Post by Grim on Sept 2, 2010 22:22:05 GMT -5
Fawnysex
Name:
fawnstep
Gender:
she-cat
Age:
thirty-one moons
Clan:
RiverClan
Rank:
Trusty warrior
Apprentice:
None yet.
Love Interest:
No answer
Kin:
Russetfang - not played yet
Description:
Her thick pelt is a mottled mess, with no apparent regard for pattern or prettiness. She’s a tortoiseshell, so to speak, ranging from fiery orange to slate grey. Her fur itself is plush and kempt with a sleek finish from her aquatic diet. Although her pelt is thick, it plays only the slightest factor in her poor abilities to move with agility and haste. She’s quite big-boned, with paws too large to be considered ‘lady-like’ in even the loosest manner. Her entire structure is beast-like (rather than petite like a true lass) and built for power over speed. Due to her masculine frame, Fawnstep is rather unable to perform sprint-like activities and anything requiring agility. Since apprentice-ship, Fawnstep has thrown herself into being the best warrior she can be, mostly because she’s a...fair hunter, at best.
Her eyes are dark reptilian green pools with hints and tinges of rich gold.
Personality:
Fawnstep puts her name to complete shame with her personality, simply because she most certainly does not share a fawn’s docile personality. The amount of charisma she harbors could not possibly exist within a smaller feline. She’s bright, mentally speaking, and abuses her intelligence by being as capricious as she can. Her tongue is slow and coy, rarely holding back the thoughts smoldering in her mind. She can be quite aggressive if she feels strongly enough about something. Her trust is hard to earn, mainly because she has no faith in trust itself. She’s a sly, tricksy feline, more often than not with something obscene on her mind. She’s rough and vulgar, with a knife-like tongue towards the she-cats and a sensual feminine side shared with chosen toms. She prizes herself on her common courtesy and becomes instantly heated when another feline is rude in her presence. Also, she’s a hypocrite.
History:
History:
Fawnstep and her sibling were born into their clan as pureblooded RiverClan kits. Their mother was affectionate and soothing, from what Fawnstep remembered of her kit-hood. The tortoiseshell could vaguely recall the low rumble of her mothers purr, their own calming lullaby. However, once the two kits became apprentices, their mother began to distance herself from her kin. Fawnstep sought after her sire for guidance, but found only rejection in his presence. Unable to determine why their parents seemed to lose interest in them, the apprentices became closer than they had ever been, comforting each other in the dimness of the apprentice den. Their mentors, although supportive and compassionate, could not seem to comprehend the pain and confusion. Fawnpaw threw herself into her training, hoping to make her parents proud. Once her sessions with her mentor were over for the day, the young apprentice would often find herself alone in the forest after hours, drilling herself on the moves that her mentor had taught her that day. Although she never became the hunter she dreamed of being and never put that proud gleam in her parents’ eyes, Fawnstep became a full-fledged warrior at fourteen moons alongside her brother. She was named for her gentle and compliant attitude, as well as her silent tread. Russetfang, his vibrant orange pelt and vigor in battle.
Shortly after she became a RiverClan warrior, Fawnstep’s parents disappeared from the territory. When the deputy called for a search patrol, Fawnstep was the first cat to volunteer, only a few steps before Russetfang. Almost at once, Russetfang had latched on to the scent of his parents and began tracking them through the tall grass. The scent was cold, but her brother's nose was keen. Within five minutes of following the trail, it became quite evident that her parents had not simply wandered off into the territory. The patrol moved briskly, fanning out behind Russetfang to better scan the undergrowth surrounding their party. The reek of the thunderpath hit them all at once and Fawnstep instinctively stiffened, her heart beginning to race anxiously. Their pace quickened, but the end of the trail was near--inevitable. The patrol halted as one at the edge of their territory, keeping their paws well away from the black river of tar that stretched before them. The scent, however, continued. Fawnstep paced the edge of the thunderpath and stared across the empty road, her eyes wide and beseeching.
Although the patrol eventually left, shaking their heads in utter bewilderment, Fawnstep lingered near the last remnants of her parents' scent. She remained there for a spell, with only Russetfang nearby for company. She could physically feel her insides contracting in grief. Her heart ached in confused anguish, uncertain of how to feel about her parent's departure. They hadn't loved her or if they had, they had not chosen to show it. It bothered her that she wasn't sure whether or not to mourn her parents, but what was she supposed to feel? Feel it, Fawnstep. Don't bottle it in. She was in her twentieth moon.
For a brief time, the young warrior let her parents disappearance shatter her. That is, until she realized how hard and calloused her heart had become towards her mother and sire. At that point, even Russetfang’s soft words and rhythmic purrs could not soothe her coldness towards them. "Sweetheart, just let it go."
