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Name: Spottedpaw Spottedbird

Gender: Female

Age: 9 moons

Orientation: Heterosexual

Rank: Apprentice

Appearance: A petite, svelte, yet compact physique is covered in a coat of soft, short tortoiseshell hairs. White exists upon her chest, her forepaws, a little on her muzzle and as socks on her hind-legs. Her eyes are a rich, deep amber.

Personality: Spottedpaw is a confident, charismatic young she-cat with a sweet heart but fiery soul. She is as capable of being kind and tender as she is bold and courageous. Yet, she tends to be a bit impulsive, and is the type of she-cat that can argue any point she makes, even if she knows she is wrong. She is short-tempered and can be a bit bossy.

History: Spottedpaw doesn't think much of her past. As far as she knows- at least, as far as she's been told- she was taken from the belly of a mother who had died during birth, and was raised in the Clan ever since. She has been content here.

Relationships: Sister- Mottlepaw. She is open to crushes!

Other: Shortstar rules

Name: Mottlepaw Mottlesnow

Gender: Female

Age: 9 moons

Orientation: Homosexual

Rank: Apprentice

Appearance: A lean, well-muscled, yet notably skinny she-cat with a short, mainly white coat with tortoiseshell markings on her head that fade into ginger patches across the rest of her back. Her tail is also marbled by tortoiseshell patterns. Her eyes are a stunning golden hue.

Personality: Mottlepaw is a quiet, defensive, reticent she-cat with a bit of an uninviting demeanor, yet calm nature. She is somewhat jumpy and notably insecure, often comparing herself to her sister. She hosts an incredible intelligence, which causes her to be quick on her paws and in her mind. Alone, she is tender, affectionate, and playful, though it takes a bit of getting to know her to reach that point.

History: Mottlepaw remembers far more of her history than her sister does, though she has never told Spottedpaw her side of the story. She remembers her mother being sickly when they were very young, and hunted the wrong mouse at the wrong time. She ran right into the claws of GloomClan, and in a desperate attempt to appeal for mercy, told them about the kits she was trying to feed. If anything, that sealed her fate more- Mottlepaw did not watch her mother die, but she and her sister were close enough to hear it. They tried hiding but were discovered by the warrior, who brought them back to camp, where she and Spottedpaw have resided ever since. She is not content living in GloomClan, but cares too much about her sister- and fears too much her Clan-mates- to try or risk running away.

Relationships: Sister- Spottedpaw. She is open to crushes!

Other: Shortstar rules.

Name: Harrierstrike

Gender: Harrierstrike

Age: 26 moons

Orientation: Bisexual

Rank: Warrior

Appearance: A rather handsome tomcat with a tall, lean, but muscular build, short dark brown tabby coat, and bright green eyes.

Personality: Harrierstrike is a sharp-tongued and bluntly honest tomcat with a lack of a filter but no lack of courage. He is bold, loud, and gregarious, with a laid-back and easy-going nature. He is humorous and witty, and can be charming if he truly tried.

History: Harrierstrike was brought into the Clan as a sickly young loner. He has lived here ever since, grateful for the second chance.

Relationships: Open to crushes/mate.

Other: Shortstar rules.

Name: Shadefrost

Gender: Male

Age: 34 moons

Orientation: Heterosexual

Rank: Warrior

Appearance: A lean-bodied solid gray tom with semi-long, thick fur and pale blue eyes.

Personality: Shadefrost is a friendly, well-mannered tomcat with a knightly nature and a strong sense of morality. He is composed, compassionate and motivated, though he tends to brood when upset and isolate himself when he feels unwelcomed or he is thinking too much about something.

History: Shadefrost was born to RiverClan, and was a fairly young warrior when everything as he knew it collapsed. He has since resided here out of sheer will for survival, though he doesn't exactly like the duties he must perform.

Relationships: Open for crushes/mate.

Other: Shortstar rules.

NAME: cedarstrike

GENDER: male

AGE: 29 moons

ORIENTATION: demiromantic & heterosexual

RANK: warrior

APPEARANCE: Cedarstrike is a slim russet-brown tabby with particularly dark stripes. White markings are scarce, splashing the bottom of his jaw, framing his berry-like nose, and forming rings around his piercing, pale-green eyes. While not particularly large or broad shouldered, he's certainly toned, and it shows easily beneath his short and smooth coat. Long claws lurk beneath his sheathes, thorn-sharp and hooked at the tips.

