Post by fαllεη • on Jul 15, 2010 18:12:48 GMT -6
T i g e r p e l t
never fight for second best
[/blockquote][/blockquote]Name: Tigerpelt
Age: 30 moons
Clan: IvyClan
Gender: Tom
Position: Warrior
Personality:
Tigerpelt has always been a little competitive: to say that's his defining streak would not be an understatement. He always trained the hardest, took the longest patrols, and fought for his rank with a ferocity that would have gained him his name --that is if his tiger-striped pelt didn't do so first. Anyone who doesn't belong to his clan will be treated with the same openness and comradery that he gives to all IvyClan cats, but there'll always be a guard up behind his eyes. Taking a mate outside the clan is completely unthinkable to him --even one within the clan is pushing it. He appreciates kits in terms of their potential worth: whether or not they'll make good warriors is about as far as he'll consider things. As a matter of fact, he seldom considers anything past the initial appearance. Tigerpelt takes things on appearance, and that's often led to him making some stupid decisions. His general attitude is 'don't get into a situation you can't fight your way out of'.
Tigerpelt has always measured his own success by others' attitudes to him. As a kit, he only felt successful with praise from his mentor; an apprentice, he felt like he was failing when Owlfeather seldom acknowledged his successes and progress. He measures himself against his sister, too, believing that she's never had to work for anything, whereas he trained long and hard to get where he is today.
Although he doesn't talk about it much, he has a strong, fixed belief in both StarClan and the warrior code. Anyone trying to break that code under his watch is going to get their ears -and probably their face- clawed off.
Description:
Like many IvyClanners, Tigerpelt (unfortunately) is built for agility rather than strength. That said, though, he does have an impressive set of muscles, earned from his almost obsessive training. You'll never find the black-striped tom lazing around in camp, no sir! He gulps down his meal after hunting every morning, then immediately throws himself back onto patrols --with our without other warriors.
He cuts a fairly impressive silhouette: typical strong jaw; stubborn, gold eyes; rounded ears. All in all, not a tom you'd want to get onto the bad side off: those huge paws aren't just for show, you know.
Parents: Goldenfire (Mother), Crimsonfoot (Father)
Littermates: Amberglow (Sister), Rigidstep (Brother, previous litter), Duststorm (Brother, previous litter) All family open for role-play if you wish.
History:
Born to two highly traditional warriors (Goldenfire and Crimsonfoot), Tigerkit and Amberkit found their kithood to be much like their apprenticeship. Goldenfire took great pride in fussing over her second litter, teaching them hunting crouches and fighting moves from an early age. Amberkit was the more fun-loving of the two and often abandoned the sessions to play with her friends, but Tigerkit thrived on his mother's attentions. As their apprenticeship came closer, his father took a larger interest in the kits' upbringing, and tried to get Amberkit to join her brother. This failed miserably, and Amberglow was her own cat ever since: friendly, warm, and enjoying her own kind of discipline: none.
Tigerpaw was apprenticed to an aging warrior who had trained two apprentices before him, and soon found that it wasn't as easy to impress his mentor as his parents had been. At first, he responded to Owlfeather's indifference with disappointment, which (after a week of hard training) blossomed into anger. He embraced fighting, as it was the only chance he got to take out his frustrations, and was soon learning all that he could from the warrior. Infuriatingly, Amberpaw was doing very well with her own training, and there was always laughter wherever she was. Tigerpelt has come to resent her laughter, unless he's there to hear the joke.
Owlfeather never really praised him: she nodded, but that's all the response he'd get out of her, short of "Your haunches need work" and other such constructive criticism. In his twelfth moon came the greatest shame: Owlfeather asked to have him train for one more month, while Amberpaw was made into a warrior.
The shame. Tigerpaw had already established himself into a cat who you did not make fun of, but he knew there were whispers behind his back (at least, he believed they were). He trained nights now, even when Owlfeather wasn't there to watch -especially when Owlfeather wasn't there to watch- and built himself into the warrior he had to be to earn his mentor's praise.
One moon late, he was named Tigerpelt. He'd spent his solitary training sessions thinking names that he'd like to have: Tigerclaw -slice through bark-, Tigerstorm -avoiding his sparring partner's attack-, Tigerslash -connecting his own blow. But Tigerpelt... That was a name that he still took pride in.
He's now spent more of his life being a warrior than an apprentice, and still trains with the same fiery nature. Owlfeather retired after his training ended, and passed away a few moons ago. Tigerpelt was surprised that he actually mourned his mentor's loss --he cried, far from camp and far from watchful eyes. But he's never had reason to cry since.
And, with any luck, he never will.
Writing Example:
Smash. 'Harder.' Crack. More claw, less paw.' Splinter. 'Ow. Damn it!'
Tigerpelt paused his assault on the log to suck the splinters out of his paw, before glaring at the log. The large hunk of tree took no notice. Nodding, the warrior turned as if to go, before whipping around and taking a run-up, sliding onto his back, and raking his claws along the 'belly' of the old tree, sliding right under it as he did so. Never caught by surprise, are you?' he grinned, shaking himself and getting to his feet. The log, already familiar with Tigerpelt's manic assaults, hadn't moved, except to sprinkle the earth with wood chips from the eight new scratches.
The black-striped warrior shook his head, not even breathing heavily. He'd have to find another sparring partner: this log got boring fast. He'd trained with most of the warriors in IvyClan, so maybe they'd thank him for the break. Patrol time, then. Leaping straight from sitting to a run, the tom sped through the trees, his muscles pounding furiously against the sudden assault. Tigerpelt only grinned at the new, gentle throb that always came with a good run. 'Stretches out muscles you didn't know you had,' he smiled to himself, showing rows of white teeth. Yes, this was a good run. He'd come back to the log later if he couldn't find someone to spar with.
Back in the small clearing, the log waited until Tigerpelt was out of earshot, then let loose a huge, long-suffering groan.
Autobiography: See Smokeleaf :)
[center][font=Trajan Pro][size=5]/ t i g e r p e l t \[/size][/font]
[font=Times New Roman][size=3]never fight for second best[/size][/font][/center]
[sub][blockquote][blockquote][color=Orange]"will you drag the badger-boy over here, or will I?"[/color] [/sub][/blockquote][/blockquote]
