Mistpelt {Deputy of Fogclan} ~Warped Obsession

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Sanctus Espiritus, redeem us from our solemn hour.

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• NAME. Mistkit , Mistpaw , Mistpelt
  
• GENDER. She-cat
  
• AGE. 37 moons
  
• RANK. Deputy
  
  

[/li][li]BELIEFS. Obviously, Mistpelt a very religious individual; a born and raised believer of Starclan. Her entire ideal of herself as being pure and superior to others is all in the eye's of an ever watchful Starclan. And so the only thing that guilts her and makes her conscious heavy of anything, is the thought of the wrath of millions of eyes watching her from above, the threat and possibility of going to...a darker place. It keeps her from doing some particularly awful things, and pushes her to seek redemption but of course she does not think herself guilty of any crime; but finds the cats around her and the those who don't believe in Starclan accountable.

And Pineclan? Those unruly bunch of ruffians and miscretins? In her judgmental gaze, Mistpelt views them to be no better than abominations. And she finds that anyone that has the audacity to deny the presence of Starclan don't deserve the air that they breathe. Her despise is not obvious, though, and inwardly plots for Pineclan's termination, to cleanse the land of their existence... But first, drastic changes must be met in her own.

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RELATIONS.[/u]

• CLAN. Fogclan
  
• PARENTS. Dame (Unknown) / Sire (Nacht - rogue)
  
• SIBLINGS. None
  
• MATE. None...
  
• CRUSH None. (<-- in denial...)
  
• KITS. None.
  
• APPRENTICE. Cinderpaw
  

APPEARANCE.[/u]

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• FIRST GLANCE. A lithe ivory, silver tabby pointed she-cat with sea green eyes and silver tabby markings on her front legs and face.
  
  
• FUR. Mistpelt's coat is a beautiful mixture of neutrals. Her paws, larger than most she-cats, are clad heel to toe in white fur. Her legs, ever lean and powerful, are long, giving her an elegant look when she puts her body in motion. Her front legs, however, come in a strange and unique pattern from her elbows to her wrists, mimicking a silver tabby. Equally light claws are almost camouflaged under pink paw pads. Soft, lustrous fur billows from her underbelly, where the pigmentation changes from dark and stormy, to calm and serene and is the color of an off white to a slightly darker cream. Her rump and hind flanks faintly darken into a sort of light brown, hinted with a barely noticeable tabby pattern around her back legs and ending with her tail, which is a strong shade of medium brown all the way towards the tip. Her chest is fully white, which continues towards her chin until it reaches her face, which is colored by a silver tabby mask.
  
  
• EYES. Subtle yet intense, Mistpelt's optics are the color of the sea after a storm. Gleaming and blue green in color, her eyes are serious with a determined gaze lodged in the confines of her soul. Only when confronted with Death, does her eyes betray a deeper emotion, something she fears to reveal. Many cats tend to remember her not for her appearance, but for her eyes, which can make any grown tom get lost in those alluring orbs.
  
  
• FORM. Mistpelt isn't the biggest cat around, but she is larger than most of her gender and is surprisingly well muscled. Lean muscles flow beneath her pelt, creating a smooth, sublime look. Of course, she was not born with her powerful and considerable intimidating figure. Long hours of training as a young apprentice helped shape who she is today, with little regrets on how she turned out. Lean and long-legged, this she-cat is swift and ready for combat on call. She is graceful and flowing when she walks, but can become frighteningly threatening when rushing into combat.
  
  
• SCARS. She does not boast any sort of epic battle scar, but she has been in enough skirmishes in her life to possess a few stray scars here and there.
  

PERSONALITY.

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• FEARS. Heathen Influence, Losing favor in the eyes of Starclan.
  
• GOALS. Purge sin from Fogclan and cleanse the forest, as well as personally terminate the existence of Pineclan.
  
• LIKES. Pleasing Starclan, Purity, Discipline, Order, Duty, Acknowledgment, Praise, Her clan, Her followers, the taste of blood.
  
• DISLIKES. Non-Believers, Lax Rules, Heathen Influence, Laziness, Sexism, Discrimination, Failure.
  
  
• SKILLS. While not the largest cat around, she isn't as good in full frontal attacks, favoring hit and run tactics more. Due to her lithe size, she can fit into places where most toms would consider unreachable. An able runner, while she may not be the fastest but she can draw on reserves of strength to run longer where most would have to stop and rest. Quite intelligent and cunning, it's useful when she sets her aims to want something or reveal themselves in battle. With a perceptive eye, she can effortlessly recognize a non-believer just by a single question inquiring their believe. Those who stutter or take the time to glance frantically for answers have doomed themselves in Mistpelt's eyes. She quite keen to pick out detail and is talented at plucking each word uttered to her and scanning them for deception. Of course, her instincts are also judged by her own personal opinions. As a deputy she possesses a charismatic air of confidence that will further pave the wave for her leadership abilities.
  
