Post by Cloud of Diamonds on Jul 27, 2009 0:43:14 GMT -5
STORMCLAW
dkimages.com/discover/previews/865/957595.JPG
Name|Johnathon, Stormclaw
Gender|
Tom
Age|
30 moons
Rank|
Warrior
Clan|
MeadowClan
Beliefs|
Stormclaw believes in StarClan like he does the warrior code: very highly. He honors StarClan and the very ground it walks upon with its mythical paws. Without StarClan, Stormclaw sees no reason to further exist-- he would rather die then go back to the life he once had. That, in Stormclaw's case, is a lot of damn fate if I say so myself.
Parents|
Mother: Lillian (Kittypet, Deceased) [NP] x Father: Francis (Kittypet, Deceased) [NP]
Siblings|
None.
Other Kin|
None.
Mate|
None yet.
Crush|
Foxflower
Kits|
None yet.
Apprentice/Mentor|
None
Appearance|
Stormclaw is a Russian Blue with short blue-gray fur and soft mint green eyes. He has a lean, lanky build about him; his legs long and limber, his stomach toughened with muscles, a lengthy, worm-thick tail, and a keen, sharp face with a black nose, big ears, and sensitive whiskers. He has few scars from a badger he fought a few moons ago.
Stormclaw, as one can tell, is definitely made for running-- toward battle!
Personality|
Stormclaw, to put it simply; acts and thinks like a medieval knight. He even speaks like one! That, and he has a bit of an English accent that shows itself once and a while. And he says "Oh dear" and "Oh my" and "Quite" a lot, too.
"Are you quite alright, m'lady?"
"I, Stormclaw of MeadowClan, am at your service, dear sir."
"This....is quite distraughting. Quite indeed!"
It's become somewhat of a habit for the tom.
But other then that, Stormclaw is a cat that follows the code feverishly-- he wouldn't hesitate to tattle-tale on a fellow clanmate, but that doesn't make him not honorable. In fact, he's one of the cats that can keep a secret-- as long as it isn't something to do with breaking the code, of course.
I'll give you three words to sum up Stormclaw, then leave you on your way: Honor, grace, and patience.
Honor: The very first word in Stormclaw's vocabulary. He'll follow the code to the very ends of the earth if he has to-- all in the name of honor and redemption.
Grace: Stormclaw is a graceful, elegant tom. His body seems to walk like flowing water-- too bad he wasn't named "Stormstream" or "Stormtail", eh? That, and he knows exactly what to do and when to do it. Cliche, I know, but it's the truth.
Patience: I have to say, Stormclaw is the most well-tempered cat you'll ever meet. His patience is outstanding-- and it helps in intense situations as well as hunting!
Skills|
Stormclaw is a nicely set hunter-- with a sensitive nose, keen eyes and ears; sharp claws: he's perfectly made to hunt like every other cat on the planet-- if slightly more trained then them.
Fighting, though, is another matter-- even though he may be honorable, Stormclaw has some mean slashes with his claws; right and left, up and down-- side to side: he's a very flexible cat and enjoys every second of battle.
Besides, it's the only time he gets to let loose a little while, no?
His tracking is mediocre, and his climbing is okay, and forget swimming entirely for this tom. But hey, he's still pretty skilled.
History|
Stormclaw, just in case you didn't know (Which, of course, you didn't), is a former loner.
His name was Johnathon...
And he had been roaming the lands since he was thirteen moons old; let free by his kittypet parents and allowed to live on his own. Well, one day (I know, I know. It sounds like a fairy tale, doesn't it? Well, don't worry. It gets better.) he decided to pay a visit to his parents on his first night of being eighteen moons old-- he found them in the garden. A large, vast place; with lush green grass and many lilac bushes-- and there, laying motionless, surrounded by at least six to five rogues (from the smell of them): were his parents.
Dead and mangled, fur clumped with dry blood; mouths twisted-- frozen-- in furious snarls.
Johnathon never thought it was possible to see red-- but he did now. The rage that sank its fangs into him was intolerable-- and he knew he shouldn't have, for he was no match-- but he ran for it, bounding over the fence and landing on top of one of the rogues; sinking his own, angry fangs into the back of the toms neck.
Surprised yowls went around through the clearing; then promptly Johnathon was dragged off the dirty Siamese by multiple claws.
