Post by skirr on Jul 29, 2009 17:28:54 GMT -8
Name: Seversk
Clan: Rogue
Age: 24 moons
Gender: Male
Position: Rogue
Short Description: Scrawny tortoiseshell tom with china blue eyes.
Description:
Clan: Rogue
Age: 24 moons
Gender: Male
Position: Rogue
Short Description: Scrawny tortoiseshell tom with china blue eyes.
Description:
He had the makings of greatness, or so one would assume.Attitude:
His bloodline dictated strength, muscle and raw power. This fellow had gotten the short of the stick, ending up scrawny and somewhat oddly proportioned. He was strong enough, oh yes, relying more on stealth and speed to make use of his body. The creature was primarily black, thick fur very often smooth and well kept. Here and there, patches of pale orange and yellow crawled onto him, most predominately on his chest and face. China blue eyes were shimmering like a puppet's beady eyes, wide in a sort of mock innocence. His tail was a plume, thick fur from some Norwegian ancestor. If one escaped the sickle like claws, they'd find a mottle set of paw pads, black and pink and grey.
x - x
Predator. Any observer could claim that immoral natures were genetic, from the disturbing long line of atrocities that ended up in the cat before you. Seversk's mentality was as cold as the ice that these clans called namesake; and, likewise, hated them as much as they would hate him. The slightest scent of clan cat - rogue, exiled, or aggressive tyrant - and he goes ballistic. Perhaps one could call him fascist, in modern terms, if he had a nation to be proud of; but, instead, he remained solitary as true to feline nature. This one was a manipulator, clever and unafraid to twist people. Selfish creature, but not quite egotistical: inferiority had been beaten into him as a child, and the buck resented every fiber of his being. Some sick mind ordered him to use other people, motives lying in pure hate and need to feel justified, to prove himself to his ancestors. Perhaps a duller mind would revert to 'pagan' rituals, but instead paled voodoo customs bled through.History:
He was thrust into the northern dark, descended of a line of facist rogue beasts and Slavic imports, squealing in the cold. He was born to three other siblings, and uncountable half siblings. His mother was descended of some form of purebreed, churned out by the Motherland and spit into the similar freezing wasteland. As the children grew, they were visited by their father - a strange, enigmatic tom who was a descendent of Curse - and infamous name in the land of his birth - king and ruler of the vicious Coldclan. Said clan had been a bane in its days, now fallen and strewn as nothing more than whispers. Seversk was the runt of the litter, and the second smartest; hence, he was the outcast. As they grew, their mother told them of strange religions and ancient fairytales, these two conflicting legacies clashing in some mutated form of worship, violence and praise bred into his heightened mind. As some form of primal hierarchy began to form between his siblings, Seversk was often the bottom. Fueled by glorified tales of horror, he concocted a plan to usurp his genius brother. Despite not having the biggest brain in the litter, Seversk was still smart; he acted out his plan quickly, efficiently, framing his more brutish sister. Violence ensued, leaving him and his averagely vicious sister. Paranoia and satisfaction drove him away to forge his own way, to continue the line of blood he'd began.RP Example:
Family Tree:
Grandparents Curse x Lani; Troika x Slava
Parents Plague x Igarka
Siblings Chernobyl, Belgorod, Konakovo
Silence.Password: Purple
Excellent.
Seversk was brooding in the dark, claws gripping the frozen bark for dear life. He perched on the branch in the leafless tree, flecked tail curling around it like a snake constricting some hapless rodent. Candy blue eyes stared across the bleak horizon, chin raised almost defiantly to the light breeze. Another cat may have looked on the land fondly, possessively, even bitterly; he just looked on.
His mind was not on the snow. He did not care for the warm being slowly sapped from him, did not care for the flakes slowly settling into his fur. He did not care that he was very visible in the dead tree, that someone might come up and kill him. Let them try. Instead, he thought of the clans. Did not think; he was objective towards them in his hate, almost as one might view a fox, or a badger. He just thought of how to end them, how to break them.
Something moved.
Precise movements brought his attention to the brutish loner down below him, the grey cat snarling up at him pointlessly. For a moment they locked eyes, blue to yellow, to which Seversk flicked his ears back. For a moment he lingered in silent confrontation, before turning his bitter gaze to the horizon again.
"Hey! HEY!"
The cat had chosen to snap at him, to claw at the tree. It could climb it to reach him, if that cat so wanted, but it seemed more a thread. The mottled cat in the tree analyzed him, the way his tabby hackles were raised and his white tipped tail lashed. "Yes, and? I'm in the tree, you're not. I see no problem here." Cold, almost poisonous, he spoke with words as smooth as his well attended to fur. The other rogue spat some petty insults at him.
"Oh, come now. You're wasting your time." He rolled his eyes, a plan formulating in his head. "While you're arguing with me, a patrol of clan cats are heading this way from the North." He glanced in the direction he'd indicated, conveniently downwind of them. "Five or six, I'd say. Best be going if you want your fur."
The other cat believed the lie easily, leaving with a last guttural growl. Seversk marked it as a death sentence, guessing that one would be dead soon, either killed by the patrol from the south or from other mindless rogues.
He stared out at the horizon again.
wow. (looks good in my book 
