Post by Egotistic on Dec 17, 2021 0:13:25 GMT -6
Sumac That Sways
Over Moor
Tribe of Floating Stones
lean, black ticked tabby w/ amber eyes.
Prey Hunter
Tom | Male
68 moons
Appearance
Thin as a beanstalk and lithe as a panther, Sumac is, by appearances alone, built for the hunt. Carried on slender limbs, bearing a shallow chest and gaunt features, there’s a hunger in his visage suggestive of a prowler, of someone who spends their time patiently waiting and stooped in the brush, aiming to pounce and leap and sprint at something. And indeed, he can do so. Built for speed and endurance, where he pales in sheer bulk, there’s a dangerous strength to the speed and accuracy of his blows and the ease with which he moves.
Of coat, he is a black-ticked tabby, dark of complexion so as better to stalk amongst the brush, with eyes of deep and somber amber. White graces naught else but the chin and the tip of his snout, while keen ears arch proudly atop his small and chiseled head.
Of coat, he is a black-ticked tabby, dark of complexion so as better to stalk amongst the brush, with eyes of deep and somber amber. White graces naught else but the chin and the tip of his snout, while keen ears arch proudly atop his small and chiseled head.
Personality
reserved, genteel, brooding, self-loathing, sardonic
dutiful, noble, honor-bound, guarded, practical, zealous
To those that know him, Sumac is a cat dedicated to his work. No stranger to the rigors of lofty expectations, where others grew slowly, Sumac always felt the necessity to do so at a rapid rate, stripping him of the jovial nature and witticism nurtured in a lax youth. As such, he is plainly spoken, officious and blunt, with a mind better crafted for the division of work than the empty platitudes and niceties exchanged on the trail.
To those that know him better, Sumac is an avid friend, and when he is not minding the fields or rousing rabbits from the brush, he can be cunning of tongue although dry of humor. He cares deeply for those who have given as much to him as he has them and is notably loyal to any who have proven their worth. However, when he is not captivated by good company, he is often alone, brooding and guarded, reserving his most deeply-rooted wants for the personal comforts of his mind.
These thoughts which plague him are riddled with bitterness, a loathing of the self and the Tribe, and anger so profoundly entrenched in loss he is slow to heal from the wounds it has left. And in these loathsome thoughts, these egregious plots and schemes for power and change, is an insatiable hunger to see them through, a desire to have his darkest wants and cravings birthed into fruition to ease his zealous thoughts. They are all he has now left with nothing. And with the passage of each day comes the emboldened desire to act upon them.
History
Mother: Poppy Whose Seeds Heal Hurts (deceased)
Father: Skink That Basks by Riverbed (deceasaed)
Littermate(s): no surviving kin.
Mate(s): n/a
Offspring: n/a
A cold wind blew that night, and with it, brought a chill that sunk deep into the earth. So keen was it that the dens trembled in its wake and howled at that yawning den mouth, howling off the time-worn walls, so its wails joined with the pain-stricken howls of a queen still locked in the birthing throes.
And so the air keened, and it rose and stirred the putrid scent of iron.
“I don’t understand… the blood. Why is there so much blood?”
“I… I do not know. It… it could be anything.”
“And Poppy? Will she live? Stars, what is happening? How do you not know?”
“I just don’t…”
A silence clung, a desperation grew in that which was not said as paws moved frantically in the half-light. Bloated moss, soaked through with blood, lay in discarded piles; sticks snapped in half scattered the earth. Neither had helped any with the pain. Even now, Poppy writhed like a hell beast, and her jaws, half-parted, let loose terrible howls that shook the very walls.
And there was not they could do but watch. Watch as the tremors passed and took her up again until the first of the brood was born, and more came after until the nest was filled. But the shapes did not stir except one, and to touch them was to feel the coolness of their bodies and the stillness of their hearts. All but the one, that tiny and sickly one, clinging stubbornly to life, mewling heartily in protest as he was lapped at and lifted and falling quiet as he clamped upon a teat and had his fill. And he drank vigorously as if to challenge the death that surrounded him.
I am here, said that little one, pitiful and small. And I intend to stay.
For moons, Sumac had worked tirelessly to prove himself. He had run up slopes so steep they left him breathless, dogged the heels of any Prey Hunter who might take him—he had worked tirelessly for this moment, to stand before the Teller and hear who Rain might choose.
