Post by &&.E r m i e on Jul 14, 2008 11:28:23 GMT -5
Name: Slateblood
Moons: 37 moons
Gender: Tom
Clan: ColdClan
Rank: Deputy [Second-In-Command]
Short-Description:
Moons: 37 moons
Gender: Tom
Clan: ColdClan
Rank: Deputy [Second-In-Command]
Short-Description:
Dark slate grey tom with orange eyes that look red in sunlight.Picture:
ClickDescription:
Eyes red like rose petals stare out at you from Slateblood's face. In dim or no light, they are a pumpkin coloured orange, but when sunlight is spilt upn them, it glares of the surface and causes them to look almost red, though if you look very closely, you can see they are indeed orange, but somehow the sunlight turns the surface so it appears to be a red colour. The overall shape is round, or maybe more of an oval shape, with darker fur rimming around them. The face that they are settled in is not entirely broad, but wedged shaped, narrowing slightly towards the end of his muzzle. His ears are large and shell shaped at the base, but tapering at the tip. His whiskers are snowy white against his pelt, and long. His neck is of medium length and supports his head easily, though a scar still shows on his right side. his body is sturdy, medium legs that are well muscled. his paws are large and sheathed within them are ivory coloured claws, paled to a light yellow. His tail is also not completely long, but narrows only slightly from the base. Slateblood's overall body shape is large, and although he isn't a lean cat, he isn't very stocky. His whole body is covered in a sheet of slate grey fur, the only white on his body being his whiskers and very tip of his tail. His fur is thick, though short and close to his frame.Personality:
Slateblood is loyal to the bone for his clan, and will lay down his life repeatedly for anyone of its members. Although at gatherings he may chat with other cat from different clans awhile, but most of the time Slateblood prefers to talk among his own clan members, for he fears if he becomes close to cats not of his own clan, he might face them in battle someday, and if he was forced to attack his own friends, he would never be able to forgive himself for getting close to them and then hurting them. Therefore, the dark tom doesn't talk much among other clans if he doesn't have to.History:
To many, Slateblood may seem unsociel and withdrawn, but once the other clans are gone away and he is safely within Coldclan terrirtory, its as if a new cat has come outside. True, Slateblood is a naturally quiet cat, but when comfortable he easy converses with others, calm and peacefull. He is very concerned with clan matters, and if something is wrong or something had happened, Slateblood is right there, trying to learn all he can. Even, farther, if he is with close friends, he even appears cheerful and outgoing, a humorous cat, and indeed he is, if you manage to fold off his bitter outer layers the inside is sweet. Although he had a tough exteriour, fighting is not the toms first answer for everything that must be solved, he also show knowledge inside himself, and is willing to help a friend solve their problems.
I remember days…the first days that I began to realize my life and begin to speak, they were lonely and desolate. Nobody was there for me, they had all left, or forced to leave, I never really knew them. In the country roads, that’s where I lived, my life as a loner began. There used to be an old country bait store on the corner there, though im sure it still is. No day was completed without clawing up onto the rotting, old barrels and crying out loudly until the owner boosted the front window open and let me come in. The place used to be someone’s old wood cabin, and the darkness was cut only from a single bulb screwed to the ceiling. Small pools of fish swarmed in giant tubs, which I easily leaped onto from the smooth floor planks. Most of the fish were small, with shiny silver scales and bulging eyes, though in a larger tub he kept trout, which he smoked in his smoke house, and that was the stuff I was looking for.Role Playing Example:
It was in the same place every day, below the ridge of the counter in a small porcelain bowl, scraps that he didn’t need or care for. My pace quickened as I scented the dry, fishy taste of trout on the air. It tasted wonderful as I gulped it down my throat. After I was finished, I lay on the floor for a moment, my stomach warm and full, then rose to get a drink out of the fish tubs. Then, with a quick mew of bye, not that he understood, I leaped out the window and into the night, little did I know that it would be my last visit there.
The nest day, as I traveled up the single-lane gravel road, hound barking filled my ears. It confused me at first, there were no hounds around here, but then I realized that in the distance, the store owner{plump with a handlebar mustache} was holding a little Bluetick hound in the air, staring at it proudly. Without getting any closer, I knew that the scraps wouldn’t be there for me anymore if I stayed. It was a simple fact, dogs devoured anything, especially little hound puppies. If I stayed until it grew large, I might become devoured as well. It wasn’t a appealing thought, so I turned and raced away into the trees at the end of the fields, tail bristling and ears flat. This wasn’t my home anymore.
