A z r a e l - R o g u e

[` `shadsywadsy.]

NAME! Azrael
AGE! 25 moons
TYPE! Rogue
GENDER! Male
SHORT DESC.! Well built, midnight black tom with striking gray eyes.

FULL DESCRIPTION!

>>built
Agility and strength. A combo of the two are rarely found in a feline. Some of both can normally be scrounged up, but the a good, gentle mix of both can be very rare. They would need strong leg muscles, but not too strong so they won't be in the way of aerodynamics. The feline would need to be lithe. They would need to be able to not only sprint but also have great endurance. This is the build of Azrael. He is strong and fast. His muscles are clearly defined and protrude from his fur as he walks, rippling and flexing with every movement.

>>pelt
Raven. Ebony. Onyx. Sable. Ink. All of these words could be used to describe the color of Azrael's fur. The most common word to describe him in general would be black. Black as coal. His fur is short and slick. He is raven from head to toe, not another color hidden in his pelt of even a blemish anywhere. He has several scars on his side and neck, but they only add to the dark air that surrounds him.

>>eyes and face
Azrael has a very uncommon eye color. They are a stormy gray, seeming to always be swirling. Even though they aren't, of course. They are merciless and cold, never showing any emotion. They fit him well, giving him the air of mystery and a certain appeal. They are on the thinner and wider side, but not by much. They slant slightly, giving him a menacing look. Most cats think eyes are the doorway to the heart, but such is not the case with Azrael. They are empty. Empty as can be. (I looked up cats having gray eyes, in case someone had a question, and here is where I found my answer.)

PERSONALITY!

>>Respect.
If it's anything this tom has, it's respect. He respects everyone who shows respect to him. In fact, he'll respect even those with the nastiness reputations until the moment they disrespect him. He was taught this way, and he earns the respect of many by doing so. Though, once you disrespect him he turns into a distasteful, disastrous smart ass tom. He knows a cat's weaknesses, and does not mind exploiting them once they open the door for him, too. He can be quite the fiery little furball. As a tom, though, he respects she-cats more so than any other type of cat. He always has, and always will. He hates to see a she-cat be mistreated, and refuses to do anything of that sort.

>>Charisma.
He got this trait from his father. He has an aura of mystery that surrounds him, engulfs him. It practically breathes around him. This draws cats in, and his emotionless eyes only further add to the mystery of Azrael. No one knows of his past, other than who his father is. His smile, a white-toothed grin that looks misplaced on his empty face, makes him seem welcoming. His soft, soothing voice, entrances his listeners. All of this combined makes him that tom. The tom that she-cats flock to, but never get. The tom that other toms hate and love at the same time. However, he is not by any means perfect.

>>Temper.
Azrael also got his temper from his father. He looses patience quickly, and when his patience is gone, trust me when I say you better run. He is a fierce tom with excellent fighting skills and he is not afraid to use them when it comes down to it. He cares for every living thing, and will try his best to only fight as a last resort, but politics and diplomacy is not his strong suit. He is a classic hothead with means to kill. To put it simply, he is not be to messed with.

HISTORY!

>>kit-hood
Azrael was born to a rogue father and kittypet mother. He was raised with his mother, Duchess, who taught him to love and car and respect. Duchess was not a fluffy white Persian cat who has a sweet voice. Oh no. Duchess was a scraggly, dark tabby she-cat with a rough and scratchy voice. But no one doubted her love for her only kit. She taught him of the world, and how cruel it good be. She walked him around the neighborhood and would always answer his questions, no matter how pestering they could be. She was a gentle and patient cat, so unlike his father. In the beginning, he was raised to love and care.

>>apprentice-hood
When Azrael turned 10 moons old, his father came for him one especially chilly day. He was out on a walk with his mother when she stopped in her tracks. A midnight figure stood in the middle of the sidewalk, waiting for their approach. It was a massive tom (bigger than Azrael had ever seen), and quite intimidating. Cass.

[/s] His mother's voice was scared, and he had not known his mother to ever be scared. He ran up to the figure, clawing the tom aimlessly. It only made his father laugh. He picked up the kicking and screaming Azrael and waved goodbye to the frozen Duchess. I've got what I came for.[/s] The words were spoken through a mouthful of fur, but Duchess understood them perfectly.

