Lynxbreak [will.just.break.your.face]

[polariswind]

Name:
Words spoken in a different tongue.
Could only make out one word.
Lynxbreak is what it was.

Definition:
Lynx - any of several wildcats having long limbs, a short tail, and usually tufted ears, having grayish-brown fur marked with white.
break - to smash, split, or divide into parts violently; reduce to pieces or fragments.

Gender:
I'm a tom.
Built cat tough.
I'll nom your face off.

Age:
Each mew is what I am.
Unknown to the world.
I believe it was twenty four.

Clan:
I stand proud in Brightclan.
Head held high next to Ghostlystar.
Will protect him, no matter what the cost is.

Rank:
I am a Warrior.
Protecting my Clan.
It's what I do best.

Looks:
Boy, am I not like the others. I am thin framed, like a delicately made femme. My body is thin, with narrow shoulders and hips. My tail is long, but thick. See, told you I wasn't like the others. I'm too feminine. My ears are large, able to hear any stalkers that might come to attack the Clan. Or maybe any humans or dogs that roam the area.

My eyes are a menacing amber, as if they are unreal. Though my vision is indeed perfect. My paws are also large, able to absorb the pain as he attacks anything. My coat is a simple one. I am an off brown, with a half brown, half orange face. The colors fade as it reaches my ears, then it comes back to the menacing black that is placed onto my body. My tail and paws are the same way as well, though quite faint.

I do possess scars, but there are too many to list. My main ones are the ones on his stomach. I was ambushed while trying to get to around the territory of an unknown Clan, and had to defend myself. A small scar crosses my left eye, a miracle that I'm not blind. Tiny scratches are on my paws and legs, but nothing too serious. My tail is kinked near the tip, but it's not broken. Most say it is, but I will prove you otherwise.

Actions:
I was never known for my kindness around other wolves. Personally, there is a side of me that is kind and caring, but it is said to be covered up by my more merciless and spiteful side. I never was the charmer back in my kithood days, and rarely ever had friends. I was the one that was abnormal, always venturing out of the territory instead of watching the Elders grow gradually in wisdom. In doing so, I started to learn many secrets the Clan members didn't even know of, and would come home, eventually being reprimanded in front of the whole Clan to become the laughing stock. Due to that, that may just be the reason I have grown to hate many and like few.

Either that, or it was my nature in the very beginning. All in all, I never show my soft side. I would protect those I might have known forever one day, and be the one to kill them the next. But when you cross my path, beware. You might be the one to suffer from my anger. Or worse, see my soft side. I won't tolerate anything from anyone, so that will lead to my much more evil side. My soft side is scary, and only a few can stand it.


Past:
“No. I said no,” came the faint cry of a she-cat, her ears flattened against her head. A tom stood before her, his crazed eyes staring at her angrily. “You must pay for your crimes, Cobrastrike,” the black tom said, and suddenly all was black for the she-cat. Blood spilled from the open wound on her neck, and Crookedstep walked forward, into the cave that she had been protecting. Cobrastrike’s spirit went up to Starclan quickly, having always believed in them and followed their ways. Next to join her up there was Willowkit, her young daughter. “You didn’t have to die,” Crookedstep said, mewing as she ran her tongue over her daughter’s ears. The kit mewed softly, and the two watched as Crookedstep left, leaving two kits alive, Silentkit and Lynxkit.

Days passed, and while a band of loners were walking pass, heading from a dip in the near-by pool, Lynxkit cried out. Silentkit, his only brother, had stayed silent, not wanting to attract any attention to the two kits. However, when Lynxkit cried out, a few of the she-cats came over, seeing the two young kits. They took them in, making sure they were all right, and allowed them to be raised by one of the nursing Queens back at the bands' home. The two kits grew quickly, having fun playing with their adopted brothers and sisters. Lynxkit was known for his roudy nature, and sometimes could be quite mean. The Leader didn't take things too lightly, and threatened to banish the growing tom out of the group unless he changed his attitude.

The she-cats talked with Lynxkit, yet he still refused to change his ways. The large she-cat forced the still young kit out of the group, and was forced to use his days for traveling. Many days, weeks, and months passed, not finding one willing Clan to take the sickly kit in. Being attacked once, Lynxkit, who now became Lynxpaw, insisted on finding that one Clan that would accept him, no matter what his history was. After a year or two, the kit grew into a large tom, challenging many cats for a spot into their Clan, but he lost to them. He lacked the skills and strength, so the creature decided that without force, he would just join a band of loners, like he had experienced in his younger days.

Lynxpaw came upon Black River, and decided to stay, determined to either lead a land, or be in a Clan that accepted him for who he was, and not on what his history held. Silentkit wasn't heard of after he was banished, but Lynxpaw is certain that his brother will appear sooner or later, even if he does have to go look for him.


In Character:
With a snort, the tom arose from the dark trees where he had been known to sleep. His coat was thick, telling him that the cold, blistery winters were on their way. Lynxbreak had encountered many, but the ones that neared Black River were the worse. Winds so loud that muted out even the loudest mew, and snow so thick that blinded any felines' vision.

His claws grazed the hardened dirt, causing brown billows to raise towards his face, tickling his nasal passages. With a sneeze, a leaf obscured his vision. "Pesty thing," the small built tom hissed, stomping his foot on the ground. More dust rose, bringing another round of sneezing and mumbled words.

Sighing, the Warrior made his way around the thinning branches, the sun beating down onto his pelt. It was naturally tri-toned, but with all the dust and flies, it was a deep brown at the moment. Lynxbreak didn't feel like cleaning off, so he didn't. Being lazy was what he did best. Being a Warrior, though, didn't help that situation.

He was suspected to keep the Clan protected, but the Clan that he had was only him as he knew it. Lynxbreak knew that that wasn't a Clan, but just a band of cats taking up space. With a chuckle, and the flick of his ear, the cat walked on. Eyes took in the sight of the crisping leaves on the ground, birds flying overhead, chirping their songs to anyone that would listen, and the babbling brook that he longed to swim in.

No," he forced his lips to say, even though he was still pondering the idea when he was long out of earshot of the clear water beating on the sandy shore. There was a rustle in the grasses near the clump of trees where Lynxbreak rested, and the tom stepped back. A delicate fawn poked her head out, looking directly at the male. Its ear flicked, and she withdrew.

Silly little being," he said with a chuckle, his shoulder twitching as a large fly landed upon it. The pest rubbed its legs together, as if getting ready to bite into the felines' shoulder. Another twitch from the cat, and the pest was gone. "You better stay off," he warned, flicking his tail. He sighed, and lowered his head. Nothing was the same anymore. His parents were gone, and he didn't know what became of his sisters.

Relationship/Kin:
Mother && Father -- Cobrastrike && Crookedstep
Brothers && Sisters -- Unknown
Love of his life -- Won't want one, but sooner or later will have one.
Another shoulder to cry on -- Does not really know
The ones who call him father -- Doesn't have one at the moment.
Wish would just leave -- Does not really know

Other:
Lynxkit
Lynxpaw
Lynxbreak
Lynxstar

I believe I'm a Maine Coon.
Lost that thought once a forever ago.
Never brought up again.

Codewords:
Painting portraits of Ghosts

[(aurora) of the problematique]

<sub>:] Impressive, quite impressive.

Welcome to BrightClan, young padawan.</sub>