Post by Storm on Jun 16, 2022 19:52:01 GMT -6
DarkWAVE
LICHENCLAN
longhaired seal point tom with a smooshed face
elder
tom
123 moons
Appearance
Darkwave is one of the quintessential cats that carries the defined looks of his clan. He is not tall, and his frame is slim and lithe. In his prime he carried well-honed muscles on silent paws used to the whisper of fur on bare stone. He always steps quickly, and moves with the assurance of a cat that knows his capabilities.
His dark seal points and the pale, sand colored fur of his body have long made him stand out in a crowd as a proud Lichenclanner. His fur is thick, which has kept him warm and unbothered all the long seasons of his life. This same fur dramatically exaggerates his size, and now that he is an elder he takes much time out of his day to groom it, for it’s pale color shows every scrap of dirt and unruliness.
This unrefuted elder’s face is a rarity amongst most clan cats, for though not so flat as to be misshapen his muzzle is short and smooshed inwards, his nose and mouth shorter and wide. His eyes too are wide set and wide open in the setting of his bister pointed face, displaying every bit of the pale blue of his iris’. His ears are short and dark, almost overcome by his extensive fur. His whiskers poke out from his muzzle like an otter’s, and blend right into the fur of his neck.
His dark seal points and the pale, sand colored fur of his body have long made him stand out in a crowd as a proud Lichenclanner. His fur is thick, which has kept him warm and unbothered all the long seasons of his life. This same fur dramatically exaggerates his size, and now that he is an elder he takes much time out of his day to groom it, for it’s pale color shows every scrap of dirt and unruliness.
This unrefuted elder’s face is a rarity amongst most clan cats, for though not so flat as to be misshapen his muzzle is short and smooshed inwards, his nose and mouth shorter and wide. His eyes too are wide set and wide open in the setting of his bister pointed face, displaying every bit of the pale blue of his iris’. His ears are short and dark, almost overcome by his extensive fur. His whiskers poke out from his muzzle like an otter’s, and blend right into the fur of his neck.
Personality
DEDICATED – PROUD – CUNNING – JUDGMENTAL
Darkwave has remained entirely committed to the ideals of Lichenclan all of his life. His faith in Starclan is unwavering, and he has never once doubted that the Heron bloodline were the natural leaders of the clan. Therefore his duties as a warrior were wholly committed to furthering the goals of Sagestar, and – though he doubted a molly’s ability to lead – later Minnowstar’s as well.
Everything that Darkwave does reflects back onto him, carefully calculated actions that will be a credit to him and his bloodline’s legacy. He has a high opinion of himself, especially now that he is an elder that has seen so many long seasons in the sea caves.
Darkwave is an intelligent cat, prone to thinking out every possibility before he makes a choice. He employs this skill shrewdly, using it to his own advantage in almost any scenario. He is dexterous in conversation, very good at using his guile to trick or mislead others towards his own goals.
This old tom has always been quick to judge other cats. So many of them were sinful, incapable, slow to act. Not at all what was needed from warriors of Lichenclan, Darkwave has never been shy about calling out such flaws critically.
History
Dark-kit was born to a slim and dainty seal point mother named Irisbloom, and the thickly furred white tom Icewhirl. Both gifted him a proclaimed lineage from supportive warriors long trusted by the Heron leaders. He was named for his mother’s father, a seal point tom that had been markedly darker than most cats of such coloring. Well loved by many in the clan he had died only days before the birth, and the kit’s entrance into the world was marked by the grief felt by many. His kithood was marked mostly by his mother’s constant teachings, on all things that a cat must learn in order to be a respected Lichenclan member.
By the time he was made an apprentice, Darkpaw had had the ideals of a devout clan cat drilled into him. And he had taken too it wholeheartedly, shocking even his mentor with how often he wished to pray and meditate on the stars. However this was accompanied by a new discovery by the tom – though he was not the tallest, nor the strongest, nor even the fastest cat among the apprentices or young warriors, in a sparring match Darkpaw was always the cat that refused to give in.
Unyielding, his mentor called him. Prompted by his intense faith in Starclan, which in turn gave him an innate confidence within himself and his actions, Darkpaw would not be stopped. He applied himself without pause to any task, and faced any challenge with unrelenting will.
