Post by Sori on Apr 6, 2012 14:34:59 GMT -10
Name |
Crowheart
Gender |
Tom
Age |
27 Moons
Rank |
Deputy
Clan |
Pineclan
Beliefs |
One could say that Crowheart is ‘halfway there’. The seemingly young deputy believes in Starclan enough to get by, but how can you believe in something when you can’t see, touch, taste, hear, or smell it? Exactly his point. Crowheart believes in what he can perceive physically, so it’s supposed that one can say he has no real faith. Then again, it’s not as if he doesn’t hope and pray that there really is a Starclan. After all, everyone needs somebody else to watch over them, and without that single repeating thought that constantly traipses through his mind, Crowheart doesn’t think he would manage what he does today.
Parents |
Mother- Spottedfur – Deceased – Pineclan Warrior [NP]
Father- Fall – Unknown – Rogue [NP]
Siblings |
Trick – Sister – Unknown – Loner [PC]
Dare – Brother – Deceased – Loner [NP]
Other Kin |
None
Mate |
Not yet
Crush |
Not yet
Kits |
Not yet
Apprentice/Mentor |
Not yet
Appearance |
Crowheart is a truly handsome specimen of the male variety, something worth being looked at. His coat, a midnight black, so dark it seems as though one could drown in its shadowed depths. Of medium length, his fur gently sways alongside a breeze, mingling with it as though the two were friends. A fit and well kept structure; his limbs are long, fur rippling over lithe, taut muscles. Eyes the purest of blue are set of, the fur around his face framing them as though saying ‘look at me’. His paws are of medium size, fitting his body easily, though definitely large enough to cause damage with their ivory colored claws. The ebony male’s tail matches his fur to a T, though it is a bit bushier than his main coat, with a speckling of silver-white along the tip, the only light in a pelt otherwise engulfed in darkness.
Personality |
Crowheart is a very kind tom, though he does have his moments. He doesn't like to see others being picked on or not included in anything, since he didn’t always have others to play with and knows the feeling. He respects the other clans, but believes that if everyone were treated as equals, things would be much easier. Crowheart is simply one of those all around cats, though he does have a tendency to flirt with the she-cats from time to time.
Crowheart feels that he has the most strength when the sun is at its lowest, allowing him to be completely submersed in darkness and night. In all honesty, the dark furred tom simply loves to be shrouded in the cloak of night, hidden from the scrutinizing gazes of others. Though many can say he is ‘one of the kits’ Crowheart is not afraid to stand up for himself or to fight when it is necessary. Even though he isn’t serious all the time, Crowheart can get a bit... Bossy, so to speak. He doesn't enjoy others looking down on him, or flat out disobeying an order he has given. If he's told you something, Crowheart expects it to be done then and there, with no time to spare. He isn't one of those cats that will idly wait by for something to be done, if other's can't step up, then he will knock them down without hesitation. Of course, he doesn't pick random fights, but if you are bothering him, or blatantly ignoring something that he has told you, then you'd better be expecting a snap or two of retaliation in your direction. Though he wouldn’t score someone with his claws unless they deserved it, Crowheart can easily do just as much damage to someone with cold, ruthless words. Sometimes, Crowheart tends to get this air about him, almost like he thinks he knows better than everyone else. It's not like he doesn't try to control it though. Even though he slips up every now and then, Crowheart tries his best to be a role-model and never show that anything is wrong on the outside. Instead, he keeps everything bottled up inside, but that bottle has to crack eventually right?
Skills |
For one his size, Crowheart isn’t about brute strength. Larger than most females, yet smaller than some males, he was built for lithe agility. The tom can easily outrun larger cats, his long, tautly muscled limbs allowing him to quickly build up speed. Thanks to his dark pelt, Crowheart is accustomed to watching and waiting from the shadows, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. His small form allows him to be nimble on his feet, while still possessing enough strength to be lethal if things take a turn for the worse. Perhaps the only skill he doesn’t possess is an acute feel for the hunt, though he is still able to bring back some form of prey for his clan.
History |
Crowheart was born rouge along with his sister and brother, given the name Crow at birth for the basic coloring of his fur. His mother Spottedfur was a Pineclan cat, though she soon ran off with his father Fall, a rogue. They lived on the outskirts of the clans with a group of rogues, struggling through life day by day. Due to being half-clan, the rogues didn't really accept him or his family, rarely interacting with any of them. His younger sister, Trick, seemed to despise both life as a Rogue and life as a clan cat after learning about the clans from their mother. Spottedfur wanted to take her kits to the clans, integrate their family back into her birth clan, and live happily instead of fighting for a place in the group of rogues, barely making it through life. As a clan cat, it could be said that his mother wasn’t suited for the life of a rogue without the comfort and security she had grown up with.
