Post by crush on Nov 28, 2011 15:33:33 GMT -5
thunderstrike
THE RIGHT THING TO GUIDE US IS RIGHT HERE INSIDE US
THE RIGHT THING TO GUIDE US IS RIGHT HERE INSIDE US
name...Thunderstrike
age...Thirty seven moons
gender...Male
clan...Thunderclan
position...Medicine cat
species...African lion
apperance...Thunderstrike could be considered a rather large lion, his shoulder height at a solid three feet ten inches, making him a force to be reckoned with. He isn't particularly bulky, mind you, considering both his breed and his gender. His chest is broad, with thinner hindquarters, though it works for him. His legs are thicker, but nowhere near thicker than average, and his body proportions overall leave him looking a little plain, albeit a practically perfect speciman in that regard. His face is not as broad as one might expect, and the whole top of his head is a gentle slope, with only the slight bump up of his occipital bones giving the top any sort of definition. His head as a whole is very much boxy, although it tapers a slight bit to his muzzle. His eyes are a pale gold, almost appearing an off-yellow and brown mix in darker lights.
His fur is rather uniform, a dark sandy shade that lightens up and looks tinged orange on his legs and face. The top of his face is tinted with a sooty color, with lighter beige hairs mixed in near his eyes. Circling his eyes in black, with the dark color extending in a line from the inner point of his eye and halfway down his nose. His legs, in turn, fade to an off-white shade in the fur on the back of his legs and the bottom of his paws. The unique thing about him is that on that dark sandy color, he sports small speckles. Most are small enough that unless you're close, it just gives his body a darker tinge to it. His mane is the same lighter, slightly orange shade of his legs for the most part, though there are two rings that are darkened with darker brown and sometimes black hairs. The first run around his neck just behind his ears, though there is a ring of the lighter shade that circles his face. The second is the ends of his mane, around behind his elbows.
personality...At first glance, Thunderstrike is a simple creature to understand, with not too many apparent traits. For the most part, this is true, as he is very simple to the core. He's an easy lion to understand, once you take a little bit of time to pay attention to not just his actions and tone of voice, but also his words, which don't always seem to match.
The most obvious of his traits is his rather fun-loving personality. He's been known to be a bit of a joker at times, not afraid to crack a smile or pull your leg no matter the circumstances. This isn't to say he tends to tell an outright joke, like a knock knock joke or something. No, that's not in his style at all. He'd much rather play with words, twist his answers to your questions, and compare one thing to something outrageous and ridiculous, but ultimately make it a true comparison. Of course, with this comes a generally friendly demeanor towards others. Thunderstrike has never been shy, nor extremely outgoing. He is gentle and kind in his words, not quite soft-spoken but not obnoxiously loud either. It makes him a likeable being, suited to most any sort of conversation with most other felines, no matter their personalities. This has always been true, but since he set his paws on the path of a medicine cat it has been amplified. His caring for others is ever-present. Even now, with other duties, he would not hesitate to do the menial task of cleaning bedding if there is no available apprentice to do it.
He is and always has been a respectful feline. Ever since he was a young kit, although he bothered the elders for stories, he always left them be as soon as they said no. Even now, although he has a special place in the clan, even apprentices get a certain amount of respect from him - provided they show him the same courtesy, of course. Even from the leader, he tends to demand some respect. He's not usually vocal about this demand unless the issue is pushed, but he knows full well he is the only cat in the clan trained in healing and he feels that earns him the right to a reasonable amount of respect. This aspect, as well as the fact he, unlike most medicine cats, has completed rigorous warrior training and could very well have had that duty instead makes him all the more confidant in the respect he deserves. He carries his head high with pride for these reasons, though he has never once rubbed it in. He is not beyond correcting a cocky apprentice who thinks he'd nothing but a medicine cat, but he does not gloat.
He's been known to be rather fearless as well. He has already had a brush with death, and even wished for it, so by this point in his life he has already accepted that he will die. He is not unnerved by it, and he will even talk about it if you want to. His fear of death has been erased and it helps him with his duties. When an elders passes or a kit doesn't make it, he mourns but he moves on quickly. It is a necessary part of the cycle every cat must go through in his or her life, and he has realized that thanks to his own experiences.
He learns from a great many things besides his own life, of course. Especially in regard to stories. He adored them as a kit, and continues to love them even now. He remembers each and every one he has ever heard, the morals of each, the purposes behind them. He has a rather excellent memory and this carries on to make him an intelligent beast. It takes a bit of effort to catch this, of course. The tones he uses, the word choice, and his style of humor twist it so that unless you listen to what he's saying, word for word, he sounds almost unintelligent, an average mind at best. He is far smarter than he lets on, though, and easily makes connections that some others wouldn't.
history...It was the night of a loud, booming thunderstorm when this poor kit came into the world. Within seconds, he was drenched in rainwater from the onslaught of the storm. He had two siblings in the womb, but only he and his sister lived to birth. His sister died just hours after, having been the runt it was the best guess that she had caught a chill and had already been too frail as it was. He was left as the sole survivor, and was consequently a rather lonely kit growing up. The nursery was rather empty at the time, with just he, his mother, and another she-cat who was expecting. Once he was able to waddle around, his mother took him around the camp to socialize him and allow him to meet others who were younger. At four moons, the other lioness finally gave birth and both Thunderkit and his mother believed that he would finally have some company closer in age. Unfortunately, this was not destined to be the case as the lioness was extremely protective and would not let the curious and gentle cub near them.