His coat often appears messy and unruly due to its lack of upkeep, as he isn't terribly interested in keeping his looks sharp these days. His tail is missing its tip, making it a bit shorter than most. He bears a nasty scar over his left shoulder and a smaller one over his muzzle, but doesn't do much to show them off.

PERSONALITY: Demeanor ever-shifting, Cedarstrike can be a bit hard to understand and make sense of a lot of the time. His mood heavily influences how he acts, and in a mere day's time he can go from a warrior serious about his work to one who has thrown caution to the wind, without a care in this world that sealed his fate so long ago. He's not exactly charismatic, but his fascinating attitude at least makes him interesting if being likable isn't the table. A bit of a hypocrite, he seems to believe that survival is based around one's intelligence rather than strength, but doesn't bother trying to act the part himself.

He doesn't have much pride to uphold, and thus doesn't mind being bossed around or otherwise mistreated by his peers. He knows what he must do to survive in this Clan of his, submit and obey, and so he does— oftentimes with no questions asked. But tread cautiously, for while he scarcely has any morals to speak of, getting him to toss aside the rare ones he does have is a challenge of massive proportions.

That said, he doesn't tend to make these known, nor does he talk much about himself as a whole. His loyalty ties in directly with his own survival rather than any pointless sense of community, and that's all there is to it; he doesn't feel the need to get chummy with the rest of his clanmates as one might expect. That's not to say he shuts them out, however— he just lets them see what he wishes, keeping the rest to himself where it belongs. He doesn't expect anyone else to care much, anyways. He certainly doesn't... or so it appears, that is.

With his twisted view of the world, he often isn't fazed by tragedy, convinced that whatever happened simply happened because someone made a stupid mistake; that's not his fault, so he needn't feel bad. However, there are a rare few things that get under his skin, not that he'd dare to admit it to a curious ear. Mass slaughter and the death or harm of kits both do well to shut him up for a second, especially the latter. Though he really has no business being around them, and even he knows that, he still has quite a soft spot for the little ones of this clan, or the lucky ones who had yet to be taken into their ranks.

HISTORY: Cedarstrike, who'd been called Cedar then, was born to a loner alongside his two littermates Aspen and Birch. Their mother never mentioned their father, and Cedar grew under the assumption that their father ran out on them before they'd even been born.

But it hadn't mattered; the mother, named Misty, loved them enough for herself and the missing father. The kits would never question his whereabouts, for as long as they had Misty, they saw no reason to care. She taught them how to hunt and fight to the best of her abilities as they grew, knowing full well they would have to go on their own paths someday without her. She always told them she'd named them after trees in hopes that they'd grow up to be big, strong, and beautiful like the forest that had acted as her shelter all these moons. She would never get to see them flourish, however, as she perished during a particularly cold spell due to sickness when they were eight moons old.

The three of them did their best to put her teachings to use, distancing themselves from the wood where they'd grown up in hopes of starting a new life as she would have wanted. Settling down was hard, and finding food was even harder— especially enough for three. But splitting up wasn't an option, for they were certain they'd never see each other again if they dared go their separate ways. Their search for prey and shelter eventually took them unknowingly into Gloomclan territory, where the trio, weak from hunger, was confronted and given a choice: Join, or die. Not willing to give up their freedom so easily, they fought back, clueless to just how much they were in over their heads until it was much too late. Birch and Aspen were killed, and Cedar, wounded and outnumbered, had mere moments to rethink his decision. He was to submit now, or die like they had. Desperately wanting to live, Cedar gave in, narrowly escaping death's clutches and falling into the clutches of something much worse.

This is how he adopted his view of the world, that those who choose poorly are destined to die from the moment they breathe their first. He clung to that mentality like a lifeline, now that he'd lost the only ones he had. Birch and Aspen had made the wrong choice, and perished because of it. That wasn't his fault. There was nothing he could have done except make the right choice and live on, because that's just what life had planned. It was all he could do to cope back then, but now, it's the lens of which he sees this world through as a warrior of Gloomclan, not daring to look back.

RELATIONS: Misty ( mother, deceased ), Birch ( brother, deceased ), Aspen ( sister, deceased ), Unknown ( father, alive & adoptable ! tho he likely won't know it unless Cedarstrike mentions his mum's name )

Other: Shortstar rules !