With nobody but Russetfang to care for her, Fawnstep cared little about anybody else. Oh, she loved her Clan and would have risked her pelt for them, but she refused to be ‘close’ with them. She distanced herself without isolating herself, preferring to live without that pesky trust creature in her heart.
Other:
I plan on joining Russetfang at some point ^_^ I'm also aware that her history is lame, but I kind of just grabbed an idea and rode with it.
Roleplay Example:
From a different warriors site.
Lightening cracked overhead, followed by a deafening roar that pained Swallowpaw's ardent ears. She glanced sharply towards Silverpelt, her vibrant blue eyes flashing in the heat lightening, hurling a futile glare towards the rumbling heavens. In a last ditch effort to prove her annoyance, the young tortie bared her glistening fangs in an audible hiss, her eyes flaring audaciously. Above, the rolling thunder purred it's amusement and another bolt of electricity illuminated the lush vegetation surrounding the apprentice. Swallowpaw drew her slight frame tall, displaying her impressive full height in a heated moment of frustration. She snarled softly under her breath, mumbling a foul curse under her breath, and finally averted her smoldering gaze to the emerald loam that stretched before her.
Her marbled tail thrashed viciously from side to side, as alive as the serpents slithering through the undergrowth. She ignored the wide sweeps of her appendage and prowled deeper into her home territory. Occasionally, she would toss a hasty glance over her clean white shoulder, but she was constantly surveying her surroundings with a sharp eye. She'd slunk out of the apprentice's den in the very dead of night. Due to the heavy shroud of clouds obscuring the moon, Swallowpaw was unable to determine the position of the moon. "It must be at least moonhigh..." she whispered softly, throwing a quick glance towards the sky. The exciting sight overhead delivered an abrupt shiver of thrill through her young body. Thunder barked and rolled, causing the earth underfoot to tremble in eager response. The young apprentice swallowed the small amount of fear boiling in her stomach, and instead curved her dainty lips into a haughty simper. Swallowpaw feared nothing. And, besides--she loved thunderstorms. The constant rumble and unexpected flashes of splendor excited her, which could've been the reason behind her difficulty sleeping. An exasperated sigh spewed forth from her pristine lips, specifically in response to the thoughts running amuck in her sleep-deprived brain. Who needed sleep these days, anyway?
Two swift paws followed the familiar dips and rolls of her forest home. Her pads were nearly always brushing the familiar succulent comfort of healthy green moss, which was deeply appreciated by the tortie she-cat. Nonetheless, her thoughts merely touched on the luxury before racing towards another topic. Like...was that rain? A drop of moisture had landed abruptly on the top of her downy head, surprising her for a moment. Ah, Swallowpaw wasn't a huge fanatic of rain. Not with the beautiful silky pelt she bore! She twitched her whiskers in mild amusement and hurriedly shuffled forward, instinctively heading for the closest shelter. Wait... She paused mid-step, gazing wildly around herself in alarm. She'd strayed further than she'd expected. Was she really facing the Wheat Field? She growled at her strange onslaught of fear and straightened her broad shoulders, angling herself in the direction of the barn. Oh, that barn.
There it stood, suddenly silhouetted against the dim forest, illuminated by a convenient bolt of lightening. She curled her lips into a grimace, glaring almost disdainfully in the direction of the spooky building. Really, though...what could harm her in that old shack? She grumbled loudly and padded quickly towards the eerie barn, urged on by the spattering droplets. The rain was falling harder and faster than before. She raced through the wheat field, ignoring the raspy stalks snagging at her pelt. When only a yard stood between her and her destination, she broke into a thunderous sprint, racing through the dark entrance without a second thought as to what could've been waiting inside.
In the belly of the abandoned building, Swallowpaw slowed to a full stop. Her breaths came in short pants, due to the extremely quick sprint she'd performed. Eyes wide in awe, the apprentice gazed around herself. She flattened her multicolored ears against her soaking skull, feeling the darkness press in on her. An ominous feeling existed in the dark barn, and Swallowpaw didn't like it. She'd heard tales of the depths of the old barn...what if they were true? Swallowing a whimper, she shuffled towards the darkest corner in the building. Rain banged against the roof overhead, spoiling the strange stillness in the building. But still, Swallowpaw didn't like the unnatural quiet. Trying to quiet her racing heart, she crouched low, grimacing when she felt her belly brush against the slimy floor. She'd hide out in the Two-leg camp until the rain stopped. As soon as the rain let up, she promised herself, she'd run with the speed of one hundred StarClan warriors.[/font]
Name:
fawnstep
Gender:
she-cat
Age:
thirty-one moons
Clan:
RiverClan
Rank:
Trusty warrior
Apprentice:
None yet.
