Post by flametwist on Apr 2, 2009 0:28:48 GMT -5
FLAMETWIST
[/size]would you rather take your death by fire or ice?[/center][/font][/color][/size]
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name of FLAMETWIST
gender TOM
loyalty to RAVINECLAN
knowledge of THIRTY-TWO MOONS
looking like A FIRE-PELTED TOM WITH DARK AMBER EYES
in masks of color FIRE. IF THERE WAS ONE WORD to describe such a tom as himself, it would be fire. The aging tom of nearly thirty-two moons is broad-shouldered and strong with rippling muscles beneath his amber pelt, but there is nothing better to describe than a ball of rolling fire -- of something as bright and brilliant as the sun with a careful mask of comets, hidden beneath an explosion of flaming darkness.
There is nothing bland about the wise RavineClan warrior and yet, there - under veils containing a sort of unique wonder - there, hidden beneath the layers, is a sort of normality about him -- about his dark orange pelt, so familiar and easy, that's embedded with swimming ginger lines, that makes the prior statement (that he's brilliant and bold and fiery and so different that its often blinding) almost false.
Broad-shouldered and strong, the tom is probably as handsome as he is charming. He is certainly the type of tom to draw second glances from she-cats and toms alike, although he is not someone to think that he deserves this attention, nor does he appear to relish in it. In fact, the tom is either rather ignorant about it or pays no attention to it because it simply does not matter.
Flametwist is not a burly sort of tom, but he is not slender and smooth either like TealClan's deputy. He is rather average in build, towering over others and shorter than some, but there are few cats that are not intimidated by his burning scowl and smoldering eyes. On average, cats often find themselves trembling under his intense gaze, like a pot of flickering flames they are, they are strong enough to burn a man at the stake. If he so wishes it, a cat has said, he has the ability to kill a cat with his gaze.
RavineClan's most serious warrior often walks with a sort of demanding stroll, as if commanding power, and his prickly expression that is often displayed across his sharp features rarely let lose except on occasion when he's gazing at a certain silver she-cat that's caught his throat and his heart.
Overall, the tom is prickly and smooth but deafeningly brilliant when it comes to looks. No cat dares to step close enough to him to see if the rumors - that he would rip apart a cat's throat if he was given a good chance - are true.
under the mask INTIMIDATING WITH A DEAFENING SCOWL, Flametwist does not have many friends -- or friends at all. There are a lot of cats who respect of him because of his quiet, silent demeanor towards life and his overall coolness when faced with troubles, but there are very few cats that have been able to peek into his inner life and understand the fire that burns at his heart.
Towards loners, rogues and out of clan cats, the tom had little tolerance, but not many cats know why this strange bitterness towards such cats exists in his heart. He will not hesitate in taking out a set of sharp claws against such cats and chasing them out of the territory, whether or not their intention is good. No cat is sure whether or not Flametwist will ever come to peaceful terms with cats that aren't RavineClan born and bred.
There's a single exception, however and she's brave and brilliant and so deafeningly wonderful that Flametwist can't help but have a soft spot for her. Phantomsun - soon to be Phantomstar - has captured his heart time and time again and perhaps its because of her ignorance in this matter, but she doesn't seem - to Flametwist at least - to be letting it go anytime soon. Flametwist's heart aches for her and her loses, however, and so as long as she doesn't go chasing after other toms any time soon, the fiery tabby doesn't seem to care.
On the outside, Flametwist is a serious, solemn and no-nonsense sort of tom that will not hesitate in his decisions and solves problems with a sort of coolness that makes awe-filled gazes linger a little more than necessary. In the inside, however, his heart is soft and gentle and full of love, so much that he isn't sure where it has all gone. Although the tom is prickly and stern on the outside, constantly scowling and snapping at cats younger than him, some occasionally find his gaze drifting and wandering with a sort of softness, a wavering loyalty and kindness, that constantly bewilders them.
Flametwist is a lot of things - bright, brilliant, prickly, smooth - but he is also serious, calm and hardworking; and this is also something that any right-minded cat cannot, or wants to, deny.
turning back time ON A DRY, HOT GREENLEAF MORNING, Fable went into labor. Breathing hard and sweating, the fawn-colored female gave birth to three new forms. The father wasn't around at the time, but it didn't matter because she had gone through hell and back to give him these kits.
She looked at the first one, a dark tabby with pale blue eyes that would fade to a much darker cobalt, and nudged him. She gazed at him thoughtfully as he let out an impatient squeal, pressing tiny white paws against her belly. She shivered, for his touch was strangely cold. Ice, she murmured.
The second, another tom, was quiet and silent. He did not cry, he did not whine. In fact, he was so strangely silent that she would have thought him mute, if not for the reassuring fact that he would never give her mute kits, and lips pressed together, named him Fire for his burning ginger pelt.
The last was a stillborn, a she-cat that was too weak to survive the world. She was going to be called Fawn, for her fawn-colored fur. Fable sighed deeply, upset that she did not have a daughter, and pushed her away. A cold body would do no good to the growing kits at her belly.
