[Here I am] Rowanheart-- done [To Worship]

[Whiskers]

"Believe in Starclan and you shall be saved."


Name
*Rowanheart*

Gender
*Tom*

Age
*40 moons*

Rank
*Warrior*

Clan
*Fogclan*


Beliefs
Starclan, to Rowanheart, is everything. It is his heart, his body, his soul, it is what ties him down to the earth, what keeps him anchored. He is a true believer, so religious that the very idea of Starclan not existing repulses him. It just has to exist or else Rowanheart would break, and he would come crumbling to a stop. And since he believes so wholly in Starclan, it is no surprise that he sees them as The True Power. He looks for signs and knows that Starclan can and will send a cat to the Dark Forest if that cat refuses to follow the divine path. That is where all nonbelieves belong-- in the dark, tortured and utterly alone. He himself finds the punishment too merciful, but of course, Starclan is merciful, loving, and perfect. It is only natural that Starclan would take pity on those lost, sinful souls.

Rowanheart strives to be a good believer and because of this, he tries his best to save the souls of cats living in his clan. He'll go out of his way to keep his clan pure and untouched-- this is mostly for his sons, who he loves with all his heart. Nonbelievers, in Rowanheart's eyes, are dangerous and poisonous; sin is spread easily, and they are the tool that pollutes the pool. He doesn't bother to convert Pineclan however. Those cats are too set in their ways, too full of sin to even bother with. They are the dirtiest and the least worthy of life in the forest, and Rowanheart hates and fears Pineclan cats with a burning passion. At Gatherings, he doesn't talk to them, doesn't even look at them and forbids his darling sons to talk to them as well.


Parents and Kin
*Mother- Valerie- kittypet (NP) *
*Father- Taryn- rogue (NP) *
*Brother- Red- rogue (NP) *


Mate and/or Crush
*Deceased*


Kits
*Finchpaw* (PC)
*Firepaw* (PC)


Apprentice
*Frostpaw*


Appearance
**

Rowanheart is a good-sized tom, slightly above the average for height and weight. His stocky size and large muscles are well-developed and earned through moons of hard work. He would be a wonderful fighter if he wasn't somewhat of a pacifist. His size makes him intimidating to smaller cats, and when he fluffs up his fur, he looks twice as big.

His fur is long, thick and soft, though as the moons go on he will most likely lose the luster. The fur color is a rich ginger, earning his suffix "Rowan." He is ginger on the top, but white tickles his chin and then spreads across his chest until dipping into a white belly. He has faint stripes on his face but most of his stripes are hidden by his thick fur.

Rowanheart's eyes are a friendly and pale green, reflecting his moods and thoughts. He can't hide his thoughts well and many cats can 'read his mind' just by looking at his eyes.
**


Personality
**

Rowanheart is a stubborn, proud cat with a head so thick a two-leg monster couldn't dent that thing. He usually forms very firm opinions and once they'd made, they're hard to be broken down again. It makes Rowanheart thoroughly uncomfortable to be questioned about what he thinks is right, and his ego is so fragile that it isn't hard to pop it with an argumentative remark. He quick to jump to his own defense too. When this happens (and it happens a lot), he usually just makes things worse...he's never one to think through his words, you see, and so whatever he thinks pops out freely. Though he's scolded himself over and over for this, he can never seem to learn from his mistake. It's instinct for him to act aggresively instead of thinking through what he said.

It is easy to get him worked up to begin with. Just insult Starclan! He takes it as a personal insult when you attack his beliefs and usually can't hold back from biting your head off. While he has learned to control himself physically, his mouth has a mind of its own. This is another reason why he avoids Pineclan cats. He hates them and all, but he doesn't want to start trouble for his clan. He wants to look like the perfect warrior in the eyes of his leader, so anything that will taint his image, he avoids. Because of this, he is insanely devoted to Fogclan and views them as the superior clan. While Streamclan and Meadowclan are nice of course, they aren't anything like Fogclan, which will have a special place in Starclan, next to the most prized leaders of all time. If Rowanheart had his way, everyone would be in Fogclan and everyone would be saved.