This was fine by him, though, for little Thunderkit had made friends in the elder's den and spent many an afternoon there, listening to a tale or two. He was particularly fond of the tales involving Starclan, often begging for his favorite elder, Jaggedear, to tell him another one, then another, then another. He was always quiet and attentive, a perfect little subject to receive their stories, so he was often given into. This kept up until his apprentice ceremony, when he was finally moved from the nursery to the apprentice den. He was a good student. He wasn't the fastest learner when it came to hunting, but the effort he put in made up for this flaw. His battle technique, however, was impressive at the very least and it merely got better with practice. The generally humor-filled, intelligent young cub quickly found his place, though he always went back to the elder's den. Even when he was not asked, he'd clean the elder's bedding for a story, or go catch them something small to snack on so that he could settle into his favorite spot and listen as they spun a tale.
His warrior ceremony was set for the next day when tragedy struck. Thunderpaw, his mentor, and two other warriors were out for the evening border patrol. The sun was just dipping below the horizon and they were padding along an outer border, one that was not shared with any clan. There was a battlecry mere moments before the large lion felt a weight settle onto his shoulders and haunches. His training kicked in and he fell to the ground to roll, crushing his opponent and glancing to see the others were engaged as well with the rest of the rogue troop, surprisingly of mixed species. Most were smaller lynxes and the like, and they would be no issue for the larger and well-trained warriors of lionclan.
But, he had made an unfortunate move in rolling to remove his initial attacker, for another came and slashed across his belly. It was not deep enough to be immediately fatal, but he was immediately hit with agony. Rather than freezing with the pain, it set him into a frenzy and his paws flew, sending the offending bobcat flying into a rock. There was a resounding crack when the smaller feline hit, but then Thunderpaw collapsed. In that moment, he begged starclan to just take his spirit. The pain was too great; he just wanted it to stop. He was fading in and out of consciousness for the rest of the battle and remembered nothing from the trip home, where he was dragged along with one warrior packing whatever cobwebs could be found on his wound as they moved.
His eyes fluttered open hours later, near moonhigh, and for a moment there was nothing. Thank you, he thought softly, thinking he had died and the pain would be done. But then it came back in a rush and he held back a yowl as it hit him all at once. It was in that moment his intense belief of starclan began to fade. Over the next halfmoon, as the wounds healed ever so slowly and pain wracked his body despite the poppy seeds, that faith dwindled down to nothing. The kind, caring ancestors he had heard about all his life could not be real. If they were, they would never allow him to live just to experience such agonizing, paralyzing pain. They would have allowed him to die in that peaceful black abyss where there was no pain and no fear. It wasn't even sure if he would ever be able to return as a warrior. It would depend on how he healed, and how much he wanted to. Well, the will to return to his rightful place was not a missing factor. He wanted revenge.
For the remainder of the moon, hell-bent on revenge, he pushed himself harder than needed, but always respected his limits. When he could not work on getting back to his old life, he learned herbs from the old medicine cat, Grasswhisker. He had little else to do. He had never imagined that he would be truly interested in such things until the lessons began to start. At first, it was just a simple "well, what's that?" It soon escalated and Thunderpaw found himself fully enthralled. By the time he was fully recovered, two moons after the border incident, he no longer cared for revenge. He wanted to keep learning. Grasswhisker was getting old and had yet to find an apprentice, so he gladly took the lion on despite his older age. He spent the days wandering the territory to find herbs, learning how to make a poultice, and helping to decipher what to use, and when. Yet, despite his new path, his belief in starclan was still gone. He would scoff at mention of them and grow bitter, changing the topic as soon as he could.
This all changed with his first visit to the starcavern. He hid the fact he didn't want to go, that it offended him to visit the very beings that had refused him mercy. He went out of respect for the cat who had cared for him and who had taught him, but for no other reason. The moment he lapped up a small amount of the water and closed his eyes, his world shifted. He found himself face to face with a large pack of cats of many species, not just cheetahs, lions, tigers and leopards. They said nothing, just stared at him. He felt that anger from his weeks of revenge boiling back up again and he instantly lashed out, accusing them of their cruelty and injustice. For a moment, there was a silence between him and them, then a silvery lioness took a single step forward and in a voice as soft as honey, she replied.
"Are you not happier on your path now? Would you rather have never known the wonders of healing? Do you not feel complete now compared to before? We provided you with Grasswhisker to ease your pain as it was not your time to join us; is that not enough?"
He was taken aback at her words, not because of what they were but because of his own, silent answers to the questions posed. Indeed, he was happier and, although it had at first not seemed a wonderful thing, he had grown to discover that he would not have traded this opportunity for the world. He hung his head in shame for a moment before his eyes blinked open. The trek home, he was silent and thinking. By the time they reached camp, he had finally sorted it out. He had not died because without him, Grasswhisker would have not had an apprentice. The cat was getting old, even now it had taken far longer to return home than it should have. He had been needed, and so he had been saved. There was a purpose to everything, even if he did not understand it. Although his faith in starclan was not restored in that single event, it slowly grew back with each visit to the starcavern.
At twenty moons, he had completed his training and had, in fact, begun to outshine his mentor. Grasswhisker retired to the elder's den and Thunderpaw finally received his full name; Thunderstrike, to honor the blow that had killed an enemy without leaving a single scratch. Life settled into a pattern as he became the sole medicine cat for the clan. Little excitement has happened since for him, though both his warrior mentor and Grasswhisker have passed with old age, as has his father. His mother is in the elder's den, soon to follow the rest of his important figures in life, but he knows he will never be alone. Even in the simplest tasks, he can feel Grasswhisker there, looking over his shoulder and nodding to confirm it has been done right.
