bartholomew&rhimn [w.i.p.]

[BARTHOLOMEW .]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,500 here,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,40,true][atrb=background,http://i866.photobucket.com/albums/ab224/TheFiendfyre/backgrounfiller.png] Name • • BARTHOLOMEW , rhimn Age • • THREE YEARS , one and a half years Gender • • MALE, female Rank • • COMMON SHIFTER Patron God • • SOLTAIRE Shift Rarity • • COMMON Shift Form • • FOX OOC Name • • CAGLIARI Appearance • • BARTHOLOMEW + body A forest cat through and through, Batholomew's rather tough-looking body represents that he will always be ready to fend for himself should the time ever arise. Powerful, stocky, and muscular, he is a fighter rather than a runner. He is also quite large, though this shouldn't be associated with girth or obesity; every pound on him is bone, muscle, or skin. Nothing more and nothing less, a truly formidable opponent in battle, but by no means unbeatable; rather than being outmatched, he often finds himself too slow to keep up with an opponent if one is quick enough, and that, naturally, is where Rhimn steps in. His paws are fairly large for a cat who has done all of his growing, and he will still occasionally trip over them (much to his embarrassment) due to their awkward size. The rest of his appendages are fairly normal, however. His tail is long enough to keep him balanced but does not get in his way, his ears are large but not so big as to give him a comical appearance, and his legs, while perhaps a tad shorter than the average length, don't draw much attention either. All in all, a rather normal body shape without much deviation from the standard feline. + fur In simple terms, Barty is a dark brown tabby cat with dark green eyes. Going beyond such shallow descriptions, however, you will find that he is actually quite striking. His thick layer of short, chocolate-brown fur is dashed and splattered with stripes of darker brown all over his body. Perhaps his most striking markings lie on his face; two dark lines run down from the corners of his eyes to his pale pink nose, and on his forehead are several dark marks that artistically twist to and fro across the fur there. The tip of his ears and his tail are dark brown - almost black. His muzzle gradually fades to a snow-white color, giving his face a rather appealing appearance. + eye color Bartholomew's eyes are the color of summer leaves; dark green, tinged with circles and streaks of lighter greens and yellows around the pupils. In a training accident, in which he was scratched in the left eye, his pupil was torn. The whole thing healed quite clumsily, resulting in poor sight from his left eye, and the appearance that one of his eyes is bigger than the other, though this is hardly noticeable unless one is talking nose to nose with him. RHIMN + body + fur + eye color Personality • • History • • Batholomew, or Barty, as he is often affectionately called, was born into a modest Tribe family, along with one brother and a sister. Happy, carefree, young, he lived out his youthful days with his close-knit family in the nursery, troubled only by passing butterflies or worries about what was for dinner. Like most others his age, he was thoroughly unconcerned with his shift form; it was something he could call at his will, something he could control and master himself. Nothing he couldn't handle, of course. And no one ever questioned that. They all thought they were normal; they hadn't been born with horns growing out of their heads, so as far as they were concerned, everything was perfectly all right with the world. "Tell me again what happened." "It's just like I said, Healer, I woke up with a horribly aching head..." "You didn't hit it, or fall?" "No. It feels like there's something pulling my mind in two." The Tribe Healers aren't stupid; Bartholomew was sure they realized what was wrong with him right away, but maybe didn't want to tell him in the hopes of sparing his feelings, or perhaps out of the desire to keep him under further surveillance, just to see if their suspicions were correct. What mattered was that he didn't know what was happening to him; He'd wake up every morning with a headache, throbbing steadily against the back of his skull, and he'd go to sleep at night under the same condition. He'd even dream sometimes that he was getting hit with rocks, only to awake and find the pain real. He lost count of his sleepless nights, forgot how many times others asked him if he was feeling well. With each passing morning, his temper grew short, the lack of peaceful sleep beginning to weaken him both physically and mentally. Soltaire, give me strength. The full transformation came upon him quite suddenly on an early morning training session, when he was about a year and a half. He had just fumbled an easy defensive move that put him at the paws of his assailant, another young tom like himself, currently staring down at him through narrowed wolf eyes. Bartholomew retreated quickly; he was no match for a wolf, even one of an inexperienced shifter. The others were laughing at him, making fun of his dragging paws and drooping eyes. A boiling anger burned through him at their ridicule. It wasn't his fault. They didn't have to deal with what he felt and experienced. Their dreams at night weren't plagued with horrible pains. "If only they knew...if only they had any idea what it was like." "Well, I think it's high-time they found out." It was a voice he hadn't heard before, whispering plainly inside of his mind, cool and feminine. And it had been inside of him; it wasn't like a ghost had breathed into his ear, or that he was hearing a faraway echo; it was something inside of him, and judging by the sudden exponential leap in pain, it was something that wanted out. The stabbing sensation in his mind increased tenfold, and if there was ever time he felt like he was literally going to be torn in two, this was it. Bartholomew didn't make it long past that initial tear. He remained conscious long enough to see a reddish-brown blur go flying at the wolf-shifter on the other side of the clearing before the ground rushed up to meet him. "Who are you?" "I am you." Bartholomew awoke some time later in the medicine ward, not quite sure how he got there, but very shocked to see that he was not alone; curled up so closely next to him that their fur brushed was a fox. He leapt from his bedding in surprise, immediately confused. Was this just the shift-form of one of his tormentors, trying to play a joke on him? Or was it a real fox, somehow delusional and insane? When it did not stir, he tensed, dropping into a crouch, and willed the change to come. Nothing happened. He concentrated harder; maybe he was just weak from being hurt, something he still had to find the source of. But as he went to try again, the vixen cracked open one golden eye and fixed him with a critical stare. "You waste your time. It will not come." "What do you mean, will not come?" "It is right in front of you. I am you." Having his shift constantly walking beside him like a constant shadow was disconcerting at first, and something Bartholomew still has yet to get used to. There's something unnatural about the whole thing. Though he shared a link with this creature, he could not control it, and didn't always know what was on her mind. He had always been in control of his shift. always. But now, here was a part of his soul, strutting around the camp at his side like she had always done. It riled him, but in a way, he was thankful for it, too. Ever since the final separation, as painful as it had been, he had not felt a single twinge of pain in his head. So now even though he shared his nest with a fox, he was resting more fitfully than he had in months. "I disgust you." "Yes." "Why? We are both connected. I am merely an extension of you." "You are a reflection of a disease. A weakness." "Weakness? And yet I tore myself from your body. I believe it is you and your outdated values, Barty, that are weak." He named her Rhimn after his diseased mother, something he both hated and adored; the fact that his mother was dead pained him greatly, even months after she died, but he always had fond memories of her that were always there in his mind to call upon. Such was his relationship with his daemon; he resented the pain she had caused him for breaking free, was never forgetful of the fact that she was the reason his fellow Tribe mates skirted him awkwardly in the forest. perhaps they believed Daemon Disease to be contagious, but whatever the reason, Bartholomew found himself without friends for a few weeks after the initial incident. However, he has grown up quite a bit since then, and with age comes wisdom. "Everyone seems to have gotten over the shock." "Yes! Arianna even invited me to go hunting with her patrol the other day. Everything is back to normal." "Does that make us friends?" "...I guess it should." Other • • afflicted with daemon disease** Family • • auberon :: fatherwolf [deceased] lenina :: motherkestrel valkyrie :: brotherkestrel [deceased] sinoa :: sisterlynx Need Thread • •