Post by jupiter on Dec 30, 2022 16:27:06 GMT -6
DIPPERPELT
LICHENCLAN
Lanky Lilac-Point Longhaired Oriental Tom with blue eyes
warrior
male
47 moons
Appearance
Dipperpelt's physique has been molded through intense training, battle, and admiration for the warriors who inspired him. Despite inheriting his mother's tall, slender qualities, his posture and thick coat give him a longer appearance than his kin, and tempered, sinewy muscle can only surface in the most outstretched positions. Dipperpelt's heavy paws are perfectly suited for him, whether swung at the full length of his lanky arms, or slinking through undergrowth.
Dipperpelt has lighter extremities than most of his kin, sporting off-white fur only disturbed by his lilac point and the waves of cream along his tail. In spite of his experience in battle, he sports only a few minor scars, a flaw he intends to remedy. His fur curls at the end, and Dipperpelt goes to great lengths to keep it kempt, notwithstanding the hours of hunting and training he enjoys everyday.
Dipperpelt's relaxed and easygoing nature is reflected in his face, where unassuming eyes and soft brows serve to put both the elite and disparaged at ease. Although he developed most of his father's heavier facial features, Dipperpelt was blessed with Sorrelsong's regal cheekbones and pointed ears, further accentuated by cream markings and frosty slating. He flaunts strikingly cerulean eyes that usually exhibit an intense curiosity, as if always sizing up a potential challenge. Tufts of feathery fur flare out just along and below his jaw, giving Dipperpelt the appearance of a meager mane.
Dipperpelt has lighter extremities than most of his kin, sporting off-white fur only disturbed by his lilac point and the waves of cream along his tail. In spite of his experience in battle, he sports only a few minor scars, a flaw he intends to remedy. His fur curls at the end, and Dipperpelt goes to great lengths to keep it kempt, notwithstanding the hours of hunting and training he enjoys everyday.
Dipperpelt's relaxed and easygoing nature is reflected in his face, where unassuming eyes and soft brows serve to put both the elite and disparaged at ease. Although he developed most of his father's heavier facial features, Dipperpelt was blessed with Sorrelsong's regal cheekbones and pointed ears, further accentuated by cream markings and frosty slating. He flaunts strikingly cerulean eyes that usually exhibit an intense curiosity, as if always sizing up a potential challenge. Tufts of feathery fur flare out just along and below his jaw, giving Dipperpelt the appearance of a meager mane.
Personality
+ Loyal, Courageous, Charismatic, Gifted
- Parochial, Vainglorious, Unforgiving, Callous
Dipperpelt's formative years were spent idolizing the great warriors of Lichenclan; he longs to follow in their paths, so he may prove himself worthy as a great warrior, even amongst the StarClan. To this end, Dipperpelt was fiercely loyal to Minnowstar—although he didn't reciprocate the fierce nationalism common amongst the Loyalists, he felt it was his role to unquestioningly deliver the orders of his leader. While he never engaged in seeking out rebels, he would gladly accept the chance to prove himself in the field, especially if doing so jeopardized his life.
Despite his grandiose ideals, Dipperpelt is quite amiable, even towards those who do not exhibit what he believes to be qualities of a great warrior. After all, a few words aren't enough to judge one's character, and so he treats everyone with the respect and admiration owed to an asset of the clan, even those of the lower-class or rogues. This virtue is extended even to the weak, as Dipperpelt has proven himself to be talented, always picking up quickly on fighting, history, or social interaction. Yet, numerous are the cats who have struggled, as apprentice or kit, who, nevertheless, improved the clan through their actions. Dipperpelt, even with his quick prowess in fighting, hunting, and tactics, acknowledges the impact of those traditionally lesser.
For as inclusive as Dipperpelt’s mindset is, it is still rigid. Identifying with his place in the clan, the warrior struggles to understand those who don’t embrace their roles and dedicate themselves to LichenClan. After all, Dipperpelt’s whole existence was dedicated to his part in the clan, and from appearance to training, the tom has, with great pride and satisfaction, modelled himself after the warriors of legend.
Despite being “accommodating” towards cats less skilled than him, Dipperpelt cannot forgive warriors who exhibit cowardice. If, during battle, a cat flees to save themselves, then they have damned all of their clanmates. From Dipperpelt’s perspective, a warrior who lets others’ lives rest in their paws, but not the other way around, is no warrior, and is not redeemable. This is extended to cats who flee the territory, establishing lives for themselves in other clans; even as things worsen, even if life becomes unbearable, all of the cats in the clan have an obligation to help each other.
