Post by Swanfeather on Jan 14, 2007 21:03:50 GMT -5
Name: Swanfeather
Age: 200 moons ((16 years))
Gender: Female
Clan: DeathClan or Rogue
Rank: Warrior
Mentor/Apprentice: N/A
Picture: img19.imageshack.us/img19/7531/swanfeatherrb5.png
Description: With the body structure of a monster, this huge white she cat is nothing to be tested. One blue eye pulses hate and fear into those who dare to meet it. The second eye is has an ivory hue, clouded with a dark, misty like appeal, but is as blind as the empty sockets behind. Often it swerves and moves while her seeing eye sits still, glimmering with hate. Muscle ripples and flexes, built high on bones as thick as the outer branches of a tree, and as hard and unbreakable as stone. Her long, moon crescent claws, stained with long since dried blood drapped thick over the sharp, curling, claws. Thier sharp curl helps with rips, tears and punctures. Huge paws of white support her massive body and help her run silently over the bracken and brush. Hundreds of scars penetrate her body, roaming over a pelt of what was once pure white. Sinister looking, she holds a demon's smile, that twists with devious grins and terrifying snarls. Her whole image is simply laced with evil and shows no signs of ever changing.
Personality: Swanfeather's mind is twisted and sick, cunning and bold, deranged and demonic, all rolled together. She feels nothing and loves nothing. Its simply the sickness in her mind that makes her the living death she is. The sickness is one undetermined by any cat, all that is known is that it was inflicted by intense and hard training. Once a sweet, beautiful she cat, Swanfeather became a demon merely living within the body of a cat. Long years of torture created a void in reality with her logic and her pure emotion. Soon logic slipped away and anything seemed possible to her; becoming the ruler of all life, the destruction of the world, power over the spirits of StarClan. Anything could happen if she tried, and try she did. She killed, destroyed, and hurt anyone and everyone she could, getting into their minds and messing around with them. She now has only one emotion, and that is playful hate. She no longer eats anything but the blood and flesh of her victims, having no other choice, but none the less, enjoying it all same. She hates the taste of blood, she hates the thick, milky like way it flows and tastes, but its the only thing she will drink, though close after drinking large portions Swanfeather often vomits it back up. Now her body and mind are all muscle and demonic flesh merely wound by the sickness.
History: Swanfeather was born the youngest of 24 kits. She was small bodied and sweet hearted as she lived the life of simplicity as a kittypet. Her masters home was far north and to the west, deep in the northern forests where she awaited her father's signal for her to join the forest. Back then her name was Sugar, for her sweet white fur and kind disposition, not the kind of kit to be alone in the forest. But soon her time came and she entered her destiny, joining her sister's clan just as the framed death of her sister was pulled by her father's former pack. They took Wolfpaw into their midst and left a frame to die with the name of their father at her tongue. at first she wanted to help find her, but no one would believe that Wolfpaw wasn't dead. It was shortly after she was to be assigned a mentor that she too was stolen away, but by a no important clan, slipping through the forest. They noticed how large she was, which by then, 6 moons, was as larger then some of the warriors in her clan. They wanted her as an advantage against opposing clans, and within the moon started her forceful training. Moons went by with the same hard, strict, and painful training. By the time she was 9 moons old she was starting to feel good about her new self; she was strong, larger then any warrior and could easily kill rogues or loners. Shortly after she went into even tougher training, where killing was the main factor and gaining as much muscle as possible was enforced, and as around 12 moons of this training went by, Swankit grew to be larger then any cat in the forest, no one was bigger nor stronger. She was the ultimate fighter and killer. She didn't learn how to hunt though, and was fed little to excuse access fats. But even though she was growing a darker conscious, she never seemed to lose her loyalty, forever following her training as told by the authorities of the clan. It wasn't till they started starving her that she finally lost her mind. She started realizing just how strong she was, and challenged her trainers as proof she was stronger then any cat. Over throwing her trainers was a simple task, but even that didn't seem enough for her, she wanted more, if she could kill them, she could kill her leader. The clan would be her's to take. No longer was she as silly as a kit and as obedient as any normal warrior, she was power itself. One night as the moon shone over head, Swankit challenged the great leader and, in the end, committed her deadliest of murders. The clan feared her and everything she was and no longer did she need the name Swankit, she wanted Swanfeather instead, so she could consider herself a true warrior, which was what she wanted most. She had a clan at her paws but the wanting to return to her former clan made her leave them leaderless. Along the way she killed a family of loners, leaving only a young mother running off into the distance. It seemed perfect, she could be part of the clan now and even though she had changed, she was still Swankit, or at least she was the image of her, though much larger and stronger of course. But at her return a few strange sights came to view. The former leaders were gone ans