Post by hattrick on Apr 4, 2019 9:51:06 GMT
WORMSHADE of MEADOWCLAN
40 MOONS
WARRIOR
TRANS TOM
BISEXUAL
40 MOONS
WARRIOR
TRANS TOM
BISEXUAL
"I was the odd one out, the one that looked like him, I guess it got to her in the end," gentle quirk of a smile, mere traces lifting the edges of dark lips, yet the depths of gold might never hold the soft notes of bitter humour within the expression decorating the expanse of his white speckled muzzle.
Beyond the bounds of what is expected, heavy in ways he should not be, mass gathering in heavy layering of muscle lined with fat covered by the heaviness of monotone fur.
Broad the chest tapering away into hips wide yet set somewhat low, apparent the difference in his legs, the length of the front offset by the shorter of the back. Yet all hold large paws, feathering about their backs flowing up the legs, thinning as it nears the first joint where it comes to an end, the heavy fuzz between his toes and pads adding protection and allowing it to further soften his steps. Built over time the muscle lining his body is lean, his size making it seem a near impossibility that he is one capable of speed over large open distances and correct may one be though only to a degree. With how his life has become a matter of speed and sustaining it he has trained until he is capable of sudden bursts of speed, though still is his stamina lacking and he pushes himself all too far at times, his excess weight making it a near impossibility for him to do anything beyond what his skills currently allow.
Atop it all his fur is of a good length though it lacks the weight one may expect, course and fine, thickening only some in the colder months to offer more protection, lending more to the image of him being one of a great size. Layered about the neck and tail thickest he almost sports a mane, the heavy plum of his tail often a tangle mess for he has little patience for cleaning or removing tangles, bald patches where he has simply torn out clumps of hair common as his anger gets the better of him.
Clear the lack of colour, the simplistic blend of dark and light coming together in a rather pleasant way though it is rare he appears the same as the fur parts and moves with each step, revealing or hiding more of the pale colouring of the base of each hair. Tones of white and silver have taken hold near to the skin, darkening into grey before it becomes black at the tips, though there are some areas where the hairs are entirely white or black leaving what seem pseudo markings. Most notable of the light is about his neck, the heavy mane split with tones of light grey and white with black primarily about the back of the neck, bleeding down only to fade away at the hollow of his throat. His tail is similar, the top primarily black yet lightening at the underside and about the tip. The only point of true white is a short blaze upon his nose bleeding into greying fur about his muzzle.
Loose soil displaced beneath the press of claws, cutting within the soft expanse of brown grooves, the fine mass of loose particles gathering together in little bounds beneath his paws. "She always said I would be a monster, like him."
Fitting is the title of gentle giant for indeed he is he such, no matter the cold expression set upon stern features or the gruff manner of his speaking there is a quality to Wormshade that speaks of a heart put upon his sleeve no matter the threat such brings.
All the same there is some truth in the way he holds himself, some sense of self respect tempered by the quiet self hatred implanted into his heart during his younger days always there, a weed he is not quite able to remove, sharpening his ways and making him proud, though there is a clear lack of boastful intent behind his want to be better then he currently is. Ever striving for the next thing to occupy his mind and hone his skills it has become apparent he pushes too hard, working himself to the bone at the threat of deteriorating health, a force to be reckoned with on a warpath.
Beneath what may be deemed an overly serious and, towards some, cold exterior he has taken to heart the lessons his mother imparted though almost an opposite is he, taking all she did and flipping it on his head. There is a gentle sense of warmth and care in his each active, putting those around him first, continuing his duties even if it aggravates the situation he has placed himself into. So too is there a quiet love for the young ones, a want to assist in their growth, almost a proud father to all for he has no wish to see them pushed aside, belittled for their choices or factors beyond their control.
"I was a pitiful waste of fur in her eyes, just as, if not worse, then the snake-tongue of a father that left her with me," bitter the edge of twisting grin, delicate threads of laughter passing through clenched teeth, arising until the sound if ringing through his head, all he may hear. Yet so too is there sorrow there, the glimmer of tears suspended at the corner of his eyes, simply awaiting the final push to fall.
An apprentice with stars clouding her gaze, never seeing the issue with the tiny budding crush, fickle her feelings, sure to be worn beneath the touch of time. Easy his smile, his gaze a weight upon her yet never with what she wanted, lacking the attraction that seemed only to warp and grow, yet she feared pursuing it for no good may come of it.
But eight moons had she seen pass when she had found him, the heavy coating of black shot with white rather eye catching, differing from the lighter tones many bore around her, a sight she drunk in each time he crossed her path though few were those. New was his name, well suited the title of Shadowbreeze upon him, but he had no eye for her.
