Voting/Nominees for Best Biography

[Dawnstorm]

Yay! It's that time of year! Time for the Special Awards!!!!!!

RULES
-You can only nominate one nominee per person per category
(ex: I cannot nominate FluffPaw and UltraWhisker for Best Name or
something like that, I can only nominate one)

-Nominate/Vote for who you think deserves it, not solely because
they are your friend you they tell you to

-Don't nominate yourself!

-Write the full name and Clan when nominating
(in the case of the two SpottedPaws of ThunderClan, say
SpottedPaw meddie apprn if you nominate her)

-Only eight nominees per category

-HAVE FUN!!!!

Nominees

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1/ AutumnLeaf-quit site
2/ BristleStar
3/ MaelStorm
4/
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DO NOT COPY! These are for the contest only!
BristleStar's Bio
.Appearance.
From his sharp, calculating gaze to the tip of his tail, Bristlefang is a truly magnificent sight. His pelt is as his father’s was, a beautiful mess of gray layered upon gray, black splattered into the mixture. Overall, his coat is a fine light, dull shade of gray that almost looks like ash when the light catches the threads of his fur just right. Deeper streaks of gray travel throughout his pelt, tainting the soft look his fur would have otherwise. Within the dark gray lies black, swirling within the light hues of his fur like black ink clouding the clearest water. The deepest of black streams from over his sharp, angular ears and down his face, eliminating any round curves that would perhaps dominate his facial features. The streaks, however making his face rather gaunt and narrow, compliment the tom nicely, and works in his favor; the black hardens the tom’s appearance, giving him an edge that would make even the strongest Warrior think twice about attacking Bristlefang. Hidden, or mostly unseen due to the harshness of his colors, are the scars in which adorn Bristlefang’s body. He bears scars, mainly upon his back, many from battles, a few from training accidents, but he does not look upon them as something as ugly or tainting. Each scar tells their own story, and with each telling adds to Bristlefang’s character.

The tom’s fit body, enveloped with the same streaks, appears rather thin as well; but that is truly not the case. Bristlefang is not the largest tom, being of only average size for ShadowClan, but his body is a fit, well toned and oiled machine. He does not lack in strength, and of that he makes sure; he enjoys training, feeling the rush of even a safe fight. He keeps his claws well sharpened, as well as his fangs, but he focuses more upon sheer power. Any cat can cause harm with their claws, but it is those who have strength behind their swipe that truly make the difference between harmful and deadly. A bat even from his unsheathed paws can cause unwanted damage. Bristlefang’s legs do not help with giving the tom that brute façade, but give him more of a lanky appearance; but, in a way, he could use that to his advantage. An enemy would be thinking that they could easily overpower the tom, but in reality he could prove to be worth their match. Even without his power, however, catching the tom would prove to be a difficult feat. The tom’s legs are long, nimble and terribly fast. Speed is etched into each, and is speed not power?

Eyes, they say, are the windows into the soul; the unspoken words of truth of the feelings left unsaid. With some, this is untrue. There are those who have mastered hiding all they feel, shielding their very being from the world they live in. Bristlefang is one of these few. There is no personal gain, however, in hiding his emotions. He hides his fear and uncertainties of the decisions placed before him, and in their place his dazzling gold eyes exemplify courage, strength and bravery. Their depths glitter with jewels of topaz, which set his eyes upon fire when the light catches them just right. Amber as well rests within his gaze as small flecks twirling around the edge of his iris.

.Personality.
Bristlefang, despite the harshness his appearance shields him in, is not as most would make him out to be. He walks confidently, he talks confidently and he thinks confidently; but he is in no way, shape or form narcissistic. The tom is merely confident in all he does, and should any of his plans, or decisions, fall through he takes full responsibility and carries that with him so no one else has to bear the burden. He is of the determined type, and once he sets his mind to something there is no stopping him. The achievement of his goals, whatever they may be, is what he strives for in life; to execute his plans perfectly, and without fail. This being said, Bristlefang does not easily accept defeat. It isn’t defeat that rubs his ego the wrong way, but the acceptance of it. Accepting something like defeat is like admitting you are weak, and Bristlefang is certainly not that. An air of strength swarms the tom, encumbering him almost at times.

With this said, it is not hard to imagine that Bristlefang is your archetypical tough guy; but, truly, he isn’t. Weakness within others, despite it bothering him, is something that he does accept; he doesn’t understand it, but he accepts it. He simply looks over these cats more carefully than others, their safety, after all, being his responsibility. The tom believes strongly in the strong protecting the weak, or those who need help; even his rivals he will not turn a blind eye to if they are in desperate need of protection. He will, in fact, go out of his way to help anyone who is in need, or accepts, his help. He knows his place, however, and will only extend his help far enough to outsiders as is acceptable. Wounded or sick, if anyone asking for his help has a hidden agenda for the destruction, or harm, of his Clan he will not hesitate in exiling the cat; death, even, is a sentence Bristlefang will not hesitate in delivering.

