Post by »__Laughing on Jan 5, 2009 19:00:51 GMT -8
N a m e: He has the self-proclaimed title Fog. Why? He has taken apart the name that he was placed with by Starclan. He was known as Fogsayer.
G e n d e r: Tom.
A g e: Fog exists eternally at the age of thirty-two moons. He will never age another day, appearence wise. His mind has since grown.
C l a n: Otherclan.
R a n k: He is currently lounging around, something of a warrior.
I m a g e: sobi.org/photos/Cat/Istanbul/Other/DSC_5659.jpg
F a m i l y: Fog has abandoned all thought of family, such relationships are unneeded now that he is seperate from them. He remembers them in his mind fleetingly at moments, when the past comes back to haunt him. His mother was Hollyheart, a night-colored woman with a chilled emerald stare. She wasn't compassionate. His father was Nightnose, died before he was born. Those who he had encountered in life said that he looked just like him. His siblings he chooses not to remember.
M a t e: Fog had not taken a mate in his life, nor will he grow such attachments in his dead days.
K i t s: For the same reason he has no mate, he could not have children.
C o m p a n i o n . I m a g e: ---------
C o m p a n i o n: --------
Q u i c k . P h y s i c a l:
A storm grey tom with calculating yellow-green eyes.
F u l l . P h y s i c a l:
Fog has a beautiful form to him, his muscular structure was built by the time that he had passed on into the other realm and so he kept that ideal with him when he came to the second part of his life. He has firm and stronger shoulders, a sign of his training as a warrior and the things which he obviously did beyond normal warriorhood battles. His fore- and hind-legs are thicker set for fighting rather then swift moving, though as any feline, he has the ability to sprint. His paws are large and have good grip on the ground. His tail is somewhat short, hardly capable of wrapping around his body when he slumbers though that is not often anymore. Given his tough-boy appearence, that is what he was thought as and what he lived by. He believed that ones physical structure said a lot about their personality and state of mind.
His coat is also something to be proud of, in his eye. The color cascades down in one singular shade, no disturbance from the storm-cloud hue that he takes on. The color, however, did strengthen a bit in the winter months when he could actually have bodily changes, creating a coat that was thicker and more capable of keeping him warm. The thickness of his coat in the Otherclan is the same at every moment he strides through the dark wood, there are no seasons there. The feel of his fur is smooth, though more coarse the farther one goes into the coat, like a barrier.
Fog has pleasing eyes, the color dashed together just perfectly. They appear more green then anything else, though in truth the color is a very fine yellow that is about to shade further into that jade color. The most apparent splashes of green in his eye are near his black, almost diamond shaped pupil. It spreads out a bit before fading into that layered yellow which shows signs of complimenting heavier colors such as gold and onyx. A beautiful gaze.
There are few oddities about Fog's appearence in general. A couple of scars still present themself on his form, a memoir for his life past. The dark woods did not find it suiting to match his skin back to its original state, for some reason. There is nothing really else that sticks out from his form that is unusual.
P e r s o n a l i t y:
Fog is one of the hot-headed kind of characters, who will do and say almost anything that comes to his head. He has no sense of respect, unless it is demanded of him or he can easily recognize those who stand above him. Other warriors and apprentices, kits, queens, and elders are just images that he can say anything he wants too. His brash behavior lead him to many fights in the days when he aged, gaining him enemies and scars by the dozens. He continues on is brazen actions in the Otherclan, though he is less likely to get into a fight there because there really is a slim chance that he runs into the same kind of felines one day to the next, even though all of them have gathered to make a Clan, of sorts. He is obviously not afraid to speak his mind, especially when first encountering another. He will judge mercilessly, simply because he can. Hence the reason he was constantly opposed in his Clan and by rogues.
Fog also holds grudges for life and death, as seen. He is infuriated by the thought of Starclan and even Horizonclan, his once home. He swore that he would get back at those who made him angry one day, but in the dark forests of Otherclan there is no way that he can do anything. And he is not very strategic, anyway. Even though he holds grudges he was too idiotic to actually make a plan to get back at those who he wished to seek his revenge upon. He is aware of this lack in the intelligence department though tries to hide it by attempting to act smart in front of others, though he might not even know what he is saying.