- Parochial, Vainglorious, Unforgiving, Callous
Dipperpelt's formative years were spent idolizing the great warriors of Lichenclan; he longs to follow in their paths, so he may prove himself worthy as a great warrior, even amongst the StarClan. To this end, Dipperpelt was fiercely loyal to Minnowstar—although he didn't reciprocate the fierce nationalism common amongst the Loyalists, he felt it was his role to unquestioningly deliver the orders of his leader. While he never engaged in seeking out rebels, he would gladly accept the chance to prove himself in the field, especially if doing so jeopardized his life.
Despite his grandiose ideals, Dipperpelt is quite amiable, even towards those who do not exhibit what he believes to be qualities of a great warrior. After all, a few words aren't enough to judge one's character, and so he treats everyone with the respect and admiration owed to an asset of the clan, even those of the lower-class or rogues. This virtue is extended even to the weak, as Dipperpelt has proven himself to be talented, always picking up quickly on fighting, history, or social interaction. Yet, numerous are the cats who have struggled, as apprentice or kit, who, nevertheless, improved the clan through their actions. Dipperpelt, even with his quick prowess in fighting, hunting, and tactics, acknowledges the impact of those traditionally lesser.
For as inclusive as Dipperpelt’s mindset is, it is still rigid. Identifying with his place in the clan, the warrior struggles to understand those who don’t embrace their roles and dedicate themselves to LichenClan. After all, Dipperpelt’s whole existence was dedicated to his part in the clan, and from appearance to training, the tom has, with great pride and satisfaction, modelled himself after the warriors of legend.
Despite being “accommodating” towards cats less skilled than him, Dipperpelt cannot forgive warriors who exhibit cowardice. If, during battle, a cat flees to save themselves, then they have damned all of their clanmates. From Dipperpelt’s perspective, a warrior who lets others’ lives rest in their paws, but not the other way around, is no warrior, and is not redeemable. This is extended to cats who flee the territory, establishing lives for themselves in other clans; even as things worsen, even if life becomes unbearable, all of the cats in the clan have an obligation to help each other.
History
Dipperpelt was the middle-born kit to the young and arranged Sorrelsong and Storkwing, respected nobility of Lichenclan. Although hazy, Dipperpelt remembers his frantic, greedy mewls as his sister, Rainkit, was given preferential treatment in everything, from feeding to grooming, and his contempt for her when she began disrupting their father's training lessons with her presence.
One of Dipperpelt's earliest memories is of his father, looking down at his son with a certain face. There were no words, and Dipperpelt can't recall the circumstances surrounding it, but still the echo is firm in his mind. It's if his father was saying, "There are some things you must endure. Endure them with dignity and grace." Perhaps he had misinterpreted, but the effect was profound nonetheless. Dipperpelt entered his formative years with that maxim woven tightly into his heart; it was only reinforced through his continued notice of his role models, embracing their unfortunate situations, be they mates or social standings, with a dignity befitting high society. So Dipperpelt followed their example, confronting his training and the preferential treatment towards Rainkit with a dignity that his father could be proud of.
Dipperpelt had truly come into his own, excelling at his father's lessons through perseverance and a trained pain tolerance. He had inherited his parents’ piety, joining them on their trips to the moonpool and delighting when his father would tell him tales of StarClan. Despite what he thought to be ample expressions of his talent and prowess, however, Dipperpelt came to be the apprentice of an old, droll tom nearing elderhood who, while knowledgeable of politics and history, was utterly unproven in combat.
Dipperpelt had been prepared for a number of contingencies, and his father’s training meant his body would be ready for the most stringent regiments. What he was unprepared for, however, were the long lectures his master bombarded him with. Even when hunting, or patrolling the borders, training he thought would be fun, the young apprentice was inundated with trivia about how the territories were formed, how they changed over the years, which elders preferred what prey, and so on. Most of the minutiae quickly left the novitiate’s mind, but nevertheless, Dipperpelt was resolute to endure, with nobility and dignity, in the face of hellish boredom.
