Post by Xenophobe on Apr 21, 2006 14:46:59 GMT -5
About You-
Nickname: I'm called Mooneh in most places, but since I'd like a new nickname for here, just call meh Zed, or Xen.
Experience in Roleplay: I've been roleplaying for not too long. I started in... what? Sixth grade? And I'm nearly at the end of seventh grade. So I guess I was roleplaying for a year, a year and a half at the most.
About your Character-
Name:
Xenophobe 'Snake' Metaden.
Gender:
Female.
Age:
3 human years of age.
Blood:
Wolfdog.
Breed:
Grey wolf x German sheperd.
Fur color:
Her base color is black, lightly splotched with deep, earthy brown and a light, sandy kind of yellow. Her belly fur is colored a bright silver tainted with a bluish sheen, as well as the area around her maw, neck and flanks. There are circles of tawny amber under her eyes, strange imitations of the bags that appear under an exhausted creature's orbs. Her ears are tipped with a lighter tone of brown than the blotches of her coat, and both of her forepaws are a pale grey. Her undertail is a very deep ashen hue, though not as dark as the ebony color of her back. Along the upper part of her muzzle, from the end of her moist black nose to the space between her two eyes, is a slightly raised ridge of reddish-brown fur.
Her pelt is mediumly short; not a close buzz, but not long, cumbersome strings of hair hanging down from her skin either. However, the fur around her wrists is almost imperceptibly longer than the rest, and forms a ridge similar to the one on the bridge of her nose. She is quite proud of this flashy, unusual and otherwise comfortable mix of colors and size.
Xenophobe, her appearance matching her burly mentality, is a well-built, muscular female. She has more bulk than brain, to say the least. Her legs, however, are surprisingly thin compared to the thickness of the rest of her frame. The tail attached to her rump is slightly longer than the usual wolf tail, but this is hardly noticeable at first glance.
Eye color:
Her oculars are of a dark auburn hue, almost chestnut.
Markings:
I put everything inside her fur color.
Other*:
Placed not-too-tightly around her neck is a rough collar of frayed and worn tan leather. A ring of patchy fur can be clearly seen under the irritating strands of this circlet, showing constant rubbing and painful endurance. Xeno has tried to scratch it off many more times than just once, but has only managed to worsen her neck's condition
Personality:
Once a happy-go-lucky young pup just like there should always be, she has changed quite a bit in the quick three years of her life.
She doesn't take easily to new wolves. Or dogs, for that matter. Her trust has been worn to a frazzle, and literally disappeared. She disbelieves males most of all, up to a point where you could even call it hate. She simply refuses to take the word of a male, whoever he may be.
However, though she does loath the masculine race, Xeno is respectful to wolves, dogs and all the rest who are of higher rank than she. Though she cannot trust a male, she will respect him and submit if he is of high rank, or at least not a team-less dog like she is.
She's a bit nicer towards females, but her cautiousness and inhibited manner gets in the way of any relationship she can ever get. There are only two things that have stayed with her through all those tiring months: her intense curiousness and her envy to talk. She can't help asking questions, ranting on and on from one topic to the next without an apparent break in her monologue.
The reason for her nickname 'Snake' is the way she retorts so sharply, like a striking snake. If anyone so much as utters and insult, she throws a stinging comment right back in under three seconds. This is an obvious sign of her lack of brains, and she does wish she didn't do it. But it's just one of those traits you can't get rid of.
History: (Two Paragraphs minimum)
Xenophobe was born to a wild grey wolf and a female german sheperd. She lived with her mother's Master, a tall, dark-skinned man with a warm smile always on his face. The Master had immediately loved the playful way she acted, and her continuous barks of speech.
She had two siblings; one was a still-born, dead before he was even brought into the light. The other was another male, named Paragraph. But the Master didn't like him. He looked too much like a wolf.
The truth was, the Master did not know of the sheperd's and the wolf's forbidden love. He never thought that his beautiful female could ever have mated with a vulgar canine of the forests. But he had begun to have his doubts at Paragraph's birth.