  
  

[/li][li]Stainless? Well, Mistpelt likes to think of herself as such. She avidly believes and follows Starclan and thinks that everyone else should be, too. She holds up their name in high regards, obeys all their traditions and rules without question or hesitance... but she absolutely abhors and detests though who do not possess the same loyalty and devotion towards Starclan, even some of Fogclan, who have yet to show their true colors. In that sense, she can be very vain about herself, having an inflated immaculate pride. She is very close minded in this way, having no ear for any arguments or debates that challenged or undermine her beliefs or religion, or to any statement that she is in anyway a non-believer of Starclan. Having such a hugely inflamed ego, she can never be at the fault or blame for anything wrong. From missing a kill, to coming to terms with any wrongful deeds or sins she committed. There is always either a specific individual or reason to always lay the blame on; and if not that, there is always the sinful cats of the Dark Forest. To Mistpelt, those nightmares are very real, that comes to tempt her, often haunting her dreams and creating many a sleepless night. In that sense, she never takes responsibility for herself, always putting it on the shoulders of someone else or using Starclan as an excuse card. The only one thing she admits responsibility for, although ironically was never her fault, was the death of her parents; since she's always believed she was the cause and no one told her otherwise, and still believes that to this day.

Because of her distorted sense of what is good, noble, and honorable, she very much finds herself to be of those three things, and many cats not to be, so therefore she is better then them. She thinks it is her duty as a true believer, to help those that are lesser and weaker minded. Though some are simply not worth saving, tainted souls and all. But, for others, there is a chance for repentance, and Mistpelt has the time and patience to explain and help them be enlightened by the grace of Starclan. To a wanting ear, she may become very preachy of Starclan and their traditions, but secretly twists her own notions and beliefs of the explanation in the procedure. This she-cat has a rather highly developed habit of always lurking at the edges cloaked in shadow, listening unobtrusively to the usual things on that are transpiring wherever she happens to be, and then deciding upon courses of action to take based upon her findings. This can easily be seen as a somewhat plotting and scheming nature, despite her attempts at donning a mask of kindness.

Mistpelt tries to act very friendly to the tom population of Fogclan, which proves to shine in her manipulative behavior.. She constantly finds herself batting her eyelashes and being as agreeable as her persona can allow. She inherited her mother’s good looks and always took after her father’s charm and she really has no qualms when it comes to using either of them. In fact, it is something she has gotten so entirely used to, she occasionally does it without thinking, although she may 'pretend' as though she does it on accident more often than she actually does. Partially it’s to attract the attention of whichever tom she is turning the charm on to, but more than that she really just enjoys the ego boost every now and then and watching just how low a tom will lower and disgrace himself to the divine agent of Starclan. Along with her pride comes a balancing air of intelligence. She’s keen to pick out tiny detail, using every experience in her life to gain the upper hand when on and off the battlefield. In reality, she can be quite logical and good at thinking things through. Her plans are always very carefully laid out and she is quite adept at strategizing. She's quite sharp when it comes to deciphering when both cats of her clan and those without are attempting to deceive her. Naturally a very suspicious and distrustful feline, she always searches for half-truths and signs of trickery, fully understanding that sinful cats will do anything when desperate, even tempt her onto a bloody path that will eventually lead her to the Dark Forest. Sometimes, she tends to be a bit elaborate in her schemes, or suddenly act upon a whim and go with a whole other approach depending on more personal matters, but like many tight spots, Mistpelt normally seems to piece everything together and pull through with Starclan's aid.

She is one to believe that all cats, once born, are a sinful lot, only to gain favor once they've grown older and proven themselves either to her directly, or in Starclan's ever watchful gaze. Even though she may have a relatively pessimistic view on life, she is not a pessimistic she-cat. Like any normal feline, she is a mix of emotions, ranging from perfectly, even considerably 'normal' to absolutely livid. Around cats she is familiar with, she is tolerating and easygoing, both patient and passionately concerned for the physical, emotional, and especially spiritual protection of the clan. Most of the time, however, Mistpelt is right in between emotions, fairly laid-back, and almost always with a sarcastic or biting comment to make about whatever is taking place. Her humor is very blunt, and some cats simply can't handle or understand it. It is how she generally interacts, and it either is meant in a friendly, sort of playing way, or other times she is pointedly trying to set her jibes to ‘kill’. There's not much room for compassion or pity when one is trying to reach their goals. Though she always appears calm and dignified on the outside, for someone so easy on the eyes, she is extremely savage and even, cruel. Basically, she has a temper and she knows it, but she does try to hold back her anger when plainly unnecessary. The warning signs are always obvious with her when some one does tip her off the edge- a substantial narrowing of the eyes, followed by an impatient twitch of the lip, and then a downright scowl, are all markers of her gradual descent into a boiling and righteous rage. One of things that absolutely make her day, however, is when people banter back, particularly if they’re as quick on their feet verbally as she is. Not that she doesn’t enjoy pleasant cats, of course, but felines with a little fight to them are so much more fascinating to her that will often make her at least give you a second glance.