The first moons were agonizing. Scores of prey got away, with how long Dipperpelt’s teacher would drone on about how big or small shrews could be, how they had multiplied or diminished through the years, and other useless drivel that only distracted his apprentice from what was actually important. Dipperpelt was relieved to steadily develop a pattern with his captor, climbing a tree or rockface while the old tom, unfazed, launched into a new tangent, yowling louder so his apprentice could still hear him.
Dipperpelt embraced any chance to steal some bit of actual training; the apprentice would drift closer to other mentors in group patrols, trying to soak up as much traditional warrior teaching as possible, before returning to his self-improvement routine. It surprised him, then, when, during his first skirmish, his eyes were plastered to his master. The old cat certainly wasn’t the most physically capable in the battle, but the way he skulked and chose his target, disoriented, distracted, and darted between targets exhibited a divide-and-conquer strategy that led to a swift battle with neither side suffering extreme casualty.
Dipperpelt felt ambivalent about his mentor. On one paw, he felt ashamed and embarrassed to have been so critical of the old tom, but on the other, he felt frustrated that he hadn’t been taught about the things his master clearly knew about, like fighting. Normally, Dipperpelt would have kept his concerns to himself, believing that rules established by those higher shouldn’t be questioned, but the dynamic between an apprentice and mentor was meant to be more intimate, so he posed the question. The subsequent lesson, and every lesson after, was taken to heart:
“Warriors are tools. For the good of the clan, we patrol, and fight, and hunt. But you, when you are a warrior, should never grow complacent; do not think your status as a tool means you shouldn’t think! Adhering to tradition without understanding its necessity is not reverence—it is foolishness. The clan has no use for a foolish tool. It’s why I took you on. You are already physically capable. As much as you need to be, at least. My job is to give you what you don’t already have.”
Dipperpelt grew to welcome the mentorship with an alacrity he hadn’t known before. As the novice soaked up every bit of forestry trivia his mentor had, he was finally graced with knowledge of tactics, and muscle groups. Dipperpelt learned what parts of his body accomplished what motion, and subsequently, where the most critical points on an enemy were. Around this time, the lessons grew to encompass modern events, his master regaling the apprentice with the strategies behind the capturing of the Mooncave, and how, although he hadn’t told him at the time, their patrols had played a meager part in the acquisition. Through every lecture, Dipperpelt climbed or pounced, further honing his body while his master sharpened his mind.
Dipperpelt’s warrior assessment wasn’t the grand contest he would have hoped for as a kit, but he had a deep appreciation for it after everything he had been through. He was tasked with racing across the whole of Lichenclan territory, but instead of his route being defined by location, it was by landmark. Old battlegrounds, new borders, every inconsequential lecture contributed to a challenge with an equal toll on body and mind. It was Dipperpelt’s honor to complete it, and his greatest sin to have ever doubted his mentor.
Dipperpelt was overjoyed to finally participate in battles and skirmishes. Although he hadn't formed very personal relationships with the other new warriors, he respected them for, like him, enduring the sacrifices of a warrior—albeit not always with the same dignity, and trusted them with his life on more than one occasion. No greater joy was there, though, than accompanying his father during their assaults on RedwoodClan, flaunting the honed ferocity his mentor had instilled in him.
Although the young warrior enjoyed warfare, the tides of battle were not in Lichenclan’s favor during his entry. Many of his peers were killed in battle, or worse-yet, dishonored by Minnowstar after they returned. Dipperpelt managed to skirt most of the disciplining, however; the tom’s zeal, tardiness in retreat, and willingness to die in battle left little to critique besides results. Dipperpelt didn’t mind the frequent defeat or wound, but whispers of a rebellion led to a frustrating social intrigue around the caves; what was once pleasant company and companionship had soured, every social interaction a ploy to learn if the other was a rebel.
Dipperpelt made sure to continue the same training routines he had developed during his apprentice moons, even when wounds flared and muscles screamed. Over time, as battle honed his body, the young warrior had to develop his own, more intense, exercise. Usually, this meant hunting supplementary elusive prey, although the cliffy faces of his home made for excellent climbing venues during storms. As Dipperpelt began to outgrow even his own regiment, he began providing gifts of his successful hunts to friends, family, and, most prominently, she-cats that caught his eye. The first cat to receive his boons, however, was always his old master, who had finally resigned himself to elderhood, despite enjoying the opportunity to root-out rebels..