Death and battle are two worlds of their own, but two of which Bristlefang knows well. He will admit it, he loves battle; the rush, the thrill and the mere heart of it excites the tom. But he does not enjoy taking another life. He understands the preciousness of life, the ability to breathing, love and merely live is a gift all in itself, and he would never wish for another to suffer the terrible loss of death. The pain itself is horrible to think about. But again, he understands the necessity of it at times; Bristlefang, however, never looks upon a fight for a chance to kill. He takes that time to show those of rivaling clans that his clan is not weak, that he is not weak, and that together they will strive to triumph over anything cast their way.

Anger is another common misconception when it comes to Bristlefang. Many times is love passed for anger, passion being a complicated and certainly confusing emotion. Bristlefang never raises his voice, put his paws solidly upon the ground or scorn another of his clan merely for the sake of doing so. It is not a show of strength, and it is not his intention to strike fear within their hearts. It is because most times, it is the only way to get complicated matters, or the fullness of a situation, through the heads of some cats; even if it is a blunt way of putting it, it is true. Bristlefang, however, tries other motives first. Yelling, or appearing mean, is a last resort and used only when it is truly needed. He loathes the idea of ruling with an iron paw, and strives to never allow that to happen. In fact, the tom would rather not rule at all, but instead lead his Clan, help them along, and not have them follow within his footsteps, but to make the paw prints together.

Bristlefang isn’t all about the power or exertion of brute force. The tom enjoys an intelligent conversation, and even more so a good laugh. Although he may not be riddled with a witty sense of humor, Bristlefang amends any cat that has a marvelous sense humor, as well as intelligence. While for the most part the tom can appear to be more of a silent sort of being, Bristlefang merely relies more upon actions than upon words; but that does not completely eliminate the tom ever actually being able to carry on a conversation. He is not shy in the least, she-cat’s, while he may find some of them fairly appealing, do not necessarily intimidate him. Bristlefang has no trouble in approaching anyone, and due to his laid-back nature, conversation with him can flow rather easily.

.History.
Kithood
Bristlefang is truly unlike the kitten he used to be. Back then he was not stripped of his innocence, he was unmarked by the rage of war and unknowing of the dangers his world held. Like all kits, Bristlekit and his siblings, Barkkit, Talonkit and Shrewkit, were hidden from the ugly truths of the world. True, they knew what death was, but they never experienced it. It was all a game to them, and play fighting was grand! They watched the apprentices eagerly, awaiting the day that they, too, would become apprentices. From the time they were born, Dawnpelt, their mother, had to keep a solid eye upon them. Due to Barkkit’s adventurous spirit and Talonkit’s persuasive tongue, Bristlekit and his sister, Shrewkit, often found themselves in a heap of trouble; Bristlekit, being the eldest of the litter, naturally looked out for his troublesome siblings and took the blame, whether or not it was his fault. So, it truly was a good thing when the kits became apprentices. Dawnpelt needed a break, and was only too happy to give her kits to some other warrior to look after. ( But not really. )

Apprenticeship
Bristlefang never lost his taste for adventure, but he was learning of the dangers that truly lurked outside the nursery walls. His Mentor, Russetwhisker, taught him well. Although the young Bristlefang longed for adventure and battle, for he was talented at it, an amazing strategist in the making, but Russetwhisker made sure to do his part. The Warrior taught him that fighting was necessary to live, survive, but it was not something to cherish. Taking the life of another cat, he was taught, was not something to look forward to, nor was it to ever feel good. Bristlefang learned, more than moves to survive during battle, that life was to not be taken for granted, or the life of another cat; enemies are to be prayed for, as well as the Clan. Aside from the tasks set upon him, all of which Bristlefang set out to accomplish perfectly, Bristlefang made time to still look after his siblings; most of all Shrewpaw. Their brothers seemed not at all concerned with the fact that unlike them, Shrewpaw was special and too fragile to be going on their “wondrous” adventures. At times fights broke out among the brothers, Bristlefang being too “bossy” with telling them what to do; apparently he was not their mother and could not order them around, and if Shrewpaw wanted to accompany them, then she was welcome to. Sadly, for Talonpaw and Barkpaw, Dawnpelt did not see it that way and a few times intervened, to Bristlefang’s relief.