When he was about 6 moons old, apprentice age his mother said, Crow’s brother Dare died. The oldest of the three had infringed on another rogues territory, and ended up dead in the ensuing fight. Everyone grieved, and this was the moment Spottedfur told her kits about Starclan. Crow couldn’t decide if he believed her or not, after all, if they had let Dare die, then how could they keep four clans safe? Crow debated over this for the next moons in his life.
Trick left at the age of 10 moons, deciding to live the life of a Loner or Kittypet, unable to decide which at that moment in time. His sister simply couldn’t take the constant fighting and scheming of a rogues life. Crow wasn’t pleased with this way of life either, but there seemed to be no other for him. One night, while he was out practicing his hunting skills, which he admittedly sucked at, a strange scent lit up the night air. The tang of blood brushed over him, followed by a feeling of dread.
Crow raced back to his small families temporary ‘camp’, shocked at what he found there. Blood, everywhere, so much that he couldn’t believe that it had belonged to his two smaller parents. Torn apart by grief, Crow ran away as fast as he could, not even giving his parents a proper burial. He wandered around until he was about 13 moons of age, looking for Trick and whomever had had the guts to kill his only friends and family. Thanks to not being the best of hunters, it wasn’t long before the tom known as Crow began to whither and die, leaving just a shell of a body.
He doesn’t exactly remember how it happened, but somehow or another Crow ended up in a camp of cats. He awoke to pain in his side, red-tinged cobwebs plastered there. Another cat was near him, watching him apparently. Crow had growled, wincing through the pain in his side. He can’t remember what the cat said, for he had blacked out, but when he awoke again he was within the center of the camp. “You’re a rogue, why were you on our territory?” Hissed a large cat that oozed dominance. Crow had cowered, ears pinned back, tail twitching. “I got lost.” He spat in return, defiance lighting his vivid blue eyes. The cat nodded, though it still watched him assessing him it seemed. “You’re in Pineclan at the moment, and your quite young, care to tell why you’re out and about alone?” Crow flinched, flashing back to the death and carnage of his parents. “I ran away..” He lied, teeth clenching. “What’s your name?” The other cat asked. “Crow..” He muttered, breathing deeply. “Well Crow, if you would like to join my clan, you may, but decide now.” Crow blinked, almost not believing his ears. This was his mother’s clan, and they were asking him to join.
It was only obvious that he did so eagerly. “Good. From this day on, you will be known as Crowpaw. Your a bit old for an apprentice, but until you learn the ways of the clan you will not be given a warrior name. You will receive a mentor to teach you hunting and fighting skills. If you have progressed enough in a couple of moons, you will be welcomed as a full member of Pineclan." Listening raptly, Crowpaw couldn't stop the feeling of love from washing over him. He was a member of his mothers clan, and he would do his best to make her proud as she watched from wherever she was.
Critique level | Make it FoF acceptable please.
Role Play Example |
Eyes blinked open, welcoming the darkness of night. Their color, a vivid blue, shone with delight as a lithe form stretched. From the shadows came a small yawn, white teeth glinting in the shimmering moonlight. He stood strait, stock still, listening to his surroundings. Black velvety ears flicked, a head cocked to better ascertain the sounds he was hearing. Fallensky’s paws twitched, his claws barely unsheathing, the ivory tips making small scores in the moist ground. With the chill of leaf-bare gone, things would soon begin to pick up, and there were sure to be kits on the way. The deputy sighed lightly, tail kinking behind him in frustration. He wished he were a better hunter, but he couldn’t seriously fool himself into believing that he was. Still, the clan needed food and it was his job to do so. Passing through the camp, he was surprised that all of the apprentices were in their dens and asleep, whereas if it were warmer out most would have found some way to sneak off without a mentor.
The tom chuckled lightly, his lilting voice carrying on the nights wayward breeze. He cast a glance to his left, and then to his right. It seemed as though no one else was awake at the moment. A smile graced him, his features lighting up in the darkness. With nothing else to do, he set off for the camps entrance, nodding to the sentry there, making note not to put the warrior on the dawn patrol. Rolling back his shoulders, he relished in the feeling of his tensed up muscles unwinding, ready to begin the hunt.