Oh, he struggled alright; struggled against a losing battle. So many of them: pushing him down, down onto the ground and raking his right side-- flesh, fur, muscle and all.
Johnathon shrieked; struggling all the more-- but he knew it was ending. Darkness crept into the corner of his eyes, with its bony, long hands of black, reaching, and covered his sight-- the pain didn't go away.
Had they blinded him?
No.
Johnathon had merely closed his eyes; still screaming as the claws dug deep into his pelt-- leaving deep crevices of red, blood drooling from his wounds-- no. He didn't see it; but he could feel it.
And now... he was beginning not to feel too much anymore-- like a dream, sweet numbness wrapped Johnathon in a embrace.
Promptly, a loud yowl rang through the air; overpowering Johnathon's own wailing. It was followed by more, and then another group of them-- the rogues?-- and he listened to the scuffle and battle around him; opening his eyes slowly.
Little blurry blobs attacking other blurry blobs-- what?
Finally, Johnathon realized tears-- or maybe body fluids-- had gotten in his eyes; spinning the world around him.
Then it all stopped. The screaming-- the sounds of battle.
A sharp voice entered Johnathon's ears.
"Hey, stay awake, mouse-brain! I can't have you dying on us-- not after that battle! Not for nothing! Stay awake!" It commanded, rage filtering it.
Johnathon, dully, stayed awake as careful teeth dragged him as gentle as possible; out of the garden, and to....somewhere.
And then it went dark.
It felt like forever before Johnathon finally woke up; in a nest, his wounds bandaged with...cobwebs? What?
"Lay still, you mouse-brain. The wounds are fresh and will scar, but you'll be fine; but don't rip them open, alright? A lot of hard work went into your furry keister I just saved from getting skinned, capeesh?"
Johnathon looked to the left of his nest-- which was dried with blood-- and saw a black, sleek tom with a white marking on his chest.
"Crowclaw." Was the only thing the tom said, shrugging.
"...What?" Johnathon whispered.
"My name. It's Crowclaw, mouse-brain."
"Why do you keep calling m'that, Crowclaw?" Johnathon asked.
The hackles rose on Crowclaw's neck, making him menacing. "Because it was mouse-brained of you to do that!" He pointed with his claw at the wounds that were just about branded on Johnathon's side-- immediately images flashed through his head, earning a sharp, intake of air from Johnathon; eyes widening to saucers as the images kept coming.
Hell. Oh hell. They wouldn't stop.
"Hey! Hey!! HEY! Stop that-- you're going to hurt yourself more! Med. cat! Help! Get your butt in here! MED. CAT!!"
It went dark...again-- Crowclaw's voice sending Johnathon to sleep.
The next morning, Johnathon had awoke with nervous cats standing over him, eyeing him with concern.
"Are you going to be alright?" One asked.
"Don't push yourself too hard." Another said.
"You'll get used to this, kid." The third said.
"Mouse-brain, what am I going to do with you?" Crowclaw sighed, then all four of the cats got chased out by a...Med. Cat? Yes. A Med. cat. The Medicine cat showed Johnathon around... MeadowClan camp? Aha. Yes. MeadowClan camp. First he buried his parents, mourning for them.
Next he was shown the ways of MeadowClan-- a three moon old clan-- healing slowly during the two moons of his unpredicted visit.
Then he was given a choice: should he stay, or should he go?
Well, Johnathon had already been thinking about this... and he would stay.
NO. Stormclaw...would stay!
Stormclaw has enjoyed his life in MeadowClan for these several past moons - he has no doubt that it's where StarClan intends him to be. He has friends, food, and a good place to sleep. But even so, he's managed to be caught up in a few disturbing happenings.
Fighting off the badger with Tigertail wasn't so bad, though he did get kind of roughed up. Bramblefang's death was disturbing for him - and he is haunted by gnawing if often-ignored guilt: if he had killed the badger, Bramblefang would still be alive.
And the most terrible, wonderful thing has happened to him: He is head over heels in love with one of his best friends, Foxflower.
But he knows he'll never be good enough for her.
