Post by frillrock on Aug 1, 2009 12:04:03 GMT -5
you tell me love is the answer..
Picture:[/blockquote]
Name: Feirceclaw
alias:Demon of nights,Soul hunter,the Slayer
Age: 17
Gender: Tom
Clan:None(willbe in blackclan )
Role: LOner/blackclan (leader?)
Personality: Fierceclaw's personality reflects the name of which he hails: He's fierce, and his claws have claimed the lives of many; both of the guilty, and of the Innocent. But the thing about that is his distorted mind doesn't allow him to see how it's wrong. He was trained and taught that love and mercy were all bogus philosophies, all false remedy that keeps the heads of the weak above water. And from all the losses he's suffored...and with no one to tell him otherwise, no one to show him the truth, Fierceclaw believed; he believed every word...
Bred literally to hate the weak and consider everyone else a threat and competition, born with the generational curse of a murderer, there was never a light to break through this endless pit of darkness for Fierceclaw, the prince of Haliska. He's cunning and ruthless in battle, possessing more skill than most cats would like to believe. But then, very few people have ever even, or even thought to experience the trauma of the grueling training this cat has been through.
Fierceclaw's bottomless supply of determination will push him until his bones crack for the things he believes are important, and that's the only reason he is still alive today, the only reason that folk-lore of this ruthless young ruler roams tamelessly through the whispering forests and peaks of his homeland. Unfortunately, the things he believes are important is nothing more but one: strength. Nothing else ever mattered in Haliska, and although that vigor was birthed through his burning lust for revenge, he knows now how to control himself. And knows now that if he lost himself to his anger, then it would be just as bad as if he had never taken a day of training. And although this terrible quality is a positive for him, it is also his downfall. Fierceclaw isn't a quitter, and if he was ever against someone better, fighting for his pride or other selfish gains or dreams that never seem to die, chances are, Fierceclaw isn't going to back down unless he considers it in his best interest. Which is rare because of his arrogance, especially when it comes to battles.
The small cat's heart seems out of reach, as if it were never even there. Sick amusement has replaced what would've been a comic personality. And the darkness that haunts his soul seems like it has permanently sank into every fiber of his being. It seems the damage is, indeed, permanent, what they did to him. Whether it truly was or not was another story. Fierceclaw was used to only one kind of cat: Selfish. But hey, if nobody else cares for you, you HAVE to care for yourself, right? Especially in Haliska, or else you were classified as a commoner and constantly ordered around or punished, or you were, well, dead or exiled.
That was the kind of life Fiereclaw was used to, until it all began to fade into a sort of concealed depression after he had traveled so long. And even though the cats he knew respectfully despised him...Fierceclaw was lonely. And he hated it because he was lonely. Never before did he need anyone, never. And he knew that because no one ever helped him, it was his own drive that preserved his life. Maybe it was just that Fierceclaw had no one else to order around, no slaves or prisoners to take out his frustration, to make hurt like he hurt. Maybe it was because the fear he saw reflecting in the eyes of his observers that knew him, the very sight that he'd bled and worked so hard to see, was gone. Maybe that was it. But at any rate, everything began to lose it's luster in his mismatched eyes.
But despite all this negativity. Fierceclaw is a natural born leader, or, a leader similar to what you'd expect from an evil warlord, and he's very tactical. At one time he ruled, he won battles, lead his kingdom to victories. He'd been merciless, ruthless, heartless...Just like they had always wanted him to be. All such opposite qualities have been everything but ripped out of this cat along with his innocents long forgotten. Some believe he never had any at all - devil spawn or something. That rumor was probably birthed from the Haliskan prisoners, or survivors of the clans that kingdom demolished. Though, most things about him only Fierceclaw knows, but he's locked all doors. If there was anything left of his heart, any way of reaching him, it would be a difficult, dangerous journey.
Relationships: N/A
Belief:
5/10
Fierceclaw was never taught to believe in such "Ghost Stories" as Starclan and Warrior Ancestors that still watch over their mortal relatives, it could be used to instill fear into warriors during battle, and that simply wouldn't be acceptable for a Haliskan cat. It was all a bogus idea to him for a while that was meant to give hope to the hopeless wrenches. But after the battle with Faviere`, after seeing the impossible unfold before his eyes, Fierceclaw's a believer. Well...to a certain extent. If they DO exist, he reasons, then he hates them with a burning passion for what they did to him. For stealing not only his birthright, but what he worked and toiled so hard for all his life, not understanding that the thing he worked for was evil.
