Elmfang !

[Slug]

Name: Tobias, Elmpaw, Elmfang

Gender: Tom

Age: Twenty-five moons

Rank: Warrior

Clan: Stream

Beliefs: Elmfang doesn't believe in StarClan. Never has, never will. He was raised up in an adoption center, where the outside world was nearly unheard of and death was a very, very likely fate. Besides, if StarClan existed, why didn't They help him? Why was he born behind bars with barely any food and cats that went into smelly rooms, only to never be seen again? Go ahead, make his day-- go ahead and answer.

...Yeah, thought so.

Parents: Murphy (Mother/StatusUnknown) [NP]

Siblings: Unknown

Other Kin: None

Mate: None

Crush: None

Kits: None

Apprentice/Mentor: None

Appearance:

The first thing you notice about Elmfang?

Scars. He's far from ugly, but he ain't no Adonis. Thin trails of bare, angry-looking skin are where plush fur should be. However, all the fighting and brouhaha kept him well-fit. He's a small, but nicely muscled tom. A little on the stocky side, but it's not really noticeable unless you're staring.

As for that plush fur of his, well... it's plush. Like, woah. Nice and soft and thick. Just the type of fur every poacher wants on their wall. It's a quality pelt, baby, with the brown and black Maine Coon style and the bonus of white patches here and there. But the real prize is his eyes: outlined with tan and green as can be. In the right lighting, they might look yellow, but don't let that fool you, because they're definitely green.

And if you tell Elmfang otherwise, I do hope you enjoy having your eyes clawed out.

Personality:
Elmfang has a horrid disposition that tends to shove-- yes, shove-- others away. Elmfang doesn't want to be friends. He doesn't want to live happily in a world that is obviously not happy. He just wants to live a long life and maybe die some horribly gruesome death. Yeah, that's a nice image. Blood and guts and more blood-- the perfect recipe for making his clanmates spew chunks! Now that's the way to be remembered! As a ripped-up, fuzzy sack of broken bones and scavenger-picked meat and--

Ahem. Personality, yes. That's what I was talking about.

Y'see, Elmfang doesn't give a damn who he puts down, steps on, and then grinds his paw into. Just doesn't. Whoever gets in his way, well, they better move. He's on a mission to live the life he needs too, because he's a role model, damnit! His clanmates are completely mousebrained, but he'll show them just exactly what the world they're living in is really like. He'll show the whole frigg'n clan that their land ain't so sweet and full of pretty bird songs. Why?

...Well, call him bitter, but others need to feel his pain. It'd be rude of him to keep all of that anger to himself! After all, caring is sharing, if you didn't know that-- which you probably didn't.

See, look at that! You learned something.

For once.

Now let's get back to the program, you channel-surfing couch potato.

As I was saying, he's not someone you should spend your time with. At all. If you come near him he'll insult you until you're a mess of snot and tears and boo hoo hoo. You haven't gotten the idea? Too mousebrained to understand? Well, fine. Bring it, Forrest Gump, because I guarantee you'll be running off to your ma' by the time Elmfang is done with your worthless hide.

Skills: Elmfang is as violent as he is rude. He'll fight below-the-belt. He'll claw your eyes, rip your throat-- anything and everything to win. Murder? Sure, why not. He's capable of it just like any other. He just happens to be more willing to do it.

He's a formidable opponent for most. Perhaps he isn't skilled, per say, but he's most certainly vicious. Of course, he ain't no energizer bunny. Boom boom boom, a few hits and he's off into the bushes.

As for hunting, well. He doesn't care about hunting. Not really. I mean, he likes to redecorate his prey and slap it into the pile, but his hunting skills are far from acceptable for a warrior his age.

History:

Note: Stripes is Hardy's character. <3

Speak of the devil... which we haven't yet. Not quite. What made Elmfang such a ornery little badger, eh? Well, the information is all there, so read.

Once upon a time... there ain't a happily ever after for this cat. Elmfang was born in an adoption center, and then his mother and litter-mates were quickly adopted out. As for him?

He was left there to rot.

The terrible conditions teach him jack-squat about mannerisms, but he learned that a wad of dust was just as good as kibble. He had to struggle to earn real food if he wanted a partially full gut. His status as a "runt" only made it harder on him, but in a place like that, the vicious live to see another day. So he roughed up a few cats, yeah. But they learned.

They also went hungry, but that's not the point. He got to live, so who cared about them?

Nobody, that's who. Because nobody cares about anyone but themselves in places like that.

Then one glorious day, a pair of pink things walked in, took him with, and he was off to see a better life.

Oh, sorry. That's another cat's story. Nevermind.

When he got to the pink things' den, he was in a bigger hole of dirt than he expected. Cats were there. Lots of them. Big, mean, and a whole lotta violent.

Cat fights are a pain in the rear, but he scraped by with just a few nearly-fatal cuts and tears. No biggy, he's a tom. Sucking it up and non-stop go is pretty much the motto for any brawler out in the universe, because when you go down, you're either ripped to pieces, or spit on then ripped to pieces.

Such lovely choices, those were. Especially with the side order of fellow feline saliva! Cheers, mate!

But there was one cat-- just one, that brightened that hellhole, if only slightly. He had no name. He was as vicious as any other tom there. He didn't understand. Though Elmfang (currently Tobias at the time) and him weren't exactly what you called "friends", they did have their strangely civilized discussions. At some point or another, Elmfang had named his tabby companion "Stripes". He still remembered how happy the tom had been when Elmfang had given him that name...

Unfortunately, golden days like that have to end at some point.

Which Elmfang ended himself by digging a hole-- yes, a hole. Digging ain't just for mutts, now. Not when they're you're only get away from Abysmal of Death: Reloaded.

Of course, he wasn't expecting trees, but he made do with what he had and ran. Across deserts, through oceans, over mountains-- this is a hyperbole, just so you know-- and finally to four Clans of... cats.

Clans. Of. Cats?.

...Okay, sure. Why not. He could indulge them and their belief that everycat can live in clans peacefully and all the good sweet stuff that makes you want to barf when you have too much of it.

What an oxymoron-- with emphasis on the moron.

Settling in StreamClan, Elmfang became an apprentice, then after such long moons of exciting training, he became a warrior.

Hallelujah! He was beginning to wonder if he needed to grow a pair of wings or something, yeesh.