Ragwort: WFTW bio

Name: Ragwort

Age: 19 Moons

Gender: Buck
Sex: afab

Rank: Private
Mentor: Celosia

Apprentice: None

Strengths: 
intelligent and scheming
excellent at reading others
fast learner

physically weak due to wasting sickness
easily frustrated
takes his anger out on others

Appearance: 
Ragwort appears sickly to any rabbits who see him. His fur is dull and scrappy and his ears are usually set back limply. His coat is a dark grey/green with lighter patches and paws. His eyes are a warm brown, and frequently have a rheumy appearance. He is very prone to secondary infections due to his immune system being compromised by his ongoing sickness. In the warmer months, Ragwort does appear slightly more healthy, as it helps clear up the respiratory infections that plague him in the cold. 
Original Tryout Art

Height: 5 whiskers

Personality traits:

Positive:
Perceptive
Cunning
Persistent
Fast learned
Curious

Neutral:
Atheist
No fear of death
Calculating
Apathetic
Aloof

Negative:
Disrespectful
Cold
Self loathing
Likes to watch others suffer
Standoffish

Backstory: 
Kit: Ragwort would likely have been a sturdy buck, taking after his parents, Downpour an Nightshade. However, fate had other plans, and when he was only a few moons old he was struck down by a terrible wasting sickness. His body was ravaged and despite the healers' best efforts, they eventually just 'made him comfortable' in preparation for the inevitable. To everyone's surprise, Ragwort clung to life and after many moons in the healers den, it was determined he was not dying, but nor was he getting better. The young rabbit was moved to the prison pit where it was assumed he would spend the rest of his days.

Prisoner: Ragwort grew bitter seeing his siblings prance around with their mentors while he was stuck in the pit, and he became to detest how they rarely visited him. The few times his family did visit, he hated how patronizingly they told him stories of outside, and came to loath the sympathy filled their eyes. He wanted to prove he was worthy of a place in Bogweed's hierarchy, just like his parents and his siblings. He tried climbing out of the prison pit, the guards wouldn't stop him, he wasn't a real prisoner after all. But weak as he was, he rarely made it, and when he did he wasn't sure what he could do without a mentor. He took to just watching, looking down on the prisoners and enjoying seeing rabbits even more pathetic than himself.  

The war raged overhead, but it was of little interest or consequence to Ragwort. His main aim was to keep enough food to himself to avoid starvation, and use his sickly appearance to deter any guards trying to shove him back into the pit by force when decided to sit on the ridge for a break. 
Until one day some new prisoners came into the pit. Buttercups, captured from a battle and put with the rest. A brown lop, a twitchy pale buck, and a scowling, piebald doe. Ragwort spent his time tormenting each for a bit, but became fond of the haughty doe, who seemed to take offence with everything he did. Perhaps out of boredom, she took him under her wing and trained him in some basic fight moves, and general knowledge no one else had felt the need to tell him. Her name was Sowthistle, and she was like the mother he had been deprived of since he came down with his sickness. 
And then she was gone, traded back to Buttercup as though she were a pile of clovers. But having a taste of genuine companionship, Ragwort wanted more. Sickness or not he would become a Private.

Private: When Bogween and Buttercup suffered their first shared defeat at the paws of Lan-Hraeth, it was decided that Prisoners as a rank could no longer exist. The Buttercups were set free, and anyone who wished it could be trained as a private. Having been trying his hardest for all of this time, but already written off as as a lost cause in the eyes of the warren, Ragwort leapt at the chance. Much to his surprise, Celosia, the General's sister, took enough of an interest in him to claim him for training. A busy rabbit, she was rarely around to train him, but he was lucky enough to watch several other Sergeants and learn what he could from them. 
It was around this time Downpour, his father, showed a renewed interest in his son. Too little, too late in Ragwort's eyes, and he was less than thrilled when the sergeant tried to claim his lack of failure was due to some fatherly love. It is possible that Downpour's intention were genuine, but to a child neglected for most of their life, forgiveness did not come easily. That being said, Ragwort does want some level of relationship with his family. Especially when so few of them remain.

Kits: None

Parents: Downpour, Nightshade

Ragwort leaned against the trunk of a large deciduous tree. It was bare and leafless for now, but he suspected that would change soon. A wry smile crept across his face, maybe that's a good analogy for me too, he mused. The prison guards were watching him with a suspicious look, as they always did when he finally managed to struggle out of the pit. None of them would dare touch him though, rarely would they even offer conversation. As if talking to me could make them cursed like I am, he though, before a cough racked his body and the guards drew back even further. Realistically, Ragwort knew whatever he had wasn't catching, he had lived in the healer's den for hrair moons and no one, not even old One-ear, had gotten ill from him. No, this burden was his and his alone to bare. The scent of spring was just beginning to fill the air. Despite most of his body betraying him, Ragwort's nose was one of the finest around. He could smell the buds of flowers and leaves now, growing swollen with life and getting ready to burst. I wonder if the warmer weather will make my 'affliction' any better, he wondered, and his chest seemed to gurgle in response.
Sadly, I doubt it.