Stormclaw: "Rage-- it's an unpredictable thing. You can't stop it, only delay it.... and if I had done just that, I wouldn't be here right now. At my home... with my family." ~Stormclaw
dkimages.com/discover/previews/865/957595.JPG
Name|
Gender|
Tom
Age|
30 moons
Rank|
Warrior
Clan|
MeadowClan
Beliefs|
Stormclaw believes in StarClan like he does the warrior code: very highly. He honors StarClan and the very ground it walks upon with its mythical paws. Without StarClan, Stormclaw sees no reason to further exist-- he would rather die then go back to the life he once had. That, in Stormclaw's case, is a lot of damn fate if I say so myself.
Parents|
Mother: Lillian (Kittypet, Deceased) [NP] x Father: Francis (Kittypet, Deceased) [NP]
Siblings|
None.
Other Kin|
None.
Mate|
None yet.
Crush|
Foxflower
Kits|
None yet.
Apprentice/Mentor|
None
Appearance|
Stormclaw is a Russian Blue with short blue-gray fur and soft mint green eyes. He has a lean, lanky build about him; his legs long and limber, his stomach toughened with muscles, a lengthy, worm-thick tail, and a keen, sharp face with a black nose, big ears, and sensitive whiskers. He has few scars from a badger he fought a few moons ago.
Stormclaw, as one can tell, is definitely made for running-- toward battle!
Personality|
Stormclaw, to put it simply; acts and thinks like a medieval knight. He even speaks like one! That, and he has a bit of an English accent that shows itself once and a while. And he says "Oh dear" and "Oh my" and "Quite" a lot, too.
"Are you quite alright, m'lady?"
"I, Stormclaw of MeadowClan, am at your service, dear sir."
"This....is quite distraughting. Quite indeed!"
It's become somewhat of a habit for the tom.
But other then that, Stormclaw is a cat that follows the code feverishly-- he wouldn't hesitate to tattle-tale on a fellow clanmate, but that doesn't make him not honorable. In fact, he's one of the cats that can keep a secret-- as long as it isn't something to do with breaking the code, of course.
I'll give you three words to sum up Stormclaw, then leave you on your way: Honor, grace, and patience.
Honor: The very first word in Stormclaw's vocabulary. He'll follow the code to the very ends of the earth if he has to-- all in the name of honor and redemption.
Grace: Stormclaw is a graceful, elegant tom. His body seems to walk like flowing water-- too bad he wasn't named "Stormstream" or "Stormtail", eh? That, and he knows exactly what to do and when to do it. Cliche, I know, but it's the truth.
Patience: I have to say, Stormclaw is the most well-tempered cat you'll ever meet. His patience is outstanding-- and it helps in intense situations as well as hunting!
Skills|
Stormclaw is a nicely set hunter-- with a sensitive nose, keen eyes and ears; sharp claws: he's perfectly made to hunt like every other cat on the planet-- if slightly more trained then them.
Fighting, though, is another matter-- even though he may be honorable, Stormclaw has some mean slashes with his claws; right and left, up and down-- side to side: he's a very flexible cat and enjoys every second of battle.
Besides, it's the only time he gets to let loose a little while, no?
His tracking is mediocre, and his climbing is okay, and forget swimming entirely for this tom. But hey, he's still pretty skilled.
History|
Stormclaw, just in case you didn't know (Which, of course, you didn't), is a former loner.
His name was Johnathon...
And he had been roaming the lands since he was thirteen moons old; let free by his kittypet parents and allowed to live on his own. Well, one day (I know, I know. It sounds like a fairy tale, doesn't it? Well, don't worry. It gets better.) he decided to pay a visit to his parents on his first night of being eighteen moons old-- he found them in the garden. A large, vast place; with lush green grass and many lilac bushes-- and there, laying motionless, surrounded by at least six to five rogues (from the smell of them): were his parents.
Dead and mangled, fur clumped with dry blood; mouths twisted-- frozen-- in furious snarls.
Johnathon never thought it was possible to see red-- but he did now. The rage that sank its fangs into him was intolerable-- and he knew he shouldn't have, for he was no match-- but he ran for it, bounding over the fence and landing on top of one of the rogues; sinking his own, angry fangs into the back of the toms neck.
Surprised yowls went around through the clearing; then promptly Johnathon was dragged off the dirty Siamese by multiple claws.
