Post by grim on Sept 12, 2007 20:46:48 GMT -5
Name: Grimhawk.
Gender: Tom.
Rank: Warrior.
Clan: WindClan.
Description: From head to tail-tip the length falls into place at around nineteen inches. From shoulder to ground is about nine inches. Grimhawk is larger than the normal warrior and carries a broad head on brawny built shoulders. Underneath the crisp golden pelt muscles ripple superbly, allowing him to move with ease and appeal. The occasional dark brown splash lay delicately along backside and flanks. Intricate spots of a darker hue oftentimes linger on those color regions. Two black stripes on each front leg circle and meet. An alabaster pigment lay upon the brute's face, flowing onto throat and underbelly, then ending on the inside of powerful hind legs. The sinful look in his amber eyes play into the role perfectly of his personality. Large ears and a strong scent sense give him advantage.
Picture: tinyurl.com/2ycukt
Personality: Grimhawk is far more mature than the common young amateur warrior. He's dreadfully quiet and vaguely ever speaks unless spoken to. It's never quite easy to figure out what the grave cat's next move is as he hardly ever gives much of any emotion through his face. Grimhawk believes action speaks a lot more than talking does and follows it rather thoroughly. Despite his mute nature the tom makes it clear to his denmates that although he may be a bit reserved that he can, nevertheless, be quite the dominate type. He's a cutthroat combatant and a very successful hunter. Friends be grateful, and enemies beware.
History: The average forest cat would be born into a clan. Grimhawk would never be that average forest cat - born far from the territory he'd been brought to thirteen and a half moons ago. A faceless mother-rogue gave away their precious bundle as though she couldn't take care of what she brought into the world and left it unknown lands with a clan called WindClan. However, there was the disadvantage of such a fate. The Clan would be merciless to a kit that didn't belong and make sure it knew not to ever be disloyal. Non-clanborn cats were scarcely ever recognized to be faithful. It was easy to believe he'd never become what the clan needed; a warrior fit for the harsh winds of leaf-bare and a poor partner in battle. This was overrated and the tiny bundle dared to prove them wrong no matter how innocent the lump of golden fur portrayed to be.
Grimkit became Grimpaw.
Apprenticeship was overbearing enough for much of the clan. Despite his rising he was disgraced and a roars of protests could have scared the prey miles away from the camp. One last ceremony was to be made. He'd receive is mentor. The mentor's name was called and silence bore down deafeningly for a moment too long until a slender ashen furred tabby tom rose to his paws. This cat was dubbed as Ashfeather. The ceremonial cause was done and over with and soon Grimpaw would begin his training the following day, furthermore continuing to see to that the clan was wrong about him and his unforgivable heritage.
Many moons would have come and gone and Grimpaw had become deemed as well established apprentice. He was everything noone ever thought he could be. Though one more tragedy would find its way ravaging into his life. It was late in the evening and the sun was casting orange haze across the horizon as it sunk slowly into the distant lands. A crisp, cold air wafted across the territory. Though the cold did not seem to bother him he was quite chilled to the bone. Every step he took along side his mentor Ashfeather had risen anticipation and anxiety into the toughened pads of his paws. This day wouldn't prevail to have ended so well. The patrol about the borders was deathly quiet and as if the silence had summoned the dread that awaited them, the bushes before them demanded them to halt in horror as three behemoth rogues slithered from the greenery. Grimpaw did not flinch but cast a wary glance at Ashfeather whom posed into defense position, teeth bared and neck fur bristled. Not a cat moved for what seemed an eternity until a flash of movement in the corner of his eye startled him. One of the rogues had left their position by their leader that stood in the middle of the group and headed for a route that would allow a sneak attack. However, it wasn't clear to Grimpaw who would be the victim. Though a loud snarl completely disrupted the grave moment. He leaped around to face a screeching ball of withering cats. And it wasn't too long before his own ambush was launched. So this is how it was to be. Three versus two. Fat chance of survival, right? Ashfeather was a senior warrior but no less of a fierce one as he was when he was younger. But Grimpaw was a mere apprentice. These other cats would show no mercy.
The battled ended with a grief-stricken Grimpaw, though he showed nothing but a drooping tail to prove it and a mute nature to serve as the life-bearing trophy. Once an egotistical cat, always an egotistical cat. This is what he was and he still is. Death may have eaten away at one part of his personality, but it would not get the best of him. Now moons have come and gone. Many more things have been done; things have been accomplished, and now he has a place of respect in the clan.
Now he is Grimhawk.
IC: Tame paws were spent as they landed infront of one another at a steady pace. Determination pricked at the vagabond tom's aching paws as he came to sit at the height of wind buffeted hill. The entire day order's had been carried out one after another and Grimhawk longed to curl up into his nest and sleep for moons. Blackened clouds tumbled in from the east and cast shadows onto the earth as if to warn the areas inhabitants of the looming storm soon to come. Birds spiraled from the sky too land into the treetops for shelter and the waves that once gently lapped at the banks of the lake began to tug hungrily. Amber eyes lifted toward the sky as raindrops began to fall. Grimhawk flicked his ears as if to rid of the moisture before standing and running down the slope back toward his Clan's camp, violent winds tugging at his thick fur.
