Post by skirr on Apr 5, 2009 13:54:12 GMT -6
Name of Cat:
Eris
Lives as a:
Rogue
Gender:
Female
Age:
38 moons
Short Description:
Vicious diluted calico she-cat with a missing eye.
Personality:
Mothers warn their kits: don't stray from the den, or the monsters will get you! Eris is that monster in the dark, barbarian to any civilized clan life and heathen to their ancestral gods. But it is not simply due to her alternate life style that one might fear possession or even evil incarnate, but the way she practices it. Eris fights because that's all she knows; they don't make sense. They are strange. She is better. Carnal urges that she doesn't truly understand leads her into mindless hatred toward the clans, instinctual possessiveness not helping any peace movements. She will stake a claim in land and in friends and never let go, killing or chasing off any one who dares to trespass. While not wired to receive alliances and friends very well, displays of raw power and determination can often impress her. When not in "I'll kill you! I'll eat your entrails!" mode, she can be rather pleasant, as she often resembles a log. When content, she sleeps, or just stares into space, often making no noise except snores.
She is not so clever, though. Where she obtained muscles she lacked in social conduct. Her words are choppy, sentences reduced to broken fragments and vague threats. Her body language isn't much better, reactions being mostly hostile at best. Somewhere there's a sleeping dragon, a general who can lead Eris' tank body into the battlefield with drive. She'll have shining moments of stunning tactics in war, and is usually able to keep the upper hand. When she does stumble in her profession, she usually keeps on going, turning tail only when the outlook is dire. The rogue was born and build a war machine, and that's all she'll ever be: but alone and without focus she is just an unyielding cyclone.
Appearance:
Eris might have been pretty once.
Well, no. That's a lie. From birth her shoulders were large and her neck thick, resembling a tank more than a pretty, slim little she-cat. Mainly white legs were thick, thought not tall, leaving the cat generally on the scale of large cats, but not proportionally tall. Boxy muzzle rested on equally boxy skull, quarterback’s neck supporting it. Large paws held ferocious claws, torn and frayed to time and war but none the less lethal. Her fur, matted and greasy as it was, couldn't be said to be anything like a main coon’s; average, even verging on thin in some spots, and generally kept... well, not very well.
Maybe somewhere there was an aunt or sister with stunning calico fur, shimmering blue eyes or somewhere along that. One could only wonder where her genetics had gone awry; calico potential was bleached into pale, chalky orange and ash toned grey on a base of off-white. Her nose and paw pads were equally dull, pinkish at best. As were the scars - lines of glory crisscrossing the bridge of her nose and her legs, anywhere one could dare look. However, the beast's nature was most obvious in the lack of an eye. Where there had once been two round, dark brown eyes now the left had been replaced with a jagged sets of pink grey. Gruesome eye socket was generally sown shut by scar tissue, but the idea still lingered. Her right ear was another medal of honor, too, torn nearly to shreds. Burly demon in all, with evidence to back up the idea of: DON'T DEFY ME
History:
Eris was born alone, for the most part.
Her mother was a pretty little "traditional" she-cat who had been wooed and taken under the wing of a warlord by the name of Jupiter. His territory was far south of the clans, in an area ruled by gangs of rogues. It was expected of the males to be brawny, powerful, and soldiers: death in glorious battle was the only way to go. Females were to be delicate and quiet, submissive to their mates and more interested in having kits then hunting for themselves. Hence when Eris, who would have been ideal had she been a son, was born, she was an embarrassment. She was the only female in the litter, her brothers being a scrawny yet clever tortie, Ares, and Paris, a hedonistic, selfish grey tom. Family love drove her closer to her younger, weaker brother, whom she acted as a body guard for. As time went by, Eris' litter dispersed to make their own gangs. She followed Ares, as they had become quite the team: the clever runt commanded his sister to do his bidding, and their combined muscles and brain made them near unconquerable. Ares began to attract followers, and soon he was a warlord rivaled by none, with his loyal sister at his side.
Things wouldn't be so simple, though.