The two pups grew up together happily, leading a joyful and play-filled puphood. The Master always payed more attention on Xeno, but Para still got some love, however little it was. The Master was an affectionate man.
He decided to give the two pups names when they had reached two months of age. Paragraph got his name because he'd eaten a whole sheet of paper with writing on it, curious of what it would taste like, and there had been a whole paragraph on it. Xenophobe was named because of her fear of birds. She jumped and whined whenever one approached her. The two also received their collars at this age.
And then problems began springing up.
Paragraph just didn't look enough like a dog. His eyes were amber at four months, and his muzzle lengthened later on. He had a slim but stocky body, and was entirely grey from nose to tail tip, though his coat was made up of different ashen hues. Now the Master was actually getting worried for the other dogs. A wolf in his prize female's litter? That was simply impossible.
And so he decided to get rid of the young wolf-dog.
However, Litchi, the bitch, was aware of this. She escaped the house the night before, and ran to the forest with Paragraph dangling from her mouth. Xenophobe didn't, and still doesn't, know what she went for. All she knew was that Mum came back... and without Brother. What she carried was the bloodied body of a young pup, which surely wasn't that of her brother, because it smelled strange... different.
The next morning, the Master woke to Litchi's whimpering. Xenophobe was surprised at the lies her mother created just to save Paragraph's life. Pity filled the Master's face as he looked down upon the dead body of whatever pup it was, and he buried it in his garden later on.
So Xenophobe was the last remaining pup of her litter.
She had always been curious, asking question and poking her nose where she shouldn't. Inquiries were thrown at every moment of the day at her mother, and, most of the time, Litchi answered carefully and cautiously, as if she was afraid of revealing something she should not.
"What are those feather-things, mum?"
"They're birds, dear."
"Why do we eat that funny-tasting glop in shiny carry-holes?"
"Because we can."
"When did the Master find you?"
"I've always lived here."
"Who was my father?"
Litchi halted, obviously checking over her answer, and took a few moments before finally giving a reply.
"He is a creature of the forest, little one. A seedling, if you prefer."
"Seedling..."
And those were the main questions she asked.
Her curiousness was what got her into so much trouble.
She wondered what it was like farther out, away from the Master's house and the street he lived on, in front of the forest. She wondered what it would be like, living by herself, scavenging for food. She wondered if she would find some nice dogs out there. And she wanted to experience it all.
So she left. Without a word, quietly, secretly. And she ran out, out in that unknown world she so desired to explore.
It took only three days for the men-with-cages to find her. She was grabbed, stuffed into a heavy iron box-with-bars and carted over to God-knows-where. She hadn't even been able to whimper. It had gone too fast. Her eyes didn't register the landscape as they rushed by in a shining Mercedes, her ears didn't captivate sounds like they always did, and her jaw hung slack in immense surprise. Her home, her haven, safety...
Everything was gone.
Her trip lasted days and days... roads, trains, boats, and many other ways of transportation. When she finally arrived to the cold reaches of Alaska, she did not resemble the young pup she had been. 1 month had passed since she had been taken, and she was now 7 months old. Her blotched and colorful pelt was ragged and unkempt, deep auburn eyes dulled with fatigue. She could hardly stand. And even in her condition, she was introduced to the team.
The others were huge, muscled dogs, females and males alike. They all glared down at her from their towering height, obviously scorning her minuscule size. But that wasn't the only thing present in their hard, frozen gaze. They seemed hungry, starved even. And as they looked at her with that glint in their eye, she shivered quietly. The hope she had concerved was quickly depleting.
She survived two nights. On the third, the food was beginning to run short, and the dogs were getting uncomfortably close to her. She edged away, and they walked closer, obvious about why they wanted to be near. And so, on the third night, she escaped.
Running, running, running. That was all she did for the whole 18 hours she took to reach the forest. As soon as she reached the cold shadows of the pine trees, she collapsed, unconscious. Somewhere in her mind, something screamed at her to get up and stay awake. But her body would not listen.
And she slept.