Rowanheart has a brave streak as well, and he always tries to act noble and strong in dire times. He wants to be the boulder, the warrior every weaker cat can depend on. He can also act like everybody's "father" at times, which is a massive part of who he is. One of the reasons Rowanheart is so dedicated to Starclan is because he believes it's the best way to bring up his children, Firepaw and Finchpaw. He wants to be the best father ever and often goes overboard, restricting his children unneccessarily, though he's supposed to let them choose their own paths now that they are apprentices. He's insanely proud of both of them. Firepaw he views as the strong one, a "daddy's boy" who he can always count on. The two get along wonderfully and Rowanheart has always given Firepaw his complete trust. On the other hand, Rowanheart obsesses over the mental and physical health of Finchpaw, the look alike of his mate.
Rowanheart is also quite a romantic tom. He gets adorably shy around she-cats he likes, and sometimes he'll dote on them, bringing them fresh-kill and flowers.
**

History

**
"I swear, the only thing you three got from me was my ginger pelt!" Valerie exclaims as she stares down at her wrestling group of kittens who she called her sons.

Born in a two-leg house with a very soft, lazy mother, Rowan and his brothers-- Red and Icarus-- loathed their kithood from the moment they understood what loathed meant. From a very young age, all the three did was argue, playfight, tease, run around, and go wild. Rowan's mother swore it was because of their equally wild father, a rogue who "stole her heart in the most terrible way and forgot to give it back when he was done." Whenever she would speak of Taryn, Rowan would listen with wide eyes and Red and Icarus were right behind him. A rogue for a father? Living life on the outside?

Taryn was Rowan's hero.

When his hero showed up at the doorstep with a smirk and a gruff invitation to join him on his adventures, Rowan couldn't wait to go. Sure he was young, but life was too short and Rowan felt like he was needed somewhere, anywhere but his current residence. He signed up for this "adventure" and once again, he found his brothers by his side. They set out immediately but the hopes that Rowan had for their adventure were dashed. His father wasn't the cat he had envisioned. He wasn't wildly courageous, but easily entertained, charming she-cats just to crush their hearts. He didn't fight to defend what was close to him, or to protect his honor, but only to feel the rush. He hunted food and teased hungry cats with his prey. Icarus took part in many of these events, but Rowan felt... appalled. It was against his inner gut, and he found himself saying no so often that Taryn was beginning to discard him completely.

There was no place for him with his father, no place for him with his siblings anymore. Rowan felt the nagging feeling that he wasn't important and that he was just wasting his life on this. And so he left them to go and find something satisfactory. Rowan wanted to have a goal, something he could work for. Wandering around was definitely not working for him. But then...then he found her.