H i s t o r y:
A secret. Makes him more ~mysterious~.
O v e r a l l:
Fog, once Fogsayer, is a hot-heaed dark grey tom with little word to back up his obnoxious actions. He suffers with psychological problems from the past, though not openly, and pretends to be okay by acting out on silly whims that often only leave him more wounded then before. His green-yellow eyes light with fire when he is made fun of, often fighting back rather then thinking over the problems carefully. He holds a deep, passionate grudge for Starclan--lesser so, Horizonclan. And though he pledges that he will get his revenge, Fog lacks the brains to create any sort of plan to do so. This strong-bodied, not-so abled minded tom takes his place in Otherclan reluctantly, for he wander the dark forest in boredom, attempting to plot out a plan of attack on the precious Starclan.
S a m p l e:
This is something more recent I've written. Kinda short. >_>
It was raining.
There were hints of Pouncingstar's coat sticking out from the reeds of her den. Her fur was heavy and thick, the leaf-bare season had taken its toll on her form. Her ribs were faintly seen beneath the silky quality of her form, their outlines faint shadows of hunger. Her coat was still soft, sleek, the fish had done well to her kind. Their Clan was thriving in this season, still. Leaf-bare was not destroying their ranks just yet. None had fallen so absolutely to the power of the chilled season. She hoped that none of her people would fall. Even if the other Clans suffered she wanted hers to be strong. There were scavengers in this season, Clan cats that fell to the absolute extreme of stealing from others borders. Pouncingstar's form shuddered, unlodging the reeds from her coat, the brittle branches breaking and floating to the ground. What could she do?
The feline felt her face slip, a frown crowning her expression like a dangerous weapon. Her frown, rarely seen, tipped her mood. She needed to get out of the camp. Her shelter felt suffocating. Perhaps her thoughts roamed to far for this reed bed, this cavern could not handle her suffering. She moved, jolted almost, out of her bedding. Her paws slipped over the sand of her den, her eyes tracing her footsteps over the surface before retreating to the area ahead of her. Outside of the den the faint drizzle coated the air, visible and cold. She blinked once, twice, trying to rid the frown that scorned her expression. She couldn't let her Clanmates see her like this. Her lips twitched, ridding her of a frown, but the replacement wasn't much better. Her expressionless face followed her outside, her eyes reading nothing.
When the rain dampened her fur, flattening it against her skin, she almost winced. Leaf-bare had gotten warm enough to allow rain over snow, but she felt a sick feeling twist up inside. She hated the rain, hated any kind of rain. But that frown, the one that had dared to creep upon her expression in her den, did not float upon her face now. She did not allow her straining visage to even slip once. But what was she going to do when she needed to communicate? When she needed to answer questions? A rain drop slipped off one inclined ear, landing beneath her eye. She blinked rapidly, brought back once more. Her gaze slipped from the fuzzy, unfocused thought world to the dulled world around her, a place where her Clanmates hid in their dens to keep from the rain. She saw no one come out to join her, only a nod of ones head in her direction. Where was her friendly smile to calm her? Her gaze flickered to the sky.
"Coldcurrent," her lips suddenly moved, her voice found the word. A Clanmate raised his head, but it wasn't him. Her eyes fleed from the sky, from the rain. Frantic, not really, but concerned. She needed someone to keep the memories away. Someone who knew of them, of not to touch them. She needed to get out of this camp. But not by herself. She knew that if she took one step out of this camp without someone by her side her paws were take her to the waves. "Coldcurrent." She didn't want to be approached against by those memories. She didn't want to find herself imagining Deweyes screams for River-run, or how the hungry waves took her away under their pull. Her eyes flashed again, waiting for him to appear. Her deputy, her friend. She wasn't afraid, no, not frantic. She just didn't want to be alone. She just...
"Coldcurrent."
C o d e . P h r a s e: Starlit sorrows.
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