Post by Feralfoot on Dec 16, 2009 10:44:39 GMT -6
other:
Your Name:Katy
Roleplaying Experience: 6 plus years of experience, on and off.
Your Opinion: Easy to navigate site—nice layout that doesn’t hurt my eyes, Perhaps a description of the different clans and what type of cats can be found in them would be helpful. Other than that I think this is a very nice site.
character:
Name:Feralfoot
Gender:She-cat
Age:Twenty moons
Clan:Bloodclan
Rank:Warrior
Description:
First impression will lull any unsuspecting feline into thinking Feral is nothing more than a lost kittypet. Despite living her life in the grime of the inner city’s underbelly, she keeps her coat remarkably clean—of course how she manages to do so paying such little attention to grooming is anyone’s guess. Her pelt is mostly white, save for the black swathe covering the majority of her right eye, and most of her ears and forehead, and the mixture of orange, cream and black patches running the length of her tail. While she is a beautiful cat to behold the golden amber glint of her eyes gives off a sense of cold, calculating, fierceness. Her frame is large for being female—and because of this she can hold her own in a fight—her hind legs are well developed for jumping and she prides herself on the ability to leap higher than many in her clan. While she may not be the swiftest, she is definitely one the most frightening in a fight. Her claws rarely can be found retracted—rather she enjoys keeping them sharp and at the ready for any type of action, be it protecting her clan, picking fights with rouges that wander too close to Bloodclan territory or exacting revenge on other clans—Feral is at her most comfortable when she’s in the heat of battle.
Personality:
At her core Feralfoot is a survivor, she takes help or leadership from her superiors under protest and enjoys being alone. She has an unsung ability to appear when her clan-mates need her—and disappear when she doesn’t feel like being around anyone. She’s brash and standoffish—stubborn and avoids idle chit-chat like it was a plague. Despite her aloof nature she has friends-even if they are few and far between. Those closest to her find Feral to be a loyal companion and one that never shies away from protecting those she cares about. She can be accused of being a daredevil, Houdini-like, and someone you’d never want to meet in a dark alley. She suffers from a morbid sense of humor, and an unhealthy addiction to hide and seek games. Not a easy cat to read, but one that proves to be a worthwhile friend—if someone is willing to take the challenge.
SummaryA mostly white, strange, and staunchly fierce warrior she-cat.
History:
Like most born into her clan—Feralfoot grew up quickly. Bloodclan wasn’t devoid of love or happiness—it just had them on its own terms. Two warriors a she-cat named Marrowmoon and a tom named Swifttail fell in love in the early months of Leaf-Green. Feralfoot was born along with a littermate Tornkit her brother, who was born sickly and died within his first moon. The death tore her family apart—and her father Swifttail left the clan and became a rouge because of it—Marrowmoon was crushed. She refused to be consoled by any of her friends—and spent very little time with her daughter Feral. As a result of this feral at a very young age had to learn how to survive on her own. She watched the warriors and learned from them, while hiding in the shadows of garbage bags. She used the mean streets of her youth the battle practice and at the age of eight moons requested to be a warrior. Bloodclan had no mentors, no ceremonies to speak of—but she was aloud to train with the warriors of her clan and became a full fledged warrior at the age of fifteen moons.
She’s steadily scratched out a place among the toughest warriors and can often be seen at the front line of an attack. Feral has seen several battles now at the age of twenty moons and has a few scars along her leg hind leg, and front paw to prove it. Although she’ll never admit to being finished with her training—she is a highly esteemed warrior, and a well known taker of lives.
Roleplaying Sample:
Feralfoot stretched her front paws, examining her claws as she finished her yawn. They gave hint of the beginnings of city grime as the clean almost translucent color they took on was now tarnish with a smudge of black. Curse the two leggers and their never ending need to slosh black sludge on the streets—blood was one thing, but dirt underneath her nails was unacceptable. She made a mental note to hunt down the nearest pond in the wood to clean herself. Although she favored the sights and sounds of the city—she enjoyed her time in the forest, away from the noise of monster’s wailing and honking in the streets. The scent of pine, of moss and heavy forest air always seemed a great escape from the scent of rotten scrapes, exhaust, and the stink of twoleggers clogging her senses.
She could rest, and regain her energy here—sleeping on the limb of a tree beat trying to take a cap nap on soiled streets, or rusty stair railings—even if she was forced to do so every now and again. A rustle forced her ears to perk, her head swiveling to meet the source of commotion. A young kit tumbled out from a bush, followed closely with another in tow. The two rolled and wrestled, play fighting for a time and Feral couldn’t help but watch. Watch and think briefly about her kithood, her lack of a playmate—would life have been different if…
Shaking the thoughts from her head she rose to her feet, stretching her hind legs and leaping for the nearest branch. No sense dwelling on things that could have been—she had plenty to concern herself with the things of the present. Her paw-pads landing silently on the soft earth of the forest floor—the kits quickly froze both eyes on the she-cat. One followed the scar along her back leg and then whispered something to his littermate. She gave them a long hard stare with her amber eyes and then turned tail heading out of the forest and back into the city. There was a familiar water source on the way—she’d clean up first, before venturing back into the grime.
Family:
Mother: Warrior Marrowmoon (died in battle)
Father: Warrior Swifttail (deserter, whereabouts unknown)
Tornkit: Brother (died due to illness as a kit)
Mate:None yet
Code Word:Warrior Cats
Your Name:Katy
Roleplaying Experience: 6 plus years of experience, on and off.