Oh, he struggled alright; struggled against a losing battle. So many of them: pushing him down, down onto the ground and raking his right side-- flesh, fur, muscle and all.
Johnathon shrieked; struggling all the more-- but he knew it was ending. Darkness crept into the corner of his eyes, with its bony, long hands of black, reaching, and covered his sight-- the pain didn't go away.
Had they blinded him?
No.
Johnathon had merely closed his eyes; still screaming as the claws dug deep into his pelt-- leaving deep crevices of red, blood drooling from his wounds-- no. He didn't see it; but he could feel it.
And now... he was beginning not to feel too much anymore-- like a dream, sweet numbness wrapped Johnathon in a embrace.
Promptly, a loud yowl rang through the air; overpowering Johnathon's own wailing. It was followed by more, and then another group of them-- the rogues?-- and he listened to the scuffle and battle around him; opening his eyes slowly.
Little blurry blobs attacking other blurry blobs-- what?
Finally, Johnathon realized tears-- or maybe body fluids-- had gotten in his eyes; spinning the world around him.
Then it all stopped. The screaming-- the sounds of battle.
A sharp voice entered Johnathon's ears.
"Hey, stay awake, mouse-brain! I can't have you dying on us-- not after that battle! Not for nothing! Stay awake!" It commanded, rage filtering it.
Johnathon, dully, stayed awake as careful teeth dragged him as gentle as possible; out of the garden, and to....somewhere.
And then it went dark.
It felt like forever before Johnathon finally woke up; in a nest, his wounds bandaged with...cobwebs? What?
"Lay still, you mouse-brain. The wounds are fresh and will scar, but you'll be fine; but don't rip them open, alright? A lot of hard work went into your furry keister I just saved from getting skinned, capeesh?"
Johnathon looked to the left of his nest-- which was dried with blood-- and saw a black, sleek tom with a white marking on his chest.
"Crowclaw." Was the only thing the tom said, shrugging.
"...What?" Johnathon whispered.
"My name. It's Crowclaw, mouse-brain."
"Why do you keep calling m'that, Crowclaw?" Johnathon asked.
The hackles rose on Crowclaw's neck, making him menacing. "Because it was mouse-brained of you to do that!" He pointed with his claw at the wounds that were just about branded on Johnathon's side-- immediately images flashed through his head, earning a sharp, intake of air from Johnathon; eyes widening to saucers as the images kept coming.
Hell. Oh hell. They wouldn't stop.
"Hey! Hey!! HEY! Stop that-- you're going to hurt yourself more! Med. cat! Help! Get your butt in here! MED. CAT!!"
It went dark...again-- Crowclaw's voice sending Johnathon to sleep.
The next morning, Johnathon had awoke with nervous cats standing over him, eyeing him with concern.
"Are you going to be alright?" One asked.
"Don't push yourself too hard." Another said.
"You'll get used to this, kid." The third said.
"Mouse-brain, what am I going to do with you?" Crowclaw sighed, then all four of the cats got chased out by a...Med. Cat? Yes. A Med. cat. The Medicine cat showed Johnathon around... MeadowClan camp? Aha. Yes. MeadowClan camp. First he buried his parents, mourning for them.
Next he was shown the ways of MeadowClan-- a three moon old clan-- healing slowly during the two moons of his unpredicted visit.
Then he was given a choice: should he stay, or should he go?
Well, Johnathon had already been thinking about this... and he would stay.
NO. Stormclaw...would stay!
Stormclaw has enjoyed his life in MeadowClan for these several past moons - he has no doubt that it's where StarClan intends him to be. He has friends, food, and a good place to sleep. But even so, he's managed to be caught up in a few disturbing happenings.
Fighting off the badger with Tigertail wasn't so bad, though he did get kind of roughed up. Bramblefang's death was disturbing for him - and he is haunted by gnawing if often-ignored guilt: if he had killed the badger, Bramblefang would still be alive.
And the most terrible, wonderful thing has happened to him: He is head over heels in love with one of his best friends, Foxflower.
But he knows he'll never be good enough for her.
Stormclaw: "Rage-- it's an unpredictable thing. You can't stop it, only delay it.... and if I had done just that, I wouldn't be here right now. At my home... with my family." ~Stormclaw
We have a cbox again and we're opening the place up as a closed, members only rp