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Post by L O S T on Aug 4, 2011 17:30:21 GMT -6
Lost's army DUSTPELT -- Goldenclan [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,343,true] | [atrb=background,http://i295.photobucket.com/albums/mm141/Spottedbelly/Dustpeltmain.png]
APPEARANCE:
More;; Dustpelt was never one of muscle. He's only a step ahead of being skin and bones. His wiry, light-boned frame is a traditional WindClanner's, made for speeding along the fields they call their home. Brown-ringed legs connect round, soft paws to narrow shoulders. The tom's neck is short and normally curved, head hanging down. A tail shorter than most sits limply behind him. Clumsy like a rope, it tends to hover a mere inch above the ground. He walks as if stalked, head tucked low and paws placed carefully, often glancing behind him. Dustpelt is a poor fighter, and if you lash out at him he'll flinch and skid out of the way. He tries to make up for it via hunting, but he's not great at that either. He isn't a fast thinker when it comes to physical activities. As Clan life rotates mostly around that, he's often left with dull jobs to do. Patching up holes in the camp walls, clearing out rotting prey, guarding; not that he minds it, really. Dustpelt likes being useful.
His coat doesn't help him to stand out of a crowd. Along his back, it's mostly a dark brown, with hints of a lighter shade. His tabby markings are difficult to spot, with the exception of on his limbs, tail and chest. As his underside and throat are a light ginger, the dark-brown-almost-black stripes stick out there. Thin stripes hug him resembling necklaces, and a dark line stretches across both legs like handcuffs. Ginger fills the gap between these stripes, up until his chin, where it fades into a beige. Dustpelt has the typical M marking on his forehead, the one no tabby can leave the nursery without. Many long, crisp white whiskers protrude from his muzzle and eyebrows. His sharp ears are filled with timber colored fur that ensure warmth. He doesn't groom very often, which gives him a raggy, windswept appearance.
Dustpelt has no scars, or any sign that he's fought something other than a cold. He's occasionally mistaken for a younger cat. The tom seems completely average until you glance at his eyes. They're a murky, dark yellow, nothing too strange. It's once you notice the expression in them that something in your head shouts 'wrong'. Often, he looks uncomfortable, startled, even lost. Thanks to an accident moons ago, his short-term memory isn't the best, and he'll often forget your name unless you drill it into him.
PERSONALITY:
QUIET & ABSENTMINDED -- Indeed so. First thing you'd notice- if you even notice him - is how Dustpelt can come off as shy. He rarely begins a conversation, as he is, frequently, too absorbed in his own thoughts. When you get him talking, he'll hesitate and speak slowly, mumbling, like he's carefully picking out his words. Most of the time, he is. Dustpelt isn't cold, far from it! He might be a little spaced out, but he'll most likely throw a smile you way. He's definitely lonely, and his spaciness doesn't help. He's scared of warming up to anyone, scared that he'll frighten them away with his quirky ways. She-cats especially, but that has more to do with his past then his timid attitude.
INTELLIGENT -- Indeed so! He's got a brilliant mind, a brilliant head on his shoulders, but he lets off way less than he knows. He's quite keen on everyone's emotions, a knack that would've come in handy if he were a little more social. He's noticed a couple things that would've been obvious to a human, but not so much to a cat. For example, when the Thunderpath seems to get the most busy (around sunhigh and dusk). He learned quickly as an apprentice, stowing away hunting and fighting techniques into his brain - when the time came to practice those techniques, that was where he failed. Dustpelt's a philosophizer at heart, also a bit of a cloudcuckoolander. Ask him about his theories on warrior life and you'll know what I mean.
UNSTABLE -- Alas, he has his bad side, too. Due to a grave incident (he doesn't like to speak of it), he's been knocked off his rocker. This tabby is prone to anxiety, often having to resort to herbs to calm down and keep him sane. His memory sustained a couple blows; like mentioned before, he has trouble remembering trivial things. If you tell him your name, he'll remember it for a couple hours - then say goodbye and come back next morning, and he won't have a faintest clue of who you are. It's not exactly a perfect reset button; a couple things will stick, especially if he concentrates. Only time will tell if he'll get better. If you become his friend, remember to bring along a bucketload of paitence.