One thing it would be wise not to do, then, is damage her pride. Mistpelt worked hard to get to where she is, with Starclan's teachings and favor, the devoted she-cat who takes their rules and laws a bit too literally, if it all goes well in her plans. She can be a bit on the serious side, but she uses it mostly to make an image for herself and get the respect that goes along with that image. To a she-cat like Mistpelt trust does not come naturally to her, and with every new face she finds it hard to move passed first impressions, especially if she deems them unblessed by Starclan. Once she has developed a mistrust of someone, despite the reason, her instincts rarely ever tell her back down and good luck trying to persuade her otherwise. Her weaknesses are few and far between, but her most prominent one is her absolute obsession with Starclan. Earning her respect is no less than a feat, but is well worth the effort. She possesses a deep concern for the well being of her clan, but that concern can easily be warped into impatience and frustration when someone dares raise a voice to oppose her decisions.

Surprisingly, despite her inward turmoil, she is, in fact, very protective about her clanmates. Creating 'pure cats' comes at a heart wrenching process, some simpler than others. Her frustration can bare no bounds when it comes to others judging her actions as those of a heartless monster. She doesn't punish her kin for nothing, not for the cruelty, perhaps not even for the outcome...She loves each and every one of them. Her maternal wings wrap around her children and take them under her wing, and is especially sympathetic towards younger cats including apprentices and kits, but some...some will never learn. And it pains her more than them.

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REMINISCENT.[/u][/blockquote]

• History. A very mysterious union made way for the birth of Mistpelt. All that is outwardly known about her history is that she isn't of clan blood. Her mother and father were both rogues, but her father had abandoned her mother shortly after meeting. Her mother was disheartened by the news of her pregnancy and couldn't find the heart to end her daughter's life when she was born. Instead, her fate followed that of her mother. Since her mate abandoned her, Mistpelt, in turn was also left behind. She was found by Forestclan close to where the clans shared tongues with Starclan. A passing medicine cat picked her up and the little she-kit knew only that she was cold, hungry and uncomfortable. By the end of that night, she would be bound for ForestClan. She was given to her new foster parents, Sootypelt and Bayheart, to raise as their own and called her Mistkit.
  
  Life in the clan went by fast, as soon as she began toddling around, she tried to explore everything she could get her paws on. She was a lonely kit growing up, and spent long hours of the day trying to entertain herself. She was quiet, yet determined to become more than she was. Her eagerness only increased when she was apprenticed at six moons and became Mistpaw. She learned quickly under the watchful gaze of her mentor, who felt that her apprentice needed to understand all the aspects of Forestclan. Her mentor often took her eager apprentice to inspect every inch of their territory, where she trained her spiritually on how to deal with the harshness of reality. Naturally, she tried to be the best possible student, copying her mentor’s actions and following her directions. If she had finished her day's training to Siltstep’s satisfaction, she was often rewarded the last hours of sunlight off, while the aging she-cat napped inside her den. Despite her hard work, she was often teased for her devotion to Starclan, a quite unusual pastime to any sane cat training to become a warrior. They called her a medicine cat and laughed at her whenever she tried to reason that Starclan was always watching and that they better watch out. While her mentor was out hunting, Mistpaw head butted with one of the older apprentices. He mocked her for her outspokenness towards Starclan. As much as she tried to control her anger, she threw herself at the other apprentice, which he, in turn, fled from her once he saw a savage gleam in her eyes. After that, she never was bothered by her agemates again. Once she had finished her training, it was time for the proud she-cat to receive her warrior name.
  
  Moons later, It was clear that tensions where running inside the bowels of Forestclan. The grown she-cat was actively aware of the news to create a new clan, which found her approval. With her foster mother and father, she traveled with Cedarstar in his quest to find a new land. Life of travel was filled with danger; disease as well as starvation and the ever lingering threat of predators tore at their numbers. Her parents were part of the disaster, picked off by a hungry beast as their strength failed them in their aging years, but despite their hardships, the promised land was reached. At first, Mistpelt didn't know what to do, or how to act or believe. In a way, she secretly blamed Starclan for their fate questioning them why they would allow the death of their most devote follower's parents. Now, she was entirely alone, with no one to guide her, no one to turn to. She felt strangely hollow and empty, void of all emotion or meaning. It was if there was no more purpose in life than to be with those you loved. In the darkness of a dream, or stubbornly declared vision, Starclan was the sole reason that brought her from the brink of suicide. Twin starry pelts descended from Silverpelt, whom she recognized as her parents. Like sparkling jewels, she could see the stars dot their fur. It was like nothing she had ever seen before. Immediately, she began to sob, weeping for forgiveness as she threw herself forward to meet them. With their guidance, she recovered from her ordeal and even daydreamed that someday she'll take her place beside the many legendary cats in Starclan, immersed in dreams of when she eventually passed into their starry paws.
  