Breathing deeply, the loner eased off into a quiet slumber.
When Fire had awoken, first opened his eyes for the first time, his identity had already been ripped from him and with that his name; he was no longer the name "Fire" as his mother had blessed him with, but this proud, young Flamekit with a sister named Glowkit, a sweet she-cat with twinkling eyes and a best friend named Soundpaw, a mute tom with silver eyes and a gentle smile.
He grew up under the careful care of his "mother", a pretty blue-furred she-cat named Rushfeather, and the attentive watch of the other queens, all warm she-cats with muted pelts that were nothing like his own and constantly made him confused because he did not fit in.
His father was never known to him, but young Flamekit often caught that dark tom with piercing amber eyes and a soft smile gazing thoughtfully at them - him and Glowkit, of course - before they would be assured away by their nagging mother.
She was sweet, yes, but her fierceness wasn't something to be trifled.
When Flamekit became Flamepaw, all ideas of that tom Stripedfur being his real feather was wiped right from underneath him, as well as any premonitions of him being a full-bred RavineClanner. On his first patrol with his mentor, Shadowfire, a strange loner bounded out of the bushes and confronted him.
The dark, ebony-faced and cream-pelted tom that was his mentor tried fighting the strange intruder off, but was met with such an intensity, a fierceness that could not be rivaled, that he let this strange loner take his apprentice away.
When they were alone, the loner revealed his name - Stripes, he said - and for a moment, the young tom was dumbfounded. The name was awfully familiar to the tom that Flamepaw had always thought was his real father and it made his heart ache once he realized who the tom in front of him - a blazing ginger tom with dark amber eyes that danced just like his own - actually was.
Stripes explained everything.
How he had never loved Fable, had used her for the sake of an heir, and had killed her in cold blood right after they were born. How he had stolen him and Ice when they were sleeping, how the fire had struck the barn immediatley after they left, and how in the chaos of it all, he had lost Ice and Fire -- the first, along a border with one of the clans, and the second, Ice, when he had gone back to look. and he claimed that for moons he went to look for his son, although there was a darkness in his gaze that seemed to imply something more than the complete truth, and only found him now.
Stripes smiled and Flamepaw felt like cringing.
I found you the older tom murmured and Flamepaw wanted to scream back that no, no he didn't. He was no longer the Fire who was wheezing and coughing of smoke at the RavineClan border, who was thinking of his mother and wondering if he would die. Even worse, as his throat went dry and fear engulfed him, he realized he was still in possession of this awful loner that was probably just lying and waiting for an opportunity to rip his head off.
Stripes looked at his son admirably and pressing his lips together thoughtfully, asked the ginger to think about it -- to think about moving in with Stripes, Snowy and their new litter of kittens, his half-siblings.
Flamepaw nodded stiffly, Okay, I'll think about it.
But he was lying straight through his teeth. There was nothing to think about.
When Flamepaw had become Flametwist at a young fourteen moons, he had already matured into a strong, confident warrior with no pains in his heart. He thought he had gotten rid of his family and the empty ache that they brought -- the ache knowing that the Flametwist, always a burden, would never fit in.
But Stripes had come back.
Crazed and insane, the tom burst into the seemingly deserted camp one day just as Flametwist was eating his morning meal and gazing thoughtfully at nothing as thoughts of a specific apprentice - a pretty silver apprentice - filled his mind and stalked right up to his son.
For a moment, the fiery tom could not remember who this was -- that is until he gazed up into the dark smoldering eyes that was his own, and the anguished flames that would soon be his own.
Flametwist had no choice but to follow his father into the forest - because he was stronger, so much stronger than him - and listen to the threats that burned down his throat like a white-hot brand of iron.
Come with me, the father pleaded. The family was dead - he had killed them, he said, but he wouldn't explain why - and he needed company otherwise he would go crazy.
Flametwist looked at his father in pity, but in disgust too, and did not say anything, instead swallowing thickly and looking away.
I can't, he mumbled.
Stripes glared at his son and smacked him straight across the cheek, claws unsheathed so that it struck across open skin, tearing through flesh. You can't!? You're my son! You can, he snarled, raising a paw to tear Flametwist away.
The young tom, furious now that his father would dare try to attempt such a low move, dodged and jaws snapping, growled a deep feral snarl at his father. This is my home.
Stripes crouched, ready to spring --
but then a patrol of warriors had scented the blood and had come running and they - Stripes and Flametwist - could hear the pounding of paws against the ground, an echo of their hearts.
You're a failure, Stripes hissed before racing away.
And for once, Flametwist could not find an answer to that.
Now at thirty-two moons, Flametwist is wise and clever. Many events have passed in his life, all of them scarring his soul beyond belief, but there are very few that have embedded themselves in his soul, burning the empty ache in heart.
He knows, and hates that he knows this, that he will never be a true Ravineclanner.