Resentment grew in her chest, bloomed there like a thorn choked flower, never letting up until time followed its course and she too stood before her leader, pride within the depths of her eyes, awaiting the press of his nose upon her forehead, the weight of a new name to call her own.
Still he overlooked her no matter how well she had grown, how the sleek tortie before him was no longer the small apprentice he had come to know, awkward on limbs all too long for her body, stumbling over her words within his presence, smiling at her with the delicate traces of sweetness she so sought to strengthen, see become something so much more. Time ticked on and he came to approach another, the realization he may never be interested for his heart did not seek the company of a molly but it was enough to know he thought of her highly, approaching only her with the offer, seeking her as surrogate. In all but name he would be hers, or at the very least such is what her mind told her.
Yet none of it was to be for dark had turned the love between Shadowbreeze and the one he supposedly had given his heart, grown clear his disinterest in time, seeking the company of others in the dead of night, enjoying the pain he could tear from the one who adored and worshiped him. All too far, pushing beyond what his poor lover may stand, until bloody was there end.
Beneath the cover of night Shadowbreeze became nothing more then a bad memory, at least such is what Robinflight had hoped. Still was she young and complications tore from her many of the already small litter, leaving only two, the dark coat of her daughter broken by small patches of colour but the other, the son she would come to despise for his mere existance, held the light and dark tones of his father.
He was beneath her, fit only for the dirt and disgusting mud his father had wallowed within and so fitting was the name of Wormkit in her mind. Pushed aside, unloved beside his sister Stormkit, he knew no affection nor care, barely surviving his youth, only allowed a chance with the tender warmth of another queen who had seen something in the kit, worth his mother dismissed.
Reaching apprenticeship it began the hardships, the decline of his health as he pushed the boundaries, went beyond what he should have needed to prove he had worth even after his mother passed, bitter and spiteful to the end.
"I sometimes wonder would she be proud of me now, after all I've done, I am nothing like he was," unspoken words hung heavy, sigh parting his lips before his eyes fell shut, exhaustion apparent as his expression grew lax. "I just wanted to be a good son,"
Father
Shadowbreeze, beginning as a loner was accepted into Meadowclan as an apprentice but quickly showed he was not suited to the life, a cruel, twisted tom with his heart set upon controlling all he might. A large black smoke.
Mother
Robinflight, born and raised within Meadowclan she was proud and thought all too highly of herself, to a point she thought herself perfection in every way, the only kit of an older pair made elders just before her birth. A tortie molly.
Sister
Stormfang, cared for and well loved by their mother she was none the less kind to her brother, assisting in raising him to a point she is more a mother then a sister to him now, but proved a capable spitfire of a cat. A tortie molly, primarily black.
Beyond the bounds of what is expected, heavy in ways he should not be, mass gathering in heavy layering of muscle lined with fat covered by the heaviness of monotone fur.
Broad the chest tapering away into hips wide yet set somewhat low, apparent the difference in his legs, the length of the front offset by the shorter of the back. Yet all hold large paws, feathering about their backs flowing up the legs, thinning as it nears the first joint where it comes to an end, the heavy fuzz between his toes and pads adding protection and allowing it to further soften his steps. Built over time the muscle lining his body is lean, his size making it seem a near impossibility that he is one capable of speed over large open distances and correct may one be though only to a degree. With how his life has become a matter of speed and sustaining it he has trained until he is capable of sudden bursts of speed, though still is his stamina lacking and he pushes himself all too far at times, his excess weight making it a near impossibility for him to do anything beyond what his skills currently allow.
Atop it all his fur is of a good length though it lacks the weight one may expect, course and fine, thickening only some in the colder months to offer more protection, lending more to the image of him being one of a great size. Layered about the neck and tail thickest he almost sports a mane, the heavy plum of his tail often a tangle mess for he has little patience for cleaning or removing tangles, bald patches where he has simply torn out clumps of hair common as his anger gets the better of him.
Clear the lack of colour, the simplistic blend of dark and light coming together in a rather pleasant way though it is rare he appears the same as the fur parts and moves with each step, revealing or hiding more of the pale colouring of the base of each hair. Tones of white and silver have taken hold near to the skin, darkening into grey before it becomes black at the tips, though there are some areas where the hairs are entirely white or black leaving what seem pseudo markings. Most notable of the light is about his neck, the heavy mane split with tones of light grey and white with black primarily about the back of the neck, bleeding down only to fade away at the hollow of his throat. His tail is similar, the top primarily black yet lightening at the underside and about the tip. The only point of true white is a short blaze upon his nose bleeding into greying fur about his muzzle.
Loose soil displaced beneath the press of claws, cutting within the soft expanse of brown grooves, the fine mass of loose particles gathering together in little bounds beneath his paws. "She always said I would be a monster, like him."