Your Opinion: Easy to navigate site—nice layout that doesn’t hurt my eyes, Perhaps a description of the different clans and what type of cats can be found in them would be helpful. Other than that I think this is a very nice site.
character:
Name:Feralfoot
Gender:She-cat
Age:Twenty moons
Clan:Bloodclan
Rank:Warrior
Description:
First impression will lull any unsuspecting feline into thinking Feral is nothing more than a lost kittypet. Despite living her life in the grime of the inner city’s underbelly, she keeps her coat remarkably clean—of course how she manages to do so paying such little attention to grooming is anyone’s guess. Her pelt is mostly white, save for the black swathe covering the majority of her right eye, and most of her ears and forehead, and the mixture of orange, cream and black patches running the length of her tail. While she is a beautiful cat to behold the golden amber glint of her eyes gives off a sense of cold, calculating, fierceness. Her frame is large for being female—and because of this she can hold her own in a fight—her hind legs are well developed for jumping and she prides herself on the ability to leap higher than many in her clan. While she may not be the swiftest, she is definitely one the most frightening in a fight. Her claws rarely can be found retracted—rather she enjoys keeping them sharp and at the ready for any type of action, be it protecting her clan, picking fights with rouges that wander too close to Bloodclan territory or exacting revenge on other clans—Feral is at her most comfortable when she’s in the heat of battle.
Personality:
At her core Feralfoot is a survivor, she takes help or leadership from her superiors under protest and enjoys being alone. She has an unsung ability to appear when her clan-mates need her—and disappear when she doesn’t feel like being around anyone. She’s brash and standoffish—stubborn and avoids idle chit-chat like it was a plague. Despite her aloof nature she has friends-even if they are few and far between. Those closest to her find Feral to be a loyal companion and one that never shies away from protecting those she cares about. She can be accused of being a daredevil, Houdini-like, and someone you’d never want to meet in a dark alley. She suffers from a morbid sense of humor, and an unhealthy addiction to hide and seek games. Not a easy cat to read, but one that proves to be a worthwhile friend—if someone is willing to take the challenge.
SummaryA mostly white, strange, and staunchly fierce warrior she-cat.
History:
Like most born into her clan—Feralfoot grew up quickly. Bloodclan wasn’t devoid of love or happiness—it just had them on its own terms. Two warriors a she-cat named Marrowmoon and a tom named Swifttail fell in love in the early months of Leaf-Green. Feralfoot was born along with a littermate Tornkit her brother, who was born sickly and died within his first moon. The death tore her family apart—and her father Swifttail left the clan and became a rouge because of it—Marrowmoon was crushed. She refused to be consoled by any of her friends—and spent very little time with her daughter Feral. As a result of this feral at a very young age had to learn how to survive on her own. She watched the warriors and learned from them, while hiding in the shadows of garbage bags. She used the mean streets of her youth the battle practice and at the age of eight moons requested to be a warrior. Bloodclan had no mentors, no ceremonies to speak of—but she was aloud to train with the warriors of her clan and became a full fledged warrior at the age of fifteen moons.
She’s steadily scratched out a place among the toughest warriors and can often be seen at the front line of an attack. Feral has seen several battles now at the age of twenty moons and has a few scars along her leg hind leg, and front paw to prove it. Although she’ll never admit to being finished with her training—she is a highly esteemed warrior, and a well known taker of lives.
Roleplaying Sample:
Feralfoot stretched her front paws, examining her claws as she finished her yawn. They gave hint of the beginnings of city grime as the clean almost translucent color they took on was now tarnish with a smudge of black. Curse the two leggers and their never ending need to slosh black sludge on the streets—blood was one thing, but dirt underneath her nails was unacceptable. She made a mental note to hunt down the nearest pond in the wood to clean herself. Although she favored the sights and sounds of the city—she enjoyed her time in the forest, away from the noise of monster’s wailing and honking in the streets. The scent of pine, of moss and heavy forest air always seemed a great escape from the scent of rotten scrapes, exhaust, and the stink of twoleggers clogging her senses.
She could rest, and regain her energy here—sleeping on the limb of a tree beat trying to take a cap nap on soiled streets, or rusty stair railings—even if she was forced to do so every now and again. A rustle forced her ears to perk, her head swiveling to meet the source of commotion. A young kit tumbled out from a bush, followed closely with another in tow. The two rolled and wrestled, play fighting for a time and Feral couldn’t help but watch. Watch and think briefly about her kithood, her lack of a playmate—would life have been different if…
Shaking the thoughts from her head she rose to her feet, stretching her hind legs and leaping for the nearest branch. No sense dwelling on things that could have been—she had plenty to concern herself with the things of the present. Her paw-pads landing silently on the soft earth of the forest floor—the kits quickly froze both eyes on the she-cat. One followed the scar along her back leg and then whispered something to his littermate. She gave them a long hard stare with her amber eyes and then turned tail heading out of the forest and back into the city. There was a familiar water source on the way—she’d clean up first, before venturing back into the grime.
Family:
Mother: Warrior Marrowmoon (died in battle)
Father: Warrior Swifttail (deserter, whereabouts unknown)
Tornkit: Brother (died due to illness as a kit)
Mate:None yet
Code Word:Warrior Cats