Of the many ideals inculcated by his mentors, Dipperpelt felt most estranged from starting a family. After all, Dipperpelt lived up to the expectations of the gallant tom who protected his kind and worshiped StarClan, but it was paramount to bring new blood to the clan; so far, Dipperpelt had only helped secure the present of the clan, not the future, and the pressure of establishing a legacy was greater than ever in the changing tides of LichenClan. The issue of starting a family wasn't one that Dipperpelt could press, however, hearing through word-of-mouth about the myriad marriage offers that Sorrelsong dismissed out-of-hand. He never brought up it to her, though; after all, the choice of his partner wasn't up to him, and he would have to honor his mother's choices even if it meant he passed without a legacy. In a way he would never admit to himself, however, the young warrior hoped that, with all of the other changes sparking in LichenClan, he might be able to start a family of his own volition.
It was after Minnowstar allowed rogues into camp that Dipperpelt had an odd interaction with his old master. He remembers, an apprentice scanning the old tom’s fur for insects while Dipperpelt brought him a meal, when his once-mentor expressed the first doubt of Minnowstar’s reign that his student had ever from him. Dipperpelt personally didn’t mind the rogues. Sure—some were brutish, with no love for the clan or the warrior code, but so long as they acted in ways that benefitted LichenClan, he didn’t care what they personally believed. His old master, though, ever-wise with words, reminded that a leader is much like a warrior: they only fulfill a role. Although the duties are flexible, a leader can act in bad faith. Knowing his mentor to be the last cat to turn rebel, Dipperpelt only flicked his tail and nodded, even though he took the words to heart.
Dipperpelt has not fully processed his father's passing, even after moons of grieving. Too many conflicting emotions, be that frustration at himself for the superficial training injury that stopped him from accompanying his father, at his father for taking Breamfur, or at Breamfur for not being enough. He knew, deep down, that no one was to blame—not his family, at least; a patrol getting ambushed, while common, isn't something that anyone could predict. No, it wasn't the fault of anything that happened before, but what happened during. As his family sat together in a vigil, mourning long into the night, rage for his brother smoldered behind Dipperpelt's eyes. Just the peripheral sight of the pathetic, groveling figure that failed to save his father drove the warrior to the edge. By the end of it all, Dipperpelt hadn't shed a single tear, and although his relationship to Breamfur was never intimate, Dipperpelt only ever expressed a cold civility towards his brother in their encounters after the incident.
Of course, Dipperpelt knew it wasn't really his brother's fault. Ineffectual mentoring had left him impotent and unworthy! Dipperpelt couldn't blame Breamfur for Storkwing; if his brother could have saved their father, he would have. This, however, left Dipperpelt without an outlet for his emotions, and when the young tom wasn't pursuing frivolous relationships, his increasingly intense training was leaving him bedridden. So bad were his proclivities, that, during the fight surrounding Minnowstar's fall and Yarrowstar's ascension, the young warrior missed most of the action entirely while on bedrest, only catching the tail-end of the fight. While he was unsure about Yarrowstar’s moral fiber, him having deserted, Dipperpelt couldn’t argue against his leadership being better than Minnowstar’s.
Throughout the first moons of Yarrowstar's reign, Dipperpelt struggled with frequent bouts of anxiety. LichenClan's new leader was respected and fair, albeit overly stoic at times, but there was a lingering dichotomy between the loyalists of Minnowstar's era and the progressive ideology of the current administration that wasn't being openly addressed. Without any acknowledgement to palliate these insecurities, Dipperpelt grew more and more paranoid of a secret comeuppance through Leaf-bare.
One of Dipperpelt's earliest memories is of his father, looking down at his son with a certain face. There were no words, and Dipperpelt can't recall the circumstances surrounding it, but still the echo is firm in his mind. It's if his father was saying, "There are some things you must endure. Endure them with dignity and grace." Perhaps he had misinterpreted, but the effect was profound nonetheless. Dipperpelt entered his formative years with that maxim woven tightly into his heart; it was only reinforced through his continued notice of his role models, embracing their unfortunate situations, be they mates or social standings, with a dignity befitting high society. So Dipperpelt followed their example, confronting his training and the preferential treatment towards Rainkit with a dignity that his father could be proud of.
Dipperpelt had truly come into his own, excelling at his father's lessons through perseverance and a trained pain tolerance. He had inherited his parents’ piety, joining them on their trips to the moonpool and delighting when his father would tell him tales of StarClan. Despite what he thought to be ample expressions of his talent and prowess, however, Dipperpelt came to be the apprentice of an old, droll tom nearing elderhood who, while knowledgeable of politics and history, was utterly unproven in combat.