Later on, probably a few hours, she woke again. Her body was still exhausted, but she was completely awake now, and aware of the danger gathering around her. Brown eyes searched the depths of the trees, and found what they were looking for.
Two other eyes, deep amber, looking right back at her.
Fear powering her movements just as they had that night, which seemed so long ago now even though it had been just yesterday, she leaped away and ran again over the snow, pads sinking in the deeper spots. She didn't stop for a long while. The sun had already begun its course up into the sky when she finally halted for the second time. The plain she had stopped in was covered in ice and snow, and a herd of deer-like mammals trooped on the horizon. As she watched them, a sudden commotion seemed to come over the ones on the eastern side, and she was able to glimpse the leaping form of a wolf jumping on a stumbling animal. The strength of the predator was surprising, and she suddenly felt safe there, simply staring at the wolf far away.
Later on in the day, she attempted to approach the wolf. He had a pack, and one of the females had a litter of pups. He payed no attention to her at first, and she kept on trying, eating the sparse grass she could find poking through the snow. Finally, one day, he accepted her presence. Without truly knowing it, she had become part of the pack.
The months went on. She grew more and more, her constant hunting giving her great, bulging muscles. She was one year old, then two. Two more months came and went.
And the trouble started all over again.
A new male had come to the pack. He liked her, that was obvious. He always tried to stay near her whenever he could. And then, one time, he finally came the closest he could.
"I want to show you something."
His abrupt statement surprise her slightly, but she had gotten used to the brusque manner most of the pack conserved. Tilting her head to the side in an inquiring manner, she asked:
"What is it?"
"I have to show you."
And so followed him.
They walked for a long time, across the wide expanse of the prairie where the herd of elk had been grazing before, across the snow. And through the trees.
She hated the trees. Wolves lived in there. Wolves that didn't mean good. But she followed anyway, pads falling softly on the ice-covered earth.
"Good boy, Max! You found one!"
Human. A human was here. The male had led her into a trap.
And, for the third time in her life, she ran. Running, running, running for the life she wanted to keep.
And she still didn't stop. A whole day passed, and she ran on. She had become stronger, could endure more than she did as a pup in her stay with the wolves. And, after two days of no stopping, she fell.
Triiping on her own paws, she sprawled herself flat in the snow, muzzle buried under a pile of thick, white, and cold ice.
When she looked up, what she saw came as quite a surprise. It looked like her Master's village, except that it was covered in snow, and dogs, as well as wolfdogs like she, were running around attached to sleds or free. And many were wearing collars like her own. She scratched at it, but it obstinately stayed stuck around her neck. Rolling her eyes at its stupid stubbornness, she got up and wandered about through this strange log-den place.
And she's been there since, searching for a team to join.
Roleplaying Sample:
[This is an actual RP sample from another cat site. Hope it's okee. If not, tell me.]
The moon, full and serene, hung up in the sky like a lantern guiding the cats of the lands below. Its light descended softly upon the lumpy terrain of Shadowclan, soft humps of mud peppering the ground, their moldable bodies shining eerily with the sheen of a beetle carapace. No creatures moved, and even the camp, usually filled with the sounds of snoring cats, had drifted into muteness.
It was silent on the Thunderpath. No monsters roared across its rough black surface, no crickets chirped from the hidden safety of the sickly thickets that bordered the wide, stench-filled strip of tar, no birds twittered their happiness or grief from the high branches of a lone beech stuck in the middle of the marshy plain a few feet away. There were no squirrels to fill the air with their incessant chattering, not a single mouse to scuttle from its hole with a squeak and a rustle of fallen leaves. All was quiet. Hidden. Shadowed.
At first, it would look as if the thick band of onyx pitch was abandoned, what with the lack of life in the area. But, at a second glance, one would be able to spot a patch of glistening, sunrise-colored fur in the unhealthy brambles at the side, or the gleam of twin orbs of molten metal. The faint murmur of moving leaves drifted from the bushes, not truly piercing the agonizing silence around the area, but pushing at its surface as if it wanted to tear it apart.