My stay in the country wasn’t long, for I was only around 6 moons when I left. I remember jogging down the road, dark trees shadowing my fur on everyside, moon hanging in the sky like a lantern and little stars flashing through the sky like fire flies dancing through the night. Coyote howls and footsteps crackling on dry leaves sent shivers up my spine, but I continued, willing my self to go farther until I found a place to live. The journey was long, and frightening, but eventually a found a place that had marsh ground, and tall pine forests. The marsh was so soothing after days of walking on hard gravel turf, and the tall trees the complete opposite of the country.
I liked it.
And apparently other cats did to, for as I was meandering around, I was startled by four cats leaping from the cattail’s, with screech of fury. A large tabby pinned me to the ground, eyes glaring suspiciously into mine. “ Are you a rogue?!” He demanded firmly, ears pricked forward for my answer. “ A-a-a rogue?” I stammered. “ Are you!?” I tried to pull my head back. “ No, no, im a loner!” A sleek white she-cat stepped forward, sniffing my pelt anxiously. “ Its true Woodenstripe,” She mewed. “ He comes from no clan and is not a rogue, he smells much more like fish.” Woodenstripe? What kind of name was that?
At that time, I called myself ‘Minnow’, since my fur was also grey like the small fish. “ Young kit, perhaps you should come to camp with us.” Woodenstripe lead the way, and ‘Snowcrest’ as the she-cat told me was her name, along with Blackshadow, a dark black she-cat, and a young tom named Pinepaw.
At last we reached the camp. Woodenstripe offered me a piece of mouse, which I eagerly ate, my stomach yawning with hunger. Already more cats then I had even seen stared out from their dens, wide eyed and curious about my appearance. Then the leader came. He was like no other, his pelt proudly groomed, every hair straight. His muscles rippled smoothly under his tabby pelt and it seemed as though his eyes bore into my soul. “ So,’ He rumbled, voice like thunder. “ I here you are a loner young cat.”
“Ye-yes.” I mewed, but it sounded like a squeak.
“Would you care to join are clan? It may be difficult for one such as you, do you think your up for it?”
I looked around, cats groomed each other talked together, they brought food for the weak and young…it was so well established! It was obvious my answer was…” Yes!! Please!.”
The leader chuckled to himself, whispering into my ear what I had to do at the ceremony, then called out a weird sentence that gathered everyone to the center of the camp. “Loner kit, from now on, you shall be known as Slatepaw. Snowcrest, you are ready for an apprentice. You will be Slatepaw's mentor. "Snowcrest, you are known for stealth and speed. I expect you to pass on all your skills to Slatepaw, so that he may be an honorable warrior of ColdClan." I stepped forward to press my nose against Snowcrest’s pink nose. It was cold, and a shiver went through me. Then, we stepped down into the clearing, and the clan went up, calling my name. “Slatepaw! Slatepaw!”” Well done youngster!”
Even though they had just met me, they cheered as though I was one of their own, and I was. I was determined to be as loyal to them as they were to me.
Training was hard and tough, I worked for moons on my fighting and hunting skills until I was an intimidating force to meet. Instead of the thin, shaky young cat I used to be, now I was strong, muscular and warrior like in every and anyway. When my warrior ceremony came, I spoke loud and proudly, answering with force, and stepped forward to lick the leaders shoulder, whispering a thanks in his ear, thanks for letting me join his wondrous clan. But even more surprise was in me when I got my own apprentice, a young grey tom like myself, named Stonepaw.
I hoped I would be a good mentor to him, I instructed him and fought with him, toning up all of his muscles in activities, instructing how to catch all sorts of prey, It was some of the proudest moons in my life showing him how to be a great warrior, and in the end, he did become great, at least in my heart. I watched proudly from the sidelines as he stepped forward, accepting the name ‘Stonecliff’ proudly, then scidding down the rock face to sit beside me, chest puffed out in dignity.
Im Slateblood, and this is my history.
NopeOther:
I like writing historys in First person. ^^