Now Crowheart definitely wasn’t the best hunter his clan had to offer, but he was good with the basics, and could catch plenty of mice or birds. Still, not many would be out at this time of night, though saying he was hunting was better than admitting he was taking a nighttime stroll instead of sleeping in a warm den. The deputy shook his head, laughing inwardly, though the sound seemed cold as it echoed through his mind. He sighed, there was no way he could fool himself. Sure, he was happy when he was with the other clan cats, but alone? There was just no way Crowheart could keep up the false pretences.
“Fox dung.” He muttered aloud, hoping to shake the dreaded feeling that rose up like mouse bile in the back of his throat. Why should he keep worrying about them? His past was his past, there was just no real reason to bring it back to the future. Still, he couldn’t believe what he had seen just mere sunrises ago. A flash of black and orange, a small dainty shape, and the familiar scent of someone he knew from what seemed like a past life. Trick. His sister, the only living relative he had left. But no, it couldn’t have possibly been her, he hadn’t seen the she-cat since he himself was barely of apprentice age and still living the life of a rogue.
Now then, what was it he came out here to do? Oh yes, hunt. Crowheart grimaced at the thought, he really wasn’t in the mood anymore. The deputy turned in the other direction, padding deeper into the forest, immersing himself in the nights cold blanket. Sifting through the shadows with keen blue eyes, he looked up, the stars winking at him from the sky. What was it his mother had once said? Even when a cat is dead, if you believe strongly enough, they may come back to you. Yeah, right. Crowheart snorted loudly before snapping his jaw back together to stifle the sound.
Sure, Starclan, a bunch of dead cats watching over the living, but they couldn’t even help his family when they needed it. They couldn’t keep Trick from leaving to go who knows where. The deputy suppressed a growl of anguish, flopping over to his back to stare up at the twinkling stars. He closed his eyes, breathing becoming deep, even. Mother… he thought, breathing in the familiar scents of the forest and the underlying scent of Spottedfur that the wind brought to him. “What a wonderful dream.” Crowheart murmured, unaware of the vaguely transparent shape that appeared beside him, patchwork tail flicking his ear lovingingly as emerald green eyes gazed down on him with sorrow and apology. Breathing deeply once more, Crowheart sank fully into the darkness of sleep, his only way of running from the thoughts that plagued him by day, and the nightmares that chased him even when he was awake.
Crowheart
Gender |
Tom
Age |
27 Moons
Rank |
Deputy
Clan |
Pineclan
Beliefs |
One could say that Crowheart is ‘halfway there’. The seemingly young deputy believes in Starclan enough to get by, but how can you believe in something when you can’t see, touch, taste, hear, or smell it? Exactly his point. Crowheart believes in what he can perceive physically, so it’s supposed that one can say he has no real faith. Then again, it’s not as if he doesn’t hope and pray that there really is a Starclan. After all, everyone needs somebody else to watch over them, and without that single repeating thought that constantly traipses through his mind, Crowheart doesn’t think he would manage what he does today.
Parents |
Mother- Spottedfur – Deceased – Pineclan Warrior [NP]
Father- Fall – Unknown – Rogue [NP]
Siblings |
Trick – Sister – Unknown – Loner [PC]
Dare – Brother – Deceased – Loner [NP]
Other Kin |
None
Mate |
Not yet
Crush |
Not yet
Kits |
Not yet
Apprentice/Mentor |
Not yet
Appearance |
Crowheart is a truly handsome specimen of the male variety, something worth being looked at. His coat, a midnight black, so dark it seems as though one could drown in its shadowed depths. Of medium length, his fur gently sways alongside a breeze, mingling with it as though the two were friends. A fit and well kept structure; his limbs are long, fur rippling over lithe, taut muscles. Eyes the purest of blue are set of, the fur around his face framing them as though saying ‘look at me’. His paws are of medium size, fitting his body easily, though definitely large enough to cause damage with their ivory colored claws. The ebony male’s tail matches his fur to a T, though it is a bit bushier than his main coat, with a speckling of silver-white along the tip, the only light in a pelt otherwise engulfed in darkness.
Personality |
Crowheart is a very kind tom, though he does have his moments. He doesn't like to see others being picked on or not included in anything, since he didn’t always have others to play with and knows the feeling. He respects the other clans, but believes that if everyone were treated as equals, things would be much easier. Crowheart is simply one of those all around cats, though he does have a tendency to flirt with the she-cats from time to time.
