Storm - DeathClan

[Fia]

Name: Storm

Gender: She-cat

Age: Thirty-six moons

Rank: 'Warrior'

Clan: DeathClan

Description: A lean, medium-sized she-cat; Storm has gray-black fur, an absolutely solid shade, uniform from muzzle to tail-tip. It sounds uninteresting, but the shade of gray is eye-catching- it is the color of evening shadows, into which she can easily disappear, like a phantom of some sort. Storm keeps her fur in relatively good condition, not incredibly sleek, but not ragged or tangled with burrs. It's short and easy to manage, and keeps her from roasting in hotter seasons, while she can keep warm in Leafbare by just sitting in a patch of sunlight and letting her dark pelt absorb heat. Her eyes are a very pale, misty-green, set in a neatly shaped head.

Storm has limbs of average length, and small, neat paws tipped with lethally sharp claws. She's not the most physicaly powerful of cats, but she's not the fastest either; thankfully, she's a clever fighter rather than a physically specialized one: her attacks are delivered in many small, sharp slashes rather than a few huge, energy-consuming swipes. Still, while force is not her greatest asset, she can pack a lot of power into one solid blow if she has to. Her endurance is remarkable; she can take a lot of damage and still be able to fight, for as long as she has to. Though that's mostly through sheer stubbornness and not any physical ability...

Personality: For a DeathClan cat, Storm is actually pretty decent. She's not a sweet, gentle little cat, but she has a good heart and won't ever cause needless suffering. Good-natured but easily angered, she's a great ally and deadly enemy. Why is a cat like this in DeathClan? She's out to show her clanmates the meaning of loyalty and honor... though more the former than latter. She's not above... bending... a few rules. This shows in the fact that she likes to stop and exchange news with all sorts of cats, rather than chasing them off and sticking to the company of her clanmates. Storm's self-assurance and liveliness are contagious: it's difficult to ignore her presence and, unless she deliberately annoys you, hard to hate her. Her courage is admirable and she's hardly unintelligent. Not necessarily the sharpest cat around, but growing wiser as she gets older,

In recent moons, however, much of her spirit has ebbed away, and she is slowly but surely becoming uncertain and discouraged. With the newer members of DeathClan around, she treads very, very cautiously, as if on eggshells. Her loyalty to her Clan hasn't wavered, but she has begun to question whether or not she will ever begin to make any sort of difference in its ethics and policies. Rather than step up and make herself heard, or jump into any situation, she strives to fade into the background, unwilling to attract unnecessary hostility. As a result, Storm has become a very lonely cat, afraid even to speak to any but a few of her Clanmates; and them, only on occasion, only if she has a very good reason. If any good has come of this change, she's a kinder, mellower cat than she was moons ago.

Basically, she's miserable, close to depressed, but clinging to the faint hope that the seemingly unending tension will finally loosen its grip on her Clan and let her breathe a little easier. But that's all she dares hope for.

History: Storm's life has been... unremarkable. She was born right in DeathClan and taught by her parents to hunt and defend herself. You'd think being in a Clan like this would have turned her into some bitter, cold cat, wouldn't you? But Storm is just... impossible to influence if she really doesn't want to change. She's always been a bit... worried by her leader's... 'issues'... but so far, she's managed to avoid any trouble. Storm has spent half her time trying to 'fix' DeathClan, but she's never been able to figure out if she's made difference or not. She hasn't given up, though...


Unlike many of her current Clanmates, Storm was born and raised in DeathClan. Born in late leaf-fall, on a dark, stormy night, she was the only kit born to Moth and Smoke, two of the 'lesser' cats of the Clan. Neither had much say in the affairs of DeathClan -they stayed only for the sake strength in numbers- and feared for their kit long before she was born. There were no laws to protect the young, only parents who could only do so much. Both had hoped desperately for sons, simply because they would be less at risk than daughters. But their one kit was a she-cat, as dark a gray as the clouds thundering overhead, and they named her Storm - Moth, for her fur, and Smoke, in the hope that she would live up to such a strong name and grow to be a powerful cat.

Storm's first moons were lonely ones. She had no littermates, no friends, no elders to tell her stories, and no grandparents to spoil her. Moth did her best to keep the kit entertained -and close at hand- on her own, for Smoke spent most of his time struggling to feed his family. His brother, a loner who had left DeathClan long before, would occasionally bring him pieces of prey when he could spare them. "For the little one," he would mutter gruffly, and leave without another word, always afraid of running into old Clanmates. Nonetheless, Smoke was always grateful, and would come home and tell his daughter to  be thankful for kin who cared enough to bring her dinner when prey was so scarce. And then he would curl up, exhausted from a day of hunting in the snow, and sleep until morning.

"Your father's just tired," Moth would assure the dismayed little she-cat. "He works so hard to keep us safe and fed."

"He doesn't seem to like me much," Storm would murmur doubtfully.

And her mother would tell her it was nonsense, that her father loved her and would do anything for her. That was why he spent all his time looking for food for them, without ever going too far from home, in case he was needed. As it happened, Storm was half right - Smoke was afraid to care too much for his daughter, in case he suddenly lost her to famine or foe. He couldn't help but love his kit, but he tried not to be too close to her. And when she was three moons old, he decided she ought to learn to defend herself. The sooner the better.

"Iceheart brought home a kit from NightClan because he wants more fighting warriors," he snapped at Moth when she protested. "She's being trained to fight already. If Storm falls behind, she'll be in danger here."

And so Storm was taught to fight. Slowly, at first, and as the weeks past, more quickly, she learned the basic moves taught to Clan apprentices, though she was clumsier and slower than the older cats. But Smoke was patient, if still rather distant, and she was eager to make him proud; gradually, she improved under his determined training, and for all his efforts to stay detached, the proud, increasingly hopeful father couldn't prevent the bond formed between him and his daughter.

This was fortunate, as it turned out, for Moth died suddenly when Storm was seven moons old, fighting the patrol NightClan sent to retrieve its stolen kit, renamed Pain. Smoke, as devastated as Storm, was left to raise the young she-cat alone. For the first time, he seriously considered leaving DeathClan, but decided against it. Storm had survived her most helpless moons. She could surely survive now that she was learning to defend herself. Storm, who had never had much contact with her Clanmates, didn't want to leave either; she was convinced it would be safer to stay where her "family" would fight to protect her from "those awful Clan cats who killed Moth". Smoke, though doubtful, assured her that yes, she was safe at home, and immediately set about teaching her to survive in DeathClan, in case he, too, should be killed in battle.

[Update in progress]

Picture:

Stormy~!

Art by Me

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