Brownheart TSL (WIP)

*Picture drawn by the wonderful !

Here's my application for . Still a WIP, but shall be steadily worked on throughout the next few days.

Name: Norville / Brownheart

Gender: Male

Age: 37 moons

Breed:
Havana Brown- Mother
British Shorthair/mix- Father

Clan: PathClan

Rank: Deputy

Mentor: Budeye

Apprentice: N/A

Personality:
[Reclusive][Prankster][Reliable][Hard-working][Lazy]

Backstory:

Before Kitting:

Tuscany was a cat used to the life of a pampered house pet. She absolutely relished in the feel of a nice scratch under the muzzle, and jumped for joy (quite literally) whenever her food was presented to her with no effort from her whatsoever, despite the taste being average at best. So, obviously, when all of that was sucked away and she was left on the roadside with the intention of death, for reasons she couldn't imagine even if she tried her hardest, she was more than a little distraught. The Clans, making border checks everyday, took little to no time to find her before such a demise, and took her in as they did any cat who was looking for a place to reside.

In PathClan camp, she was definitely a fish out of water; she couldn't catch a lizard, couldn't properly battle, and could hardly even correctly collect herbs on her own, though it was probably due to her lack of drive. Her assigned mentor who tried to shape her into a fine warrior, Stormeyes, noticed this after a short time. Try as he may, the farthest he could get with her was a clumsy bat to his cheek which could best be compared to that of a kit in the aspects of strength and ability. Going to the leader, he reported the problem, and suggested she might be better suited for a queen role. After a quick check and discussion with Tuscany, the decision was finalized, and Tuscany was sent to the nursery.

It wasn't all too long before signs of the kits growing inside her appeared, and the father was none other than Stormeyes. He, honestly, did it more out of pity so she could start feeling better about helping the new Clan, even though he did find her to be very beautiful. The problem was mostly her whining, and her needy attention, which he was already expected to deal with. As such, he didn't answer any queries about him being the father, though everyone knew it was the case. He was, afterall, the closest cat to her, and the only one she would trust enough in this new territory.

Kithood:

Being the single kit of his litter and his mother's first son, Tuscany was adamant about giving him a family name instead of a traditional Clan one, wanting him to both stand out and an act of desperation from her to cling to her old life. Stormeyes didn't care much of the endeavor, and after asking the leader, she accepted it as long as she started to use the proper naming system in her next litters. After a bit of name-tossing (meaning Tuscany forcing her name on Stormeyes with no buts whatsoever), the name Norville was decided, and they stuck with it.

Norville's lack of littermates wasn't a problem for him; the kits in the Nursery were plenty enough for him. He was also a bit of a prankster as a kit, though his pranks generally never extended past the extremity of placing rocks under your
bedding. His muffled gasps of laughter when the tired warriors nestled in and exasperatingly got up and moved the rocks to a different location made him the obvious culprit every time and Norville became quite infamous among the Clan. His unusual name was brought up a few times for him, generally rudely or as a form of gossip, but as he never fully understood the situation, he would always just brush it off.

Apprenticeship:

Soon enough, it was time for Norville to become an apprentice. He was assigned, along with the other apprentices, a mentor. That cat was Budeye, a hasty old warrior who also had a knack for getting into mischief. In hindsight, combining the two together was a rather poor idea on the leader's part, but most guessed it was so Norville might listen more to someone who could relate more to him in terms of personality.

The duo were inseparable, playing tricks on the elders and supporting the kits in their rambunctious adventures in their spare time, and constantly cracking jokes as they matched paw blows when training. Despite the silliness that incorporated itself into their training, Norville learned surprisingly well, and became quite good at tactics and taking cats by suprise, as he and Budeye did in their everyday pranks.

However, a certain problem that was first deemed minor escalated quickly into a major one. Tuscany, currently lonely without her kit and her presumed mate not taking much interest in her, was aching for her old life again. Coupling that with the fear of losing a new bundle of kits she was soon to bear, a sense of a need to take action bundled inside of her till finally bursting one night. She gathered both Stormeyes and Norville, and told them that she was planning to return to her Twoleg nest, and asked if they'd want to come with her.

Norville, at first, thought she was kidding, and laughed it off, thinking maybe she was trying his pranking gig. His mother, one of the many he looked up to and held so preciously, leaving back to the life she had before he was born? That was nonsense if he ever heard it. Stormeyes knew better, though; he was actually expecting the action, and dreading it. He couldn't leave his Clan, and he especially wouldn't for his friend; not even if Tuscany was considered a mate to him would he leave. He immediately rejected, even though knowing that she would be dead within a couple of hours at best, and that she would bring her kits down with her.