Crowheart feels that he has the most strength when the sun is at its lowest, allowing him to be completely submersed in darkness and night. In all honesty, the dark furred tom simply loves to be shrouded in the cloak of night, hidden from the scrutinizing gazes of others. Though many can say he is ‘one of the kits’ Crowheart is not afraid to stand up for himself or to fight when it is necessary. Even though he isn’t serious all the time, Crowheart can get a bit... Bossy, so to speak. He doesn't enjoy others looking down on him, or flat out disobeying an order he has given. If he's told you something, Crowheart expects it to be done then and there, with no time to spare. He isn't one of those cats that will idly wait by for something to be done, if other's can't step up, then he will knock them down without hesitation. Of course, he doesn't pick random fights, but if you are bothering him, or blatantly ignoring something that he has told you, then you'd better be expecting a snap or two of retaliation in your direction. Though he wouldn’t score someone with his claws unless they deserved it, Crowheart can easily do just as much damage to someone with cold, ruthless words. Sometimes, Crowheart tends to get this air about him, almost like he thinks he knows better than everyone else. It's not like he doesn't try to control it though. Even though he slips up every now and then, Crowheart tries his best to be a role-model and never show that anything is wrong on the outside. Instead, he keeps everything bottled up inside, but that bottle has to crack eventually right?
Skills |
For one his size, Crowheart isn’t about brute strength. Larger than most females, yet smaller than some males, he was built for lithe agility. The tom can easily outrun larger cats, his long, tautly muscled limbs allowing him to quickly build up speed. Thanks to his dark pelt, Crowheart is accustomed to watching and waiting from the shadows, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. His small form allows him to be nimble on his feet, while still possessing enough strength to be lethal if things take a turn for the worse. Perhaps the only skill he doesn’t possess is an acute feel for the hunt, though he is still able to bring back some form of prey for his clan.
History |
Crowheart was born rouge along with his sister and brother, given the name Crow at birth for the basic coloring of his fur. His mother Spottedfur was a Pineclan cat, though she soon ran off with his father Fall, a rogue. They lived on the outskirts of the clans with a group of rogues, struggling through life day by day. Due to being half-clan, the rogues didn't really accept him or his family, rarely interacting with any of them. His younger sister, Trick, seemed to despise both life as a Rogue and life as a clan cat after learning about the clans from their mother. Spottedfur wanted to take her kits to the clans, integrate their family back into her birth clan, and live happily instead of fighting for a place in the group of rogues, barely making it through life. As a clan cat, it could be said that his mother wasn’t suited for the life of a rogue without the comfort and security she had grown up with.
When he was about 6 moons old, apprentice age his mother said, Crow’s brother Dare died. The oldest of the three had infringed on another rogues territory, and ended up dead in the ensuing fight. Everyone grieved, and this was the moment Spottedfur told her kits about Starclan. Crow couldn’t decide if he believed her or not, after all, if they had let Dare die, then how could they keep four clans safe? Crow debated over this for the next moons in his life.
Trick left at the age of 10 moons, deciding to live the life of a Loner or Kittypet, unable to decide which at that moment in time. His sister simply couldn’t take the constant fighting and scheming of a rogues life. Crow wasn’t pleased with this way of life either, but there seemed to be no other for him. One night, while he was out practicing his hunting skills, which he admittedly sucked at, a strange scent lit up the night air. The tang of blood brushed over him, followed by a feeling of dread.
Crow raced back to his small families temporary ‘camp’, shocked at what he found there. Blood, everywhere, so much that he couldn’t believe that it had belonged to his two smaller parents. Torn apart by grief, Crow ran away as fast as he could, not even giving his parents a proper burial. He wandered around until he was about 13 moons of age, looking for Trick and whomever had had the guts to kill his only friends and family. Thanks to not being the best of hunters, it wasn’t long before the tom known as Crow began to whither and die, leaving just a shell of a body.
He doesn’t exactly remember how it happened, but somehow or another Crow ended up in a camp of cats. He awoke to pain in his side, red-tinged cobwebs plastered there. Another cat was near him, watching him apparently. Crow had growled, wincing through the pain in his side. He can’t remember what the cat said, for he had blacked out, but when he awoke again he was within the center of the camp. “You’re a rogue, why were you on our territory?” Hissed a large cat that oozed dominance. Crow had cowered, ears pinned back, tail twitching. “I got lost.” He spat in return, defiance lighting his vivid blue eyes. The cat nodded, though it still watched him assessing him it seemed. “You’re in Pineclan at the moment, and your quite young, care to tell why you’re out and about alone?” Crow flinched, flashing back to the death and carnage of his parents. “I ran away..” He lied, teeth clenching. “What’s your name?” The other cat asked. “Crow..” He muttered, breathing deeply. “Well Crow, if you would like to join my clan, you may, but decide now.” Crow blinked, almost not believing his ears. This was his mother’s clan, and they were asking him to join.
