired eyes rested upon a mound of untouched bedding. “You know that you cannot. Your father is hard on you—it is only because he wants what is best. You must forgive him for his nature.”
“But why would I forgive someone like that?”
“Because he knows no other way to be. You did not know him as I once did. He was not always that way. He… was good,” his mother explained, and she prodded the old moss thoughtfully.
“Until I was born,” Rabbitkit could not help but add.
“Stop that. He has other things to worry about now. You would not understand…”
“Only because no one will ever tell me.” And he huffed and forgot his resolve, forgot it as soon as he heard the scuff of paw pads and felt that familiar rousing of apprehension. And his mother watched him from the corner of his eyes before turning back to her moss. And she did not touch it as he left, only stared.
Important Events of Late Kithood
Rabbitkit, product of Stonefall and Rippleshell, is the only surviving heir in a litter of three.
A moon into Rabbitkit’s life, Rippleshell’s milk dries up. Though she takes herbs to replenish her stores, she is unable to feed her only son. Queens murmur of the omen buried in that; not heeding them, Rippleshell finds a wet nurse for Rabbitkit. Her presence in his life remains, but there is a distance between them that cannot be ignored.
Stonefall becomes absorbed in the war effort. His presence is more fleeting than it ever was before. On the occasion he visits, Rabbit notes his father hardly seems able to look at him, and when he does, he does not do so lovingly.
Though no words are uttered of his families previous transgressions, Rabbitkit is kept noticibly isolated from the other kits in the nursery. His mother grows further withdrawn while his father’s interest in his budding son grows. Where many in these developmental moons would spend time chasing moss, he is tasked with learning battle moves, much to his mothers unease.
Rabbitkit begins to hear murmurs about his family. When confronting his father on the topic, he is met with scathing words and lashing claws. He does not forget the whispers, but he does not address them again, either.
When Rabbitkit’s apprenticeship approaches, his mother becomes heavy with kits. Her focus on him shifts elsewhere and the two become painfully distance, though his anticipation grows from the promise of kin in which to share words with.
Without his mother’s looming, Rabbitkit becomes more familiar with the other kits in the nursery. He befriends a she-cat named Lupinekit. The two become fast friends, sharing more in common than they know. Being his first and only friend, Rabbitkit defends her vehemently and in the same breath develops a fondness for her.
A moon into Rabbitkit’s life, Rippleshell’s milk dries up. Though she takes herbs to replenish her stores, she is unable to feed her only son. Queens murmur of the omen buried in that; not heeding them, Rippleshell finds a wet nurse for Rabbitkit. Her presence in his life remains, but there is a distance between them that cannot be ignored.
Stonefall becomes absorbed in the war effort. His presence is more fleeting than it ever was before. On the occasion he visits, Rabbit notes his father hardly seems able to look at him, and when he does, he does not do so lovingly.
Though no words are uttered of his families previous transgressions, Rabbitkit is kept noticibly isolated from the other kits in the nursery. His mother grows further withdrawn while his father’s interest in his budding son grows. Where many in these developmental moons would spend time chasing moss, he is tasked with learning battle moves, much to his mothers unease.
Rabbitkit begins to hear murmurs about his family. When confronting his father on the topic, he is met with scathing words and lashing claws. He does not forget the whispers, but he does not address them again, either.
When Rabbitkit’s apprenticeship approaches, his mother becomes heavy with kits. Her focus on him shifts elsewhere and the two become painfully distance, though his anticipation grows from the promise of kin in which to share words with.
Without his mother’s looming, Rabbitkit becomes more familiar with the other kits in the nursery. He befriends a she-cat named Lupinekit. The two become fast friends, sharing more in common than they know. Being his first and only friend, Rabbitkit defends her vehemently and in the same breath develops a fondness for her.
Bodies swelled upon the stone floor, their heads canted up to behold their leader, the thrum of their voices in cadence, easing from the congratulations previously uttered. And soon, his name would be on their lips, and he’d hear it echo off the walls. For moons, he’d waited for this moment—yet he felt empty, enjoying it without even his mother to attend him. Only his father, who was still and silent alongside him.
There for courtesies sake, not a genuine act of caring.
He ground his teeth quietly, and it was perhaps this act that drew his father’s eyes. Those somber eyes, filled with a knowledge he rarely ever shared.
“Your time is coming,” and the war-torn tom’s eyes blinked slowly as if digesting the words as he uttered them.
Rabbitkit only kept his gaze forward, set his ears flat upon his spine at the milk-hungry mewls that echoed from the nursery.
He bit back the urge to cry. He bit it back and grew still as stone.
“I made arrangements,” Stonefall pressed on, and there was an insistence in the words. Thank me. Thank me for all that I have done for you—that was what those words said. But he would not. He kept his gaze fixed. “An old colleague… he’s agreed to take on your training. You will not disappoint me. Are we clear?”