As Stormeyes started to explain this to Tuscany, Norville's outlook on the announcement was becoming more and more serious. Even his mentor, Budeye, couldn't lead on a prank this one without cracking a smile, and certainly not in a heavy tone such as this one. When Tuscany finally shouted the declaration that she would be leaving no matter what either of them said, there was a silence. It was broken by an abrupt sob from Norville. Looking up at the two of them with absolute pain in his eyes, he did nothing but run away, feeling absolutely betrayed by not only his mother, but his father, realizing now that their love for each other wasn't what he first deemed.

His running took him back to the camp, where he immediately fled to the only other cat he could fine reconciliation in; Budeye. Calming down enough to at least be mindful of the other sleeping cats in the den, he got Budeye up, and after a few moments of moaning and groaning from the aged warrior, he managed to get him to an area where they could speak, in which Norville immediately broke down into a pitiful array of sobs, shocking Budeye as he frantically tried to calm the apprentice down. Having never settled down with a mate himself, meaning the prospect of kits never happening in his life, the tom had no idea how to deal with his grief-stricken friend.

Placing his tail lightly on Norville as he laid down next to him, trying his best to keep him warm on the chilly night, silently whispering a fateful phrase over and over: "It'll be okay.. It'll all be okay.."

The next morning, it was found out that Tuscany had left just as she said, proof of which being her crumpled body found on the Thunderpath, squished and battered unnaturally by the time the patrol found her. The mentor and apprentice pair had returned to camp shortly after the announcement, and there was a silence when they saw Norville enter the clearing. Still groggy from his rest and forgetful of the previous night, he was confused by the gathering of the cats, till some wordlessly stepped away so he could view the familiar, brown-furred she-cat that had just been alive not a day ago.

Though he tried to walk towards his mother's once lifeful body, after crossing half the distance, he couldn't take it, and yet again fled from his parent, as well as the rest of the Clan, though into a less dangerous place; the Apprentice's Den. Budeye and Stormeyes both tried to approach him, but he wouldn't budge. He even went as far as to ask for a different mentor, though as his reasons were strictly not to be communicated, she didn't find it reasonable enough to oblige.

This whole ordeal was leaving Budeye extremely devastated and powerless. One of his best pals in the whole Clan wanted him completely out of the picture, and the most Norville had said to him was the almost immediate reply of 'go away', 'just get on with the lesson', or something along that context. What bothered him even more was the confusion he had over what exactly he was mad about. As far as he knew, he'd done nothing wrong; but Norville had other opinions.

One day as the duo were practicing a specific sort of hunting crouch for a lizard, Norville got really frustrated. Budeye, at the time, was shamefully happy, however; this was the most Norville had talked with him in a long time, despite the spiteful dialogue. After a small rant,

Roleplay Example:

A rather grumpy-faced Brownheart laid in a relaxed position on a low-laying rock, on his back with his legs stretched out as he glanced at whoever came by from an upside-down view. Despite his seemingly angry and/or bored facial expression, he found this certain activity, if you could even call it that, to be quite amusing. Though it sounded quite kit-ish, the change in perspective was a bit mindblowing to him, even still as an older tom. Plus, admittedly, there were quite a few nice shots down there..

Shaking his head as a wave of heat flashed through him, he decided that doing something else might be a good idea. Like, going hunting, an activity his father would always berate him to do, even if he just got back and was completely exhausted. Brownheart was a bit surprised at this; usually he would have yowled at him for his laziness, especially in the amount of time he'd spent looking at the bottom-side of cat chins. Perhaps the old tom was getting lazy himself? The very thought of such a thing made the dark tom snort, though it did worry him. His father was one of the only cats he had left, and such a change in personality could be worrisome.

After once again trying to clear the dark thought from his head through rigorous shaking, Brownheart set off out of the camp, intending to go hunting as he decided before. The fresh kill pile was a bit low, and most cats we're already busy with.. whatever he assigned, so it was justifiable.

Catching a whiff of prey nearby, a determined look appeared on his face. Perhaps it wasn't too bad. It wasn't like Ryeleaf was currently taking care of him in his den, or anything. For the moment, things weren't all too bad.

Now let's hope that'll last.