It was only obvious that he did so eagerly. “Good. From this day on, you will be known as Crowpaw. Your a bit old for an apprentice, but until you learn the ways of the clan you will not be given a warrior name. You will receive a mentor to teach you hunting and fighting skills. If you have progressed enough in a couple of moons, you will be welcomed as a full member of Pineclan." Listening raptly, Crowpaw couldn't stop the feeling of love from washing over him. He was a member of his mothers clan, and he would do his best to make her proud as she watched from wherever she was.
Critique level | Make it FoF acceptable please.
Role Play Example |
Eyes blinked open, welcoming the darkness of night. Their color, a vivid blue, shone with delight as a lithe form stretched. From the shadows came a small yawn, white teeth glinting in the shimmering moonlight. He stood strait, stock still, listening to his surroundings. Black velvety ears flicked, a head cocked to better ascertain the sounds he was hearing. Fallensky’s paws twitched, his claws barely unsheathing, the ivory tips making small scores in the moist ground. With the chill of leaf-bare gone, things would soon begin to pick up, and there were sure to be kits on the way. The deputy sighed lightly, tail kinking behind him in frustration. He wished he were a better hunter, but he couldn’t seriously fool himself into believing that he was. Still, the clan needed food and it was his job to do so. Passing through the camp, he was surprised that all of the apprentices were in their dens and asleep, whereas if it were warmer out most would have found some way to sneak off without a mentor.
The tom chuckled lightly, his lilting voice carrying on the nights wayward breeze. He cast a glance to his left, and then to his right. It seemed as though no one else was awake at the moment. A smile graced him, his features lighting up in the darkness. With nothing else to do, he set off for the camps entrance, nodding to the sentry there, making note not to put the warrior on the dawn patrol. Rolling back his shoulders, he relished in the feeling of his tensed up muscles unwinding, ready to begin the hunt.
Now Crowheart definitely wasn’t the best hunter his clan had to offer, but he was good with the basics, and could catch plenty of mice or birds. Still, not many would be out at this time of night, though saying he was hunting was better than admitting he was taking a nighttime stroll instead of sleeping in a warm den. The deputy shook his head, laughing inwardly, though the sound seemed cold as it echoed through his mind. He sighed, there was no way he could fool himself. Sure, he was happy when he was with the other clan cats, but alone? There was just no way Crowheart could keep up the false pretences.
“Fox dung.” He muttered aloud, hoping to shake the dreaded feeling that rose up like mouse bile in the back of his throat. Why should he keep worrying about them? His past was his past, there was just no real reason to bring it back to the future. Still, he couldn’t believe what he had seen just mere sunrises ago. A flash of black and orange, a small dainty shape, and the familiar scent of someone he knew from what seemed like a past life. Trick. His sister, the only living relative he had left. But no, it couldn’t have possibly been her, he hadn’t seen the she-cat since he himself was barely of apprentice age and still living the life of a rogue.
Now then, what was it he came out here to do? Oh yes, hunt. Crowheart grimaced at the thought, he really wasn’t in the mood anymore. The deputy turned in the other direction, padding deeper into the forest, immersing himself in the nights cold blanket. Sifting through the shadows with keen blue eyes, he looked up, the stars winking at him from the sky. What was it his mother had once said? Even when a cat is dead, if you believe strongly enough, they may come back to you. Yeah, right. Crowheart snorted loudly before snapping his jaw back together to stifle the sound.
Sure, Starclan, a bunch of dead cats watching over the living, but they couldn’t even help his family when they needed it. They couldn’t keep Trick from leaving to go who knows where. The deputy suppressed a growl of anguish, flopping over to his back to stare up at the twinkling stars. He closed his eyes, breathing becoming deep, even. Mother… he thought, breathing in the familiar scents of the forest and the underlying scent of Spottedfur that the wind brought to him. “What a wonderful dream.” Crowheart murmured, unaware of the vaguely transparent shape that appeared beside him, patchwork tail flicking his ear lovingingly as emerald green eyes gazed down on him with sorrow and apology. Breathing deeply once more, Crowheart sank fully into the darkness of sleep, his only way of running from the thoughts that plagued him by day, and the nightmares that chased him even when he was awake.
