Post by BARAMATT on Feb 27, 2017 18:43:37 GMT
TUMBLEWEED of REEDCLAN
60 MOONS
WARRIOR
MALE
PANSEXUAL
Tumbleweed is nothing if not loyal to both the Clan and his duties, due to feeling like he owes the Clan that made him what he is today. This loyalty is his main driving force behind a majority of his actions, but this does not make him a stick in the mud or incapable of making his own decisions.
At first impression, Tumbleweed is a large tom with an equally big personality- he's amiable and easy to talk to, with a knack for being able to flow the conversation well. He can be a bit nosy and boisterous, but overall he has the best intentions, and does really mean most anything he says- even if he does try to pass it off as a joke.
This outward persona can at times make him look like a bit of a dunce, but it's a nice cloak for a quick mind and sharp intentions- traits left over from his time as a rogue. It's much easier to defend or assert yourself when every cat you come across tends to underestimate you.
Below all of this, though, Tumbleweed works to better himself, and right wrongs from a past long behind him. He keeps genuine emotions and feelings, especially trust, close to his chest where others are unlikely to pry or break. He is known to bottle emotions, and this can result in the occasional short temper and rash decision.
Tumbleweed was born as Buck, a kit in a small litter of three, to a molly and tom who belonged with a group of rogues who lived in the midst of a large city. Kithood was not easy or kind to Buck, with constant infighting in the small group, as well as lack of decent food and water, or crossing thunderpaths constantly filled with monsters. Despite it all, Buck remained a fool-hardy and rambunctious kit, if not a little too rowdy for his larger size. He grew quickly within the group, and soon proved himself to be the more dominant of the siblings. He fought when he thought himself threatened, against rivaling families and groups, or even against his siblings and parents. He viewed it as a necessity then- and everything was. Cats would be killed for access to more food- his small group would do it, and he himself had killed over disputes as well- plenty, even, his size making the usual scrappy cats easy to overpower. It wasn't glamorous, wasn't something Buck viewed with a pleasure. But it was a necessity, had to be done. Buck wanted to live.
And Buck lived his first cycle of seasons and past in this manner, scraping by and constantly scrapping against other small groups, fighting to breathe another day, even if it meant putting another cat under his claws to meet their maker.
A stray dog is what eventually did the small group in, biting down into cats and leaving others to scatter into the dead of a winter night. Buck ran- but the dog had size and strength on him, and bit into his foreleg, tossing him away only to chase after another littermate who made a break for it. Buck did not stay to watch. Buck was found by a twoleg later that night, weak, hungry, and with a mangled front limb.
Tumbleweed has too many memories of this time for his own liking.
Buck was taken in, helped, by the twoleg. He lost his leg, taken by surgery, but Buck found himself grateful- he was taken care of, his leg no longer hurt, he was full. He was renamed Stumpy by his new owner, and took the name in stride, at least as much as one could. Stumpy was moved- far, in the belly of a monster, 'his' twoleg taking him far away from the city, to a twoleg nest surrounded by more nature than Stumpy'd ever seen in his life.
Stumpy's life as a kittypet was uneventful, and short as well. Once he had managed to regain decent mobility, learn how to walk and run and climb just like he used to be able to, he found the twoleg nest too small, and would frequently make breaks for the doors- eager to get outside and smell the outside air, taste food other than whatever dry pellets his twoleg was feeding him. Explore the new world he had found himself in. Time and time again, he was unsuccessful, but eventually he escaped through an open window.
Stumpy never looked back.
Stumpy- now nameless- found himself in the woods nearly as soon as he escaped. The world was quiet, more quiet than he'd ever experienced, but it was filled with new smells and scents that were irresistible. Hunting, though, was harder than expected, and he found himself hungry more often than not. Doubt plagued his mind, if he'd be able to really survive out here, with hunger constantly gnawing at his belly and large groups of cats to avoid.
