Traditional RP will no longer allow non-canon breeds, but existing characters that are non-canon are grandfathered in. More information can be found here.
Check out the Sanctum! An active new clan with a great community and more than meets the eye.
// wooh, track! hell of a thread to read. <3
- Lusa / Female / 14 moons / WindClan / Biromantic asexual / Guardian / NPC x NPC
Chubby and fluffy black bear. Stout in build, green eyes. Thick furred. Abnormally long ears.
- adventurous / calm and collected
- caring / lovable / mischievous.
- extroverted / social
- hard headed / stubborn
- Flower prints.
- Ability to give or take away pain.
- Scent manip
- medium physically, easy mentally
- mentored by Jonathan Toews
- No kill, no maim, pm for capture, ask for major injury
- Attacks in bold
Moth wasn't one to stand gore at all. She had failed at hunting for many reasons - her clumsy nature was one, and her seeming intolerance of blood was another. So when Vader arrived in the clan territory with a bloodied boar, Moth was pawsteps away from fainting.
She tried desperately not to look at the poor creature, even daring to cast Vader a weak smile. She could feel her stomach twisting and turning and her paws growing weaker. Her head was growing fainter, so the small cat padded on the ground to keep blood and oxygen flowing around freely. When she was sure of herself once more, she looked back to the boar. It's mouth was wide open in a silent scream, ragged cuts stretching along it's hind that had been delivered by Vader. Moth inhaled deeply, before turning back to Vader.
It was then that she noticed that his 'control box' - as she called it, she was too intimidated to find out the real name of the contraption - was fairly damaged. His breathing wasn't the same, and sounded ragged instead of the haunting sigh that the female had heard before. She opened her mouth to speak, trying to sum up enough courage, her voice threatening to squeak slightly. "Vader... your, umm...." she gestured a paw towards his box, gaining a little more confidence that her voice hadn't squeaked - that didn't mean that she didn't sound fearful, however. Her voice had a nasty habit of betraying her, and it was especially noticeable in an accent like hers, British.
Moth felt a flicker of fear in her as Vader turned to look at her, placing a hand on his box. She winced slightly at the few sparks, but nodded at Vader's remark that he knew about it. As he moved down to the boar, Moth inhaled sharply and was about to ask him not to, when there was a fizzing sound and Vader's gloved hand shot up to his face. Moth peered over, narrowing her eyes. She couldn't quite tell what had happened, something to do with his eye. Momentarily ignoring the bloodied boar carcass, the feline stepped forwards. "Are you ok? What happened?" she asked, trying her best to sound kind. The female didn't really care if Vader couldn't feel emotion - being nice to people was a fundamental principle that Moth lived by.