The sky was dimming and the she-cat still was not moving. Her figure, small and elfin, was like a statue glued to the fence, transfixed by the motions of the sun and the clouds. The glow of the sunset outlined her soft fur with fiery orange. She didn't look nearly as pale ginger now as she did in the morning.
Rowan was fascinated with her stillness and part of him wondered childishly if she was dead. He had watched, patiently and faithfully, for almost an hour now, and she had not moved. But now, his stomach was tugging at him to just leave the "dead" she-cat where she was. The vultures could eat her.
But she was much too pretty for that.
He crawled toward the fence and wiggled his haunches, gathering momentum and then leaping up onto the fence beside her with a victorious "HA!"
It was very subtle, but her eyeballs flicked toward him and then back to the sun.
"Something wrong, kittypet?" Rowan teased, for the collar on her dainty little neck was enough to confirm the title. "If you stand still like this for too much longer, you'll turn to stone."
No answer.
"You're scaring me now," Rowan talked on. "I know you're alive. I though, for a second, that you might not be, but you're alive. You looked at me."
Still no answer.
"What? Are you too high and mighty to talk to a good-for-nothing street tom?" Rowan bristled. The sun dipped lower and the she-cat's ear flicked toward him.
"Well two can play at this game, love," Rowan turned toward the sun stiffly, mimicing her motions. It was only ten heartbeats later that a small giggle emerged from her mouth. She threw back her head and mrrowed in delight.
"Oh blast, why did you make me talk!" The she-cat giggled and then batted him good-naturedly with a paw. "I've lost again!"
Rowan stared. "Lost at what?"
"At the game! See!" She stretched out a paw, motioning to a cat across the fence who was parading up and down his fence. "We were just playing gargoyle."
Rowan had never even heard of "gargoyle" and did not know what "gargoyle" was-- he figured that it was a kittypet thing and so he just nodded. If he admitted he didn't know, this strange kittypet would laugh at him again! He sniffed and shuffled his paws before leaping off the fence, desperate to save the last shred of dignity he had--
"Where are you going? Oh come now, really, it was just a game! I don't think you're a good for nothing street tom!" The she-cat landed gracefully on the ground and then leaped at his tail like a kit. "I think you're a rather strange street tom though."
Rowan snorted. "Oh yes, what a compliment. I suppose that will get me to stay around here."
"It should," she told him, "because its an excuse to stay isn't it? And I know that you want to!" She hopped in front of him and curled her elegant tail around her paws. She was smirking.
"And how do you know that?"
"Because I saw you staring at me. Come on, tell me your name. You're the most exciting thing in the neighborhood. We've all seen you lurking about."
"I don't owe you kittypets anything," Rowan muttered. "Now, if you excuse me, I'm looking for something and I should be on my way..."
"Please? Mine is Zoe. And I may be a kittypet but..." Her amber eyes darted from one place to the next, "I was born in the forests."
"You were?" Rowan meowed dryly. He really could care less.
"Yes I was and then my mother was picked up by the pound-- oh, you don't know what that is. It's a a big place where they put animals that don't have homes. Anyway, so I was in a pound but then my housefolk--what do you call them? Twolegs. Right. Then my twolegs came along and adopted me. But I do remember the forest."
"I don't believe you."
"You don't have to. I can prove it to you though," Zoe said. "The smell of it alone is burned in my mind... I can remember hunting ants along battered leaves... I can remember the way the bird would chirp in the morning and how my mum used to creep along toward it until she could catch it. But you know all this. You have the scent of the forest on you," she meowed. "Do you believe me now?"
"Maybe a little bit more," Rowan was determined to be difficult, "but it doesn't matter, you're a kittypet now."
"And you're a big scary street cat! Oh, dear, I guess that means you're ruthless and barbaric and just terrible," Zoe threw back.
"Fine, I see your point," his shoulders slacked. There was no getting around her now. "I won't judge you before I even know you."
"I still need a name."
"Rowan."
"Oh, how pretty."
"Shut up!"
"No really, it's such a lovely name."
"It's not!" Rowan said, his fur suddenly burning under her clever little eyes.
"Why are you so offended?" Zoe grinned. "Am I insulting your tomliness? Your masculinity? If it helps, you don't look like a she-cat, even though your name sounds so-- oh hey, why are you leaving? No, that's fine, don't turn around. I'll come with you. Where are you going? The forests? Weeell, as long as you have me back my nightfall, I'm sure my housefolk won't mind..."

She was infuritating. He hated her. He hated how she could often pick out his scent even after a thunderstorm. He hated how she could catch him if he ever tried to run away. (She was fast and graceful and very pretty when she ran...) He hated how she introduced him to ALL her kittypet friends and how he was now expected to provide them with free mice from the forests. (They had their own food! If they wanted mice they should hunt themselves!) And he definitely hated how she adored those stupid two-legs. (A young couple, Allison and Thomas, expecting their first baby.) He hated how she immediately left him in order to be with them, if she felt she needed to.