MISC -- Dustpelt is an obedient warrior, loyal to the warrior code. He's extra cautious and quiet around other Clans, but he's definitely proud of his Clan: if his patrol happens to get into a border scuffle, he'll break his code of conduct and stand firmly by his fellows. He doesn't believe that StarClan is the way the Clan Leaders state it to be. He knows that there's something up there, but he doesn't believe it's almighty. Where dead cats go is something that confuses him, one of the only things Dustpelt doesn't have a theory about. On a more random note, he's absolutely terrified of thick, black smoke.
HISTORY:
Perhaps it would be right if I explained the origin of Duskpelt's odd name. He wasn't called Duskkit because of him being alone of his kithood mostly? - no, he was called Duskkit because of his mother's reaction. See, Kestrelfoot never wanted kits. The news was an unplesant surprise to her, but she came to terms with it. No one knew who the father was, for she never told a soul - some suspected it was Falconshadow, a tom Kestrelfoot had a crush on, or Leafstorm, who had a tabby pelt similar to the kits'. No one knew for sure. On chilly autumn afternoon, the yellow-eyed she-cat gave birth to two kits: one male and one female. She chose the name Robinkit for the she-cat, given her ginger coloring. When it came to the little tom, nothing seemed to fit him. In the end, she settled with Duskkit because... well, we know the story. Duskkit and Robinkit were playful young kittens, not veering too far from the typical.
At six moons they were apprenticed. An elderly, grumpy she-cat, Birchtalon, became Duskpaw's mentor. She could have been mistaken for an elder, but pointing out suh would drive her into a rage. She was foul-tempered, but a good mentor. And her grandchild, Silverpaw, became one of Duskpaw's only friends. Silverpaw was a cheerful she-cat, quite down-to-earth in contrast to Duskpaw's spaciness. The two apprentices took an immediate liking to each other when Birchtalon introduced them. They were two peas in a pod. Anyone could tell it was a budding romance.
His apprenticehood was rather average. One or two border skirmishes, an encounter with a fox, nothing big. It bordered 'boring and dull' until, well, the incident. Just like the identity of Duskpaw's father, no one knew for certain what had happened. One moment, Silverpaw and Duskpaw were patrolling the far end of WindClan's territory, when a furious four-legged beast came stomping towards them. Snorting and braying, the creature trampled the two felines, who were too shocked to flee. The twoleg on its back slid off and picked up the WindClanners. Their injuries weren't horrible, but bad enough to need a vet. The human stuffed them into a cardboard box and took them there. It was awfully bumpy inside the box. He remembered looking at Silverpaw's wide, scared eyes, feeling the exact same thing.
He didn't know how long he stayed at the vet. It wasn't a plesant place, full of noise and icky smells, but it did have a good side. Thankfully, the twolegs didn't separate him from his gray-furred friend. That was comforting. Their wounds were bandaged and their bellies were filled. Inside the metal cages where they slept, the two apprentices were begining to feel their warrior instincts grow soft. After being admitted from that place, they went to another. The noisiness and smelliness were worse here. The cage was cramped. Days stretched into weeks, maybe a month until they were moved again. This time, to a twoleg home. It smelled strongly of cigarette smoke which made the cats' noses prickle. There were five other cats there, but they didn't act like a Clan. Far from it; they squabbled and bickered and had no sense of honor. This place (at least initially) was worse then the cramped-cage place. Duskpaw and Silverpaw took refuge underneath a musty old couch. They rarely left their shelter, determined to stay out of the other cats' way. They spent five months at the twoleg home.
The two had left their Clan when they were eleven moons. The time at the vet and the shelter totaled up into another moon, plus five - if they were still at WindClan, they would no longer be apprentices. The two were determined to keep their warrior side present, however, often practicing or holding mock battles. Duskpaw didn't like the training, but he obliged to please Silverpaw. The smoky old living room just wasn't the same, though. Instead of an earthy floor there was a thick carpet, tables and dressers substituting rocks and bushes. The pair's "owner", an elderly old twoleg that reminded Shockpaw of Birchtalon, enjoyed watching the two playfight.
As time wore on, Duskpaw eventually became accustomed to his lifestyle. He was still shy and quiet, sometimes missing his Clan, but he didn't mind it. Can't fret over what you can't change, right? His bond with Silverpaw became stronger than ever. They began to fall in love. At the begining of their fifth month of kittypet-ness, Silverpaw told him she was carrying his kits. Duskpaw was ecstastic. Their mock fights ended and they began to answer to their kittypet names (Tigger for Shockpaw, Katie for Silverpaw). They decided they were going to settle down there, become house cats. But alas, it was too good to last.