Love Interest:
No answer
Kin:
Russetfang - not played yet
Description:
Her thick pelt is a mottled mess, with no apparent regard for pattern or prettiness. She’s a tortoiseshell, so to speak, ranging from fiery orange to slate grey. Her fur itself is plush and kempt with a sleek finish from her aquatic diet. Although her pelt is thick, it plays only the slightest factor in her poor abilities to move with agility and haste. She’s quite big-boned, with paws too large to be considered ‘lady-like’ in even the loosest manner. Her entire structure is beast-like (rather than petite like a true lass) and built for power over speed. Due to her masculine frame, Fawnstep is rather unable to perform sprint-like activities and anything requiring agility. Since apprentice-ship, Fawnstep has thrown herself into being the best warrior she can be, mostly because she’s a...fair hunter, at best.
Her eyes are dark reptilian green pools with hints and tinges of rich gold.
Personality:
Fawnstep puts her name to complete shame with her personality, simply because she most certainly does not share a fawn’s docile personality. The amount of charisma she harbors could not possibly exist within a smaller feline. She’s bright, mentally speaking, and abuses her intelligence by being as capricious as she can. Her tongue is slow and coy, rarely holding back the thoughts smoldering in her mind. She can be quite aggressive if she feels strongly enough about something. Her trust is hard to earn, mainly because she has no faith in trust itself. She’s a sly, tricksy feline, more often than not with something obscene on her mind. She’s rough and vulgar, with a knife-like tongue towards the she-cats and a sensual feminine side shared with chosen toms. She prizes herself on her common courtesy and becomes instantly heated when another feline is rude in her presence. Also, she’s a hypocrite.
History:
History:
Fawnstep and her sibling were born into their clan as pureblooded RiverClan kits. Their mother was affectionate and soothing, from what Fawnstep remembered of her kit-hood. The tortoiseshell could vaguely recall the low rumble of her mothers purr, their own calming lullaby. However, once the two kits became apprentices, their mother began to distance herself from her kin. Fawnstep sought after her sire for guidance, but found only rejection in his presence. Unable to determine why their parents seemed to lose interest in them, the apprentices became closer than they had ever been, comforting each other in the dimness of the apprentice den. Their mentors, although supportive and compassionate, could not seem to comprehend the pain and confusion. Fawnpaw threw herself into her training, hoping to make her parents proud. Once her sessions with her mentor were over for the day, the young apprentice would often find herself alone in the forest after hours, drilling herself on the moves that her mentor had taught her that day. Although she never became the hunter she dreamed of being and never put that proud gleam in her parents’ eyes, Fawnstep became a full-fledged warrior at fourteen moons alongside her brother. She was named for her gentle and compliant attitude, as well as her silent tread. Russetfang, his vibrant orange pelt and vigor in battle.
Shortly after she became a RiverClan warrior, Fawnstep’s parents disappeared from the territory. When the deputy called for a search patrol, Fawnstep was the first cat to volunteer, only a few steps before Russetfang. Almost at once, Russetfang had latched on to the scent of his parents and began tracking them through the tall grass. The scent was cold, but her brother's nose was keen. Within five minutes of following the trail, it became quite evident that her parents had not simply wandered off into the territory. The patrol moved briskly, fanning out behind Russetfang to better scan the undergrowth surrounding their party. The reek of the thunderpath hit them all at once and Fawnstep instinctively stiffened, her heart beginning to race anxiously. Their pace quickened, but the end of the trail was near--inevitable. The patrol halted as one at the edge of their territory, keeping their paws well away from the black river of tar that stretched before them. The scent, however, continued. Fawnstep paced the edge of the thunderpath and stared across the empty road, her eyes wide and beseeching.
Although the patrol eventually left, shaking their heads in utter bewilderment, Fawnstep lingered near the last remnants of her parents' scent. She remained there for a spell, with only Russetfang nearby for company. She could physically feel her insides contracting in grief. Her heart ached in confused anguish, uncertain of how to feel about her parent's departure. They hadn't loved her or if they had, they had not chosen to show it. It bothered her that she wasn't sure whether or not to mourn her parents, but what was she supposed to feel? Feel it, Fawnstep. Don't bottle it in. She was in her twentieth moon.
For a brief time, the young warrior let her parents disappearance shatter her. That is, until she realized how hard and calloused her heart had become towards her mother and sire. At that point, even Russetfang’s soft words and rhythmic purrs could not soothe her coldness towards them. "Sweetheart, just let it go."