But he still stuck around. And as days turned into weeks, he found himself spending more than enough time with Zoe, exploring every part of her neighborhood that they could get to, having their own little adventures and growing closer as they did. Rowan soon knew everything about her-- how she adored potato chips and tried to knock them down from the pantry whenever she could, how she believed in a creator of some sort, how she loved to debate (she said debate, Rowan said argue, but she'd never sway) and how she was an eternal optimist. He realized that he had, somehow, become her best friend, and she had become his. That's why leaving her was going to be so hard. Rowan had put it off for as long as he could, but as the end of the moon drew closer, he knew that he couldn't hesitate any longer. He had to go. He had to find whatever it was he was looking for.

But he really couldn't do it alone... so he asked Zoe to come with him and hoped beyond hope that she would leave her life behind for him.

And she said yes.

With Zoe by his side, Rowan's days were suddenly (as cliche as it was) brighter. He had a companion now, to talk to, to laugh with, to sleep with even. No longer did Rowan feel the need to find something; he had already found Zoe. The moons drifted into each other and his original purpose for his journey was forgotten.

Of course, as this is generally a cliche love story, the two fell in love. Zoe had fallen a long time ago for Rowan, who she said was "mysterious" and "dashing," the perfect type of storybook hero.

"Kind of like a pirate," she said with a flick of her tail.

"A what?"

But Zoe had already moved on in conversation and so Rowan shook his head and tried to cover up the fact that Zoe knew so much more than him.

What she hadn't expected was his shyness and sensitive nature. As for Rowan, he was such a thick tom he didn't realize his feelings until Zoe told him his feelings. With their feelings out in the open, they spent hours talking about their lives as mates, about names their kits would have. And oh yes, they wanted kits. Zoe was simply adament about it, claiming that if he wasn't going to give them to her, she'd leave him. Luckily she got pregnant fast. And being with kit, suddenly the moving around was hard on her. She got tired much more often and grew weaker. Rowan decided it was best to stay in one area until they had their kits, so they settled down near a river-- to their surprise, a group of cats were already there and they were recruiting.

The "clan" idea was ideal to both of them. Zoe and Rowan both decided to join the one closest to them, and they were quickly renamed: Rowan to Rowanheart and Zoe to Rosetail ("How come YOU get to keep part of your name and I have to change mine completely?" Zoe grumbled). It seemed that now, Rowanheart had finally reached the point in his life where he was happy, purely happy and nothing else. He had a purpose-- to hunt and serve his clan. He had a mate-- the best mate in the world. Nothing could go wrong. But of course, it did.

Zoe had been working much to hard to serve the clan as well, refusing to be a queen. And so, while she was out hunting and Rowanheart was in camp, she started to kit and could do nothing about it. Her yowls eventually alerted a patrol, who found her struggling to give birth to her kits. While the cats raced to the camp to retrieve both Rowanheart and the medicine cat, they were simply too late to save both Zoe and the kits. Zoe passed away, but left two little bundles of fur behind. Rowanheart was more than devastated by the loss of Zoe and could barely look at his two sons. It was only when Zoe came to him, in a dream, that he was able to move on.