Dipperpelt had been prepared for a number of contingencies, and his father’s training meant his body would be ready for the most stringent regiments. What he was unprepared for, however, were the long lectures his master bombarded him with. Even when hunting, or patrolling the borders, training he thought would be fun, the young apprentice was inundated with trivia about how the territories were formed, how they changed over the years, which elders preferred what prey, and so on. Most of the minutiae quickly left the novitiate’s mind, but nevertheless, Dipperpelt was resolute to endure, with nobility and dignity, in the face of hellish boredom.
The first moons were agonizing. Scores of prey got away, with how long Dipperpelt’s teacher would drone on about how big or small shrews could be, how they had multiplied or diminished through the years, and other useless drivel that only distracted his apprentice from what was actually important. Dipperpelt was relieved to steadily develop a pattern with his captor, climbing a tree or rockface while the old tom, unfazed, launched into a new tangent, yowling louder so his apprentice could still hear him.
Dipperpelt embraced any chance to steal some bit of actual training; the apprentice would drift closer to other mentors in group patrols, trying to soak up as much traditional warrior teaching as possible, before returning to his self-improvement routine. It surprised him, then, when, during his first skirmish, his eyes were plastered to his master. The old cat certainly wasn’t the most physically capable in the battle, but the way he skulked and chose his target, disoriented, distracted, and darted between targets exhibited a divide-and-conquer strategy that led to a swift battle with neither side suffering extreme casualty.
Dipperpelt felt ambivalent about his mentor. On one paw, he felt ashamed and embarrassed to have been so critical of the old tom, but on the other, he felt frustrated that he hadn’t been taught about the things his master clearly knew about, like fighting. Normally, Dipperpelt would have kept his concerns to himself, believing that rules established by those higher shouldn’t be questioned, but the dynamic between an apprentice and mentor was meant to be more intimate, so he posed the question. The subsequent lesson, and every lesson after, was taken to heart:
“Warriors are tools. For the good of the clan, we patrol, and fight, and hunt. But you, when you are a warrior, should never grow complacent; do not think your status as a tool means you shouldn’t think! Adhering to tradition without understanding its necessity is not reverence—it is foolishness. The clan has no use for a foolish tool. It’s why I took you on. You are already physically capable. As much as you need to be, at least. My job is to give you what you don’t already have.”
Dipperpelt grew to welcome the mentorship with an alacrity he hadn’t known before. As the novice soaked up every bit of forestry trivia his mentor had, he was finally graced with knowledge of tactics, and muscle groups. Dipperpelt learned what parts of his body accomplished what motion, and subsequently, where the most critical points on an enemy were. Around this time, the lessons grew to encompass modern events, his master regaling the apprentice with the strategies behind the capturing of the Mooncave, and how, although he hadn’t told him at the time, their patrols had played a meager part in the acquisition. Through every lecture, Dipperpelt climbed or pounced, further honing his body while his master sharpened his mind.
Dipperpelt’s warrior assessment wasn’t the grand contest he would have hoped for as a kit, but he had a deep appreciation for it after everything he had been through. He was tasked with racing across the whole of Lichenclan territory, but instead of his route being defined by location, it was by landmark. Old battlegrounds, new borders, every inconsequential lecture contributed to a challenge with an equal toll on body and mind. It was Dipperpelt’s honor to complete it, and his greatest sin to have ever doubted his mentor.
Dipperpelt was overjoyed to finally participate in battles and skirmishes. Although he hadn't formed very personal relationships with the other new warriors, he respected them for, like him, enduring the sacrifices of a warrior—albeit not always with the same dignity, and trusted them with his life on more than one occasion. No greater joy was there, though, than accompanying his father during their assaults on RedwoodClan, flaunting the honed ferocity his mentor had instilled in him.
Although the young warrior enjoyed warfare, the tides of battle were not in Lichenclan’s favor during his entry. Many of his peers were killed in battle, or worse-yet, dishonored by Minnowstar after they returned. Dipperpelt managed to skirt most of the disciplining, however; the tom’s zeal, tardiness in retreat, and willingness to die in battle left little to critique besides results. Dipperpelt didn’t mind the frequent defeat or wound, but whispers of a rebellion led to a frustrating social intrigue around the caves; what was once pleasant company and companionship had soured, every social interaction a ploy to learn if the other was a rebel.