Wolfpaw, Wolfsong by then, had also returned. Swanfeather seemed happy, but jealousy struck when she saw Wolfsong's kits, it made her angry the Wolfsong had lived comfortably with the rogue pack, having found love and only soft training and was still a more respected warrior then Swanfeather. It seemed revolting, how could that weak kit be more important to the clan then the great killer. And Soon Swanfeather found out that killers weren't welcomed in normal clans. She was forced into exile. That didn't go well with her and she abruptly returned to the clan that changed her. She wanted a war, she wanted to see blood flow like rivers, bodies smother the earth. She wanted to destroy. But the war never came, but a kit did. Lionkit was born to a mother who had killed and eaten her father. Swanfeather had no love in her, she just wanted to teach her ways to her own blood instead of the unworthy blood of the others. But Lionkit slipped from her grasp, ending up with Wolfsong in WoodClan. She grew up there, making Swanfeather even more angry and hateful. so she did what she felt was right; she rounded up a large pack of rogues to storm the clan. And when she did she was stopped in her tracks by four apprentice aged cats. Lionpaw, Tempestpaw, Crow and Umke. They fought along side WoodClan and in the end, killed Swanfeather. But something went wrong as her body was dumped near the mountains. Her spirit did rise, but StarClan refused to let her in, they forced her back and without thought, she re-entered her fallen body and regained life. It was phenomenal; she had brought herself back to life within a few short moons. But growing sickness she had before, was now far greater, and her mind twisted into absolute darkness, filling with demonic souls of others as she re-became the monster she once was, fully revolted into a new creature, and demon of earth. And so came the thoughts of destruction, and power over all, she lost logic in the proses of re-becoming. But that didn't stop her, she remembered her daughter, who by then was also in the mountains living in poverty under the supervision of cannibal toms who mated then ate the kits that came. At fist Swanfeather thought of joining them, just to watch and torture her daughter, start small with her destruction. Soon she grew bored and left that forest, traviling far over the lands before comeing to these lands and planning for a new rein.
Mate: None
Kits: Many
Kin: Many
Role Play Example:
The sudden sound of Sekhmet's loud, and in Swanfeather's opinion, annoying voice snapped the huge beast back from the restless sleep she had endured not far from the camp.
Twitching her tall ears a few times, she groaned and rolled onto her back. Even in the birth of the morning the sun made the sand burn and the hot feeling on her back sent pain across her skin.
Lazily, Swanfeather rolled back onto her stomach and opened her eyes slowly, reveling a swerving blind eye and liquid like blue eye. Both glistened with cold hate and showed her old age with ease, but they also held the power that lingered all over Swanfeather's heavy frame. The scars roaming her flesh and fur were, at some points at least, deep enough the easily kill a cat half her size, and it was only that fact that kept her alive, for had she been a smaller cat, she would have been killed. One scar particularly looked painful, and indeed was; a long silvery-pink scar wrapped from her heart to the right side of her throat. This scar had been the one to kill her the first time, and it still was the most painful of all her scars, more painful then even her former emotional scars.
As Swanfeather rose to her rather big and muscular paws the scar stretched in pain, causing her to groan again. Sekhmets voice echoed over the sand dunes again and Swanfeather rolled her blue eye as a long sneer spread across her ripped up muzzle. She found this she cat useless, using so many other useless cats to try and do her bidding, pathetic.
The great white she cat could remember those long days back in the forest when she used to plot and rave over the lands and kill just for the fun of it. but that was all gone now, now she had to kill in order to survive, it seemed that when she died and Starclan rejected her she could no longer eat normal kill even if she did try. It turned to filth within her jaws, no doubt punishment or some sort of curse, but either way you looked at it, it didn't matter, she got a second chance to live, even if it was d**ned life.
Cracking her joints and stretching her powerful muscles, Swanfeather stood in full high for a few moments before crouching again. She had to keep low if she even dreamed of getting close enough to pick off on of the weaker or smaller cats, but her rancid scent of blood, flesh, death and rot was hard not to smell in such close range, she was already surprised that no one had scented her so close in the first place.
Placing one paw in front of another, and leaving huge prints behind her, she crept swiftly forward, shadowing Sekhmet's moved so she wouldn't be seen as she stalked her way toward the tail side of the bone hill, dipping between sand dunes. But as good at stalking as she was, the heat did not help her putrid scent hide, instead it spread for a longer distance.
With one strong leap, she landed silently behind the hill with her breath heavy and beads of sweat slipping under her white pelt. Though she got a lot more stamina from her rise, she still could feel the pull of age heavy on her paws, but nothing so small would stop her from gaining her chance at rein.
((From my posts in Paws of the Nile))
I've had this charater for at the least two years and love her, so I really would like to play her. And all of the things in her bio actually happened in several rps.