A thin leg poked out of the drooping, dark green and brown leaves, the yellow-striped amber fur glinting almost imperceptibly in the blue-white rays of moonlight. The fur on the leg's wrist was raised in an uncontrolled crest of varied tufts of brown, orange and gold, which faded to bloody crimson at the paw. Then another leg, similar, but not exactly the same, to the last, stepped out, quickly followed by a cautious head and a tense body.
The feline was wary, that was obvious, especially by the way she held herself close to the muddy ground, how the earthy brown ears that topped her head were perked high in the air, swivelling the slightest bit every time she thought she heard a suspicious noise, how her tail was kept low and still in the soggy dirt. The twin orbs of yellow-amber hue, narrowed in a vigilant stare, flicked from side to side in a mechanical motion, almost a reflex from moons of being alert and attentive.
A pair of harsh yellow lights appeared at the top of a rise earlier on the Thunderpath, approaching the she-cat with the speed of a falcon. The customary roar of a monster accompanied the dark shadow behind the glare. The feline flinched away from the road as the great thing passed, and waited a few seconds before crossing the Path just as quickly as the monster had come.
A sigh of relief escaped the animal's maw as her paws came to rest upon the dead grass on the other side, and she sucked her breath in at her unwary mistake. The air rattled in her throat, threatening to make her cough, but she fought against it, and finally overcame the violent feeling of having swallowed a long-haired mouse whole.
"Who are you, cat?"
The she-cat did not jump as a demanding voice cut the previous silence, but her body tensed like a spring, and she was on her crimson feet in seconds. Her eyes searched everywhere, scrutinizing the deciduous trees with an acute awareness, and she finally glimpsed the glimmer of an open eye. Sinew still tense, mind clear and ready to escape if a fight broke out, the she-cat sat down on the softer ground of Thunderclan territory.
Facing the place she believed the other to be in, the yellow and brown-striped cat opened her carmine muzzle and let words creep out of its depths.
"I've got the same thing to ask you."
Her voice wheezed in her throat, resembling the hiss of a snake more than the speech of a feline. The hidden cat, who sounded a lot like a female, growled low at the impudence of this intruder, and snapped sharply at her.
"You are not welcome here. I ask the questions, and you answer them."
She acts as if she owns this forest, the first she-cat thought. She did not smile as if amused, but she did not pad away like an obedient apprentice. She was scared, of course. She had always been. Scared of being hit. Scared of being understood. Scared of dieing before her mission was complete. But, in a way, she was less scared than usual. She had a feeling about this night. That she would finally accomplish something.
I'll answer...maybe then she'll give me her name. I don't know what she looks like yet. All I know is that her name has only one part. That lessens cats considerably...I hope. But what if she's not who I want her to be? What if she attacks? What if I die without doing what I need to do?
Moons of stewing in her own thoughts had caused her to become worried easily. Some called this 'pananoia': thinking everything was against you, that the worst things happened to you and only you, that every other cat had a better life than you did. Maybe it was so. Maybe not. Whichever, the way she acted sure resembled it.
It was becoming clear that she was now uncomfortable with the idea of meeting this other feline. The crimson tip of her tail was thumping the ground repeatedly in an agitated way. She was biting her bottom lip in a gesture of nervousness, and you could hear her heart beat faster and faster as doubt took over her mind.
At this show of internal weakness, the hidden she-cat smirked quietly, and called out in a boisterous manner.
"...Or are you scared?"
Her voice undoubtably had a hint of a sneer in it. That simple sentence shook the orange feline, and she frowned. A ferocious hiss escaped her maw as she answered in a curt manner, the wheezing rattle in her breath hidden slightly by the force of the escaping air.
"I'm not scared. My name is Spiderbreath, of Shadowclan. And what's your name? Or do you admit that all you can do is hide in the shadows like a tiny kit, throwing insults at your opponent as a young cat does when they are angry?"
Rage was pushing the doubt away from her mind like a bulldozer pushed away bricks, and she held her head up in a challenging way, amber eyes glinting with a savage power buried deep inside her. The moment the words escaped the other one's mouth, the hidden feline hissed in fury, and revealed herself to all present.
"My name is Soul."