It was then that he stumbled across a small group of three- loners, but friendly, despite Stumpy's initial wariness to the point of aggression, who took him in while they slowly traveled from one edge of the clans to the other. It was here he was named Tumble, after his limping gait and occasional stumble, once they found out he had no name, and Tumble took to the name like a duck to water, loved it, actually. He learned quickly with the small group, and soon was able to hunt for himself. He even tussled with a few, eager to show himself as able to fend off attackers, make up for his weak point with strength and size. Tumble grew to realize grouping didn't have to be out of necessity, to keep some of the skin still on your back. Fighting happened rarely, and never with claws. It was gentle, in a way Tumble'd never had seen before. He loved it.
Eventually, though, the small group decided to move on, past the territories that Tumble grew to know well. Tumble was hesitant, and eventually, said his goodbyes to the group. He'd been alone plenty throughout his life. He was sure he'd do okay alone again.
But Tumble found himself lonely, wanting companionship, friends like he had before. Eventually, his attention turned to the Clans he had avoided so much before. He'd seen how they worked together, how each cat seemed to have kinship with another. He wanted it for himself. Some place to belong.
ReedClan was the Clan he ended up approaching, the lure of the cool waters of the river more than enough to convince the loner to want to join them, even if his own swimming abilities at the time were lack-luster. The leader of ReedClan granted him entrance to the Clan- under probation and mentorship to prove his loyalty to learning the way of Clan life, and entrusted to a warrior named Whitewhisker.
Whitewhisker was an older warrior- stern and regal, but Tumble was never easily intimidated, and so he did not spend much time tiptoeing around his new mentor. Tumble was glad he wasn't treated like a kit- or even like the other apprentices. Naturally curious and inquisitive, Tumble soaked up Whitewhisker's teachings, warrior duties, Clan life, the roles each member played as part of a whole. Naturally, hunting and fighting, and more advanced swimming came as well, and Tumble was not dense- it was easy to tell that Whitewhisker was doing her own part to figure out training that would help Tumble survive in the battles that came naturally to life as a warrior. Tumble did not bring it up- but he appreciated it nonetheless. The only teaching of Whitewhisker's that Tumble did not immediately stick to was the concept of a StarClan- Tumble had always been a no-nonsense cat, and the idea of spirits with powers was... a bit much for Tumble to accept openly- after all, what Clan ancestors would even care about him when he's just some loner? He does not voice this though, and simply leaves each cat to believe what they will.
A sense of loyalty, of owing his Clan, even Whitewhisker herself, everything, quickly grew within Tumble. He wanted to prove himself, prove that he was better than his moral-less days as a rogue, prove that he was better than his lazy days as a kittypet. Prove that he had good in him- good enough for loyalty. His 'apprenticeship' was fast, due to his age, and he quickly proved himself. Soon, he was given his warrior name.
Tumbleweed wore his new name with pride- overjoyed to be fully accepted into the Clan, to have a group, find friends with Whitewhisker and his fellow warriors. Life was good, and continued to be so, with little further events in his life.
60 MOONS
WARRIOR
MALE
PANSEXUAL
PERSONALITY
+ || Loyal || Quick-thinking || Dutiful || Experienced ||
o || Perceptive || Daring || Irreverent || Distant ||
- || Stubborn || Extreme || Guilty || Self-destructive ||
Tumbleweed is nothing if not loyal to both the Clan and his duties, due to feeling like he owes the Clan that made him what he is today. This loyalty is his main driving force behind a majority of his actions, but this does not make him a stick in the mud or incapable of making his own decisions.
At first impression, Tumbleweed is a large tom with an equally big personality- he's amiable and easy to talk to, with a knack for being able to flow the conversation well. He can be a bit nosy and boisterous, but overall he has the best intentions, and does really mean most anything he says- even if he does try to pass it off as a joke.
This outward persona can at times make him look like a bit of a dunce, but it's a nice cloak for a quick mind and sharp intentions- traits left over from his time as a rogue. It's much easier to defend or assert yourself when every cat you come across tends to underestimate you.
Below all of this, though, Tumbleweed works to better himself, and right wrongs from a past long behind him. He keeps genuine emotions and feelings, especially trust, close to his chest where others are unlikely to pry or break. He is known to bottle emotions, and this can result in the occasional short temper and rash decision.