It was what he had been bred for. It was his destiny.
And yet, his name was not summoned. Amid the crowd, it was not he who shouldered his way forward to brush noses with her, but another, a tom whose merits were hardly spoken, whose legacy did not exceed his moons. No queens uttered covetous words of the meager Jaw, and yet it was he who was summoned, he who strode forth, and he whose name echoed through the clearing.
He did not know what he had done wrong. What he had failed to do or to prove. And he ached to see that it had not been enough, yearned to voice such things, and saw in the tension of his mother’s shoulders, the tight clench of her jaws that she felt his anger too.
“This is ridiculous…” and the words were softly uttered at first. Poppy’s eyes had hardly sunk to his since Jaw’s name had been chosen. The softly cooed comments and silky praise dissipated into empty disbelief. Her tail tip waved, her claws gouged the earth, and then she was standing, and her voice rang treacherously amid the cheers.
Words tinged with venom oozed off her tongue, but Sumac did not hear them, so drawn within himself in his bitterness he could not even see her or the eyes that stared his way solemnly. He did not hear her yowls of distress and betrayal—and perhaps he did not want to, for he felt as though he had heard enough.
“Wait! Where are you going? Aren’t you going to stay for the celebration?” Sunflower voice sounded softly behind him. Still he did not slacken his pace.
“I won’t be celebrating.” And the words were softly spoken, bellying a treacherous anger he dared not voice. Hide it for now. Bide your time… But he was tired of biding his time. Twenty four moons had passed and still he had nothing to show for them—nothing but admiring glances and small platitudes. And he was tired of them. Felt that if he had to stomach any more he might go mad.
So he aimed to leave. For a while or forever, it did not matter to him.
“But why not?”
“Why not?” He glared over his shoulders at his friend, broad of shoulder and soft of face. A stone guard by appearances alone with the tenderness of a fawn.
“I thought you and Moth were close.”
Sumac snorted. “Close… perhaps.”
“Then why are you leaving so soon? The least you could do is congratulate him. He—”
“Because it is not his role to have,” he snapped sharply. Anger coiled like a snake in his belly. It writhed and pressed against his flanks so he felt sick with it. How could he not see? How could he not see the error that had been committed? That he deserved it—deserved it more than anyone. That he had fought for it, been destined for it.
Yet here I am.
And perhaps that pained him most of all, pained him so much he could not bear to look upon his friend any longer and so fled—fled without uttering a word more. Then there was naught to do but run, run until his limbs were tired and his lungs gasping for breath, and he bedded down in the field and stared at the stars. He peered up at them and saw they were bright and watchful and found that he loathed them.
Loathed them more than anything.
It took all of his conscious effort to remain to stand, to not buckle down and give into the treacherous wails that threatened at his lips. “No… no. What happened—” His voice was ragged and broken, and then as the other Prey Hunters drew closer he turned on them, his eyes glaring, hot and red-tinged with madness. A scream left him. It ran throughout the clearing. “Who let this happen?” Spittle flew from his lips. Wild-eyed, he turned, sought a face to lay blame to. But there was no one there.
It had been a coyote. None of them could have stopped it. Sunflower had risked his life. If it had not been for him…
But that did not matter. Sumac did not care for the lives that had been spared, and to look at his mate, the fur once so soft and fair now matted and clotted with dried blood, the face so badly disfigured he could not glean the cat that once had been, he felt nothing but grief—grief and anger. “How could you let this happen? How could you leave him to die?”
“There was nothing we could do,” a choked mew whispered softly. He turned towards it, but no eyes met his.
“He’s right. It… it came out of nowhere. And the fog… it was so thick, we couldn’t even catch wind of it. By the time it was on us… if it hadn’t been for Sunflower, we… more than just him would be dead,” a she-cat murmured softly. “He saved our lives.”
Sumac was silent, and the grief clung to every inch of him—in the sag of shoulders, the sunken, tired eyes. He did not utter a word more, and so the congregation fell silent and watched on with sorrowful eyes.
Father: Skink That Basks by Riverbed (deceasaed)
Littermate(s): no surviving kin.