Picture*: None. Avatar has view of head, though.
Nickname: I'm called Mooneh in most places, but since I'd like a new nickname for here, just call meh Zed, or Xen.
Experience in Roleplay: I've been roleplaying for not too long. I started in... what? Sixth grade? And I'm nearly at the end of seventh grade. So I guess I was roleplaying for a year, a year and a half at the most.
About your Character-
Name:
Xenophobe 'Snake' Metaden.
Gender:
Female.
Age:
3 human years of age.
Blood:
Wolfdog.
Breed:
Grey wolf x German sheperd.
Fur color:
Her base color is black, lightly splotched with deep, earthy brown and a light, sandy kind of yellow. Her belly fur is colored a bright silver tainted with a bluish sheen, as well as the area around her maw, neck and flanks. There are circles of tawny amber under her eyes, strange imitations of the bags that appear under an exhausted creature's orbs. Her ears are tipped with a lighter tone of brown than the blotches of her coat, and both of her forepaws are a pale grey. Her undertail is a very deep ashen hue, though not as dark as the ebony color of her back. Along the upper part of her muzzle, from the end of her moist black nose to the space between her two eyes, is a slightly raised ridge of reddish-brown fur.
Her pelt is mediumly short; not a close buzz, but not long, cumbersome strings of hair hanging down from her skin either. However, the fur around her wrists is almost imperceptibly longer than the rest, and forms a ridge similar to the one on the bridge of her nose. She is quite proud of this flashy, unusual and otherwise comfortable mix of colors and size.
Xenophobe, her appearance matching her burly mentality, is a well-built, muscular female. She has more bulk than brain, to say the least. Her legs, however, are surprisingly thin compared to the thickness of the rest of her frame. The tail attached to her rump is slightly longer than the usual wolf tail, but this is hardly noticeable at first glance.
Eye color:
Her oculars are of a dark auburn hue, almost chestnut.
Markings:
I put everything inside her fur color.
Other*:
Placed not-too-tightly around her neck is a rough collar of frayed and worn tan leather. A ring of patchy fur can be clearly seen under the irritating strands of this circlet, showing constant rubbing and painful endurance. Xeno has tried to scratch it off many more times than just once, but has only managed to worsen her neck's condition
Personality:
Once a happy-go-lucky young pup just like there should always be, she has changed quite a bit in the quick three years of her life.
She doesn't take easily to new wolves. Or dogs, for that matter. Her trust has been worn to a frazzle, and literally disappeared. She disbelieves males most of all, up to a point where you could even call it hate. She simply refuses to take the word of a male, whoever he may be.
However, though she does loath the masculine race, Xeno is respectful to wolves, dogs and all the rest who are of higher rank than she. Though she cannot trust a male, she will respect him and submit if he is of high rank, or at least not a team-less dog like she is.
She's a bit nicer towards females, but her cautiousness and inhibited manner gets in the way of any relationship she can ever get. There are only two things that have stayed with her through all those tiring months: her intense curiousness and her envy to talk. She can't help asking questions, ranting on and on from one topic to the next without an apparent break in her monologue.
The reason for her nickname 'Snake' is the way she retorts so sharply, like a striking snake. If anyone so much as utters and insult, she throws a stinging comment right back in under three seconds. This is an obvious sign of her lack of brains, and she does wish she didn't do it. But it's just one of those traits you can't get rid of.
History: (Two Paragraphs minimum)
Xenophobe was born to a wild grey wolf and a female german sheperd. She lived with her mother's Master, a tall, dark-skinned man with a warm smile always on his face. The Master had immediately loved the playful way she acted, and her continuous barks of speech.
She had two siblings; one was a still-born, dead before he was even brought into the light. The other was another male, named Paragraph. But the Master didn't like him. He looked too much like a wolf.
The truth was, the Master did not know of the sheperd's and the wolf's forbidden love. He never thought that his beautiful female could ever have mated with a vulgar canine of the forests. But he had begun to have his doubts at Paragraph's birth.