Though his young days were peaceful times for the clan, memories of past wars and a civil war were still heavy in the minds of some warriors. It was well known that the Heron bloodline – despite however long it may rest – would take wing again in search of battle. It was the task of Lichenclan’s warriors to be ready for the starlit call.
In his eleventh moon, Darkpaw impresses Sagestar by acting quickly in a battle against a pair of foxes. He is named Darkwave for his unshakeable will, which was as ever present as the waves upon Lichenclan’s beach. He spends his vigil meditating on his future, for surely Starclan had plans for the holy group of cats that called the hallowed caves home.
Of course, part of that future concerned a bride worthy of the status his blood, faith and efforts gave him. And his mother had found one, in the traditions of the clan. Dewleaf was a sweet molly of good birth, but after a short time it was apparent to Darkwave that her other merits were few. When she should have been quiet, she often spoke. Where her thoughts should tend towards the nursery, she seemed more inclined to be on patrol with the cats she called friends. Cats whom Darkwave could not approve of. But they became mates regardless, and seasons came and went as the two faced the future side by side. Whatever reservations were had, they did not share them with each other.
Being named the mentor of Flashpaw had not been a task or honor that Darkwave had particularly looked for as part of his duties. But it hardly mattered. The red tabby was large and had more energy than he knew what to do with. He lacked focus and had no idea how to apply Starclan’s wisdom to his life. In this, Darkwave was more than suited to tutor him. It was not long before his apprentice was well practiced in how to use his will to accomplish his goals, and fight with a brutal and unceasing efficiency. And if Flashpaw chose to flirt with the she-cats his age, well, that was hardly out of line for a young tom in good standing. The two toms got along well, despite the odd picture they made standing beside one another.
By the time Minnowleap became deputy, Darkwave had faced five leaf-bares and settled himself into a solid and comfortable place within the clan. The only drawback, the only failure, was his lack of creating new good and devout children under Starclan’s blessing. Dewleaf had born no kits, not even a pregnancy to foster hope within the pair. It had created a bitterness, and the two moved in almost entirely different social circles when not in each other’s presence. But finally, this shortcoming would be rectified.
Four kits, born to Darkwave and Dewleaf. Two alive and mewling, two dead and destined for the ground. As he watched Dewleaf groom and nurse their progeny, Darkwave knew what sins Starclan were punishing with such an omen. He had learned almost by accident, it had been such a simple thing. Egretfeather supporters, clan dissenters. One might think they’d speak and step more quietly.
He had been willing to overlook it, so long as Dewleaf did her duty to him. He should have known there would be a consequence, a penalty for allowing such ignorance to fester and spread. Every cat knew, a meal found with maggots had to be discarded. He waited long enough that his action would not put his kits at further risk, though it sickened him to let his children suckle tainted milk. But when his mate was torn from her nest, a satisfaction as cold as starlight settled into his fur.
The loss of Cragkit was one last chastisement, one last reminder to never hesitate again. No matter the consequence, what was right and true to Starclan could not be withheld. He weaved the lesson into the knowledge he imparted to his last and only child, the strong she-cat Tidekit whose eyes proved her intelligence. A she-kit, but an heir nonetheless.
Life after that became simple, for there would be no more obstacles. Darkwave’s focus turned to repairing the perfect standing he had long been graced with, now marred regardless that it had been he to reveal the traitors. And this was focused primarily in his daughter, for Darkwave knew that his heir would face the task of finding better standing within the clan regardless. He would see to it that she faced each sunrise with the cool and collected calm of a molly of pure blood and trained grace. Not to mention, the battle prowess to help her live long enough to complete such tasks.
By the time he chose to retire to the elder’s den, his actions in battle and his perfect daughter had done him much credit. He could sit in camp with a neat satisfaction gifted via knowing that his descendants had regained the place Dewleaf had almost cost them. Victory, by the grace of Starclan.
By the time he was made an apprentice, Darkpaw had had the ideals of a devout clan cat drilled into him. And he had taken too it wholeheartedly, shocking even his mentor with how often he wished to pray and meditate on the stars. However this was accompanied by a new discovery by the tom – though he was not the tallest, nor the strongest, nor even the fastest cat among the apprentices or young warriors, in a sparring match Darkpaw was always the cat that refused to give in.