Mate(s): n/a
Offspring: n/a
A cold wind blew that night, and with it, brought a chill that sunk deep into the earth. So keen was it that the dens trembled in its wake and howled at that yawning den mouth, howling off the time-worn walls, so its wails joined with the pain-stricken howls of a queen still locked in the birthing throes.
And so the air keened, and it rose and stirred the putrid scent of iron.
“I don’t understand… the blood. Why is there so much blood?”
“I… I do not know. It… it could be anything.”
“And Poppy? Will she live? Stars, what is happening? How do you not know?”
“I just don’t…”
A silence clung, a desperation grew in that which was not said as paws moved frantically in the half-light. Bloated moss, soaked through with blood, lay in discarded piles; sticks snapped in half scattered the earth. Neither had helped any with the pain. Even now, Poppy writhed like a hell beast, and her jaws, half-parted, let loose terrible howls that shook the very walls.
And there was not they could do but watch. Watch as the tremors passed and took her up again until the first of the brood was born, and more came after until the nest was filled. But the shapes did not stir except one, and to touch them was to feel the coolness of their bodies and the stillness of their hearts. All but the one, that tiny and sickly one, clinging stubbornly to life, mewling heartily in protest as he was lapped at and lifted and falling quiet as he clamped upon a teat and had his fill. And he drank vigorously as if to challenge the death that surrounded him.
I am here, said that little one, pitiful and small. And I intend to stay.
Important Events of Kithood
Proceeding unpredicted birthing complications, Poppy gives birth to a litter of four. Fortunate enough to leave the event with her life, of her brood, she is left with only one surviving son, a sickly runt whom she names Sumac that Sways Over Moor. Poppy grows despondent and withdrawn after the birth, grieving over the loss.
Sumac has begun to shape into a promising upstart at two moons despite rough beginnings. Although plagued by sickness in his younger moons that have permanently stifled his growth, his perseverance is duly noted by both mother and father. Slowly, his mother pulls herself from the stupor of her grief and plants the seeds of her father’s teachings into his head. Despite his few moons, she begins to drill him in his destiny and the truth of their bloodline, a matter that troubles his father Skink. Though the topic is not broached within his hearing, Sumac has memories of the pair fighting before his father’s death.
Skink takes a gaggle of to-be’s to the shores under the false pretense of simple fishing lessons, however, reports soon follow the trip that Skink was lost to the surging tide. His body is recovered on the shores days later, hardly recognizable, and a quiet vigil is held to honor his memory. Sumac cannot remember grieving for his father, though the death took something from Poppy that she never got back.
After his father’s death, Sumac assumed the role his father left absent and fought desperately to meet his mother’s expectations at the height of her mental decline. Working under the guise that to prove himself might return the mother he once knew, he quickly demonstrates his potential as a Prey Hunter and earns the attention of senior hunters. Although Sumac remembers little of this time aside from the grueling nights of training, he recalls that to hear of her son’s prowess were one of the few moments his mother ever smiled. Knowing this, he vows to lay claim to the position of head Prey Hunter.
Sumac has begun to shape into a promising upstart at two moons despite rough beginnings. Although plagued by sickness in his younger moons that have permanently stifled his growth, his perseverance is duly noted by both mother and father. Slowly, his mother pulls herself from the stupor of her grief and plants the seeds of her father’s teachings into his head. Despite his few moons, she begins to drill him in his destiny and the truth of their bloodline, a matter that troubles his father Skink. Though the topic is not broached within his hearing, Sumac has memories of the pair fighting before his father’s death.
Skink takes a gaggle of to-be’s to the shores under the false pretense of simple fishing lessons, however, reports soon follow the trip that Skink was lost to the surging tide. His body is recovered on the shores days later, hardly recognizable, and a quiet vigil is held to honor his memory. Sumac cannot remember grieving for his father, though the death took something from Poppy that she never got back.
After his father’s death, Sumac assumed the role his father left absent and fought desperately to meet his mother’s expectations at the height of her mental decline. Working under the guise that to prove himself might return the mother he once knew, he quickly demonstrates his potential as a Prey Hunter and earns the attention of senior hunters. Although Sumac remembers little of this time aside from the grueling nights of training, he recalls that to hear of her son’s prowess were one of the few moments his mother ever smiled. Knowing this, he vows to lay claim to the position of head Prey Hunter.