The two pups grew up together happily, leading a joyful and play-filled puphood. The Master always payed more attention on Xeno, but Para still got some love, however little it was. The Master was an affectionate man.
He decided to give the two pups names when they had reached two months of age. Paragraph got his name because he'd eaten a whole sheet of paper with writing on it, curious of what it would taste like, and there had been a whole paragraph on it. Xenophobe was named because of her fear of birds. She jumped and whined whenever one approached her. The two also received their collars at this age.
And then problems began springing up.
Paragraph just didn't look enough like a dog. His eyes were amber at four months, and his muzzle lengthened later on. He had a slim but stocky body, and was entirely grey from nose to tail tip, though his coat was made up of different ashen hues. Now the Master was actually getting worried for the other dogs. A wolf in his prize female's litter? That was simply impossible.
And so he decided to get rid of the young wolf-dog.
However, Litchi, the bitch, was aware of this. She escaped the house the night before, and ran to the forest with Paragraph dangling from her mouth. Xenophobe didn't, and still doesn't, know what she went for. All she knew was that Mum came back... and without Brother. What she carried was the bloodied body of a young pup, which surely wasn't that of her brother, because it smelled strange... different.
The next morning, the Master woke to Litchi's whimpering. Xenophobe was surprised at the lies her mother created just to save Paragraph's life. Pity filled the Master's face as he looked down upon the dead body of whatever pup it was, and he buried it in his garden later on.
So Xenophobe was the last remaining pup of her litter.
She had always been curious, asking question and poking her nose where she shouldn't. Inquiries were thrown at every moment of the day at her mother, and, most of the time, Litchi answered carefully and cautiously, as if she was afraid of revealing something she should not.
"What are those feather-things, mum?"
"They're birds, dear."
"Why do we eat that funny-tasting glop in shiny carry-holes?"
"Because we can."
"When did the Master find you?"
"I've always lived here."
"Who was my father?"
Litchi halted, obviously checking over her answer, and took a few moments before finally giving a reply.
"He is a creature of the forest, little one. A seedling, if you prefer."
"Seedling..."
And those were the main questions she asked.
Her curiousness was what got her into so much trouble.
She wondered what it was like farther out, away from the Master's house and the street he lived on, in front of the forest. She wondered what it would be like, living by herself, scavenging for food. She wondered if she would find some nice dogs out there. And she wanted to experience it all.
So she left. Without a word, quietly, secretly. And she ran out, out in that unknown world she so desired to explore.
It took only three days for the men-with-cages to find her. She was grabbed, stuffed into a heavy iron box-with-bars and carted over to God-knows-where. She hadn't even been able to whimper. It had gone too fast. Her eyes didn't register the landscape as they rushed by in a shining Mercedes, her ears didn't captivate sounds like they always did, and her jaw hung slack in immense surprise. Her home, her haven, safety...
Everything was gone.
Her trip lasted days and days... roads, trains, boats, and many other ways of transportation. When she finally arrived to the cold reaches of Alaska, she did not resemble the young pup she had been. 1 month had passed since she had been taken, and she was now 7 months old. Her blotched and colorful pelt was ragged and unkempt, deep auburn eyes dulled with fatigue. She could hardly stand. And even in her condition, she was introduced to the team.
The others were huge, muscled dogs, females and males alike. They all glared down at her from their towering height, obviously scorning her minuscule size. But that wasn't the only thing present in their hard, frozen gaze. They seemed hungry, starved even. And as they looked at her with that glint in their eye, she shivered quietly. The hope she had concerved was quickly depleting.
She survived two nights. On the third, the food was beginning to run short, and the dogs were getting uncomfortably close to her. She edged away, and they walked closer, obvious about why they wanted to be near. And so, on the third night, she escaped.
Running, running, running. That was all she did for the whole 18 hours she took to reach the forest. As soon as she reached the cold shadows of the pine trees, she collapsed, unconscious. Somewhere in her mind, something screamed at her to get up and stay awake. But her body would not listen.
And she slept.
Later on, probably a few hours, she woke again. Her body was still exhausted, but she was completely awake now, and aware of the danger gathering around her. Brown eyes searched the depths of the trees, and found what they were looking for.