After a while, Cass let Azrael go. Who are you? Why do you take me away from my mother? Cass plainly answered with the truth, and not another word was said. Azrael followed his father blindly into the city. It was there that his father taught him how to fight and hate. He taught him how she-cats really should be treated (though Azrael never believed him on that one.) Everything his mother had taught him was tainted. But he held on to as much as he could.

When he was about 15 moons, he was training with his father in the nightclub when a silver tabby she-cat with gray eyes just like him walked in. His father seemed to know her, and when he took her into the back room, Azrael was afraid for her. His father used that back room for things Azrael would never dream of doing to a she-cat. So he crept by and watched in the doorway as his father drunk from a bowl and began to choke on his blood. And the she-cat did nothing. In fact, Azrael thought he even saw a smile light her face. When his father was dead, the she-cat left the room and tapped him on the shoulder. Goodbye my little brother.[/s] And then she walked out without even looking back. He would always thank her in his dreams for freeing him from the horrid thing he called father.

>>In the present.
The she-cat still walks in his mind. He knows that she is his sister, but he does not recall any distinguishing features. He doesn't even know if she's clan or rogue. Now he lives in the city, feared and respected by all due to his father's obviously ominous reputation.[/blockquote]

RP EXAMPLE!

The sun was setting in the distance. It's rays casted hues of many colors into the sky. They danced and swirled and mixed together until only one remained. The one the defeated every color every night. Black. It shot it's way across the sky, covering the blue like a blanket. It gloried in it's few moments it had over the world, until the sun would come again in the morning. That was the only thing that you could count on in the morning. The sun would be up. Whether you could see it or not was a different story. But it was there. It was always there. You could never take that away. No one could. Stars began to light the sky, but they were not as many as there would be in the not-so-distant clan lands. They were kind of like puncholes to heaven. Little slices of light to give hope to those covered in darkness.

And was this tom ever covered in darkness.

With his sable coat, the tom was nearly impossible to see. He had gray eyes that were like stone. They never showed emotion. They never sparkled or were alight with laughter. Oh no, they were hard and anyone who looked in him the eye would know that. He was massive, towering over most that he encountered. Yet, he was not a tom of brute strength. Rather, he was muscular but fast as well. He was a machine built for killing and battle. His white claws (the only thing not dark on him) were long, curved, and sharp. His father had made sure he kept that way. His voice was deep and could be menacing when he wanted to. He scared everyone on the street he came across. He struck fear into them just by walking by them. He got tough toms that thought they were something wanting to fight him. They would always get more than they bargained for, and he would always put them in their place.

He was Azrael.

That was what he was like on the outside. Anyone who bothered to talk to him would realize in an instant that he was not any of those things. His voice was more soothing and soft most of the time. He respected she-cats, not raped them like the rumors said. He was still a virgin and was very proud of it. He did not drink the blood of his victims, like some of the rumors said. He only had victims that got themselves in the hole they were in. They wanted it. They had asked for it. They had attacked him first. He didn't like using his claws, but would if it was necessary. He was friendly and happy, nothing like the streets whispers. He was himself, and sometimes he wished someone would see that. He wished he could show the rogues exactly who he was, but that would mean he loose his position. And he needed power. He craved it.

The tom was sitting on in a window in the abandoned factory. His tail was dangling over into the factory. He faced the outside world, watching the going ons of the rogues. It was the usual. she-cats being harassed, but they could hold their own, toms brawling in the streets. Any clan cat that came here would think they were brutal. I think they are just bored. They needed something to do, but he wasn't sure what. The other rogues were being peaceful at the moment, and he wasn't about to break that peace. Who was he to do so, anyway? He wasn't the leader. He was just respected and feared by all. He was known by everyone. He was on everyone's lips at some point. And it wasn't even him they were talking about. It was the image that his father had created him to be. I hate my father. I really do. Of course, he had once loved his father. Until his father forced him to be like this.

Did you purchase a trait for this character from the site store? Yes or no?:

No.

[tails//]

accepted!