For moons, Sumac had worked tirelessly to prove himself. He had run up slopes so steep they left him breathless, dogged the heels of any Prey Hunter who might take him—he had worked tirelessly for this moment, to stand before the Teller and hear who Rain might choose.
It was what he had been bred for. It was his destiny.
And yet, his name was not summoned. Amid the crowd, it was not he who shouldered his way forward to brush noses with her, but another, a tom whose merits were hardly spoken, whose legacy did not exceed his moons. No queens uttered covetous words of the meager Jaw, and yet it was he who was summoned, he who strode forth, and he whose name echoed through the clearing.
He did not know what he had done wrong. What he had failed to do or to prove. And he ached to see that it had not been enough, yearned to voice such things, and saw in the tension of his mother’s shoulders, the tight clench of her jaws that she felt his anger too.
“This is ridiculous…” and the words were softly uttered at first. Poppy’s eyes had hardly sunk to his since Jaw’s name had been chosen. The softly cooed comments and silky praise dissipated into empty disbelief. Her tail tip waved, her claws gouged the earth, and then she was standing, and her voice rang treacherously amid the cheers.
Words tinged with venom oozed off her tongue, but Sumac did not hear them, so drawn within himself in his bitterness he could not even see her or the eyes that stared his way solemnly. He did not hear her yowls of distress and betrayal—and perhaps he did not want to, for he felt as though he had heard enough.
Important Events as a Fledgling
Despite failing to garner Rain’s appeal, Sumac does not give up on his aspirations for greatness and throws himself into his duties, spending every waking hour steeped in his training and teachings. Murmurs of his prowess filter through the Clan, and gradually Sumac earns the approval of his senior To-Be’s who further aid in honing his skills.
Sumac and a group of Prey Hunters are fallen upon by a coyote during an outing. Despite calls to run, Sumac holds his grown after downing a rabbit, and with the aid of his fellow Prey Hunters, manages to chase it off through sheer numbers alone. After returning to the Tribe with news of the attack, Sumac ponders his evident weakness and the inability of his fellow Prey Hunters to defend themselves. He vows to never allow such an occurrence to happen again.
At eleven moons, Sumac prowess is noted and he is elevated to the position of a fully fledged Prey Hunter after passing his assessment in the heart of a long and arduous leaf-bare.
Sumac and a group of Prey Hunters are fallen upon by a coyote during an outing. Despite calls to run, Sumac holds his grown after downing a rabbit, and with the aid of his fellow Prey Hunters, manages to chase it off through sheer numbers alone. After returning to the Tribe with news of the attack, Sumac ponders his evident weakness and the inability of his fellow Prey Hunters to defend themselves. He vows to never allow such an occurrence to happen again.
At eleven moons, Sumac prowess is noted and he is elevated to the position of a fully fledged Prey Hunter after passing his assessment in the heart of a long and arduous leaf-bare.
“Wait! Where are you going? Aren’t you going to stay for the celebration?” Sunflower voice sounded softly behind him. Still he did not slacken his pace.
“I won’t be celebrating.” And the words were softly spoken, bellying a treacherous anger he dared not voice. Hide it for now. Bide your time… But he was tired of biding his time. Twenty four moons had passed and still he had nothing to show for them—nothing but admiring glances and small platitudes. And he was tired of them. Felt that if he had to stomach any more he might go mad.
So he aimed to leave. For a while or forever, it did not matter to him.
“But why not?”
“Why not?” He glared over his shoulders at his friend, broad of shoulder and soft of face. A stone guard by appearances alone with the tenderness of a fawn.
“I thought you and Moth were close.”
Sumac snorted. “Close… perhaps.”
“Then why are you leaving so soon? The least you could do is congratulate him. He—”
“Because it is not his role to have,” he snapped sharply. Anger coiled like a snake in his belly. It writhed and pressed against his flanks so he felt sick with it. How could he not see? How could he not see the error that had been committed? That he deserved it—deserved it more than anyone. That he had fought for it, been destined for it.
Yet here I am.
And perhaps that pained him most of all, pained him so much he could not bear to look upon his friend any longer and so fled—fled without uttering a word more. Then there was naught to do but run, run until his limbs were tired and his lungs gasping for breath, and he bedded down in the field and stared at the stars. He peered up at them and saw they were bright and watchful and found that he loathed them.
Loathed them more than anything.