HISTORY
|| Rogue - Buck||
0-20 moons
Tumbleweed was born as Buck, a kit in a small litter of three, to a molly and tom who belonged with a group of rogues who lived in the midst of a large city. Kithood was not easy or kind to Buck, with constant infighting in the small group, as well as lack of decent food and water, or crossing thunderpaths constantly filled with monsters. Despite it all, Buck remained a fool-hardy and rambunctious kit, if not a little too rowdy for his larger size. He grew quickly within the group, and soon proved himself to be the more dominant of the siblings. He fought when he thought himself threatened, against rivaling families and groups, or even against his siblings and parents. He viewed it as a necessity then- and everything was. Cats would be killed for access to more food- his small group would do it, and he himself had killed over disputes as well- plenty, even, his size making the usual scrappy cats easy to overpower. It wasn't glamorous, wasn't something Buck viewed with a pleasure. But it was a necessity, had to be done. Buck wanted to live.
And Buck lived his first cycle of seasons and past in this manner, scraping by and constantly scrapping against other small groups, fighting to breathe another day, even if it meant putting another cat under his claws to meet their maker.
A stray dog is what eventually did the small group in, biting down into cats and leaving others to scatter into the dead of a winter night. Buck ran- but the dog had size and strength on him, and bit into his foreleg, tossing him away only to chase after another littermate who made a break for it. Buck did not stay to watch. Buck was found by a twoleg later that night, weak, hungry, and with a mangled front limb.
Tumbleweed has too many memories of this time for his own liking.
|| Kittypet - Stumpy ||
20-24 moons
Buck was taken in, helped, by the twoleg. He lost his leg, taken by surgery, but Buck found himself grateful- he was taken care of, his leg no longer hurt, he was full. He was renamed Stumpy by his new owner, and took the name in stride, at least as much as one could. Stumpy was moved- far, in the belly of a monster, 'his' twoleg taking him far away from the city, to a twoleg nest surrounded by more nature than Stumpy'd ever seen in his life.
Stumpy's life as a kittypet was uneventful, and short as well. Once he had managed to regain decent mobility, learn how to walk and run and climb just like he used to be able to, he found the twoleg nest too small, and would frequently make breaks for the doors- eager to get outside and smell the outside air, taste food other than whatever dry pellets his twoleg was feeding him. Explore the new world he had found himself in. Time and time again, he was unsuccessful, but eventually he escaped through an open window.
Stumpy never looked back.
|| Loner - Tumble ||
24-30 moons
Stumpy- now nameless- found himself in the woods nearly as soon as he escaped. The world was quiet, more quiet than he'd ever experienced, but it was filled with new smells and scents that were irresistible. Hunting, though, was harder than expected, and he found himself hungry more often than not. Doubt plagued his mind, if he'd be able to really survive out here, with hunger constantly gnawing at his belly and large groups of cats to avoid.
It was then that he stumbled across a small group of three- loners, but friendly, despite Stumpy's initial wariness to the point of aggression, who took him in while they slowly traveled from one edge of the clans to the other. It was here he was named Tumble, after his limping gait and occasional stumble, once they found out he had no name, and Tumble took to the name like a duck to water, loved it, actually. He learned quickly with the small group, and soon was able to hunt for himself. He even tussled with a few, eager to show himself as able to fend off attackers, make up for his weak point with strength and size. Tumble grew to realize grouping didn't have to be out of necessity, to keep some of the skin still on your back. Fighting happened rarely, and never with claws. It was gentle, in a way Tumble'd never had seen before. He loved it.
Eventually, though, the small group decided to move on, past the territories that Tumble grew to know well. Tumble was hesitant, and eventually, said his goodbyes to the group. He'd been alone plenty throughout his life. He was sure he'd do okay alone again.
But Tumble found himself lonely, wanting companionship, friends like he had before. Eventually, his attention turned to the Clans he had avoided so much before. He'd seen how they worked together, how each cat seemed to have kinship with another. He wanted it for himself. Some place to belong.
ReedClan was the Clan he ended up approaching, the lure of the cool waters of the river more than enough to convince the loner to want to join them, even if his own swimming abilities at the time were lack-luster. The leader of ReedClan granted him entrance to the Clan- under probation and mentorship to prove his loyalty to learning the way of Clan life, and entrusted to a warrior named Whitewhisker.
