Jul 24, 2019 12:53:28 GMT -5
Sand where stingrays hide
tribe of twisted roots ∙ witch ∙ tom ∙ 23
Appearance
Description
lithe torbie tom with inquisitive sage-green eyes and a white splash on his chest
Appearance
Stingray might have been small and gangly as a swabbie, but since then he has undoubtedly grown into himself. He seems to glide more than walk, and his musculature is long and lean. His eyes are still too broad for his face, but he's grown into the intensity of them. When it comes to describing the color of his eyes, he frequently tries to leave it at "green" and doesn't like to go beyond that. Unfortunately, he's being subjected to the waxing poet that is myself. His eyes are the color of sage, or perhaps a gray-green, with a darker ring around the pupil. They are typically widened inquisitively while his sandy nose is stuck somewhere it shouldn't be. He has grown into their intensity, however, and it no longer seems so strange to see him watching you with those eyes that seem to hold the wisdom of the stars. Stingray also has an interesting pattern of colors. At a baseline, he is a sandy gray color with black tabby stripes streaking across most of his body, but he also has splashes of delicate orange across most of his body that tell him he'll never be able to have kits even if he might have wanted to. He has a splash of white on his chest that is shaped vaguely like a raindrop, albeit a lumpy white one, but he insists that it has to mean something and won't hear otherwise.
Personality
Please list at least three positive and three negative traits for your character below.
Positive Traits • Intelligent • Curious • Meticulous • Trustworthy • Gentle • Observant | Negative Traits • Blunt • Perfectionist • Nervous • Non-confrontational • Quirky • Morbid |
Personality
When it comes to spiritualism and the ethereal connection that is so crucial to the job of being a witch, Stingray absolutely has it. What he does not have is the bedside manner required to work with the sick and injured. For every bit of careful precision and whiplike intelligence that Stingray has, he lacks the very basics of talking to other cats. He is blunt in his words and tends to use almost cruel language when referring to patients, though he does not do it out of any sort of malice. Physically he works with skill and is unlikely to hurt anyone, but emotionally his words cut deep. Stingray assigns nicknames to everyone regardless of whether they like it or not and is uncomfortably fascinated with poisons and burial rituals. He's harmless, of course -- Stingray is too soft to try and hurt anyone intentionally. Any sort of confrontation, physical or verbal, leaves him on the verge of tears.
Stingray is shy, but not in the way that is typically expected. He hates being in the spotlight, hates receiving attention, hates looking important cats from either clan directly in the eye. He despises flowery language and anyone excessively poetic, and has a particular disdain for being made the subject of those poems. He doesn't like to be looked at, much less talked about, and most of the time wishes he could melt into the sand just like his namesake. Praise makes his fur crawl, and he would rather drown himself than be the center of attention for any longer than he has to be -- hence why he hated his swabbie ceremony so much. It's a wonder that he was born in a litter. However, in his time as the witch swabbie, he has been forced to learn how to control this particular aspect of his personality. It's significantly less dramatic in its intensity, and he's able to speak with conviction and be the center of attention for some time before needing his respite back in his den. However, he still prefers to speak one-on-one rather than in front of a crowd.
He also has a tendency to stick his nose where it doesn't belong, which on more than one occasion has resulted in getting it snipped by a crab or him getting something mildly poisonous in his fur. He doesn't make friends with cats who are particularly secretive, especially because he's skilled at seeing through lies and deciphering people's real intentions. Despite being a good judge of character, he usually keeps his determinations to himself for fear of being wrong, and because of his fear of confrontation. This also means that he can almost always be trusted to keep a secret, which is good, because he knows quite a few of them. He has no trouble keeping things to himself, though his excellent memory can make revealing things to him seem intimidating.
Finally, Stingray is... quirky. He has trouble being taken seriously because of his fondness for strange charms and collected objects, all of which he insists has a connection to one of the gods. He likes to do chants and little rituals... and he has a ritual for everything, from getting ready to eat breakfast to a sick Tenderfoot to bedding down for the night. Most of his rituals are harmless and just involve tucking feathers or rocks into people's nests, but they're certainly a bit odd, especially when he's so quick to insist that he receives extra guidance from the gods through them. He claims that he sees them in the shells, the waves, and the bones of prey. While Stingray certainly believes it, very few others do. Whether or not it's true is anybody's guess, but there's no doubt that the gods speak to him -- witches aren't chosen in any other way.
