Post by scarlet on May 3, 2010 17:39:40 GMT -5
Name:: Scarletdream
Gender:: She-cat
Age:: 21 moons
Clan/ Group:: DarkClan
Postion:: Warrior
Description::
As you see, this image isn’t mine, and full credit goes to the person who edited it. -pokes the name in the lower right corner-
Personality:: 4-10 sentences
Family:: She does have some out there, what has become of them, Scarlet may never know. But she knows, deep in her heart, they are a warm, welcoming family. Not like the beast she is today.
History:: Though most of her history is unknown, Scarlet use to be a sweet and caring apprentice, until found another had laid his eyes lustfully upon her. Though he had a sense of respect for limits, he’d always watch her as she went on with her life. When one day, both Scarlet and her admirer disappeared from the Clan. It came as a shock to the Clan, their friendly Scarlet abandoning her birth Clan for a stalker? No, they refused to think such things. They blamed the tom, knowing he had a deep, passionate want for her. They proclaimed him a wanted cat, who should be killed on sight. But little did they know, their dear Scarlet had gone willingly. Together they ran away, a love story ballad. He was a cat of honor, of course, and never dare take her as an official mate, for he promised to allow her purity until the correct age of a Warrior. She loved him more deeply for that, and their affair was unbreakable. Or so they thought. Naive and blinded by love for each other, her love was captured and mercilessly killed by ruthless rogues. Scarlet’s soul wept, and her innocence was gone. She was for revenge, and became a heartless killer. But she did it with such grace and efficiency that it was almost breath-taking how she killed. Honorable with her victims, Scarlet transferred a sense of respectable dignity with their deaths. The mistress of murder, her past finally caught up to her, and she traveled absentmindedly to a death-trap. She waited everyday for her dead lover to suddenly show up, and come running back to her. She had gone insane, a sort of love coma if you please. But reality killed her hopes of him coming, and she awoke from her trance, to bring chaos once more in the land. She comes to kill, to avenge her unnamed lover, out of personal distress and a love-sick past. Say hello to the love-lost, murderer mistress, Scarlet.
RolePlay Sample:: The sharp, ragged rocks are practically jammed into the clumped, brown sand. If sand can become diseased, well, this was a perfect example of it. It crumbled and cracked underfoot, showing that no rain had past here for ages. Humidity was in great abundance; choking the life out of every living thing that had the misfortune to be trapped here. Like claws from the sand, the rocks point at the sky, crying for mercy. The sky, crowded with dark, gray clouds suspended over the wasteland mocks the dying prisoners here. They hope for the relief that will not come, the rain that will never be spilt in compassion of this land. There is no prey here to fight the hunger, no water to quench the thirst. This place has always been known as the cursed land, a stretching landscape of nothing. A forbidding loneliness dwells here, expelling even StarClan. They dare not wandered in the skies above this place, for they can be swallowed by the storm. Lightning races down from the sky to strike this place, but the humidity always prevents fires. To die instantly here is not the idea. This is a place of torture, a plan to die slowly, painfully. Any who stray here are emptied completely, losing their sanity and their wits. Slowly, thoughts of suicide seem oh-so-tempting. But there is no way to carry out the task. So there they sit, just waiting for the end. Wasting away little by little, nobody even dare says the name of this horrid place. My friends, as much as I would love to tell you the name of this land, for my own safety and yours, I restrain. But why even talk about it then? What possible quest am I to retell the tales of woe of here? I answer you honestly; a rather unexpected visitor stays here. She seems unaffected by the bare, vast emptiness of the doomed territory. In fact, she seems unfazed by it at all, well in health and in mind, she watches silently over this place.
Many stories try to explain why she is here, but none are for sure. But still, you can see this mistress sitting stone-still on a rock, overlooking the never-ending graveyard. Her stunning beauty puts others in awe, for they know deep within this petite she-cat lies dreadful power. A raging thirst for blood and war burns in her very soul, eating away any signs of feelings towards others. The mistress of murder, the goddess of battle, she sits alone on a rock, always watching. Not a word she utters from her muzzle, nor the acknowledgement of others who are near her. The only movement she issues is a steady blinking, and calm breathing. For some, they believe the she-cat is in a trance. Many have shook her roughly, trying to grasp hold of her attention, but she never fixes her gaze on anything. It’s always the same, blank stare as it will always be. She studies the distance for something nobody is aware of. A hunting power that threatens all of us, it creeps closer and closer, its foul breath undetected by even our alert minds.