Love:
2/10
There is a very, very slim chance of Fierceclaw ever falling "in love". It goes against everything he was ever taught, it goes against the rootful foundations that make him who he is. At one time he'd fallen in love, the first and only time, and her name was Wildpaw. But the "Mighty King of Haliska" wouldn't have such "shackling emotions" weighing down his only surviving son. And to prove that such fuzzy feelings will only cause his downfall, the King sent the usual mock-happy group to kill her, and forced the injured prince to watch.
"It's a happily ever after after all, eh little prince?"
That was the day his heart hardened to the rest of it's capacity, and from that day, he had no care for anyone or anything. From that day everyone was a tool to him, nothing more. And that's the way he still is today. Reaching his heart would take a miracle-working she-cat. But until then, love from this ruthless prince is non-existent.
And as far as just mating goes, Fierceclaw's careful about where his genes flow. In Haliska, mates were paired according to their physical and mental attributes so their offspring would be most fitted to a certain place in the ranks; and being their prince, Fierceclaw wouldn't "poison" his genes. So unlike most cold-hearted toms you'd run across, he isn't a player for kits, and another reason being is because he isn't SO cold-hearted after all. The reason he wouldn't mate with just any she-cat is because he knows that he'd care for the kits...care for them too much. And that dwelled back to the "love" factor. They'd hold him back, he wouldn't be able to afford to make enemies because enemies took advantage of every weakness they could get their paws on. And Fierceclaw, as of now, refused to be put in a position where he'd have to compromise something for the safety of his kits. Unless of coarse no one, including the kits, knew who their father truly was. But Fierceclaw has a little too much pride for that.
Description: {*}Physical Build - Fierceclaw's stature is unintemidatingly small -- deception in the act. Whether his size is genetic or from a lack of vital nutrients as a small kit is uncertain, but whatever the cause, Fierceclaw stands at an older apprentice's height. However, that size attributes to his mind-boggling speed. And thick, well toned muscles ripple effortlessly beneath his pelt with each step and movement. His claws and fangs aren't anything special or particularly eye-catching, though he keeps them clean and white. But it's not the weapons you wield, it's how you wield them that makes the difference, right?
{*}Fur and Pelt - His pelt is thick and soft, as apposed to gleaming and wiry, which is plain evidence supporting the idea that he was born and raised in the merciless climates in the high altitude mountains. And is ebony black, jet, darker than a shadow on a moonless night, with no imperfections or markings to break the purity. Though, while genetic markings may not break that so called "purity", several scars are embedded in his underbelly and chest. Vicious scars with memorable horror lining each one, and the pads of his paws are fiercely worse to a point that it's surprising that they weren't distorted.
{*} Eyes - Those eyes are what most cats remember him by. They make it hard for Fierceclaw to ever pretend to be someone he's not-undercover lies. But judging by his personality, why would he ever want to? A patch of emerald green masks a spot hanging off his left iris, highly contrasting against his otherwise mystic blue hues. That patch of discolor runs in his family lines; a dominant trait in the royal Haliskan blood.
{*}Facial Features - Fierceclaw's face is just as dark as the rest of his lean body. His ears have a small indention just before their tips, giving them a horn-like appeal. His whiskers are black, and a handsomely framed face accents his unnatural eyes. Well, a face that COULD be considered handsome if not for the otherworldly ruthlessness that glows like dying embers along his deception-lined maw.
Kits: none
Mate: doesent want one
Parents:
History: Fierceclaw...
It was a name that had sent shivers down the spine of the most battle hardened warriors, guards, commoners, loners...A name that, at one time, had been feared on grounds far beyond his land. A name that stood for death and destruction, pain and loss. One that stole hope and courage, and severed bravery and faith. Once upon a time, Fierceclaw was horror.
Born to kill and raised to hate, and bred to conquer and bring the demise of all those who did not submit to Haliska, Fierceclaw had no say in what he was to become. It was kill or be killed, hunt or starve. They turned him into what they wanted him to be, and the price of becoming anything "less" was pure, cold death. This was a place of story and rumor; these were the cats who haunted the dreams of all kits, toms and she-cats who heard their famous tales. A place of blood and murder. Classified as the closest thing to hell you could get in this side of the cat world.
Love between mates was a hard thing to come by, especially in royalty, and Fierceclaw's bloodlines had been so-called "pruned to perfection". The perfect ruler....or so they say. From the age of 3 moons, Fierceclaw and his litter were under a heavy curse of expectations and fear that they didn't understand. Thrown into fierce training, there was no protection from their father or any other royalty, no overseer to make sure things were fair. The kits were at their "adoring" kingdom's mercy. And even the common folk were allowed to take their tear at the kits while they were still too young to understand, to weak to take revenge....