Age: 200 moons ((16 years))
Gender: Female
Clan: DeathClan or Rogue
Rank: Warrior
Mentor/Apprentice: N/A
Picture: img19.imageshack.us/img19/7531/swanfeatherrb5.png
Description: With the body structure of a monster, this huge white she cat is nothing to be tested. One blue eye pulses hate and fear into those who dare to meet it. The second eye is has an ivory hue, clouded with a dark, misty like appeal, but is as blind as the empty sockets behind. Often it swerves and moves while her seeing eye sits still, glimmering with hate. Muscle ripples and flexes, built high on bones as thick as the outer branches of a tree, and as hard and unbreakable as stone. Her long, moon crescent claws, stained with long since dried blood drapped thick over the sharp, curling, claws. Thier sharp curl helps with rips, tears and punctures. Huge paws of white support her massive body and help her run silently over the bracken and brush. Hundreds of scars penetrate her body, roaming over a pelt of what was once pure white. Sinister looking, she holds a demon's smile, that twists with devious grins and terrifying snarls. Her whole image is simply laced with evil and shows no signs of ever changing.
Personality: Swanfeather's mind is twisted and sick, cunning and bold, deranged and demonic, all rolled together. She feels nothing and loves nothing. Its simply the sickness in her mind that makes her the living death she is. The sickness is one undetermined by any cat, all that is known is that it was inflicted by intense and hard training. Once a sweet, beautiful she cat, Swanfeather became a demon merely living within the body of a cat. Long years of torture created a void in reality with her logic and her pure emotion. Soon logic slipped away and anything seemed possible to her; becoming the ruler of all life, the destruction of the world, power over the spirits of StarClan. Anything could happen if she tried, and try she did. She killed, destroyed, and hurt anyone and everyone she could, getting into their minds and messing around with them. She now has only one emotion, and that is playful hate. She no longer eats anything but the blood and flesh of her victims, having no other choice, but none the less, enjoying it all same. She hates the taste of blood, she hates the thick, milky like way it flows and tastes, but its the only thing she will drink, though close after drinking large portions Swanfeather often vomits it back up. Now her body and mind are all muscle and demonic flesh merely wound by the sickness.
History: Swanfeather was born the youngest of 24 kits. She was small bodied and sweet hearted as she lived the life of simplicity as a kittypet. Her masters home was far north and to the west, deep in the northern forests where she awaited her father's signal for her to join the forest. Back then her name was Sugar, for her sweet white fur and kind disposition, not the kind of kit to be alone in the forest. But soon her time came and she entered her destiny, joining her sister's clan just as the framed death of her sister was pulled by her father's former pack. They took Wolfpaw into their midst and left a frame to die with the name of their father at her tongue. at first she wanted to help find her, but no one would believe that Wolfpaw wasn't dead. It was shortly after she was to be assigned a mentor that she too was stolen away, but by a no important clan, slipping through the forest. They noticed how large she was, which by then, 6 moons, was as larger then some of the warriors in her clan. They wanted her as an advantage against opposing clans, and within the moon started her forceful training. Moons went by with the same hard, strict, and painful training. By the time she was 9 moons old she was starting to feel good about her new self; she was strong, larger then any warrior and could easily kill rogues or loners. Shortly after she went into even tougher training, where killing was the main factor and gaining as much muscle as possible was enforced, and as around 12 moons of this training went by, Swankit grew to be larger then any cat in the forest, no one was bigger nor stronger. She was the ultimate fighter and killer. She didn't learn how to hunt though, and was fed little to excuse access fats. But even though she was growing a darker conscious, she never seemed to lose her loyalty, forever following her training as told by the authorities of the clan. It wasn't till they started starving her that she finally lost her mind. She started realizing just how strong she was, and challenged her trainers as proof she was stronger then any cat. Over throwing her trainers was a simple task, but even that didn't seem enough for her, she wanted more, if she could kill them, she could kill her leader. The clan would be her's to take. No longer was she as silly as a kit and as obedient as any normal warrior, she was power itself. One night as the moon shone over head, Swankit challenged the great leader and, in the end, committed her deadliest of murders. The clan feared her and everything she was and no longer did she need the name Swankit, she wanted Swanfeather instead, so she could consider herself a true warrior, which was what she wanted most. She had a clan at her paws but the wanting to return to her former clan made her leave them leaderless. Along the way she killed a family of loners, leaving only a young mother running off into the distance. It seemed perfect, she could be part of the clan now and even though she had changed, she was still Swankit, or at least she was the image of her, though much larger and stronger of course. But at her return a few strange sights came to view. The former leaders were gone ans Wolfpaw, Wolfsong by then, had also