Post by rasptail on Apr 5, 2007 16:17:35 GMT -5
[glow=green,2,300]Name:[/glow]Deadmoon
[glow=green,2,300]Clan:[/glow]Riverclan
[glow=green,2,300]Position:[/glow]Warrior
[glow=green,2,300]Age:[/glow] 17 moons
[glow=green,2,300]Gender:[/glow] She-cat
[glow=green,2,300]Peltage:[/glow]Deadmoon is an orange tabby calico with a large black circle on her back. This contributed to her name. She has yellow eyes that are always gaurded never showing what she feels her paws,underbelly, muzzle, and tailtip are white the rest of her is a orangetabby color (aside from the largeblck circle on her back.)
[glow=green,2,300]Picture:[/glow]
[glow=green,2,300]Personality:[/glow]Deadmoon is very cautious, she likes no one and trusts no one, not completely anyway. She lives by the code and only listens to the leader and the deputy, out of respect, not trust. Most say that no cat could break this constant wariness, but that has never been tested, her glare driveing of any young hopefuls that thought to 'cheer her up'. The only one she ever talked to was her fellow warrior Rippedpelt but when the sandy colored shecat dissapeared Deadmoon withdrew even further into herself. She loves to fight this is a instint she has picked upfrom her past, she was born to a twoleg cat, in a barn, and from there ran away with Rippedpelt,they stumbled upon the clan after nearly drowning and were taken in, though Deadmoon herself did not know why. From there she was mentored, by a cat by the name of greenclaw, he was presumed dead in a flash flood after several days missing, her life has mainly been the pain of watching those that she allowed a tentative trust with either dissapear, die or betray her, the latter of wich often ending up dead by her own claws, her fury haveing robbed her from the memory of actually killing. Now she spends any spare time training her fighting skills, wether or not its shaprening her clawsin a stump, sparring or just atacking a bush.
[glow=green,2,300]IC:[/glow] Deadmoon walked quietly out of camp swimming across the river before makeing her way up the bank to a relatively even patch of ground. The misty morning smelt of a new day and the thick dew wetted her already half dry pelt. She made her way silently to the stump and started to shapren her claws fiercely rakeing deeper gouges in the stump as they went over previous ones. this was her place, she was here almost all the time except when she had a patrol to go on, she didn't mind those but it put her in contact with other cats. She snarled quietly as she continued raeing her claws through the stump, wich was scarred so badly it no longer had bark some of the welts were new, others old, some shallow, some deep and it all depended on her mood. once she was done she sat down letting the dew cool her sore paws, she had lost track of time and the first rays of delicate light were reaching her place, faintest pink and yellow in the mists. With a discontented huff Deadmoon got up and headed back down the bank, she was late for a patrol, or at least she would be if she didn't hurry along.
[glow=green,2,300]Code:[/glow]Spring
[glow=green,2,300]Clan:[/glow]Riverclan
[glow=green,2,300]Position:[/glow]Warrior
[glow=green,2,300]Age:[/glow] 17 moons
[glow=green,2,300]Gender:[/glow] She-cat
[glow=green,2,300]Peltage:[/glow]Deadmoon is an orange tabby calico with a large black circle on her back. This contributed to her name. She has yellow eyes that are always gaurded never showing what she feels her paws,underbelly, muzzle, and tailtip are white the rest of her is a orangetabby color (aside from the largeblck circle on her back.)
[glow=green,2,300]Picture:[/glow]
[glow=green,2,300]Personality:[/glow]Deadmoon is very cautious, she likes no one and trusts no one, not completely anyway. She lives by the code and only listens to the leader and the deputy, out of respect, not trust. Most say that no cat could break this constant wariness, but that has never been tested, her glare driveing of any young hopefuls that thought to 'cheer her up'. The only one she ever talked to was her fellow warrior Rippedpelt but when the sandy colored shecat dissapeared Deadmoon withdrew even further into herself. She loves to fight this is a instint she has picked upfrom her past, she was born to a twoleg cat, in a barn, and from there ran away with Rippedpelt,they stumbled upon the clan after nearly drowning and were taken in, though Deadmoon herself did not know why. From there she was mentored, by a cat by the name of greenclaw, he was presumed dead in a flash flood after several days missing, her life has mainly been the pain of watching those that she allowed a tentative trust with either dissapear, die or betray her, the latter of wich often ending up dead by her own claws, her fury haveing robbed her from the memory of actually killing. Now she spends any spare time training her fighting skills, wether or not its shaprening her clawsin a stump, sparring or just atacking a bush.
[glow=green,2,300]IC:[/glow] Deadmoon walked quietly out of camp swimming across the river before makeing her way up the bank to a relatively even patch of ground. The misty morning smelt of a new day and the thick dew wetted her already half dry pelt. She made her way silently to the stump and started to shapren her claws fiercely rakeing deeper gouges in the stump as they went over previous ones. this was her place, she was here almost all the time except when she had a patrol to go on, she didn't mind those but it put her in contact with other cats. She snarled quietly as she continued raeing her claws through the stump, wich was scarred so badly it no longer had bark some of the welts were new, others old, some shallow, some deep and it all depended on her mood. once she was done she sat down letting the dew cool her sore paws, she had lost track of time and the first rays of delicate light were reaching her place, faintest pink and yellow in the mists. With a discontented huff Deadmoon got up and headed back down the bank, she was late for a patrol, or at least she would be if she didn't hurry along.
[glow=green,2,300]Code:[/glow]Spring