  So, clans were established and lands were divided. She found herself working constantly, bettering herself and Fogclan, in which she knew Starclan favored most. Her devotion to Starclan did not go unnoticed and her hard work was eventually rewarded. To this day, she strives to further achieve her goals, reach for the top as most self respecting cats would. Normally she can be found out and about, though she finds herself having less and less time to hunt to support her kin since she is too occupied with her other duties. Though she does desire to share her life with a mate, she is far too distracted at the moment to be bothered with her own feelings, putting her clan before anything else, even her own needs, but it doesn't mean that she isn't interested...

ROLEPLAY EXAMPLE.

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• Pineclan. What a mockery. Such a high and mighty clan to be scolded on where their borders lie. One would think that those females wouldn’t even come near the delicate border with Fogclan, but curiosity, or rather stupidity, threatened the peace between them. In general, they had no reason to provoke her wrath. So far they appeared collected, but she wouldn’t stand for insolence either – something you would expect from a Pineclan cat. Hissing with only a voice she could hear, Mistpelt fought for her own inner peace. The fur along the edges of her neck slowly but steadily dropped, flattened by her diligence for a quick and bloodless conflict under her paws. Bright sea green optics scanned ahead, for other cats that she might have forgotten between her conversation with the two females. After a swift glance, a twitch of her nostrils, and a curt flick of her tail, she found none. Only two came against her today, at this very moment, she took a brief relief that would only last as long as a breath. Things would not be so peaceful after this. Pathetic border arguments held nothing to the gore infested battles that boasted the fear and authority, but even battles were not uncommon. Supposedly. There was still one more that needed to be dealt with.
  
  Her once clouded eyes focused ahead, challenging the lead she-cat with a cold gaze, but it lacked the threat it had only moments before. So Pineclan's warriors were threatening them first? Perhaps their foolishness could have kept them on the right border. She mocked silently, her inner voice void of most things except disgust. Allowing her tongue the quick pleasure of swiping it across her maw, she opened her mouth, only to be interrupted by her subordinate. She stood completely still, waiting both patiently and impatiently to finish. He had crossed a line of authority, but at least he got the message across. They obviously did not want a fight here, even if they knew without a doubt that they would win. Hiding a small smirk, she was torn between the second female, who seemed to just have entered the conversation, oblivious to what was boiling around her. Her uneducated question left her nearly wanting to unleash a disrespectful chortle, but she bit her tongue. The last thing she needed was to send these mousebrains into a confrontation. To her remark, she spoke, only once a single sentence. ”Careful.” She stated calmly, flames dancing in a collected jig across her vision. She turned her gaze towards Fadedclaw, padding up to him slowly, for a second her back facing the opposite cats. Lowering her head she whispered into his ear, attempting a nonchalant word with her scout. ”We’ll talk later.” She pulled back, whispering no more, no less. She now stood beside him, watching the two she-cats with a faded interest while her patrol was acting on the defensive behind her.
  
  Then the two Pineclan she-cats lowered their heads, gums curling back to reveal sharp fangs. Mistpelt stiffened instantly, tail lashing back and forth as her patrol followed her lead. She grunted, barreling over, ivory fang flashing in the temporary light as she tried to hook her teeth to the flame colored female above her. Using her body as a kick spring, Mistpelt jerked her back legs against the intruder's underside, raking her claws against the bared flesh along her underside. Snapping for her neck, the crimson beauty lunged forward, biting back the pain and blocking out the trickle of blood the flowed freely from her underside. Without success, the Pineclan female flung herself backward, off the massive and twisting menace under her, hitting the side of the tree with a sharp click of her fangs. At once, her voice yowled, "Drive these intruders off Fogclan land! Teach those filth what it's like to tangle with the warriors of Starclan!" Her patrol didn't need another act of encouragement. Together they surged forward, sending the she-cats sprawling. With a final spat, they rushed back along the border, a yowl upon their maws as Thornpelt reclined in a self satisfied posture, the sound music to her ears. The she-cat found the edges of her muzzle tug back into a shadowed grin, voice low. "Soon...so very soon and they shall be gone for good. Clean...we shall all be. Very soon. By Starclan's name, we shall."
  

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