Whitewhisker was an older warrior- stern and regal, but Tumble was never easily intimidated, and so he did not spend much time tiptoeing around his new mentor. Tumble was glad he wasn't treated like a kit- or even like the other apprentices. Naturally curious and inquisitive, Tumble soaked up Whitewhisker's teachings, warrior duties, Clan life, the roles each member played as part of a whole. Naturally, hunting and fighting, and more advanced swimming came as well, and Tumble was not dense- it was easy to tell that Whitewhisker was doing her own part to figure out training that would help Tumble survive in the battles that came naturally to life as a warrior. Tumble did not bring it up- but he appreciated it nonetheless. The only teaching of Whitewhisker's that Tumble did not immediately stick to was the concept of a StarClan- Tumble had always been a no-nonsense cat, and the idea of spirits with powers was... a bit much for Tumble to accept openly- after all, what Clan ancestors would even care about him when he's just some loner? He does not voice this though, and simply leaves each cat to believe what they will.
A sense of loyalty, of owing his Clan, even Whitewhisker herself, everything, quickly grew within Tumble. He wanted to prove himself, prove that he was better than his moral-less days as a rogue, prove that he was better than his lazy days as a kittypet. Prove that he had good in him- good enough for loyalty. His 'apprenticeship' was fast, due to his age, and he quickly proved himself. Soon, he was given his warrior name.
|| Warriorhood - Tumbleweed ||
30-60 moons (RP started at 60)
Tumbleweed wore his new name with pride- overjoyed to be fully accepted into the Clan, to have a group, find friends with Whitewhisker and his fellow warriors. Life was good, and continued to be so, with little further events in his life.
RELATIONSHIPS
PARENTS:
Rena || Biological Mother || Unknown, assumed dead
Aster || Biological Father || Unknown, assumed dead
Aster || Biological Father || Unknown, assumed dead
SIBLINGS:
Pebble || Sister || Unknown, assumed dead
Falcon || Brother || Unknown, assumed dead
Falcon || Brother || Unknown, assumed dead
OTHERS:
SHORT DESCRIPTION
LARGE RUSSET TOM WITH THICK, TANGLED FUR AND A MISSING FORELEG.
OTHER INFORMATION
Tumble - For his awkward gait
weed - growth and resilience
- Joined before he was even 30 moons old and has been very keen to incorporate himself with the clan fully. Most of the younger members of the clan are highly unlikely to realize Tumbleweed was originally a rogue.
- Has a slight, but distinct accent from other cats, due to being relocated from where he lived before as a kittypet. Small 'southern' dialect shift. He's dropped most of it in favour of clan dialect.
- Can have trouble sleeping- not uncommon to find him get up at night only to wander the territory under the excuse of hunting or a patrol.
- Tends to keep his left side near any cover he can find, more out of instinct than anything else at this point. Not fond of cats walking on his left.
- Enjoys a real fight and loves the rush of adrenaline and winning/feeling powerful- has a tendency to feel guilty afterwards, especially if he inflicted wounds.
Official Design
- Has a scar above his right eyebrow and another across his muzzle, both are old, from his days as a rogue, and show as white damaged fur rather than bare skin.
- Large, stocky build. A bit chubby usually. Noticeably large paws with subsequent large claws.
weed - growth and resilience
- Joined before he was even 30 moons old and has been very keen to incorporate himself with the clan fully. Most of the younger members of the clan are highly unlikely to realize Tumbleweed was originally a rogue.
- Has a slight, but distinct accent from other cats, due to being relocated from where he lived before as a kittypet. Small 'southern' dialect shift. He's dropped most of it in favour of clan dialect.
- Can have trouble sleeping- not uncommon to find him get up at night only to wander the territory under the excuse of hunting or a patrol.
- Tends to keep his left side near any cover he can find, more out of instinct than anything else at this point. Not fond of cats walking on his left.
- Enjoys a real fight and loves the rush of adrenaline and winning/feeling powerful- has a tendency to feel guilty afterwards, especially if he inflicted wounds.
Official Design
- Has a scar above his right eyebrow and another across his muzzle, both are old, from his days as a rogue, and show as white damaged fur rather than bare skin.
- Large, stocky build. A bit chubby usually. Noticeably large paws with subsequent large claws.
