Post by EccentricBirdie on Jan 25, 2009 22:45:30 GMT -8
Name:
Duststorm
Age:
31 Moons
Gender:
Tom
Clan:
Windclan
Position:
Warrior
Appearance:
Like his name suggests, Duststorm is covered with a fine pelt, the color of dust. Slightly darker stripes adorn the lithe tom, his legs well muscled as evidence of all the running he does in the Windclan territory. A slightly longer than average tail is often held straight out behind him, the stripes fading to a solid darker shade near the tip. Each paw is carefully maintained, the claws kept sharp to help his grip on the grassy lands that his clan calls home. Though he is strong, he is not overly muscular, and he walks with a sort of odd grace; smooth yet not quite feminine. One of his proudest features are his bright eyes, a shocking amber color against his faded brown coat. Though he has engaged in his fair share of tussles, the only thing he has to show for it is the tip of his left ear has gone missing.
Personality:
Though he is seen as a rather stand offish individual, Duststorm is actually very friendly; once you get to know him. Though he has lived within the Clan his entire life, he has yet to find a true and strong friend. Most he encounters don't get past acquaintances, and the rare few who he considers a friend honestly don't know much about him. This is no reason to doubt his loyalty, however, as he has proved over and over again that he is a strong member to the Clan and will defend it with his life. As quiet as he is, he can turn simply nasty when annoyed or angered; and is quick to defend those he does consider to be a friend. Because of this, he tries to avoid arguments and will more than likely sneak off if he senses a controversy.
RP Example:
Strong legs hold up a lithe figure, his head held high as well as his tail, the strong wind blowing over the hills ruffling his fur slightly. Duststorm closed his eyes, jaws parting to taste the air. It was cold, and the grass beneath his paws was nearly all brown, covered in a thin sheet of frost. Ah, leaf-bare, the best season. Duststorm was an anomaly among his Clan, rather than disliking the cold and lack of prey, he reveled in the chance to catch just the last rabbit; to chase down the frenzied animal and bring it to his Clan, his family. Stepping down from the small hill, he trotted quietly along the ground, his mouth still open to catch any trace of prey-scent.
Just then, he froze, his tail high and his eyes wide. The faint scent of rabbit had crossed his path. He looked at the grass to see that a small strip of it had been wiped clean of frost, and was heading towards a larger hill. That was when he spotted the small gray creature, hopping up the slope less than five tail lengths away. Crouching low to the ground, he slowly crept closer to the creature. It appeared to be more well fed than he, its sides plump and its coat shiny. It was easier as a rabbit, it seemed, than a Clan cat during the leaf-bare. Crawling forward slowly, he suddenly took off after the animal, chasing it down; or rather, up the hill. The small creature took a sharp turn, but Duststorm had anticipated its move, and cut it off just before the crest of the hill, and dove for it. Catching it between his paws, he quickly snapped down on its neck and tumbled head over tail down the slope, coming to a rest right before another Warrior, the dead rabbit still in his jaws.
