Ma'keiru - Cult Cat

[arashi]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,600,true][atrb=height,500,true]

[atrb=width,600,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][bg=00000] We are the off spring of the gods. Born to protect and serve. MY NAME IS AND SHALL ALWAYS BE __Ma'keiru___ I AM PROUD TO SERVE AS __Anubis___ FOR __the dead__ AND MY PHARAOH Though our weaknesses are many and our strength is countless, We are anointed with their powers. GOD WHOM I WORSHIP __Anubis__ WHOSE __communications with the dead and accuracy__ MAKE ME STRONGER BUT MY __silence and slowness__ MAKES ME STUMBLE I AM STILL THE CAT I WAS MEANT TO BE. __Ma'keiru is always keeping his distance from anything that breathes; he feels like just talking to them would give him a reason to cry for their losses. Even talking to a kit with a stillborn brother would bring tears of depression to his beautiful violet eyes. He has yet to feel at home anywhere, but is at least in a warm bed in the Cult. He has grown accustomed to the life of an Anubis, and silently enjoys the gifts that the gods gave him for being one. But what he likes more than anything is song. He knows that rarely any cat in the whole forest sang, and he is happy about this too. He knows only wordless melodies that make the birds halt their singing to listen, and simple notes he sings quietly in tune to the birdcalls. He also loves the beauty of the world, from the picturesque meadows, to the awe-inspiring rainbows, to the sparkling morning dew on the grass. All of it inspires countless memories that the dead have shared with him. The laughter of little ones from generation's past, the subtle coo of a mother to her daughter, and best of all, the crystalline voice of a she-cat from long ago. He treasures this memory the most, and has followed the notes of the song to make a tune he has never sung. He can never put the words quite right, giving them the quality of never being quite the same. He doesn't know if there will be a future in these times, but he does know that he will live through it as long as he remembers that wordless song from long ago.__ MY __need for a true home__ KEEPS ME ALIVE THOUGH THINGS I DISLIKE ARE MANY __bright light, the living, the sadness of a death, tears, evil, small spaces THE THINGS I LIKE ARE GREATER __darkness, songs, hope, silence, the dead, the world's beauty, color, natural art__ We are strong and full of the life the gods have blessed us with WHEN MY PELT IS __Long, silky soft, and fluffy in a shade that seems to be darker than the darkest gray, but not black. He has a pure white chin that seems to reflect its brightness on his nose. His tail is also dipped in this blinding white shade.__ AND MY EYES ARE __sunset violet__ IT SETS ME APART FROM THOSE ON THE OUTSIDE THE __☼ (sun) scar__ ON MY __powerful muscled form__ TELLS ALL WHO I AM TO BECOME. Let no one stand in our way… EVEN WHEN MY FAMILY IS __Kara - deceased__ , __Tory - deceased__ and __Cress – deceased__ AND MY FRIENDS ARE __the dead__ AND MY ENEMIES MAYBE __the demons of the living__ MY PAST BEHIND ME AND MY FUTURE IS IN FRONT OF ME __Ma'keiru was not born with the name he holds in the present. He was born to the name of Mack, by two loners named Kara and Tory. His sister, Cress, had died when born. His mother and father taught him everything that he might need to know; from stealing food from the kittypets; and Clans; when the night fell to fighting off a young fox over a meal. They loved him, and he felt like it would be his home forever. He celebrated 4 months’ worth of ‘birthdays,’ in which his family celebrated the day he was born on each month. But alas, the four months ended, and everything had to end. It began on his fifth ‘birthday.’ Mack had been sleeping off his excitement for what he thought to be a fantastic birthday, and awoke to nothing. He was alone. He looked around, eyes wide, for his home, and saw nothing that resembled it. He was lost. He called out for his mother and father for days, refusing to eat for fear that they would miss him. They never turned up. He sat in silence for another day, interrupted by only his growling stomach. He, still teary eyed, padded over to a mound of prey. He stole a fat rabbit and fled, fearing the light that would mean his capture. As he ate, he heard a voice. His family’s voice. Even little Cress, whom he had never gotten to meet. They had come to wish him a happy birthday. And as quickly as they had appeared, they were gone. But at last, Mack had felt some comfort in his life, and he smiled, thanking them personally for the birthday cheer. And as he was looking up, the first snowflake of winter tapped his nose. It was time to go. He padded off, cold and lost, with only that rabbit to keep him fed. He padded across Clan lands, and they brutally kicked him off. He avoided them, and kept going farther into the island. It had been about a week; he had lost all sense of time on his journey, and he had lost every fuel bit the rabbit had given him. He came upon what he feared to be another Clan, and collapsed, letting death do what it wanted with him. But no. A warm pair of jaws picked him up by the scruff, and placed him in front of another cat. His eyes opened up long enough to hear the cat, with paint all over it, ask him a question. He didn’t know what the question was; he was collapsing again by the time it ended. His breathing became shallow, he thought that he would die here. But he had to will himself forward. Mack forced himself up, and dragged himself to the pile of food standing right before him, but was easily blocked by two burly cats. He ducked under their legs, wildly clawed onto a robin, and fell into unconsciousness with it in his jaws. He awoke a while later with the morsel still in his jaws, and he ate it hungrily, relishing the full feeling he got from it. He looked up to see the painted cat again, standing before him. “Why did you come here?” the cat had asked, as if he had asked it before. Mack took a deep breath, and began his story. It ended with his collapsing in the cat’s realm. The painted cat looked around, quietly whispering to a few other cats. “You say that you have no one you love?” the painted cat asked. Mack quietly answered yes, a tear fragment dropping to the frozen earth below. “And what is your name?” Mack blinked. He had never been asked his name before, and this cat looked important. He stuttered out ‘Mack,’ but had screwed it up into ‘Ma’keiru.’ The painted cat seemed to nod, as if accepting his name. “Ma’keiru, is it? A fine name.” Mack, or apparently now Ma’keiru, didn’t object. He feared the consequences of refusing this. “You said you heard your dead family’s voices on the journey?” Ma’keiru nodded. The painted cat whispered among the others again. “You may go.” The cat said, as an afterthought. Ma’keiru looked around for someone he could go to, when a cat beckoned him over, asking again about him seeing his dead family. He nodded, feeling a heavy sense of repetition. The other cat said to him that he was getting old, and asked him to join the ‘Cult’ (apparently this was what it was called) and become the new Anubis, or seer of the dead. Ma’keiru felt destiny would be recording his words now, and so he responded “Okay.” The older cat told the painted cat about this, and Ma’keiru was accepted in as the new Anubis. He still misses his mom and dad, and even his sister, and vows to serve his Cult…just for a chance at finding a true home.__ You call me by the name I’ve lied I meet in secret with those who’ve died Though life is not’ but treachery This life is all the life in me -x-x-x- COMPLETE.

[calypso]

Very Good, I loove the personality, nicely written

--Evening