With nobody but Russetfang to care for her, Fawnstep cared little about anybody else. Oh, she loved her Clan and would have risked her pelt for them, but she refused to be ‘close’ with them. She distanced herself without isolating herself, preferring to live without that pesky trust creature in her heart.
Other:
I plan on joining Russetfang at some point ^_^ I'm also aware that her history is lame, but I kind of just grabbed an idea and rode with it.
Roleplay Example:
From a different warriors site.
Lightening cracked overhead, followed by a deafening roar that pained Swallowpaw's ardent ears. She glanced sharply towards Silverpelt, her vibrant blue eyes flashing in the heat lightening, hurling a futile glare towards the rumbling heavens. In a last ditch effort to prove her annoyance, the young tortie bared her glistening fangs in an audible hiss, her eyes flaring audaciously. Above, the rolling thunder purred it's amusement and another bolt of electricity illuminated the lush vegetation surrounding the apprentice. Swallowpaw drew her slight frame tall, displaying her impressive full height in a heated moment of frustration. She snarled softly under her breath, mumbling a foul curse under her breath, and finally averted her smoldering gaze to the emerald loam that stretched before her.
Her marbled tail thrashed viciously from side to side, as alive as the serpents slithering through the undergrowth. She ignored the wide sweeps of her appendage and prowled deeper into her home territory. Occasionally, she would toss a hasty glance over her clean white shoulder, but she was constantly surveying her surroundings with a sharp eye. She'd slunk out of the apprentice's den in the very dead of night. Due to the heavy shroud of clouds obscuring the moon, Swallowpaw was unable to determine the position of the moon. "It must be at least moonhigh..." she whispered softly, throwing a quick glance towards the sky. The exciting sight overhead delivered an abrupt shiver of thrill through her young body. Thunder barked and rolled, causing the earth underfoot to tremble in eager response. The young apprentice swallowed the small amount of fear boiling in her stomach, and instead curved her dainty lips into a haughty simper. Swallowpaw feared nothing. And, besides--she loved thunderstorms. The constant rumble and unexpected flashes of splendor excited her, which could've been the reason behind her difficulty sleeping. An exasperated sigh spewed forth from her pristine lips, specifically in response to the thoughts running amuck in her sleep-deprived brain. Who needed sleep these days, anyway?
Two swift paws followed the familiar dips and rolls of her forest home. Her pads were nearly always brushing the familiar succulent comfort of healthy green moss, which was deeply appreciated by the tortie she-cat. Nonetheless, her thoughts merely touched on the luxury before racing towards another topic. Like...was that rain? A drop of moisture had landed abruptly on the top of her downy head, surprising her for a moment. Ah, Swallowpaw wasn't a huge fanatic of rain. Not with the beautiful silky pelt she bore! She twitched her whiskers in mild amusement and hurriedly shuffled forward, instinctively heading for the closest shelter. Wait... She paused mid-step, gazing wildly around herself in alarm. She'd strayed further than she'd expected. Was she really facing the Wheat Field? She growled at her strange onslaught of fear and straightened her broad shoulders, angling herself in the direction of the barn. Oh, that barn.
There it stood, suddenly silhouetted against the dim forest, illuminated by a convenient bolt of lightening. She curled her lips into a grimace, glaring almost disdainfully in the direction of the spooky building. Really, though...what could harm her in that old shack? She grumbled loudly and padded quickly towards the eerie barn, urged on by the spattering droplets. The rain was falling harder and faster than before. She raced through the wheat field, ignoring the raspy stalks snagging at her pelt. When only a yard stood between her and her destination, she broke into a thunderous sprint, racing through the dark entrance without a second thought as to what could've been waiting inside.
In the belly of the abandoned building, Swallowpaw slowed to a full stop. Her breaths came in short pants, due to the extremely quick sprint she'd performed. Eyes wide in awe, the apprentice gazed around herself. She flattened her multicolored ears against her soaking skull, feeling the darkness press in on her. An ominous feeling existed in the dark barn, and Swallowpaw didn't like it. She'd heard tales of the depths of the old barn...what if they were true? Swallowing a whimper, she shuffled towards the darkest corner in the building. Rain banged against the roof overhead, spoiling the strange stillness in the building. But still, Swallowpaw didn't like the unnatural quiet. Trying to quiet her racing heart, she crouched low, grimacing when she felt her belly brush against the slimy floor. She'd hide out in the Two-leg camp until the rain stopped. As soon as the rain let up, she promised herself, she'd run with the speed of one hundred StarClan warriors.[/font]
[/center]
The history seems a tad short, although it reaches the word limit. It'd be great if you could add maybe one more paragraph, but if not, Amber will probably still accept it. 83