Life as a Warrior
Bristlefang remembers well the day he was made a Warrior. That day was filled with pride, to having finally reached the goal he worked his whole life to achieve. He spent his days fulfilling his duties as a Warrior without any form of contempt, but it wasn’t long until his eyes fell upon a sweeter prize. He longed for his own Apprentice, but more than that he wished to become Deputy, and following suit the title of Leader. First to come however would be the Apprentice, but being the newest Warrior he was not granted an Apprentice right away. It wasn’t until moons after his transition into the life of a Warrior was he given an Apprentice. She was a sweet little thing, quiet, mousy almost, and incredibly inquisitive. Swallowpaw was a natural learner, things came swiftly to her and together Bristlefang and Swallowpaw grew. He realized he had a long way to go to until he was ready to even match the leadership skills of his Leader and Deputy; but Swallowpaw helped shape him, showing Bristlepaw exactly what it would take to become a marvelous leader. After the moons of training, it was with a warm heart that Bristlefang watched Swallowpaw become a Warrior, now dubbed Swallowheart.

His dream of becoming Deputy soon dwindled as he grew more mature, feeling quite content with being the best Warrior he could possibly be. It also seemed an impossible dream as he watched First Ashstar become Leader, in his place Shadowdance, and as she stepped down Moonwhisker took her place. But opportunity opened up as Moonwhisker was pronounced Moonstar, and once more the slot of Deputy presented itself; but, being wiser than in his youth, he made sure of keeping his hopes down, not that staying a Warrior would hurt anything. So it was a great surprise when Bristlefang was announced Deputy.

MaelStorm's Bio
::appearance::
First impressions of Maelstrom include mostly a mass of shaggy and ruffled fur. Yes, it might be a bit messy, but that’s fine with him. Sleek, constantly clean pelts are for kittypets. It gives the tom pleasure to go with the wild look. Every now and then, mostly when he’s trying to impress some she-cat or other, he’ll lick it down so at least it’s not matted with dirt or anything. However, he’ll make sure that it doesn’t lay too smooth anywhere. Fur sticking out every which way makes him appear much bigger than he actually is and not necessarily fatter. Besides, the fur helps cover his battle wounds. Unlike some toms, he doesn’t like to flaunt his scars.

Aside from its untamed nature, Maelstrom’s pelt was part of the reason for his name. For the most part, the tom is a gray and black tabby. Nonetheless, you don’t have to very closely to see the variety of colors his pelt really carries. He has silver in his muzzle, ears, face and belly. His ringed tail is light brown, dark brown and black all in one. His actual stripes carry anywhere from tan to mahogany, light gray to jet black or cream to white. If a cat comes in the color, you can find it somewhere on Maelstrom. As previously mentioned, the loner has quite a collection of wounds. For the most part, they are just scratches crisscrossing around his flanks and sides. He does have two large dots on the side of his neck from the fangs of a fox.

His pelt isn’t the only thing colorful about Maelstrom of course. His left eye is a deep emerald that seems to have thousands of layers. It’s as if a cat could peer right into his soul through a single eye. His right eye, on the other hand, is a pale green. Its perfect opaqueness gives the impression that it sees right through you. The green is contrasted pleasantly by his red orange nose. Somehow, the fur that outlines this vital feature seems dark, dark blue. Of course, it’s really black, but there’s something about all the colors that give optical illusions. His normal pink tongue goes nicely with everything too.

As far as size goes, Maelstrom isn’t some monstrous wonder. He’s bigger than your average kittypet, naturally, but the clan cats can get to his size and do often enough. He’s not lean and willowy like the WindClan cats. No, it’s not mere height that completes his figure. His body structure fits more with the pattern of ShadowClan and ThunderClan cats: muscular and bulky. Spending most your life on your own carves your figure on the strong side. Even through his wild fur, the loner’s well-developed muscles can be seen. Powerful back legs not only help the tom run quickly, but they also help him leap higher than your average feline could manage. His paws are large in an attractive way; his white claws following suit.

::personality::
Loner is as loner does. Maelstrom doesn’t long for kitty company. He enjoys every minute of his solitude. When he does happen across another cat, he’s courteous but taciturn. The loner doesn’t go picking fights. There’s no reason. It’s just that there are some of those crazies that don’t feel complete at the end of the day unless they’ve kicked tail or gotten their tail kicked. If the cat he meets wants to sit and chat, Maelstrom changes tactics somewhat. He’ll be openly impatient and make sarcastic remarks where they’re due. He’s got a head of sense on his shoulders and the idiocy of others doesn’t bode well with him. His logic serves him well while fighting, trying to get out of a fight, hunting and dealing with life’s hurdles in general.