Grueling training on extreme, even insane levels. The pads on their paws were slit and torn over and over, reopened again and again until they were automatically trained to be agile on their feet. They were held under water, until they learned how to cleverly coordinate their fighting methods while conserving oxygen and fending off fear; and to ready their bodies for the battles that their kingdom was known for. Very sparingly were they taught how to defend themselves. It was all trial and error for this "lucky" litter so they would know their stuff. They were trained to hunt, however, though punished if they failed to catch a certain amount of pray over the extremely large territory within a certain amount of days. And punishment in Haliska...isn't cleaning an elder's den.
One by one, Fierceclaw watched as his litter-mates fell. One sister died of infection from her many wounds, despite the advanced medicine that the Haliskan medicine cats had treated her with. His brother, too haughty to back down, was killed by an infuriated overseer. An accident yes, the common cats were forbidden to actually kill their superior blood, only harden them up. After all, it was their king's kits, and the torment they put them through was at their own risk anyway because the one surviving kitten could easily take revenge...and oh, did he ever.
After moons and moons of more trouble than most cats would endure in a lifetime, Fierceclaw learned....he learned what his father had been trying to teach him all along. That if he did not kill, he would be killed. If he did not hunt, he'd starve. If he did not take authority, he would be taken authority over. The strong survived, the weak were either placed under that authority, or they were killed in the cruel sport Fierceclaw's twisted morals now loved so obsessively. It was as simple as that, elders included. Fierceclaw learned that such a fantasies like these words called "love" and "mercy" only existed in the hearts of innocent kittens, and in the minds of fools. He learned the HARD way that compassion and love would only result in pain and humiliation in the end. And after seeing his mother, the queen, killed by the ONE cat in a higher position than she was, and every one of the kits he'd known from birth trained to the very point of death, and the one she-cat who'd been....different from the rest. Fierceclaw's heart was hardened. And he was ultimately turned into the murderer that his birthright so desired him to be.
Those cats who put him through such horrors were very much remembered. Their sneering smiles and jokes and insults, their natural weapons ranking down his soft ebony pelt. He remembered...but unfortunately, those inhabitants were not. Fierceclaw made sure of that. He ultimately overthrew his father, the old tabby meeting with the same fate, and took his control over his kingdom. The ambition that had driven him from the beginning. The lust for revenge, and the gnawing desire to take HIS turn to be in power and to be feared had finally come true in his reality. At last, at very long last, Fierceclaw ruled, and he ruled with the ferocity of a fight dog, loving the thrill of the hunt and the kill.
However, one faithful battle with a neighboring clan, a soft, peaceful kingdom. Even calling themselves after the native word for Hope: Faviere`, the young king met his match. Their believe in some....heavenly belief. Some....supernatural power that came from above. The light, the love, the peace. Coming against all the darkness, the hatred, and the brutality of Haliska. Faviere` was smart, however, and gathered together all the other neighboring territories for the battle held their own land.
It was certainly a battle to remember, in the lush grasslands of Faviere`. Hundreds of warriors lined up against each other, otherworldly fire showing in their eyes. A battle that literally lasted on and off for days, the meadow forever called the "Meadow of Loss" due to all the casualties on both sides, all the blood, and definitely, all the hate...
Fierceclaw saw who was winning and losing, and no matter how many more cats he forced into battle, no matter how well trained and professional his army, something.....something was keeping him from what he so desired most: Victory. He wanted to see them burn. And in battle himself, the prince punished them, fighting with all the vengeance and the hatred that most wouldn't think a cat could hold without losing control of himself. In a way, Fierceclaw had long since lost control. But the demonic wit remained.
However, that "demonic wit" cost him 2/3 of his army, and Faviere` was still pouring in soldiers who never seemed to fade. And so Fierceclaw did what any noble cat Haliskan native would do in this situation. He fled.
And ever since that night, Fierceclaw has lived the cursed life of a loner. His mockingly short rule and command over so many lived on only in his dreams and fantasies. The things that his twisted mind had been trained to think were the GOOD things in life were taken away from him, like a rug yanked from under his feet, all the things he'd worked so hard for...
Many other outlanders knew who he was, even though he had traveled so far from his birth ground, and he rarely had any scuffles unless it was caused by pure desire for the old days. Though Fierceclaw remained somewhat content...
But as the days grew to weeks, and weeks to moons, Fierceclaw's blood lust and ambition began to slowly Eb away. The very things that had kept him alive through all those moons of training....they were fading. Until the once glorious prince was dwindling almost to the "all washed up" stage. There was nothing left. Just a scrap of living breathing fur and muscle, and just those intimidating eyes. Fierceclaw lost interest in all that had once intrigued him. In his hunts, in his fights, in everything. Everything began to lose it's luster. Anger, sorrow, stress. Everything that Fierceclaw had known was taken away. There was no one, not even enemies. Just...vast emptiness of loner lands....until one day...he found the deserted blackclan camp.
Password:I LOVEDOGS
