eyrie [ROGUE]

[thistle.]

Name | Eyrie

Gender | She-cat

Age | Thirty moons

Rank | Rogue/Loner

Clan | None

Beliefs | Being a rogue, and therefore generally unfamiliar with the Clans, Eyrie is quite skeptical about StarClan. It's nice and all, knowing that there's a special haven for cats who've passed away, but it's impossible. As impossible as magic. No living being can exist forever, dead or alive. And telling prophecies through dreams are just ridiculous.

Eyrie believes that Death is a shadowy, shapeless creature. No one can escape it's clutches once it decides to attack. But Death is also a peaceful thing. There's no pain in Death, because once you die, all your thoughts, memories, feelings -- they're all erased.

Eyrie's version of death, to her, is more comforting than this so-called StarClan, and more believable as well.

Parents | [np] Kipcha - mother, father unknown [np]
deceased

Siblings | none

Mate | none

Crush | not yet

Kits | none

Apprentice/Mentor | none

Appearance | Eyrie is not the most glamorous cat around, but she's not ugly either. A calico pelt of flaming orange, coal black and soft white wraps her long and lanky frame. She's a lithe girl, quick on her feet and able to slip through small spaces. Though she's not undersized, she looks like it. Her colorful fur is cropped short and rather thin. It's not a good insulator, so Eyrie relies on the warmth of her den and her friends-to cuddle up with, of course-during leaf-fall and leaf-bare.

Eyrie has a well-shaped head with a slightly arched skull. Her large ears are a little bat-like and her pink nose is placed right between long, droopy whiskers. Often, when she wants to go by unnoticed, she walks with her head low, making her shoulder blades jut out and more noticeable than they are already. When she wants to be seen, her gait is a bouncy-heeled swagger. Eyrie's eyes are a dark, rich shade of amber, always sparkling with an inquisitive light.

Eyrie's pelt is more russet than black. An orange cape covers her back and flanks and continues on to her tail. She has a black splotch on the middle of her back; the rest of her body, other than her forehead and neck, is a creamy white. Often it's hard to tell the real color of her pelt, however, as Eyrie likes using mud and dirt for 'camouflaging' in the forest.

Personality | Eyrie is what you could call a 'multi-faceted' soul. She adapts herself to match certain situations. To some, she may be loud and friendly, bursting with energy. To others, she might act quiet and gentle. And, when encountering someone she doesn't like, she may be aloof and haughty. Or just icily polite; it depends. Cats tend to perceive her as they want to perceive her.

Many don't know precisely what lies inside her heart. Eyrie barely knows herself. She can gather this, however: she's ambitious, yet caring. She's independent, but cherishes company. She uses manipulation and her charm to get what she wants, but she doesn't intend any harm. Eyrie loves kits; a kitten could mewl the entire warrior code ten times straight and she's still be happy. She also loves to laugh, and when she does, she doesn't laugh with just her mouth, she laughs with her whole body. And it's quite hard for her to bear a grudge, as she's the forgiving type as well.

It takes a lot to make her angry. Always calm, always the peace-keeper... Even with the most heated debates, she tries to quiet them rather than joining in. It's not easy, especially when it's more like trying to subdue a wildfire than calming a bunch of unhappy cats. When she's in a fight herself, she does nothing but disagree or agree with whatever the other feline's saying and departs. She might return; she might not.

Now is the time for us to double back to the shrewd side of Eyrie. Secretly, Eyrie views herself better than others. She believes that she knows what others are feeling, that she can almost 'read their minds' by their expressions, tone, et cetera. She's the wise old sage; the others, even her friends, do not understand what she understands. Or so she thinks. Like her mother, her eyes are different. They see the world in a special way. One that many are blind to.

Although she prefers to keep her views secret, she longs for recognition. Admiration. Not just for her friendly personality, but for her talents. Physical or mental, it doesn't matter. You can easily call her ambitious, as she's always striving to be the best.

Eyrie is mostly the observer, but she can be talkative when she's absolutely bubbling with excitement about something. She watches from the shadows, eavesdropping on conversations. It's not very hard; the way most cats talk, it's as though they're miles away from the feline they are speaking to. That way, she becomes more knowledgeable about her fellow loners and even Clan cats. She goes into their territories often, her curiosity about their strange lifestyle overpowering the ominous feeling of danger. Sometimes, they will pick up her scent, but by then she probably has long gone.

Skills | Eyrie is a talented hunter, but has few distinguishing physical abilities that set her apart from others. Her real skills are invisible to the eye: she is gifted with a clever, thoughtful mind rather than strong muscles or a keen nose. She does love the water, though, and swims fairly well. Eyrie also can climb to great heights and, when the trees are very, very close together, will jump onto the branches of another out of sheer daring.

History | Eyrie, like many lone cats, never met her father, but she never really knew her mother either. When she was small and helpless, her mother would carry her around by the scruff. Hiding. Hiding from what, Eyrie wasn't sure, but Kipcha was constantly moving their den. She would take her daughter and hide her under a bush or in a burrow, and then leave for long periods of time. The she-kit often woke up alone, with only the forest for company. When her mother returned, prey usually dangled from her jaws and they would share her kill. And while they ate, Kipcha preached about life. The world. Other cats. She opened Eyrie's innocent eyes too soon, and unknowingly burdened her daughter with the truth, her wisdom, and her knowledge.

Kipcha had a special way of viewing the world. Every little thing was a miracle; the fall of dead leaves, the gurgle of running water. She taught Eyrie that she should cherish life to the fullest, for they were only given life once. If they wasted it, they wouldn't get a second chance. But after they ate, and after Kipcha rested, she would leave once more and Eyrie was left to think by herself.

One night, however, Kipcha didn't come back.
Eyrie waited. Four days and four nights, she waited. She caught mice to keep herself alive. At that time, she was only six moon cycles old. She wanted her mother. She needed her mother. But she never saw Kipcha again.

The young she-cat despaired. Her mother was her light. And that light was gone. She almost forgot the stories of hope and peace she had been told. Although she couldn't be sure, she knew that her mother was dead. Eternal tranquility in death was small comfort. Eyrie may have rotted away if she hadn't met Lucifer. Lucifer was a handsome black tom. His heart was kind and friendly; he was a little sardonic at times, but that was what Eyrie loved about him. Lucifer was about six moons older than her, but that didn't matter. They were best friends anyway and spent most of the time chatting together. They loved each other, but not in the way most may think.

Then came the day, not long from now, when Lucifer died. He accidentally swallowed a poisoned mouse and passed away, jerking in agitation, in the middle of the night. The Clans had arrived about a moon before and although Eyrie didn't care for medicine cats, she still wishes she had one by her side while Lucifer fought the deadly poison. This time, though, Eyrie didn't fall apart. She drew strength from her loss and is that ever-changing girl we know today.

Art | thank you, spec!