Password: Secrets.
Other:
Gender: Tom.
Rank: Warrior.
Clan: WindClan.
Description: From head to tail-tip the length falls into place at around nineteen inches. From shoulder to ground is about nine inches. Grimhawk is larger than the normal warrior and carries a broad head on brawny built shoulders. Underneath the crisp golden pelt muscles ripple superbly, allowing him to move with ease and appeal. The occasional dark brown splash lay delicately along backside and flanks. Intricate spots of a darker hue oftentimes linger on those color regions. Two black stripes on each front leg circle and meet. An alabaster pigment lay upon the brute's face, flowing onto throat and underbelly, then ending on the inside of powerful hind legs. The sinful look in his amber eyes play into the role perfectly of his personality. Large ears and a strong scent sense give him advantage.
Picture: tinyurl.com/2ycukt
Personality: Grimhawk is far more mature than the common young amateur warrior. He's dreadfully quiet and vaguely ever speaks unless spoken to. It's never quite easy to figure out what the grave cat's next move is as he hardly ever gives much of any emotion through his face. Grimhawk believes action speaks a lot more than talking does and follows it rather thoroughly. Despite his mute nature the tom makes it clear to his denmates that although he may be a bit reserved that he can, nevertheless, be quite the dominate type. He's a cutthroat combatant and a very successful hunter. Friends be grateful, and enemies beware.
History: The average forest cat would be born into a clan. Grimhawk would never be that average forest cat - born far from the territory he'd been brought to thirteen and a half moons ago. A faceless mother-rogue gave away their precious bundle as though she couldn't take care of what she brought into the world and left it unknown lands with a clan called WindClan. However, there was the disadvantage of such a fate. The Clan would be merciless to a kit that didn't belong and make sure it knew not to ever be disloyal. Non-clanborn cats were scarcely ever recognized to be faithful. It was easy to believe he'd never become what the clan needed; a warrior fit for the harsh winds of leaf-bare and a poor partner in battle. This was overrated and the tiny bundle dared to prove them wrong no matter how innocent the lump of golden fur portrayed to be.
Grimkit became Grimpaw.
Apprenticeship was overbearing enough for much of the clan. Despite his rising he was disgraced and a roars of protests could have scared the prey miles away from the camp. One last ceremony was to be made. He'd receive is mentor. The mentor's name was called and silence bore down deafeningly for a moment too long until a slender ashen furred tabby tom rose to his paws. This cat was dubbed as Ashfeather. The ceremonial cause was done and over with and soon Grimpaw would begin his training the following day, furthermore continuing to see to that the clan was wrong about him and his unforgivable heritage.
Many moons would have come and gone and Grimpaw had become deemed as well established apprentice. He was everything noone ever thought he could be. Though one more tragedy would find its way ravaging into his life. It was late in the evening and the sun was casting orange haze across the horizon as it sunk slowly into the distant lands. A crisp, cold air wafted across the territory. Though the cold did not seem to bother him he was quite chilled to the bone. Every step he took along side his mentor Ashfeather had risen anticipation and anxiety into the toughened pads of his paws. This day wouldn't prevail to have ended so well. The patrol about the borders was deathly quiet and as if the silence had summoned the dread that awaited them, the bushes before them demanded them to halt in horror as three behemoth rogues slithered from the greenery. Grimpaw did not flinch but cast a wary glance at Ashfeather whom posed into defense position, teeth bared and neck fur bristled. Not a cat moved for what seemed an eternity until a flash of movement in the corner of his eye startled him. One of the rogues had left their position by their leader that stood in the middle of the group and headed for a route that would allow a sneak attack. However, it wasn't clear to Grimpaw who would be the victim. Though a loud snarl completely disrupted the grave moment. He leaped around to face a screeching ball of withering cats. And it wasn't too long before his own ambush was launched. So this is how it was to be. Three versus two. Fat chance of survival, right? Ashfeather was a senior warrior but no less of a fierce one as he was when he was younger. But Grimpaw was a mere apprentice. These other cats would show no mercy.
The battled ended with a grief-stricken Grimpaw, though he showed nothing but a drooping tail to prove it and a mute nature to serve as the life-bearing trophy. Once an egotistical cat, always an egotistical cat. This is what he was and he still is. Death may have eaten away at one part of his personality, but it would not get the best of him. Now moons have come and gone. Many more things have been done; things have been accomplished, and now he has a place of respect in the clan.
Now he is Grimhawk.
IC: Tame paws were spent as they landed infront of one another at a steady pace. Determination pricked at the vagabond tom's aching paws as he came to sit at the height of wind buffeted hill. The entire day order's had been carried out one after another and Grimhawk longed to curl up into his nest and sleep for moons. Blackened clouds tumbled in from the east and cast shadows onto the earth as if to warn the areas inhabitants of the looming storm soon to come. Birds spiraled from the sky too land into the treetops for shelter and the waves that once gently lapped at the banks of the lake began to tug hungrily. Amber eyes lifted toward the sky as raindrops began to fall. Grimhawk flicked his ears as if to rid of the moisture before standing and running down the slope back toward his Clan's camp, violent winds tugging at his thick fur.
Password: Secrets.
Other:
