Post by trissea on Aug 10, 2008 11:24:02 GMT -5
They called me: Dark, for my black pelt, and bird for my late sister.
I've been known for: 30 moons
They know I'm a: Tom, because they say I'm self-centered. Truly just misunderstood.
I reside in: ShadowClan, isn't it fitting?
Where I am a: Warrior, one of many.
See me:
Don't come any closer...
My fur is completely black, sleek, soft enough, and short. No spot of white can be seen on my low-slung bod, not even at my deep-set chest, or large, lethal paws. I am obviously a ShadowClanner, through and through- I am a muscular, stocky cat, with a short body that is higher than usual off of the ground. My legs are longer than you would expect, and heavily muscled, ending each in a paw that can bear my pale, fatal claws when I please. My pawpads are black as well, but for one, which is a pale pink- not something you would notice unless you really looked. And most don't look. I'm a formidable looking cat, which suits me just fine.
Personality:
This one bites.
I hate my Clan. I hate the cats in it, suck-ups, so desperate to please. I don't understand how the life of a warrior is so great. It seems to me that we spend our lives feeding and saving our Clanmates and then die an unremarkable death. If we're lucky we become a deputy or a leader, and maybe we accomplish something realtively interesting before we die. I'm a thoughtful tom. I think too much, actually- I tend to think too long and not speak enough, giving off an air of arrogance and ignorance. Of which the former is quite true. I have no use for my Clan or the cats in it, and although I wish I could understand what all the fuss is about, I just...don't. I wasn't born to be a Clancat. I was born to be a killer. And that's what I am.
Loves me, loves me not: As if.
The past is not far enough behind:
kithood- I was a strange kit who other kits and their mothers were uncomfortable around. I never participated in games. I never had fun, unless I was terrorizing some beetle or butterfly. My sister, Birdpaw, was my polar opposite- fun-loving, loyal, sweet, and pretty. I hated her.
apprenticehood- My mentor was a shrewd, nervous young warrior, Silvergaze, who taught me all she knew and that still wasn't much. Or enough. I watched the other cats and learned from them, becoming a strong warrior of ShadowClan and hating every minute. Then came Fleetpaw. I knew as soon as I met her that I was in love. She was a down-to earth, quiet, and understanding cat with a spark in her eyes that I found nowhere else. Unfortunately, Foxpaw had his eyes on her as well. And she fell for him, not me. Birdpaw died at the claws of greencough soon after.
Warriorhood- The night of our vigil was the night that I fufilled my destiny as a true killer- In the plain sight of Fleetfoot, I killed Foxshadow, leaving her shocked. She hated me after that- I didn't understand. Kill or be killed, law of the forest. Foxshadow and I wanted the same thing, so one of us had to be eliminated. Fleetfoot insisted that I drag his carcass out of camp to bury him, and, under the light of the moon, I obliged. I found some badger dung and painstakingly carried it back to camp, smearing it thinly over the area where I had done the deed, and on myself, forcing Fleetfoot to scratch deep gashes in my side. Then she left. She left the Clan and we haven't seen her since. My story of a badger attack was, thankfully, accepted.
I will never love again.
Roleplay Ex: T.T
The Secret: leafwhisperings...
I've been known for: 30 moons
They know I'm a: Tom, because they say I'm self-centered. Truly just misunderstood.
I reside in: ShadowClan, isn't it fitting?
Where I am a: Warrior, one of many.
See me:
Don't come any closer...
My fur is completely black, sleek, soft enough, and short. No spot of white can be seen on my low-slung bod, not even at my deep-set chest, or large, lethal paws. I am obviously a ShadowClanner, through and through- I am a muscular, stocky cat, with a short body that is higher than usual off of the ground. My legs are longer than you would expect, and heavily muscled, ending each in a paw that can bear my pale, fatal claws when I please. My pawpads are black as well, but for one, which is a pale pink- not something you would notice unless you really looked. And most don't look. I'm a formidable looking cat, which suits me just fine.
Personality:
This one bites.
I hate my Clan. I hate the cats in it, suck-ups, so desperate to please. I don't understand how the life of a warrior is so great. It seems to me that we spend our lives feeding and saving our Clanmates and then die an unremarkable death. If we're lucky we become a deputy or a leader, and maybe we accomplish something realtively interesting before we die. I'm a thoughtful tom. I think too much, actually- I tend to think too long and not speak enough, giving off an air of arrogance and ignorance. Of which the former is quite true. I have no use for my Clan or the cats in it, and although I wish I could understand what all the fuss is about, I just...don't. I wasn't born to be a Clancat. I was born to be a killer. And that's what I am.
Loves me, loves me not: As if.
The past is not far enough behind:
kithood- I was a strange kit who other kits and their mothers were uncomfortable around. I never participated in games. I never had fun, unless I was terrorizing some beetle or butterfly. My sister, Birdpaw, was my polar opposite- fun-loving, loyal, sweet, and pretty. I hated her.
apprenticehood- My mentor was a shrewd, nervous young warrior, Silvergaze, who taught me all she knew and that still wasn't much. Or enough. I watched the other cats and learned from them, becoming a strong warrior of ShadowClan and hating every minute. Then came Fleetpaw. I knew as soon as I met her that I was in love. She was a down-to earth, quiet, and understanding cat with a spark in her eyes that I found nowhere else. Unfortunately, Foxpaw had his eyes on her as well. And she fell for him, not me. Birdpaw died at the claws of greencough soon after.
Warriorhood- The night of our vigil was the night that I fufilled my destiny as a true killer- In the plain sight of Fleetfoot, I killed Foxshadow, leaving her shocked. She hated me after that- I didn't understand. Kill or be killed, law of the forest. Foxshadow and I wanted the same thing, so one of us had to be eliminated. Fleetfoot insisted that I drag his carcass out of camp to bury him, and, under the light of the moon, I obliged. I found some badger dung and painstakingly carried it back to camp, smearing it thinly over the area where I had done the deed, and on myself, forcing Fleetfoot to scratch deep gashes in my side. Then she left. She left the Clan and we haven't seen her since. My story of a badger attack was, thankfully, accepted.
I will never love again.
Roleplay Ex: T.T
The Secret: leafwhisperings...