Two other eyes, deep amber, looking right back at her.
Fear powering her movements just as they had that night, which seemed so long ago now even though it had been just yesterday, she leaped away and ran again over the snow, pads sinking in the deeper spots. She didn't stop for a long while. The sun had already begun its course up into the sky when she finally halted for the second time. The plain she had stopped in was covered in ice and snow, and a herd of deer-like mammals trooped on the horizon. As she watched them, a sudden commotion seemed to come over the ones on the eastern side, and she was able to glimpse the leaping form of a wolf jumping on a stumbling animal. The strength of the predator was surprising, and she suddenly felt safe there, simply staring at the wolf far away.
Later on in the day, she attempted to approach the wolf. He had a pack, and one of the females had a litter of pups. He payed no attention to her at first, and she kept on trying, eating the sparse grass she could find poking through the snow. Finally, one day, he accepted her presence. Without truly knowing it, she had become part of the pack.
The months went on. She grew more and more, her constant hunting giving her great, bulging muscles. She was one year old, then two. Two more months came and went.
And the trouble started all over again.
A new male had come to the pack. He liked her, that was obvious. He always tried to stay near her whenever he could. And then, one time, he finally came the closest he could.
"I want to show you something."
His abrupt statement surprise her slightly, but she had gotten used to the brusque manner most of the pack conserved. Tilting her head to the side in an inquiring manner, she asked:
"What is it?"
"I have to show you."
And so followed him.
They walked for a long time, across the wide expanse of the prairie where the herd of elk had been grazing before, across the snow. And through the trees.
She hated the trees. Wolves lived in there. Wolves that didn't mean good. But she followed anyway, pads falling softly on the ice-covered earth.
"Good boy, Max! You found one!"
Human. A human was here. The male had led her into a trap.
And, for the third time in her life, she ran. Running, running, running for the life she wanted to keep.
And she still didn't stop. A whole day passed, and she ran on. She had become stronger, could endure more than she did as a pup in her stay with the wolves. And, after two days of no stopping, she fell.
Triiping on her own paws, she sprawled herself flat in the snow, muzzle buried under a pile of thick, white, and cold ice.
When she looked up, what she saw came as quite a surprise. It looked like her Master's village, except that it was covered in snow, and dogs, as well as wolfdogs like she, were running around attached to sleds or free. And many were wearing collars like her own. She scratched at it, but it obstinately stayed stuck around her neck. Rolling her eyes at its stupid stubbornness, she got up and wandered about through this strange log-den place.
And she's been there since, searching for a team to join.
Roleplaying Sample:
[This is an actual RP sample from another cat site. Hope it's okee. If not, tell me.]
The moon, full and serene, hung up in the sky like a lantern guiding the cats of the lands below. Its light descended softly upon the lumpy terrain of Shadowclan, soft humps of mud peppering the ground, their moldable bodies shining eerily with the sheen of a beetle carapace. No creatures moved, and even the camp, usually filled with the sounds of snoring cats, had drifted into muteness.
It was silent on the Thunderpath. No monsters roared across its rough black surface, no crickets chirped from the hidden safety of the sickly thickets that bordered the wide, stench-filled strip of tar, no birds twittered their happiness or grief from the high branches of a lone beech stuck in the middle of the marshy plain a few feet away. There were no squirrels to fill the air with their incessant chattering, not a single mouse to scuttle from its hole with a squeak and a rustle of fallen leaves. All was quiet. Hidden. Shadowed.
At first, it would look as if the thick band of onyx pitch was abandoned, what with the lack of life in the area. But, at a second glance, one would be able to spot a patch of glistening, sunrise-colored fur in the unhealthy brambles at the side, or the gleam of twin orbs of molten metal. The faint murmur of moving leaves drifted from the bushes, not truly piercing the agonizing silence around the area, but pushing at its surface as if it wanted to tear it apart.