There is one major flaw in Maelstrom’s alone time. The tom likes she-cats. He likes them rather a lot. When one wanders alone, you don’t have access to them very much. For that reason, the loner doesn’t meander aimlessly. He searches deliberately for settlements of cats, preferably large groups. Sooner or later, the tabby finds a she-cat or two by herself. Of course, he makes no commitments. How could he? However, he doesn’t let her know that. To get her on his side, he will say anything she wants to hear. If you haven’t guessed yet, Maelstrom is a major player. If the settlement of cats he’s come across is huge and there are plenty of she-cats to go around, there’s nothing to stop him from playing several of them at the same time. To him, there’s nothing wrong with it, but of course, those silly she-cats see relationships as much more permanent things. Breaking hearts doesn’t bother Maelstrom much either. He doesn’t fall in love. No, never. Maelstrom has never felt attachment to any of his “mates.” They are all disposable.

::history::
Maelstrom’s parents were both loners. Well, as far as he knows that is. He had never even seen his father. His mother, however, was a brown tabby of an average size. Her name as far as Maelstrom could figure [and he had a good idea because she talked to herself quite frequently] was Zephyr. She raised him and his sister, Marigold, as affectionately as any queen would. Nevertheless, as soon as the two knew how to fend for themselves and hunt, Zephyr abandoned them. At first, the two tried to track her down, but after a day, they threw in the towel. What good was a loony anyway? The siblings stuck together for a while. They took turns hunting and sleeping and were always on the move. In Maelstrom’s opinion, Marigold was hindering more than aiding. All the sense that he had, she seemed to lack. When she fell asleep instead of being on guard as her six moon old brother slept, a pair of foxes attacked. It was then that the tom acquired his neck scars. Luckily for the pair of them, they’d been camping on the side of a wide stream, and their attackers couldn’t swim. Frankly, Maelstrom and his sister didn’t either, but they learned quickly. Maelstrom left his sister soon afterwards. It was no act of cruelty. Early that day, the two had observed a group of seven or so cats traveling themselves. They’d seemed friendly and their nomadic nature would suit Marigold fine. If she didn’t have the sense to join them, that was her fault.

Maelstrom matured quickly. His mother left him at five moons, he’d left Marigold at six and at eight moons old, he was more or less full grown. In age, he was an apprentice. As far as experience and size went, he was a full warrior. Therefore, it was no surprise to him that he had his first lady friend at eight moons. He’d been wandering innocently around in a very swampy area when he came across a beautiful damsel in distress. He had no problem pulling her out of the mud and the she-cat had already fallen for him by the time he was done. She had no idea that he was a good six moons younger than she was. The affair only lasted ten days or so, but in that time, Maelstrom had had a good taste of what a relationship could do.

Six or so “mates” later, Maelstrom had come across a huge community of cats. The loner was 12 moons old. His first lady friend was a sarcastic calico by the name of Russetwind. The tom was infatuated with her, but not in love, though he thought he was. The feeling only lasted a little while, because before long, he met Rabbitcloud, an attractive gray and white she-cat. Russetwind still had a good hold on Maelstrom, but he couldn’t ignore Rabbitcloud. For a while, he worked with both of them, meeting them at different times and places. He hadn’t anticipated Laurelpetal. The loner was able to juggle the three of them for nearly a moon until he grew bored. Without even telling the she-cats of his departure, he hit the road.

Several fights had bumped into Maelstrom before. A couple over food and territory, a couple with foxes, but at twenty moons, the loner had his first fight over a she-cat. It was completely ridiculous in the tom’s mind, but it had happened nonetheless. He’d been sharing tongues with a gorgeous tabby, Hazelwing, when her would-be mate, Wheatstorm, had found them. There was no time for explanation. Wheatstorm had thrust himself upon Maelstrom in a furious whirlwind. Though the loner would have remorselessly walked away, he had no choice but to beat the tar out of the jealous tom. It was a quick fight, but in the end, the tabby tom walked away without his prize. She-cats that came with competition weren’t worth it.

Maelstrom has just barely reached the forest of the four clans. He’s on the lookout for any she-cats he could pick up, but he’s more concerned with the necessities of food and shelter. He’s not planning on joining any clans or joining any rogue groups. There’s a good chance Maelstrom could leave in a moon, or he could leave in five. It all depends on what can be gained from the forest. And even if he leaves, there’s always a chance he’ll come back.

[Cherrysky♫]

I nominate Autumnleaf's (aka Sparrow) bio! It was one of the best bios I've ever read =]

[«MªÞlεδtǻr»]

BristleStar!