Skills & Combat
Strengths • Healing • Insight • Memory • Observation • Herbal Knowledge • Focus | Weaknesses • Swimming • Fighting • Public Speaking • Diplomacy • Caution • Empathy |
Combat
• Defense: 12
• Attack: 1d20+2
Character Background
Family
Fish that Leaps At Dawn - Mother; Navigator.
Kelp Visible at Low Tide - Father; Navigator.
Owl That Soars at Midnight - Brother; Swabbie.
Sunset after Rain - Sister; Swabbie.
History
Before, there were two navigators. Dawn was every bit as agile and cunning as her namesake, and Kelp watched her from the shallows. They had grown up together. They had seen each other grow from tenderfoot to navigator. When he looked at her, he knew that he wanted her to stay by his side as he eventually became a guide.
Dawn was an ambitious molly. Her heart had been set on becoming commander since she was a tenderfoot. She saw Kelp watching her, and was flattered by his advances. She understood that behind every great cat was a supportive mate, so she thought nothing of accepting his offer to become her mate under one condition -- Dawn had absolutely no interest in having kittens. They would have only impeded her goals, and she had no time to waste in the nursery when she had ambitions to be made.
Then, there was an accident, and a litter of four was born. Stingray was the third born in the litter, alongside a brother and a pair of sisters. The parents assumed that the black-and-ginger kitten would be female, and began to adjust to such. Dawn only spent time around them to nurse while Kelp took on the role of a nurturer and caretaker.
At two moons old, the family finally realized that little Stingray was a tom. They did their best to hide from him his inherent strangeness, but a bit of research and pointed questions to the guides led him to realize that he would never have kittens of his own. As young as he was, he had no opinion on the matter, and was mostly concerned with getting bigger alongside his siblings and getting ready to become the best swabbie that he could be.
At three moons old, Stingray had a dream. Of course, tenderfoots have lots of dreams, but almost right away he knew that this one was different. He saw a panther in a hurricane. When he told his father, Kelp felt a pang in his chest. By his son's description, the Goddess of Death had appeared to him. Kelp knew of the witch and the tragedy of his last swabbie, so he told his son to keep dreams like that to himself. Stingray had no reason to question his father. How could he have known the gravity?
Two nights later, his sister caught a terrible cold. Within days, Wind had died and Kelp blamed himself. He quietly informed Scuttle of his son's dream, but did not pursue it further and left the witch to make his own decisions while he left Stingray in the dark. The tenderfoot continued to have dreams as his family grieved the loss of Wind. His mother Dawn became even more withdrawn than she had been before, and put everything she had into her work -- often, they wondered if they'd ever see her again.
At six moons old, the three tenderfoots finally became swabbies. Stingray, however, found himself singled out from his littermates. He'd guessed by then that he'd be chosen as witch swabbie, but it was still a bit of a shock when he was summoned aside from his littermates in front of the gathered crowd. While his siblings were assigned to navigators and shown to new dens, he instead trailed after Scuttle and felt quite a lot as if his family was losing him, too -- and that this time, he could have prevented it.
In his training, he excelled. He learned how to manage all manners of poisons and remedies, and learned how to treat patients of any condition. Under Scuttle's occasionally watchful eye, he had to learn how to overcome his shyness. He had a startling tendency to keep anything that could have been deemed important to himself, but kept promising whoever asked him about it that he was only doing so because he wasn't sure if it was worth mentioning.
Soon, the God of Fire called for him. He had grown into a handsome young cat, and had learned where he was meant to stand amongst the tribe. He had a dream of fire born of the sunrise swallowing him up into the belly of that great mountain. He told Scuttle of his dream, and the witch agreed that it was time for him to be accepted by the gods as a witch who had completed his training once and for all. He made sure that his swabbie understood he would always be learning, but together they ventured to the mountain. The gods accepted Stingray, but the God of Water left him with a warning: he would need to learn how to work alone.
Stingray didn't put much thought into it, like so many do with water. Then, like a tiny trickle carving a great canyon, the God of Water carved him in two. He woke up one day in a raging storm. To each den he went, quietly telling everyone that they ought to stay inside. He hid himself away in the roots of the trees of his den, as safe as he thought he could be. When the sun shone the next morning, they took a count of the tribe. Everyone was safe and accounted for... except Scuttle, who had been missing when the howling wind of the storm had woken Stingray up.
He asked everyone in the tribe if they had seen a great black cat standing in the rains, but nobody had an answer for him.
Nobody ever had an answer.
Other Notes
Shop Purchases:
None!
Other:
Scuttle's got a strikethrough because he's assumed dead, but no body was ever found so he could theoretically still be alive!