The older generation on toms, fearing for their traditions and gender roles, began to plot to overthrow the cocky new leader. Their coup was soon discovered, and Eris was sent out to snuff it; however, that was their plan. While Ares' war machine was out, Jupiter and his lot came at the unconquerable gang of cats. When Eris returned, she immediately launched into battle. She and the cats she'd toted along tipped the scale, sending the rebellion back. However, the next morning, she found Ares' body rotting on the riverbank. During the battle, Jupiter had taken her left eye with him, leaving her now half-blind and without a leader. Without any connections to the bloody territory she'd been raised on, she left, heading north. Moons passed before she reached the Clan lands, but she took up residence as a rogue. Her battle ready inclinations lead her to detest the strictly honorable clans, along with her shaken mental state.
RP Example: from a seperate site
Other: not that I can think of
Eris
Lives as a:
Rogue
Gender:
Female
Age:
38 moons
Short Description:
Vicious diluted calico she-cat with a missing eye.
Personality:
Mothers warn their kits: don't stray from the den, or the monsters will get you! Eris is that monster in the dark, barbarian to any civilized clan life and heathen to their ancestral gods. But it is not simply due to her alternate life style that one might fear possession or even evil incarnate, but the way she practices it. Eris fights because that's all she knows; they don't make sense. They are strange. She is better. Carnal urges that she doesn't truly understand leads her into mindless hatred toward the clans, instinctual possessiveness not helping any peace movements. She will stake a claim in land and in friends and never let go, killing or chasing off any one who dares to trespass. While not wired to receive alliances and friends very well, displays of raw power and determination can often impress her. When not in "I'll kill you! I'll eat your entrails!" mode, she can be rather pleasant, as she often resembles a log. When content, she sleeps, or just stares into space, often making no noise except snores.
She is not so clever, though. Where she obtained muscles she lacked in social conduct. Her words are choppy, sentences reduced to broken fragments and vague threats. Her body language isn't much better, reactions being mostly hostile at best. Somewhere there's a sleeping dragon, a general who can lead Eris' tank body into the battlefield with drive. She'll have shining moments of stunning tactics in war, and is usually able to keep the upper hand. When she does stumble in her profession, she usually keeps on going, turning tail only when the outlook is dire. The rogue was born and build a war machine, and that's all she'll ever be: but alone and without focus she is just an unyielding cyclone.
Appearance:
Eris might have been pretty once.
Well, no. That's a lie. From birth her shoulders were large and her neck thick, resembling a tank more than a pretty, slim little she-cat. Mainly white legs were thick, thought not tall, leaving the cat generally on the scale of large cats, but not proportionally tall. Boxy muzzle rested on equally boxy skull, quarterback’s neck supporting it. Large paws held ferocious claws, torn and frayed to time and war but none the less lethal. Her fur, matted and greasy as it was, couldn't be said to be anything like a main coon’s; average, even verging on thin in some spots, and generally kept... well, not very well.
Maybe somewhere there was an aunt or sister with stunning calico fur, shimmering blue eyes or somewhere along that. One could only wonder where her genetics had gone awry; calico potential was bleached into pale, chalky orange and ash toned grey on a base of off-white. Her nose and paw pads were equally dull, pinkish at best. As were the scars - lines of glory crisscrossing the bridge of her nose and her legs, anywhere one could dare look. However, the beast's nature was most obvious in the lack of an eye. Where there had once been two round, dark brown eyes now the left had been replaced with a jagged sets of pink grey. Gruesome eye socket was generally sown shut by scar tissue, but the idea still lingered. Her right ear was another medal of honor, too, torn nearly to shreds. Burly demon in all, with evidence to back up the idea of: DON'T DEFY ME
History:
Eris was born alone, for the most part.