The elderly woman smoke a lot. One day, she went to toss a cigarette snub in the ash tray, missing and letting it fall to the wooly carpet. She did not notice this. A flame flickered to life on the fabric. The woman left to run an errand. When she returned, her house was in flames. The fire had been controlled mostly, but deep inside it still raged. Shock - er, Tigger and Katie were enjoying a nap underneath the couch when they were caught by surprise. A wall of flames blocked their exit. Tigger pawed, trying to knock the wall down. It didn't work. He eventually found a gap, turning to Katie. "We have to get out," he had said. He nudged Katie with a paw. The gray cat stirred but did not rise. Duskpaw gripped her scruff between his teeth and tried to drag her out. The thick black smoke curled above them. Black edged his vision, soothing and tempting. "Katie," he said. "Silverpaw." But she was already dead.
Duskpaw panicked and fled. He ran as fast as his blistered and burnt paws would take him. He did not know what happened to the other cats the elderly woman kept. He didn't care. He kept running and running - sidewalk and asphalt became moorland. He ran until he couldn't run any more. A WindClan patrol found him hours later. Duskpaw was a wreck. His fur was covered in soot and he was rolled into a ball, shivering and close to fainting. The WindClanners recognized him as the apprentice who had gone missing all those moons ago - only a bit bigger, of course. They carried him back to the medicine cat's den.
When the tremors stopped and the burns faded away, Duskpaw began to speak. He told WindClan what had happened, more or less - from the horse trampling them to the fatal fire. He also spoke about Katie - well, Silverpaw - and her death. His voice lowered and he cringed. The tabby tom did not mention that she was expecting his kits. The Clan accepted him again, though before he could become a warrior he had to go through more moons of training, to make up for his absence. Birchtalon was getting quite old, but she agreed to continue to mentor him. Duskpaw became Duskpelt at 22 moons. He had lived almost two apprenticeships, but he didn't mind. The suffix "wave" was bestowed for his emotional instability. He waved and swayed like a leaf in the wind.
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text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text
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[/size][/color][/blockquote][/td][/tr][tr][td][IMG]http://i295.photobucket.com/albums/mm141/Spottedbelly/DustpeltFooter.png[/IMG][/td][/tr][/table]BADGERKIT -- Hillclan[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,331,true] | [atrb=background,http://i295.photobucket.com/albums/mm141/Spottedbelly/Badgerkitmain.png]
APPEARANCE:A black and white she-cat with Green eyes.
PERSONALITY:
to say the least, Badgerkit is a very active cat. while not necessarily hyperactive, she's the type of she-cat that does not mind to get down and dirty. the sense of adventure is strong with this one, and has been ever since shea born kit, wandering around in the nursery, wishing for bigger things and bigger moss to play with. being coped up in the Nursery's den has changed little to this attitude of the world, if not only made her thirst for it more. even so, Badgerkit is a legitimately happy cat; while not blindly optimistic, Badgerkit could always be counted on to find the right path in things. she has an almost soothing, motherly effect that seems all the more prominent when disaster strikes.
still, Badgerkit could be called foolish; she rushes into things head-first with little thought given to them. being spontaneous is something she has gotten very good at, and Badgerkit has been known for acts of mischief and light-hearted pranks. while grave situations do hit home, there are times when Badgerkit does not know that she has crossed a line, or if, in fact, there ever was a line; she has a way of insulting people without meaning to, Badgerkit and when they act cold towards her, she is far too stubborn and bull-headed to apologize. this makes her able to hold a grudge for a very long time, despite some grudges not even having an actual foundation. over all, she's a very social cat, the kind that will strike up conversations in any situation.
this does not make her extremely "open-minded" though; Badgerkit is raised with the traditional warrior's values, and is wary of anyone whom is not of her clanblood. not that she particularly venomous as some, but Badgerkit is devoted and loyal to windclan and starclan in general, and before she is slowly began to loose her sight, her only wish was to serve the clan to the fullest as a capable warrior. But,Badgerkit kept her feelings to herself as her won't trust anyone.
HISTORY:
Her years of herself as a kit, oh what i am talking about? I mean a few days silly, Badgerkit was born into a family of two but the tom had died from the coldest night there is in Hillclan and the other clans aswell. Badgerkit was lucky to be alive that day as she had stuck away from her nest and went with another family as her mother wasn't there, She died. Her father was out on a portal as she felt very cold as she had crawled away from her brother and left him. Leaving her brother was the greatest mistake she over done, she found out her father had died from a bagder attack as she didn't know what to do. But she kept everything to herself since now.