Dipperpelt made sure to continue the same training routines he had developed during his apprentice moons, even when wounds flared and muscles screamed. Over time, as battle honed his body, the young warrior had to develop his own, more intense, exercise. Usually, this meant hunting supplementary elusive prey, although the cliffy faces of his home made for excellent climbing venues during storms. As Dipperpelt began to outgrow even his own regiment, he began providing gifts of his successful hunts to friends, family, and, most prominently, she-cats that caught his eye. The first cat to receive his boons, however, was always his old master, who had finally resigned himself to elderhood, despite enjoying the opportunity to root-out rebels..
Of the many ideals inculcated by his mentors, Dipperpelt felt most estranged from starting a family. After all, Dipperpelt lived up to the expectations of the gallant tom who protected his kind and worshiped StarClan, but it was paramount to bring new blood to the clan; so far, Dipperpelt had only helped secure the present of the clan, not the future, and the pressure of establishing a legacy was greater than ever in the changing tides of LichenClan. The issue of starting a family wasn't one that Dipperpelt could press, however, hearing through word-of-mouth about the myriad marriage offers that Sorrelsong dismissed out-of-hand. He never brought up it to her, though; after all, the choice of his partner wasn't up to him, and he would have to honor his mother's choices even if it meant he passed without a legacy. In a way he would never admit to himself, however, the young warrior hoped that, with all of the other changes sparking in LichenClan, he might be able to start a family of his own volition.
It was after Minnowstar allowed rogues into camp that Dipperpelt had an odd interaction with his old master. He remembers, an apprentice scanning the old tom’s fur for insects while Dipperpelt brought him a meal, when his once-mentor expressed the first doubt of Minnowstar’s reign that his student had ever from him. Dipperpelt personally didn’t mind the rogues. Sure—some were brutish, with no love for the clan or the warrior code, but so long as they acted in ways that benefitted LichenClan, he didn’t care what they personally believed. His old master, though, ever-wise with words, reminded that a leader is much like a warrior: they only fulfill a role. Although the duties are flexible, a leader can act in bad faith. Knowing his mentor to be the last cat to turn rebel, Dipperpelt only flicked his tail and nodded, even though he took the words to heart.
Dipperpelt has not fully processed his father's passing, even after moons of grieving. Too many conflicting emotions, be that frustration at himself for the superficial training injury that stopped him from accompanying his father, at his father for taking Breamfur, or at Breamfur for not being enough. He knew, deep down, that no one was to blame—not his family, at least; a patrol getting ambushed, while common, isn't something that anyone could predict. No, it wasn't the fault of anything that happened before, but what happened during. As his family sat together in a vigil, mourning long into the night, rage for his brother smoldered behind Dipperpelt's eyes. Just the peripheral sight of the pathetic, groveling figure that failed to save his father drove the warrior to the edge. By the end of it all, Dipperpelt hadn't shed a single tear, and although his relationship to Breamfur was never intimate, Dipperpelt only ever expressed a cold civility towards his brother in their encounters after the incident.
Of course, Dipperpelt knew it wasn't really his brother's fault. Ineffectual mentoring had left him impotent and unworthy! Dipperpelt couldn't blame Breamfur for Storkwing; if his brother could have saved their father, he would have. This, however, left Dipperpelt without an outlet for his emotions, and when the young tom wasn't pursuing frivolous relationships, his increasingly intense training was leaving him bedridden. So bad were his proclivities, that, during the fight surrounding Minnowstar's fall and Yarrowstar's ascension, the young warrior missed most of the action entirely while on bedrest, only catching the tail-end of the fight. While he was unsure about Yarrowstar’s moral fiber, him having deserted, Dipperpelt couldn’t argue against his leadership being better than Minnowstar’s.
Throughout the first moons of Yarrowstar's reign, Dipperpelt struggled with frequent bouts of anxiety. LichenClan's new leader was respected and fair, albeit overly stoic at times, but there was a lingering dichotomy between the loyalists of Minnowstar's era and the progressive ideology of the current administration that wasn't being openly addressed. Without any acknowledgement to palliate these insecurities, Dipperpelt grew more and more paranoid of a secret comeuppance through Leaf-bare.