A thin leg poked out of the drooping, dark green and brown leaves, the yellow-striped amber fur glinting almost imperceptibly in the blue-white rays of moonlight. The fur on the leg's wrist was raised in an uncontrolled crest of varied tufts of brown, orange and gold, which faded to bloody crimson at the paw. Then another leg, similar, but not exactly the same, to the last, stepped out, quickly followed by a cautious head and a tense body.
The feline was wary, that was obvious, especially by the way she held herself close to the muddy ground, how the earthy brown ears that topped her head were perked high in the air, swivelling the slightest bit every time she thought she heard a suspicious noise, how her tail was kept low and still in the soggy dirt. The twin orbs of yellow-amber hue, narrowed in a vigilant stare, flicked from side to side in a mechanical motion, almost a reflex from moons of being alert and attentive.
A pair of harsh yellow lights appeared at the top of a rise earlier on the Thunderpath, approaching the she-cat with the speed of a falcon. The customary roar of a monster accompanied the dark shadow behind the glare. The feline flinched away from the road as the great thing passed, and waited a few seconds before crossing the Path just as quickly as the monster had come.
A sigh of relief escaped the animal's maw as her paws came to rest upon the dead grass on the other side, and she sucked her breath in at her unwary mistake. The air rattled in her throat, threatening to make her cough, but she fought against it, and finally overcame the violent feeling of having swallowed a long-haired mouse whole.
"Who are you, cat?"
The she-cat did not jump as a demanding voice cut the previous silence, but her body tensed like a spring, and she was on her crimson feet in seconds. Her eyes searched everywhere, scrutinizing the deciduous trees with an acute awareness, and she finally glimpsed the glimmer of an open eye. Sinew still tense, mind clear and ready to escape if a fight broke out, the she-cat sat down on the softer ground of Thunderclan territory.
Facing the place she believed the other to be in, the yellow and brown-striped cat opened her carmine muzzle and let words creep out of its depths.
"I've got the same thing to ask you."
Her voice wheezed in her throat, resembling the hiss of a snake more than the speech of a feline. The hidden cat, who sounded a lot like a female, growled low at the impudence of this intruder, and snapped sharply at her.
"You are not welcome here. I ask the questions, and you answer them."
She acts as if she owns this forest, the first she-cat thought. She did not smile as if amused, but she did not pad away like an obedient apprentice. She was scared, of course. She had always been. Scared of being hit. Scared of being understood. Scared of dieing before her mission was complete. But, in a way, she was less scared than usual. She had a feeling about this night. That she would finally accomplish something.
I'll answer...maybe then she'll give me her name. I don't know what she looks like yet. All I know is that her name has only one part. That lessens cats considerably...I hope. But what if she's not who I want her to be? What if she attacks? What if I die without doing what I need to do?
Moons of stewing in her own thoughts had caused her to become worried easily. Some called this 'pananoia': thinking everything was against you, that the worst things happened to you and only you, that every other cat had a better life than you did. Maybe it was so. Maybe not. Whichever, the way she acted sure resembled it.
It was becoming clear that she was now uncomfortable with the idea of meeting this other feline. The crimson tip of her tail was thumping the ground repeatedly in an agitated way. She was biting her bottom lip in a gesture of nervousness, and you could hear her heart beat faster and faster as doubt took over her mind.
At this show of internal weakness, the hidden she-cat smirked quietly, and called out in a boisterous manner.
"...Or are you scared?"
Her voice undoubtably had a hint of a sneer in it. That simple sentence shook the orange feline, and she frowned. A ferocious hiss escaped her maw as she answered in a curt manner, the wheezing rattle in her breath hidden slightly by the force of the escaping air.
"I'm not scared. My name is Spiderbreath, of Shadowclan. And what's your name? Or do you admit that all you can do is hide in the shadows like a tiny kit, throwing insults at your opponent as a young cat does when they are angry?"
Rage was pushing the doubt away from her mind like a bulldozer pushed away bricks, and she held her head up in a challenging way, amber eyes glinting with a savage power buried deep inside her. The moment the words escaped the other one's mouth, the hidden feline hissed in fury, and revealed herself to all present.
"My name is Soul."
Picture*: None. Avatar has view of head, though.