“Mm.”
“Good.” And his eyes shifted aside. He said no more, but he felt his eyes on him still. Waiting, wondering. “You’ve been called. Go. Remember all that I have taught you.”
Important Events of Apprenticeship
Rabbitpaw’s training is handed over to the militant Ratbite, a warrior whose legacy proceeds generations of fighters. The two share little in the way of love for the other, but a mutual respect carries them through the bulk of their training. Rabbitpaw does not have many fond memories of Rabite, but he also does not harbor any bad ones.
Rippleshell miscarries her litter but is quickly expecting again.
Attempting to find a break from the monotony of apprentice life, Rabbitpaw eagerly revives his friendship with Lupinepaw. The two grow close, but the responsibilities of warriorhood press to insistently for either to kindle a bond nearly on par with the one shared in their youth. Though Rabbitpaw drives to keep her company, he is quick in noticing Lupinepaw wants no part. Though it pains him, he retreats into himself and tackles his duties with a new passion.
A border skirmish leaves Ratbite too badly injured to complete Rabbitpaw’s training. His father shoulders the burden while he recovers. Forced together, Rabbitfern learns more of his heritage and the responsibility he bears.
Rabbitpaw’s brother, Otterpaw is born. Like him, he is the only surviving kit of his brood. Rabbitfern develops a strong fondness for his brother. His efforts to shield him bolster his efforts as an apprentice.
A young tom is sighted at the garden amid a swarm of crows. Rabbitpaw grows further embolden by the promise of war in the omen buried there.
Rippleshell miscarries her litter but is quickly expecting again.
Attempting to find a break from the monotony of apprentice life, Rabbitpaw eagerly revives his friendship with Lupinepaw. The two grow close, but the responsibilities of warriorhood press to insistently for either to kindle a bond nearly on par with the one shared in their youth. Though Rabbitpaw drives to keep her company, he is quick in noticing Lupinepaw wants no part. Though it pains him, he retreats into himself and tackles his duties with a new passion.
A border skirmish leaves Ratbite too badly injured to complete Rabbitpaw’s training. His father shoulders the burden while he recovers. Forced together, Rabbitfern learns more of his heritage and the responsibility he bears.
Rabbitpaw’s brother, Otterpaw is born. Like him, he is the only surviving kit of his brood. Rabbitfern develops a strong fondness for his brother. His efforts to shield him bolster his efforts as an apprentice.
A young tom is sighted at the garden amid a swarm of crows. Rabbitpaw grows further embolden by the promise of war in the omen buried there.
His apprenticeship had been many things—pleasant had not been one of them. Yet as he steeped himself among those calm waters, felt the pool of it wash over him, the cuts shorn into the skin, he did not comment on it, for those, too, would be washed away—forgotten in preparation for this moment. Yet, he felt nothing. Even as he had uttered his sins, he had felt nothing, had not felt truly absolved of them as he would have hoped. And he felt a trace of bitterness in knowing that... for the fact that he always had known.
But he had done all that was meant for him to do. He had succeeded as he had been intended to—but not beyond his father’s expectations. Only enough to draw eyes, to make certain his loyalty, and subsequently the faithfulness of his own father was not brought under question. So that his younger brother might go through life without having to. And he’d done all these things for them. Yet, he felt nothing for it.
He only felt a gnawing suspicion that he had wasted his strengths. Dulling his skills for the sake of necessity, always blunting his tongue so that it might be regarded by those who had lent support to the right side. But not too much, never that. Too much and suspicions grew, assumptions swelled on tongues, and their standing grew shaky. He knew not why—he did not dare to question. But even to look into Cinderface’s eyes was to see it, that she did not truly trust him, and to look about him, he saw it, too—even in the face of the only one he had ever loved and gazed upon with anything in the way of vulnerability.
Even she would not meet his gaze.
All for the crimes of kin who had long since been buried in the earth. Whose transgressions echoed off the stones even in their passing and tainted their blood even now. Even now, when the name’s of Heronstar and Egretfeather were but legends in the minds of many.
Important Events of Early Warriorhood
Words of a rebellion draw suspecting eyes his way. Rabbitfern’s apprehensions grow at yet another sign of unrest.
A surprise attack on RedwoodClan is sabotaged by leaked intel. Stonefall dies in the excursion, leaving Rabbitfern and Otterpaw without a father and Rippleshell a widow. During his father’s vigil, he learns of his father’s affiliation with Egretfeather and unspoken plans to overthrow Minnowstar from his mother.
Present time…
A surprise attack on RedwoodClan is sabotaged by leaked intel. Stonefall dies in the excursion, leaving Rabbitfern and Otterpaw without a father and Rippleshell a widow. During his father’s vigil, he learns of his father’s affiliation with Egretfeather and unspoken plans to overthrow Minnowstar from his mother.
Present time…
