Post by !TiGER_ on Dec 18, 2008 21:52:37 GMT -5
Name;
Sandstripe
Clan;
WindClan
Position;
Warrior
Gender;
Tom
Age;
37 moons
Family;
Mother :: Dustwind (deceased)
Father :: Pantherfur (deceased)
Brother :: Rustpelt
Mate;
None but open
Description;
Sandstripe is a light ginger, solidly built tabby cat. His stripes all but vanish in bright light, giving his fur a brilliant luster. He is the antithesis of the classic WindClan cat: stocky, muscular, tough, and impassive. His pelt has faded to an off-white near his points (muzzle, paws, and tail tip), adding to his washed-out look. His eyes are a cold, medium tone of amber which sharply reflect the light. He has quite a few scars, especially on his upper legs, from various battles over the seasons, but all that is expected when you're a star fighter for your clan. Even his paw pads are tough: years of running over a rocky moor have made them next to impenetrable.
Personality;
The personality of these two brothers cannot accurately be described separately while still remaining true to their character. Alone, each becomes nearly nothing and prefers to sulk in a corner. They are most effective on the hunt and on the battlefield together.
Sandstripe is the dominant cat of the pair. He has always been such for his entire life and probably will remain to have the upper paw until he joins StarClan. He is more brawn than brains--actually, all brawn and no brains--and is fairly large for a run-of-the-mill cat. (Obviously, he's still smaller than Whitetail and Brownpatch because he's not a Maine Coon...) The warrior tends to stare blankly while trying to decide if something can be pounced on or not. He's fiercely independent and listens only to Hollystar and Waterlight. Another unappealing trait of Sandstripe's is his rude, blunt attitude. He is uncivilized even for a feral cat and prefers to sleep when he's not busy intimidating squirrels or his clanmates.
History;
A cold wind blew across WindClan camp. We were used to it. It was the dead of leaf-bare anyways, so what could you expect? Leaf-bare wasn't the only thing that was dead. For right in front of us lay the bodies of our parents, Pantherfur and Dustwind. A fox had killed them during a hunting patrol. It was quiet. Quiet. Quiet. Awfully quiet. It was painful. Rustpelt was sitting next to me, trembling like a scared kit the whole time as the medicine cat explained what had happened to them. I try not to remember that day.
Code word;
Words are flying like endless rain into a paper cup.
-x-
Name;
Rustpelt
Clan;
WindClan
Position;
Warrior
Gender;
Tom
Age;
37 moons
Family;
Mother :: Dustwind (deceased)
Father :: Pantherfur (deceased)
Brother :: Sandstripe
Mate;
None; open and looking
Description;
Rustpelt fits the WindClanner's stereotype better that Sandstripe does. He is sort of small and skinny with dark brownish-black fur. His pelt, too, is discolored on the points, although it has changed to a light, dusty brown rather than white. The warrior's white whiskers make a noticeable contrast with his dark fur, as do his bright yellow eyes (they're far more vibrant than what is shown in the picture.) His nose and paw pads are all slate-gray. Rustpelt's scars are fewer and less noticeable due to the fact that he practically never fights, but his claws are also sharper as a result. Unlike his whiskers, his claws are a jet black and look perfect with his rust-colored paws.
Personality;
The personality of these two brothers cannot accurately be described separately while still remaining true to their character. Alone, each becomes nearly nothing and prefers to sulk in a corner. They are most effective on the hunt and on the battlefield together.
Rustpelt is far quieter than his brother and a great deal more intelligent too. His main advantage in the art of attack lies not with his muscles but his lack of muscles: this makes him fast enough to sufficiently avoid many attacks. The only reason why he lets Sandstripe tell him what to do is because he knows that he would probably be--literally--crushed if he were to disobey. Rustpelt has a fair amount of tact as well and seems to be less dependent on his brother than Sandstripe is on him, but he would still be devastated if anything were to happen to his only kin. His favorite pastimes include hunting and flirting with she-cats.
History;
The weather and the wind of this barren, hopeless green-leaf evening were identical: Cold. Heartless. Painful. Those three words also were an accurate description of our parents' killer. My pelt was sufficiently thick to shield me from the worst of it, but nothing could dull the knife slicing into my flesh with memories of Pantherfur and Dustwind. The wound became deeper with every word Navyfern spoke. His account of a tragedy that was all too real all too soon was only rubbing salt in it. Didn't he know that we didn't want to hear every exact gory detail of that fateful fight? Didn't he know that we would like to grieve alone and not with the whole clan staring at us and the mutilated corpses of our mother and father? I shook with a mix of fury and sadness. I wanted that fox gone, wiped off of the face of the forest for good. I remember that day with icy, arduous precision. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't want to remember it any other way. I wanted to remember what my parents had died for and just how far you could go to protect what meant the most to you.
Code word;
Words are flying like endless rain into a paper cup.