returned. Swanfeather seemed happy, but jealousy struck when she saw Wolfsong's kits, it made her angry the Wolfsong had lived comfortably with the rogue pack, having found love and only soft training and was still a more respected warrior then Swanfeather. It seemed revolting, how could that weak kit be more important to the clan then the great killer. And Soon Swanfeather found out that killers weren't welcomed in normal clans. She was forced into exile. That didn't go well with her and she abruptly returned to the clan that changed her. She wanted a war, she wanted to see blood flow like rivers, bodies smother the earth. She wanted to destroy. But the war never came, but a kit did. Lionkit was born to a mother who had killed and eaten her father. Swanfeather had no love in her, she just wanted to teach her ways to her own blood instead of the unworthy blood of the others. But Lionkit slipped from her grasp, ending up with Wolfsong in WoodClan. She grew up there, making Swanfeather even more angry and hateful. so she did what she felt was right; she rounded up a large pack of rogues to storm the clan. And when she did she was stopped in her tracks by four apprentice aged cats. Lionpaw, Tempestpaw, Crow and Umke. They fought along side WoodClan and in the end, killed Swanfeather. But something went wrong as her body was dumped near the mountains. Her spirit did rise, but StarClan refused to let her in, they forced her back and without thought, she re-entered her fallen body and regained life. It was phenomenal; she had brought herself back to life within a few short moons. But growing sickness she had before, was now far greater, and her mind twisted into absolute darkness, filling with demonic souls of others as she re-became the monster she once was, fully revolted into a new creature, and demon of earth. And so came the thoughts of destruction, and power over all, she lost logic in the proses of re-becoming. But that didn't stop her, she remembered her daughter, who by then was also in the mountains living in poverty under the supervision of cannibal toms who mated then ate the kits that came. At fist Swanfeather thought of joining them, just to watch and torture her daughter, start small with her destruction. Soon she grew bored and left that forest, traviling far over the lands before comeing to these lands and planning for a new rein.
Mate: None
Kits: Many
Kin: Many
Role Play Example:
The sudden sound of Sekhmet's loud, and in Swanfeather's opinion, annoying voice snapped the huge beast back from the restless sleep she had endured not far from the camp.
Twitching her tall ears a few times, she groaned and rolled onto her back. Even in the birth of the morning the sun made the sand burn and the hot feeling on her back sent pain across her skin.
Lazily, Swanfeather rolled back onto her stomach and opened her eyes slowly, reveling a swerving blind eye and liquid like blue eye. Both glistened with cold hate and showed her old age with ease, but they also held the power that lingered all over Swanfeather's heavy frame. The scars roaming her flesh and fur were, at some points at least, deep enough the easily kill a cat half her size, and it was only that fact that kept her alive, for had she been a smaller cat, she would have been killed. One scar particularly looked painful, and indeed was; a long silvery-pink scar wrapped from her heart to the right side of her throat. This scar had been the one to kill her the first time, and it still was the most painful of all her scars, more painful then even her former emotional scars.
As Swanfeather rose to her rather big and muscular paws the scar stretched in pain, causing her to groan again. Sekhmets voice echoed over the sand dunes again and Swanfeather rolled her blue eye as a long sneer spread across her ripped up muzzle. She found this she cat useless, using so many other useless cats to try and do her bidding, pathetic.
The great white she cat could remember those long days back in the forest when she used to plot and rave over the lands and kill just for the fun of it. but that was all gone now, now she had to kill in order to survive, it seemed that when she died and Starclan rejected her she could no longer eat normal kill even if she did try. It turned to filth within her jaws, no doubt punishment or some sort of curse, but either way you looked at it, it didn't matter, she got a second chance to live, even if it was d**ned life.
Cracking her joints and stretching her powerful muscles, Swanfeather stood in full high for a few moments before crouching again. She had to keep low if she even dreamed of getting close enough to pick off on of the weaker or smaller cats, but her rancid scent of blood, flesh, death and rot was hard not to smell in such close range, she was already surprised that no one had scented her so close in the first place.
Placing one paw in front of another, and leaving huge prints behind her, she crept swiftly forward, shadowing Sekhmet's moved so she wouldn't be seen as she stalked her way toward the tail side of the bone hill, dipping between sand dunes. But as good at stalking as she was, the heat did not help her putrid scent hide, instead it spread for a longer distance.
With one strong leap, she landed silently behind the hill with her breath heavy and beads of sweat slipping under her white pelt. Though she got a lot more stamina from her rise, she still could feel the pull of age heavy on her paws, but nothing so small would stop her from gaining her chance at rein.
((From my posts in Paws of the Nile))
I've had this charater for at the least two years and love her, so I really would like to play her. And all of the things in her bio actually happened in several rps.