Important Events as a Prey-Hunter
In a fit of rage, Sumac deserts the Tribe and lives alone on the northern-most reaches of the island. There he broods for several sunrises before returning by request of his close friend Sunflower. Though returned, life within the Tribe has become a joyless affair. For moons, he does not tackle his duties with his previous vigor.
Sickness plagues the Clan, taking the lives of many but most notably Rain’s apprentice Jaw. Though the passing is abrupt, Sumac greedily eyes the position of Teller’s apprentice. However, Rain is not swayed despite his mother’s efforts to sing his praises, and another Prey Hunter, Creek, is elevated to tutor beneath her. Though Sumac knows little of Creek, he secretly loathes him and maintains his mother’s belief that the signs were misread once again.
As more cats grow sick, the Tribe grows more paranoid and strict. During this time, Poppy passes away, and Sumac grows more unpredictable with the passage of each day.
Moth falls ill and passes suddenly to sickness. Desperate for the position, Sumac bides his time, but the right is given on instead to a young she-cat named Sunrise.
Sickness plagues the Clan, taking the lives of many but most notably Rain’s apprentice Jaw. Though the passing is abrupt, Sumac greedily eyes the position of Teller’s apprentice. However, Rain is not swayed despite his mother’s efforts to sing his praises, and another Prey Hunter, Creek, is elevated to tutor beneath her. Though Sumac knows little of Creek, he secretly loathes him and maintains his mother’s belief that the signs were misread once again.
As more cats grow sick, the Tribe grows more paranoid and strict. During this time, Poppy passes away, and Sumac grows more unpredictable with the passage of each day.
Moth falls ill and passes suddenly to sickness. Desperate for the position, Sumac bides his time, but the right is given on instead to a young she-cat named Sunrise.
It took all of his conscious effort to remain to stand, to not buckle down and give into the treacherous wails that threatened at his lips. “No… no. What happened—” His voice was ragged and broken, and then as the other Prey Hunters drew closer he turned on them, his eyes glaring, hot and red-tinged with madness. A scream left him. It ran throughout the clearing. “Who let this happen?” Spittle flew from his lips. Wild-eyed, he turned, sought a face to lay blame to. But there was no one there.
It had been a coyote. None of them could have stopped it. Sunflower had risked his life. If it had not been for him…
But that did not matter. Sumac did not care for the lives that had been spared, and to look at his mate, the fur once so soft and fair now matted and clotted with dried blood, the face so badly disfigured he could not glean the cat that once had been, he felt nothing but grief—grief and anger. “How could you let this happen? How could you leave him to die?”
“There was nothing we could do,” a choked mew whispered softly. He turned towards it, but no eyes met his.
“He’s right. It… it came out of nowhere. And the fog… it was so thick, we couldn’t even catch wind of it. By the time it was on us… if it hadn’t been for Sunflower, we… more than just him would be dead,” a she-cat murmured softly. “He saved our lives.”
Sumac was silent, and the grief clung to every inch of him—in the sag of shoulders, the sunken, tired eyes. He did not utter a word more, and so the congregation fell silent and watched on with sorrowful eyes.
Important Events Following Poppy’s Death
Sunrise departs to share word with the Clans. During this time, Creek passes suddenly, and fog descends on the island. The Clan grows apprehensive at the sudden loss of leadership while Sumac waits quietly, closing in on another opportunity as he shoulders the roles left vacant in the absence of head Prey Hunter and the now-dead Teller.
A thick fog falls over the island, making hunting difficult and providing an extra layer of cover for predators. Amid the changing climate, a pack of coyotes falls on a hunting patrol led by Sunflower. In the scuffle, Sunflower’s life is lost in a vicious battle. Sumac grows further embittered; when Fog returns and claims the position as Teller, his thoughts turn to schemes to overthrow the tom whose mere name coincides with the very fog that brought hardship to the Tribe and cost him his mate.
Present time…
A thick fog falls over the island, making hunting difficult and providing an extra layer of cover for predators. Amid the changing climate, a pack of coyotes falls on a hunting patrol led by Sunflower. In the scuffle, Sunflower’s life is lost in a vicious battle. Sumac grows further embittered; when Fog returns and claims the position as Teller, his thoughts turn to schemes to overthrow the tom whose mere name coincides with the very fog that brought hardship to the Tribe and cost him his mate.
Present time…