Ghostpaw - Apprentice - Tom

[echo]

Name: Ghostpaw
Family: unknown
Rank: Apprentice
Clan: ShadowClan
Gender: Tom
Age: 6-moon
Eye Color: Ice blue
Fur Color: Pale silver
Other Appearances:

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Ghostpaw is slightly under size for his age. He has a slim frame, flexible and lithe. His fur is short, though it thickens during the colder season. While he is smaller than most new apprentices, his tail is a tad longer. His fur is very pale shade of silver, almost white. Under light, it makes him seem like a ghost. Darker tabby stripes wrap around his legs and tail, as well as his face.

Personality:

Despite his young age, Ghostpaw is very bitter. He never forgets a grudge, and it is hard to earn his forgiveness. Even if you do earn it, he won't forget. He will often plan some sort of revenge if he feels someone has done him a wrong. As such, due to his history, Ghostpaw bears a deep-set hatred of Twolegs, and it fuels many of the things he does, for it was they that had changed his life so drastically. He is quite dedicated to his goal of wrecking vengeance on said beings. It is one of his biggest ambitions, and he strives to do his best in everything in hopes of one day being able to do so. Usually serious minded, he is a perfectionist, not resting until he thinks he's got it perfect. He practices constantly, whenever he can. For him, mistakes are intolerable, beating himself over his failures. Like most cats, he had been eager to finally become an apprentice. However, this was mainly because of his desire to learn as much as he could, as it could only help in his goal.

Extremely stubborn, it takes a lot to make him give up with anything. When it comes to an argument or fight, he isn't afraid to hold his ground. He would give his all for his cause. As secretive as he is stubborn, Ghostpaw isn't very open about his past, or his desire to get revenge on Twolegs. Sometimes he can even seem a bit cold. Instead, he keeps to himself, usually staying away from others. He prefers his own company, and isn't known for being very social. Few cats of his own age try to befriend him, due to his rather closed personality.

Not only that, but Ghostpaw is always quite wistful, often times wondering about what his life would have been like had he still been with his family. Having not a single kin in the clan with him, he can be rather envious and bitter toward those who do, not believing that any of them can understand. While interaction isn't really his thing, he isn't necessarily quiet. If one manages to break through his bitter, cut-off self though, they will find a dependable friend in him. To those close to him, he will reveal a softer, kinder side to him. More open about himself, he can even be quite friendly. Intensely loyal to his clan and friends, Ghostpaw would risk his own life for them, and doesn't let them go.

History:

He is a pure blooded ShadowClan cat, even though he hadn't necessarily been born there. How is this? His parents, Darkpelt and Sleettail, were both experienced warriors in the clan, well respected in all the clans. However, they had always wondered about why they all had to constrict themselves to one piece of territory for their entire life. In the end, they left--many cats had been shocked by their decision to become loners, but their decision was respected. For a few moons, they had floated around. Eventually, they had kits--Ghost, and his sister Dawn.

By now, they had settled not far from the clans, and not far from the Twolegplace either. When Ghost had only been about half-a-moon old, he and his littermate had sneaked off to explore. Incidentally, the two kits wandered onto ShadowClan's territory, where they discovered a small bundle of poppy seeds, left behind by a careless medicine cat apprentice.

Thinking it was food, Ghost had ate a few, resulting in his falling asleep. Worried at her brother 'fainting', Dawn ran back to their parents to tell the tale. It was then that the family's home had been discovered by Twolegs. Unable to get away, all three were taken away. A patrol had found Ghost asleep on their territory. They took him to camp, thinking he was dead. This was promptly disproved when he finally woke up, very much confused as to where he was.

Obviously, the kit had wanted to go back to his parents and sister. But, the patrol informed him that they had seen no traces of them when they looked around for the rest of a family. A lone kit in the forest had to come from somewhere, right? There had been nothing but the lingering scent of the cats, as well as the scent of Twolegs. It was quite clear that the Twolegs had somehow taken them away, providing the source of Ghost, now Ghostkit's, grudge against the two legged animals.