Unyielding, his mentor called him. Prompted by his intense faith in Starclan, which in turn gave him an innate confidence within himself and his actions, Darkpaw would not be stopped. He applied himself without pause to any task, and faced any challenge with unrelenting will.
Though his young days were peaceful times for the clan, memories of past wars and a civil war were still heavy in the minds of some warriors. It was well known that the Heron bloodline – despite however long it may rest – would take wing again in search of battle. It was the task of Lichenclan’s warriors to be ready for the starlit call.
In his eleventh moon, Darkpaw impresses Sagestar by acting quickly in a battle against a pair of foxes. He is named Darkwave for his unshakeable will, which was as ever present as the waves upon Lichenclan’s beach. He spends his vigil meditating on his future, for surely Starclan had plans for the holy group of cats that called the hallowed caves home.
Of course, part of that future concerned a bride worthy of the status his blood, faith and efforts gave him. And his mother had found one, in the traditions of the clan. Dewleaf was a sweet molly of good birth, but after a short time it was apparent to Darkwave that her other merits were few. When she should have been quiet, she often spoke. Where her thoughts should tend towards the nursery, she seemed more inclined to be on patrol with the cats she called friends. Cats whom Darkwave could not approve of. But they became mates regardless, and seasons came and went as the two faced the future side by side. Whatever reservations were had, they did not share them with each other.
Being named the mentor of Flashpaw had not been a task or honor that Darkwave had particularly looked for as part of his duties. But it hardly mattered. The red tabby was large and had more energy than he knew what to do with. He lacked focus and had no idea how to apply Starclan’s wisdom to his life. In this, Darkwave was more than suited to tutor him. It was not long before his apprentice was well practiced in how to use his will to accomplish his goals, and fight with a brutal and unceasing efficiency. And if Flashpaw chose to flirt with the she-cats his age, well, that was hardly out of line for a young tom in good standing. The two toms got along well, despite the odd picture they made standing beside one another.
By the time Minnowleap became deputy, Darkwave had faced five leaf-bares and settled himself into a solid and comfortable place within the clan. The only drawback, the only failure, was his lack of creating new good and devout children under Starclan’s blessing. Dewleaf had born no kits, not even a pregnancy to foster hope within the pair. It had created a bitterness, and the two moved in almost entirely different social circles when not in each other’s presence. But finally, this shortcoming would be rectified.
Four kits, born to Darkwave and Dewleaf. Two alive and mewling, two dead and destined for the ground. As he watched Dewleaf groom and nurse their progeny, Darkwave knew what sins Starclan were punishing with such an omen. He had learned almost by accident, it had been such a simple thing. Egretfeather supporters, clan dissenters. One might think they’d speak and step more quietly.
He had been willing to overlook it, so long as Dewleaf did her duty to him. He should have known there would be a consequence, a penalty for allowing such ignorance to fester and spread. Every cat knew, a meal found with maggots had to be discarded. He waited long enough that his action would not put his kits at further risk, though it sickened him to let his children suckle tainted milk. But when his mate was torn from her nest, a satisfaction as cold as starlight settled into his fur.
The loss of Cragkit was one last chastisement, one last reminder to never hesitate again. No matter the consequence, what was right and true to Starclan could not be withheld. He weaved the lesson into the knowledge he imparted to his last and only child, the strong she-cat Tidekit whose eyes proved her intelligence. A she-kit, but an heir nonetheless.
Life after that became simple, for there would be no more obstacles. Darkwave’s focus turned to repairing the perfect standing he had long been graced with, now marred regardless that it had been he to reveal the traitors. And this was focused primarily in his daughter, for Darkwave knew that his heir would face the task of finding better standing within the clan regardless. He would see to it that she faced each sunrise with the cool and collected calm of a molly of pure blood and trained grace. Not to mention, the battle prowess to help her live long enough to complete such tasks.
By the time he chose to retire to the elder’s den, his actions in battle and his perfect daughter had done him much credit. He could sit in camp with a neat satisfaction gifted via knowing that his descendants had regained the place Dewleaf had almost cost them. Victory, by the grace of Starclan.