Try as they might, none have ever gotten any reaction out of her. She sits, and waits. To her, she is elsewhere, reliving her past over and over. A desperate cry resounds in her heart, the need to be awakened hauntingly terrible. It is a depressing scene, if you ever spot her. You’ll approach, trying to control your fast beating heart. The tabby mistress has a balanced wave of colors on her pelt, comparing yet contrasting to the background around her. It is complete with dark brown stripes, ebony highlights, and a smoky exterior to fill in the blanks. She is a dark figure against a dark gray sky and a dark black stone. You’ll know her instantly by her eyes, of course. Contrasts to popular belief, blood red eyes are not always harsh and cruel, or filled with hatred. Actually, this she-cat preserves scarlet orbs, filled with love and distress. Such emotion swims in her eyes, compelling you to feel her pain. Though she does not see you due to her case of being captured by her past, it seems she is staring into your soul. It’s so overwhelming that one must look away, resisting the urge to sob uncontrollably. Her name is quite suitable, and wears just as much importance as the she-cat. If you must know, her name is Scarletdream, but she prefers to be addressed as Scarlet. Ah, how would one know such a thing?
That’s because this mistress has woke from her slumber. In a crack of thunder from the ever-present storm, she actually twitches her tail. The only survivor from a disturbing love story, she twists her head to look away from the horizon in great sadness. Her voice sounds so strange, as though it comes from deeper inside her, but it may just be that she hasn’t spoken for a long time. Her voice is delicate, sweet, almost like a lullaby. It’s soothing, but it is pierced with the poison of lust and hurt. The maiden no longer waits, for her time is wasted here. Slipping from her pedestal, she coolly begins to travel to the exit, only known by a few. With grace in her limbs she whispers in a sing-song note that also carries an indescribable threat, “For no one can lock the pulse of murder and war away forever, it returns like a thief in the night, a mistress swirling in the storm. Repent, O fallen soldiers, repent, O leaders of war. For your sins are to be punished.”
Gender:: She-cat
Age:: 21 moons
Clan/ Group:: DarkClan
Postion:: Warrior
Description::
As you see, this image isn’t mine, and full credit goes to the person who edited it. -pokes the name in the lower right corner-
Personality:: 4-10 sentences
Family:: She does have some out there, what has become of them, Scarlet may never know. But she knows, deep in her heart, they are a warm, welcoming family. Not like the beast she is today.
History:: Though most of her history is unknown, Scarlet use to be a sweet and caring apprentice, until found another had laid his eyes lustfully upon her. Though he had a sense of respect for limits, he’d always watch her as she went on with her life. When one day, both Scarlet and her admirer disappeared from the Clan. It came as a shock to the Clan, their friendly Scarlet abandoning her birth Clan for a stalker? No, they refused to think such things. They blamed the tom, knowing he had a deep, passionate want for her. They proclaimed him a wanted cat, who should be killed on sight. But little did they know, their dear Scarlet had gone willingly. Together they ran away, a love story ballad. He was a cat of honor, of course, and never dare take her as an official mate, for he promised to allow her purity until the correct age of a Warrior. She loved him more deeply for that, and their affair was unbreakable. Or so they thought. Naive and blinded by love for each other, her love was captured and mercilessly killed by ruthless rogues. Scarlet’s soul wept, and her innocence was gone. She was for revenge, and became a heartless killer. But she did it with such grace and efficiency that it was almost breath-taking how she killed. Honorable with her victims, Scarlet transferred a sense of respectable dignity with their deaths. The mistress of murder, her past finally caught up to her, and she traveled absentmindedly to a death-trap. She waited everyday for her dead lover to suddenly show up, and come running back to her. She had gone insane, a sort of love coma if you please. But reality killed her hopes of him coming, and she awoke from her trance, to bring chaos once more in the land. She comes to kill, to avenge her unnamed lover, out of personal distress and a love-sick past. Say hello to the love-lost, murderer mistress, Scarlet.