Her mother was a pretty little "traditional" she-cat who had been wooed and taken under the wing of a warlord by the name of Jupiter. His territory was far south of the clans, in an area ruled by gangs of rogues. It was expected of the males to be brawny, powerful, and soldiers: death in glorious battle was the only way to go. Females were to be delicate and quiet, submissive to their mates and more interested in having kits then hunting for themselves. Hence when Eris, who would have been ideal had she been a son, was born, she was an embarrassment. She was the only female in the litter, her brothers being a scrawny yet clever tortie, Ares, and Paris, a hedonistic, selfish grey tom. Family love drove her closer to her younger, weaker brother, whom she acted as a body guard for. As time went by, Eris' litter dispersed to make their own gangs. She followed Ares, as they had become quite the team: the clever runt commanded his sister to do his bidding, and their combined muscles and brain made them near unconquerable. Ares began to attract followers, and soon he was a warlord rivaled by none, with his loyal sister at his side.
Things wouldn't be so simple, though.
The older generation on toms, fearing for their traditions and gender roles, began to plot to overthrow the cocky new leader. Their coup was soon discovered, and Eris was sent out to snuff it; however, that was their plan. While Ares' war machine was out, Jupiter and his lot came at the unconquerable gang of cats. When Eris returned, she immediately launched into battle. She and the cats she'd toted along tipped the scale, sending the rebellion back. However, the next morning, she found Ares' body rotting on the riverbank. During the battle, Jupiter had taken her left eye with him, leaving her now half-blind and without a leader. Without any connections to the bloody territory she'd been raised on, she left, heading north. Moons passed before she reached the Clan lands, but she took up residence as a rogue. Her battle ready inclinations lead her to detest the strictly honorable clans, along with her shaken mental state.
RP Example: from a seperate site
Seversk had a tendency to watch things.
After all, there was little to do around here but watch. Watch for signs of the clans in the distance, watch for a chance - for he was opportunistic, and all around just a little afraid of confrontation. He could hold his own in battle, yes, but anybody who saw the scraggly rogue slinking across the mountain side would not expect he'd lead an attack on the clans.
They would never expect him.
The mottle tom had finally found a strategically placed boulder, just small enough so he could scramble to the top. He stare at it with china blue eyes for a moment, planning his trajectory and angle of approach - for a moment, he was as still as the rock. Then the speckled hind legs exploded in a leap, his claws unsheathed to try to help him grip the rock. His ascent was not that graceful, but no one would be able to tell that from the way he perched atop the rock.
It had occurred, very simply to him, that he could not do this alone. What 'this' was he didn't care to think about; instead, his vengeance against his ancestral enemies required armies. He was sure there were others, disgruntled, misplaced, like him. And if there weren't? He could convince them. Trick the loners and unite the rogues. What could go wrong?
He didn't need to name what an obstacle was; it already had a name.
What he needed most were fr- allies. Cats he could exchange pleasantries with. Something to break the endless cycle of snow, to become some kind of shadow in the dull landscape before him.
Seversk sighed. In all honesty, he was bored
After all, there was little to do around here but watch. Watch for signs of the clans in the distance, watch for a chance - for he was opportunistic, and all around just a little afraid of confrontation. He could hold his own in battle, yes, but anybody who saw the scraggly rogue slinking across the mountain side would not expect he'd lead an attack on the clans.
They would never expect him.
The mottle tom had finally found a strategically placed boulder, just small enough so he could scramble to the top. He stare at it with china blue eyes for a moment, planning his trajectory and angle of approach - for a moment, he was as still as the rock. Then the speckled hind legs exploded in a leap, his claws unsheathed to try to help him grip the rock. His ascent was not that graceful, but no one would be able to tell that from the way he perched atop the rock.
It had occurred, very simply to him, that he could not do this alone. What 'this' was he didn't care to think about; instead, his vengeance against his ancestral enemies required armies. He was sure there were others, disgruntled, misplaced, like him. And if there weren't? He could convince them. Trick the loners and unite the rogues. What could go wrong?
He didn't need to name what an obstacle was; it already had a name.
What he needed most were fr- allies. Cats he could exchange pleasantries with. Something to break the endless cycle of snow, to become some kind of shadow in the dull landscape before him.
Seversk sighed. In all honesty, he was bored
Other: not that I can think of