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text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text text
Word count;
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[/size][/color][/blockquote][/td][/tr][tr][td][IMG]http://i295.photobucket.com/albums/mm141/Spottedbelly/BadgerkitFooter.png[/IMG][/td][/tr][/table]DAWNCHASER -- Brookclan [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,331,true] | [atrb=background,http://i295.photobucket.com/albums/mm141/Spottedbelly/Dawnchasermain.png]
Bio link
APPEARANCE: A lean, angular red van she-cat with amber eyes and long legs.
&& >8'C
I am an elegant cat with a personality to match. My angular body gives me a refined and chiseled appearance. I often catch young and attractive toms looking my way, though I, myself, would never waste my time with them. My face looks dignified and will never appear otherwise, even if I am extremely embarrassed. My classy long-legs add to her appearance in a way that allows me to look down on more, how do you say, miniscule cats.
My coat is exquisitely well-groomed, not a hair out of place. Practically every hair on my body is white, excluding the solid ginger tabby located on my ears and tail. More delicate ginger spots are located on my back and flanks. Also, my pink nose is powdered with the same cinnamon dust that is found on my ears.
My eyes are probably the most stunning and eye catching feature I don. They are large, almond shaped, and slanting downward. However, their color is the real breathtaker. They appear to be fallen leaves filled with a golden amber liquid the color of the setting sun. Surprisingly, they are very bright. Although their beauty is rivaled by nothing on this planet, I will bore down on you with them until the point that you run for cover. They are my most useful weapon.
PERSONALITY:
I believe myself to be confident and poised. I am better than other cats, that is for sure, because of my impressive lineage and my striking good looks. Sometimes I often complain about life, about how it isn't fair and all that. I usually complain when I don't get what I want. Don't you dare say I was spoiled as a kit because I wasn't. When your father's a leader you don't get to see him very much. I'm not very proud of him, though I do love my siblings and my mum. Honestly, I'd rather be leader to see my clan free from the belief of 'StarClan', but I'm just going to leave that job to someone else. i just hope that Angelwing doens't believe in those foolish kit tales, because then it would just be another 9 lives of fake beliefs. We have to start realizing that StarClan was never there and they never will be. What's done is done by the cats of the lake, not by some ghosts living above us.
She is brave and wise, and often teaches others things. Sometimes though, she is much too loyal to her clan.
She works on instinct, but that isn't always true. Sometimes her instinct is wrong and she won't follow it, or sometimes, she reasons. She knows what is wrong and what is right, and when to do the right thing. She isn't afraid to do what is right, even if it kills her.
Her bad points? She can be extremely unpredictable, acting on instinct. She is, very argumentative at times, and non-negotiable. Though, she is never foul or nasty.
She has, a strong sense of right and wrong, and will always try to do what is right for the good of Brookclan.
HISTORY:
I was the firstborn in a litter of three. My mother was ____ and my father Patchstar*. I considered myself better and more experienced than all of my siblings because I was the oldest. I was always the one to correct them when they got into truble and I set the best example I possibly could. Just because I was their role-model doesn't mean that I had a loving realtionship with them. I have always preferred not to spend my time playing petty games or causing mischief.
When I turned 6 moons old, I became an apprentice by the name of Dawnpaw. My menotr was Oaktail*. Becoming an apprentice was sort of a revelation for me because I had more freedom and less time with my siblings. Instead of being cooped up in camp, I could go hunting or do some battle training. My best skill, according to my mentor, was hunting. though I had no patience when it came to cats, I could sit for hours waiting for a squirrel to let it guard down. OaktailN said I was quite good at fighting too, but I didn't consider it as entertaining and relaxing as hunting.
At 13 moons, I became a warrior. My new name was Dawnchaser. Both my parents and Oaktail* were very proud of me. However, by now, I had begun to drift away from my father. He had less and less time for me, and our relationship was turning bitter. We often got into fights over almost nothing. Soemtimes I just wish that we could go back and fix it all, but other times I wish he would just give in and admit that StarClan isn't real and never was. We both know its true, but he's the one holding back from admitting it. I'll get it out of him someday.
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[url=http://xxangelus.proboards.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=brcats&thread=270&page=1#808] Bio link[/url]
Cat. Im a kittycat.
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