Fitting is the title of gentle giant for indeed he is he such, no matter the cold expression set upon stern features or the gruff manner of his speaking there is a quality to Wormshade that speaks of a heart put upon his sleeve no matter the threat such brings.
All the same there is some truth in the way he holds himself, some sense of self respect tempered by the quiet self hatred implanted into his heart during his younger days always there, a weed he is not quite able to remove, sharpening his ways and making him proud, though there is a clear lack of boastful intent behind his want to be better then he currently is. Ever striving for the next thing to occupy his mind and hone his skills it has become apparent he pushes too hard, working himself to the bone at the threat of deteriorating health, a force to be reckoned with on a warpath.
Beneath what may be deemed an overly serious and, towards some, cold exterior he has taken to heart the lessons his mother imparted though almost an opposite is he, taking all she did and flipping it on his head. There is a gentle sense of warmth and care in his each active, putting those around him first, continuing his duties even if it aggravates the situation he has placed himself into. So too is there a quiet love for the young ones, a want to assist in their growth, almost a proud father to all for he has no wish to see them pushed aside, belittled for their choices or factors beyond their control.
"I was a pitiful waste of fur in her eyes, just as, if not worse, then the snake-tongue of a father that left her with me," bitter the edge of twisting grin, delicate threads of laughter passing through clenched teeth, arising until the sound if ringing through his head, all he may hear. Yet so too is there sorrow there, the glimmer of tears suspended at the corner of his eyes, simply awaiting the final push to fall.
An apprentice with stars clouding her gaze, never seeing the issue with the tiny budding crush, fickle her feelings, sure to be worn beneath the touch of time. Easy his smile, his gaze a weight upon her yet never with what she wanted, lacking the attraction that seemed only to warp and grow, yet she feared pursuing it for no good may come of it.
But eight moons had she seen pass when she had found him, the heavy coating of black shot with white rather eye catching, differing from the lighter tones many bore around her, a sight she drunk in each time he crossed her path though few were those. New was his name, well suited the title of Shadowbreeze upon him, but he had no eye for her.
Resentment grew in her chest, bloomed there like a thorn choked flower, never letting up until time followed its course and she too stood before her leader, pride within the depths of her eyes, awaiting the press of his nose upon her forehead, the weight of a new name to call her own.
Still he overlooked her no matter how well she had grown, how the sleek tortie before him was no longer the small apprentice he had come to know, awkward on limbs all too long for her body, stumbling over her words within his presence, smiling at her with the delicate traces of sweetness she so sought to strengthen, see become something so much more. Time ticked on and he came to approach another, the realization he may never be interested for his heart did not seek the company of a molly but it was enough to know he thought of her highly, approaching only her with the offer, seeking her as surrogate. In all but name he would be hers, or at the very least such is what her mind told her.
Yet none of it was to be for dark had turned the love between Shadowbreeze and the one he supposedly had given his heart, grown clear his disinterest in time, seeking the company of others in the dead of night, enjoying the pain he could tear from the one who adored and worshiped him. All too far, pushing beyond what his poor lover may stand, until bloody was there end.
Beneath the cover of night Shadowbreeze became nothing more then a bad memory, at least such is what Robinflight had hoped. Still was she young and complications tore from her many of the already small litter, leaving only two, the dark coat of her daughter broken by small patches of colour but the other, the son she would come to despise for his mere existance, held the light and dark tones of his father.
He was beneath her, fit only for the dirt and disgusting mud his father had wallowed within and so fitting was the name of Wormkit in her mind. Pushed aside, unloved beside his sister Stormkit, he knew no affection nor care, barely surviving his youth, only allowed a chance with the tender warmth of another queen who had seen something in the kit, worth his mother dismissed.
Reaching apprenticeship it began the hardships, the decline of his health as he pushed the boundaries, went beyond what he should have needed to prove he had worth even after his mother passed, bitter and spiteful to the end.
"I sometimes wonder would she be proud of me now, after all I've done, I am nothing like he was," unspoken words hung heavy, sigh parting his lips before his eyes fell shut, exhaustion apparent as his expression grew lax. "I just wanted to be a good son,"
Father
Shadowbreeze, beginning as a loner was accepted into Meadowclan as an apprentice but quickly showed he was not suited to the life, a cruel, twisted tom with his heart set upon controlling all he might. A large black smoke.
Mother
Robinflight, born and raised within Meadowclan she was proud and thought all too highly of herself, to a point she thought herself perfection in every way, the only kit of an older pair made elders just before her birth. A tortie molly.
Sister
Stormfang, cared for and well loved by their mother she was none the less kind to her brother, assisting in raising him to a point she is more a mother then a sister to him now, but proved a capable spitfire of a cat. A tortie molly, primarily black.