RolePlay Sample:: The sharp, ragged rocks are practically jammed into the clumped, brown sand. If sand can become diseased, well, this was a perfect example of it. It crumbled and cracked underfoot, showing that no rain had past here for ages. Humidity was in great abundance; choking the life out of every living thing that had the misfortune to be trapped here. Like claws from the sand, the rocks point at the sky, crying for mercy. The sky, crowded with dark, gray clouds suspended over the wasteland mocks the dying prisoners here. They hope for the relief that will not come, the rain that will never be spilt in compassion of this land. There is no prey here to fight the hunger, no water to quench the thirst. This place has always been known as the cursed land, a stretching landscape of nothing. A forbidding loneliness dwells here, expelling even StarClan. They dare not wandered in the skies above this place, for they can be swallowed by the storm. Lightning races down from the sky to strike this place, but the humidity always prevents fires. To die instantly here is not the idea. This is a place of torture, a plan to die slowly, painfully. Any who stray here are emptied completely, losing their sanity and their wits. Slowly, thoughts of suicide seem oh-so-tempting. But there is no way to carry out the task. So there they sit, just waiting for the end. Wasting away little by little, nobody even dare says the name of this horrid place. My friends, as much as I would love to tell you the name of this land, for my own safety and yours, I restrain. But why even talk about it then? What possible quest am I to retell the tales of woe of here? I answer you honestly; a rather unexpected visitor stays here. She seems unaffected by the bare, vast emptiness of the doomed territory. In fact, she seems unfazed by it at all, well in health and in mind, she watches silently over this place.
Many stories try to explain why she is here, but none are for sure. But still, you can see this mistress sitting stone-still on a rock, overlooking the never-ending graveyard. Her stunning beauty puts others in awe, for they know deep within this petite she-cat lies dreadful power. A raging thirst for blood and war burns in her very soul, eating away any signs of feelings towards others. The mistress of murder, the goddess of battle, she sits alone on a rock, always watching. Not a word she utters from her muzzle, nor the acknowledgement of others who are near her. The only movement she issues is a steady blinking, and calm breathing. For some, they believe the she-cat is in a trance. Many have shook her roughly, trying to grasp hold of her attention, but she never fixes her gaze on anything. It’s always the same, blank stare as it will always be. She studies the distance for something nobody is aware of. A hunting power that threatens all of us, it creeps closer and closer, its foul breath undetected by even our alert minds.
Try as they might, none have ever gotten any reaction out of her. She sits, and waits. To her, she is elsewhere, reliving her past over and over. A desperate cry resounds in her heart, the need to be awakened hauntingly terrible. It is a depressing scene, if you ever spot her. You’ll approach, trying to control your fast beating heart. The tabby mistress has a balanced wave of colors on her pelt, comparing yet contrasting to the background around her. It is complete with dark brown stripes, ebony highlights, and a smoky exterior to fill in the blanks. She is a dark figure against a dark gray sky and a dark black stone. You’ll know her instantly by her eyes, of course. Contrasts to popular belief, blood red eyes are not always harsh and cruel, or filled with hatred. Actually, this she-cat preserves scarlet orbs, filled with love and distress. Such emotion swims in her eyes, compelling you to feel her pain. Though she does not see you due to her case of being captured by her past, it seems she is staring into your soul. It’s so overwhelming that one must look away, resisting the urge to sob uncontrollably. Her name is quite suitable, and wears just as much importance as the she-cat. If you must know, her name is Scarletdream, but she prefers to be addressed as Scarlet. Ah, how would one know such a thing?
That’s because this mistress has woke from her slumber. In a crack of thunder from the ever-present storm, she actually twitches her tail. The only survivor from a disturbing love story, she twists her head to look away from the horizon in great sadness. Her voice sounds so strange, as though it comes from deeper inside her, but it may just be that she hasn’t spoken for a long time. Her voice is delicate, sweet, almost like a lullaby. It’s soothing, but it is pierced with the poison of lust and hurt. The maiden no longer waits, for her time is wasted here. Slipping from her pedestal, she coolly begins to travel to the exit, only known by a few. With grace in her limbs she whispers in a sing-song note that also carries an indescribable threat, “For no one can lock the pulse of murder and war away forever, it returns like a thief in the night, a mistress swirling in the storm. Repent, O fallen soldiers, repent, O leaders of war. For your sins are to be punished.”