Post by Deleted on Mar 18, 2013 22:54:00 GMT -5
NAME! Slaterain
No.
AGE! 20 Moons
RANK! Warrior
GENDER! Male
CLAN! Windclan
SHORT DESC.! A thin gray tom with chartreuse eyes, long legs and two white back paws.
FULL DESCRIPTION!
There isn't much about Slaterain to catch your attention. He's a skinny creature with a tail longer than he knows what to do with and thin, gangly legs. His dark gray fur is short, thick, and covers every inch of him - with the exception of his two hindpaws that are instead covered with short, thick white fur. His eyes are that strange shade of color that is too yellow to be considered green, but too dark to be considered yellow. He would have been considered a handsome Russian Blue had he been born a kittypet (and without those fetching white hindpaws that he's so secretly proud of).
PERSONALITY!
Slaterain is not a quiet individual. The only times he is ever quiet is when he is hunting, or around strangers. Any other time, his mouth is constantly moving - be it because he’s grumbling about somebody or something, or because he’s simply talking to himself. It’s a bad habit he had picked up from who knows where, as well as one he never really got around fixing. Instead he spends more of his time trying to stop his tendency to sheath and unsheath his claws repeatedly when nervous. Unfortunately for him, his nervousness rarely goes away. There are two things that bother him in life and these are strangers and change. While neither are actually as common as Slaterain seems to believe they are, there is always that small chance that “this could be the moment that everything changes!” or “someone I’ve never seen before is going to appear out of thin air!” With his long legs and hunched posture, he’s always ready to bolt - and luckily for him, he’s a fast runner. Not the fastest in the clan, perhaps, but fast enough to outrun most enemies. Why stay and fight when you can run away and ambush?
Slaterain has a long memory. He might not hold a grudge, but that doesn’t mean he’ll forget what you said or did a couple weeks ago. He has a relatively short temper, but he’ll put up with a lot to get things done. This is especially true when he has a goal set for himself. Generally, Slaterain doesn’t have the ambition or the attention span to do anything productive, but give him a goal or mention something that interests him, and he becomes intensely focused - obsessed even.
HISTORY!
As with most kits, Slatekit was a curious, energetic creature more interested in tales of what he could be in the future than the current happenings of the clan. Change was not the terrifying thing to him then as it is now. In fact, it was something he looked forward to. Both change and strangers represented new adventures and opportunities to get into trouble and learn new things. Even as a kit, however, he was rarely the one to make the first move. While he loved meeting new cats, he did not like approaching them. Those that had the (mis)fortune of approaching the kit soon discovered that if there was one thing he loved, it was talking. He could, and often did, talk about anything and everything he could think of.
It took many moons, but eventually Slatekit became Slatepaw. The first few moons were the best of his life (though he didn’t care much for ticks or the taste of mouse bile). It wasn’t until a close encounter with a dog and later with a hostile rogue that Slatepaw began to dread border patrol. Too many things could go wrong. Too many things had gone wrong. Very few clan members ever died, but Slatepaw had seen too many get injured due to unexpected events or sudden changes. After one too many tense confrontations with border patrols from other clans, it began to dawn on Slatepaw that strangers were a terrible, terrible thing.
By the time Slatepaw received the name Slaterain, his natural shyness became something more. After so many negative interactions with strangers, Slaterain became reclusive and wary around those he did not know. When he had to speak with others, he tended to speak with a more defensive edge. It did not help that by this time he had developed a fighting style that was unorthodox, to say the least. With his thinner build, Slaterain did not have as much brute strength as his fellow warriors. To make up for this, he would attack when his enemy least expected it. So while most warriors would stand their ground and fight, Slaterain would turn and run away - but only after making sure he his enemy would chase him. After a few seconds, Slaterain would turn around, attack, and then run off again. This technique earned him the reputation of being a coward - which was at least partly true.
RP EXAMPLE!
This day was a day best seen in shades of gray. A dank wind snaked past ashen trees, bringing a light rain in its wake as a silver mist meandered through the hidden paths. In the midst of it all, beneath the branches of a tall pine tree, sat a wet, gray figure radiating misery. The figure grumbled moodily to himself, shoulders hunched over as his tail scythed irritably back and forth. Overhead, a lone raindrop managed to work its way through the scant shelter the pine branches offered and fell with an almost supernatural accuracy to land in Slaterain’s left ear. His annoyed grumbling petered out to a low growl as he flicked his ear and, when that failed to expel the offending drop of water, shook his head vigorously.Did you purchase a trait for this character from the site store? Yes or no?:
“Why did it have to rain today?” He whined. “Of all days, why today?”
Generally, Slaterain loved the rain. He loved how it smelled, the rhythmic pattering as it fell, how clean it made everything seem. Generally, Slaterain loved to hunt. It was one of the few positive things his uneasy nerves and impressive speed were good for. Generally, Slaterain loved both things. What he hated,however, was when both happened at the same time. The smell of rain was a wonderful thing - when it wasn’t covering up the scent of his prey. The rhythmic pattering of the rain was soothing - when it wasn’t covering up the sounds of his prey. Things wouldn’t be so bad, Slaterain was sure, if his nerves hadn’t been shot to Silverpelt and back again by the unexpected cracks and rustles that seemed to always come from behind him.
Slaterain’s growl came back full force as the bushes before him rustled in a way that couldn’t be blamed on the wind. His ears lay flat against his skull, tail already starting to bristle, as he stalked forward to investigate.
No.