The leaves around him rustled and tumbled over his paws. Slowly, Rowanheart opened his eyes and sighed heavily as he heaved his body from the forest floor. How could it be morning already?
But it wasn't.
The sky above him was speckled with silver and the ground below was soft and cool. The trees stood like statues of stone. Rowanheart quickly realized that he was dreaming and he was annoyed that he couldn't just stay in the blackness of his thoughts, instead of walk around in this strange, quiet forest. But he walked anyway, each step forced. His head kept low to the ground.
"Rowan? Where are you going?"
At her voice, he thought he might die. His heart seized, let go, and then stopped again. He whirled around and saw her petite frame among the scattering of leaves, her dark feather eyes drawing him in all over again. He was in front of her before he even realized he moved.
"Zoe," he murmured. "Zoe, how are you even here?"
She smiled at him-- tenderly, as a mother might smile at her kit. But she didn't answer his question. "Whatever am I going to do with you?"
He managed to smile back at her, but he could not find his voice. He just sat there and stared, and tried not to blink. If he blinked, she'd go away.
She leaned forward and pressed her nose against his, and then nuzzled his chin. Very softly, in his ear, she whispered, "Stupid tom. Why would you even think of leaving them?"
"I can't do it without you," he whispered back, so broken and hollowed out that he didn't even try to deny it. "I can't look at them and not see you. I can't care for them. I'm too irresponsible... They'll die if I even try...they'll... I'm.."
"You can. I know you can. I have never known a more loving, caring tom than you and I know-- look at me, silly-- I know that you will be a wonderful father. You just have to give yourself a chance."
"And if I fail? They'll end up just like you...dead. Gone." Rowanheart's voice trailed into nothingness as he uttered the last word.
Zoe sighed again in exasperation. "You're still as stubborn as ever. I'm not gone. I'm with Starclan. I'm here, in front of you, and I'll always look out for you and our boys. I'll do whatever it takes to keep the three of you safe."
Rowanheart hesitated. This belief could shatter him if he was wrong.
"Have faith," she added gently. "Don't let your grief destroy you."
At those words, Rowanheart let some of the weight go. It lifted like a bird and his wounded heart dared to open again. Starclan had to be real...or Zoe would cease to exist. The very idea hurt too much. He needed Starclan. It was his anchor.
It kept him steady, strong, and sane. If he believed, he knew he wouldn't be alone. He could raise two toms. He would make them strong. He would do it all for her, and then, he'd join her again. And that knowledge swallowed him.
Around him, the forest seemed to melt into the gathering fog.
Zoe's eyes, so calm throughout the entire encounter, suddenly broke into pieces of anguish. "I'll miss you so much, Rowan. You have to promise me that you'll take care of our kits...you've got to teach them about Starclan, make them see its beauty, you've got to raise them to be strong...promise me."
"I promise," he said. She pressed her head into his chest and their bodies curved into each other. For a few seconds, they were whole and nothing could touch them.
Then Zoe backed away, the white of her fur bright among all the gray.
"I love you," Rowanheart whispered.
"I really like the name Finchkit," she suddenly murmured. "Name one of them Finchkit, for me, please. You can choose the other name."
"Finchkit. Yes, I'll remember that," he replied.
The fog grew thicker, so thick that it swallowed her body. Only her eyes remained.
When he woke up, they were still there, trapped in his memory forever.

When he woke up, he was a changed cat. A new determination entered Rowanheart's body: one to serve Starclan and lead the best life possible, so that he could arrive there one day and see his mate. He wanted to be as close to Starclan as he could and so, without delay, he took his tiny kits-- Finchkit and Firekit-- and went to Fogclan. It was known for its strong belief and it was the perfect place to raise his sons to be the best cats, the purest cats. He would not fail Zoe.

Two events further evolved him toward the more obsessive, protective cat he is today. One is the doubt of young Finchkit, the look-a-like of Zoe, and the one that she "chose." (He thinks Finchkit is "chosen" by Starclan because Zoe picked out his name after her death.) When Rowanheart saw the questions in his eyes, the sin, he knew he couldn't let him go down a darker path. Immediately, Rowanheart sprang into action, telling Brightnose that Finchkit was interested in being a medicine cat apprentice. While at first, it seemed like his fear was eased, in reality Rowanheart was more paranoid than ever.

The next event involved his apprentice, Frostpaw. Rowanheart was aghast to realize that she didn't believe in Starclan and went out of his way to try and show her the glory. He was forced to defend his own belief from the sarcastic she-cat and soon he became more stubborn and intense about his beliefs and they evolved to the extreme.


**

Skills

**

Rowanheart is a natural born fighter. He is strong, large, and surprisingly quick for such a stocky fellow. But because of his obsession with Starclan, he rarely fights and only does so to teach his apprentices. He believes in love for all. :3

He is an okay hunter, good enough to provide for his family.

What he really fails at is simply overlooking his beliefs and acting logical for once. He makes many stupid mistakes and never learns from them.

**

"For only in you salvation will you be rewarded with riches fit for a Starclan Cat. Release your sin and your soul shall rest in light and in union with Starclan. Amen. Starclan bless you "