Adopted into the clan, queens took turns caring him, though he remained apart from the other kits. He had been too immersed in his loss. By the time he reached his 6th moon, he was sure that someday he would make the Twolegs pay.

RP Example:

[From another site]

A pale ginger furred shape glided silently across the ground, leaving only faint indents in the snow. Fresh snow swiftly covered up its tracks as it fell soundlessly through the large gaps in the canopy. The leaves had long abandoned their branches, now hidden beneath the crystalline crust that had formed. Either that or they had already decomposed, adding to the frozen dirt. The tom lifted his gaze from the powder beneath his paws, raking the surrounding undergrowth. Ears pricked, his whiskers quivered slightly as he tasted the numbing air, listening for the smallest sounds in the still silence of the dawn. Faint light fell down upon the bare forest, telltale signs of the rising sun. The rays reflected on the snow-covered earth, causing the whole area to glimmer like a thousand diamonds.

The glow caught in the tom's vivid amber eyes. Catching fire, they burned an intense orange, blazing like the sun itself. They were his namesake, the twin fireballs, set in his fur covered face. Flarestorm. He took in another deep breath, ignoring the cold that filled him as he did so. Leafbare was leafbare--there was nothing that could be done to stop the cold that grasped the whole land in its icy hold. Nothing but to make do, and to keep fighting. Hadn't he always been fighting? Ever since the very beginning. Play-fighting with his denmates, fighting over what game to play, arguing about why he couldn't do this thing or that, fighting in training as an apprentice, hunting--which was basically like fighting prey--, fighting against the traitor Granitefang, fighting to prove himself, fighting for a place outside of a clan, fighting to come back, fighting to achieve his goals, for what he believed in. Then again, that was the life of a warrior.

Underneath his leafbare coat, muscles rippled, though there were sleek and sinewy. But other than that, there was nothing other than bones, the effects of the current weather despite the fact that it had only just started. After being exiled for--how long? 6-moons--he was somewhat familiar with the gnawing hunger. Most of the more prey-populated areas was dominated by one of the four clans. It was for that reason that he could stand on the snow without sinking too far down. That and how he had always been a tad on the smaller side.

Noiselessly wending his way through the trees, the limp body of a shrew hung from his jaws, pitifully scrawny. You would think they'd be a bit plumper, seeing as they spend half the day burrowing underground he mused to himself. Hard to catch, always hiding away beneath the soil...why couldn't they be more satisfying? Frustration flickered through his intense amber eyes, though it was replaced almost immediately with a steely determination. He gently dropped the cooling fresh-kill onto the ground, tasting the air and blocking out the scent of the dead shrew. Was there anything else? He closed his eyes in concentration, until he finally picked out the smell of a vole...and something else. It was a cat, more importantly, another ThunderClan cat. Even more importantly, it was his old mentor and current leader--Roughstar.

Just the name brought on another onslaught of memories. He'd only been an 'official' apprentice for barely a moon under the powerful cat before being kicked out for the crime he hadn't committed. While he did respect the senior tom, it was hard to say that he still felt the undying loyalty from before. No, he was just biding his time until the day he could at last get his revenge on the clan. They had been blind to the truth for far too many times. Okay, it had only happened about two times, bordering three. But all the same, he had tried to tell them, but they had ignored him every time. Picking up the shrew again, Flarestorm hurried forward, bounding lightly over the roots that stuck up, threatening to trip unwary felines.

He emerged into a small clearing just in time to see a bulky, golden furball plummet through the layer of snow, causing a whole cloud of the sparkling powder to fly up around it. Blinking away the icy particles, Flarestorm stifled a laugh, but it rolled out of him anyways, muffled by the body in his jaws. Roughstar scrambled out of the large hole, only to begin kicking snow in to fill it back up. The shrew fell from his mouth as the ginger deputy laughed harder, no longer able to restrain it. "Roughstar...are you...alright?" he gasped out between his chortling.

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