NAME: brackenpaw, brackenfire

GENDER: male

AGE: 7 moons

ORIENTATION: demiromantic & asexual

RANK: apprentice

APPEARANCE:

Brackenpaw is a dark brown mackerel tabby with a white splash on his jaw and a small, reddish nose. His eye color seems to be caught between green and yellow, almost appearing lime-green in the right lighting. His ears have white tufts in them, and look just a bit too big for his head, as if he has yet to grow into them. One of them has a small scar from a nick.

His pelt is very short, and while this prevents extra weight from slowing him down, it does him no favors against the cold or other elements. His fur is often sticking up and out to make himself look bigger, as he's a bit small for his age. That being said, while he is on the petite side, he's noticeably stocky, and packs a lot of punch for someone his size. While still at a disadvantage against larger opponents, he's certainly a force to be reckoned with no matter who he's up against.

PERSONALITY:

Brackenpaw is much like a geyser— volatile, dangerous, and full to bursting with scalding emotion. All of his risky feelings, the ones that could land him in trouble or otherwise change his course for the worse, are stuffed down deep and left to simmer beneath his considerably calmer, grumpy front. He's actually a bit of a snarky brat when he wants to be, but usually does what he's told without much argument. He's content with nothing, but knows he is powerless to change anything, and has thus slipped into a spell of apathy and mindless obedience.

As much as he'd like to think so, his self-control and smarts aren't all he's made them out to be. He can keep a cool head when it counts, but that mess of a cat he's buried alive in his own mind won't hesitate to show his face when he's pushed. He'll snap, he'll snarl, and he's been a mere whisker's-length from clawing a fellow clanner's pelt on multiple occasions when he can't keep his emotions in check. He either feels at zero or a hundred, and there's no telling when the switch will flip.

Very rarely does he bother to put a lot of thought into his actions or words, only applying himself when he feels his life directly depends on the outcome ahead. He hates being underestimated or otherwise made out to be weak or cowardly, and won't hesitate to prove himself, no matter how irrational the accusation. Impulsive, spiteful, and never without a complaint, he's not easy to make pals with, for those who'd dare to try. He tends to be less of a complete and utter pain with cats his own age, but has yet to let his guard down around even the smallest of their ranks— take great care when stepping onto this minefield.

HISTORY:

Born to a kittypet alongside a single littermate, Brackenpaw's life began underneath a rickety old porch. His mother, Clover, was an outdoor cat, not particularly attached to her two-legs. They were used to her disappearing for hours or even days at a time, but always left her something to eat and drink for whenever she may need it. She was a magnificent mouser, but was grateful to her two-legs for the extra help after her two kits were born. The times he'd stepped into their house were so few in number that he can't even recall it now, not that he cares to try— he'd always adored the outdoors and the woods beyond it, completely unaware of where that passion would lead him.

He'd been quite the troublemaker back then, acting as the counter to his brother's calmer, timid nature. Always sticking his nose where it didn't belong no matter the consequences he received in turn, it seemed there was nothing that could quench his endless curiosities. He'd been warned of straying too far more times than he'd bothered to count, told tales of nosy kittens like him getting lost and eaten by a fox, or starving without his mother's care. This only drove him further, a stubborn soul who knew not what hate meant, but absolutely despised being underestimated so. It would be halfway through his third moon when he'd step too far into the unknown, the distant cries of his brother for him to come back falling on deaf ears until he realized he couldn't hear them anymore.

He'd done just as they said he would: lost himself in the woods. All that was left was for him to get eaten by a fox, because no matter how long and hard he searched, he couldn't find the path home. The sweet scents of his mother and brother were lost from him in the rain and the fog, but even still, he continued looking, determined to make it back if only to prove he was stronger than the forest, and stronger than these impossible odds.

But he would never make it there. He stumbled into the wrong territory, catching the attention of a Gloomclan patrol. Small, weak from hunger, and with no way to defend himself, he was taken easily— that doesn't mean he hadn't tried fighting back, however. He earned a nasty nick on his ear from the fight that was over before it'd started, and just as soon as he'd been brought into their camp, his life as he knew it had ended for good. Unsure of where to run and even less sure he'd survive if he tried, Brackenpaw reluctantly accepted his new name, hellbent on making these cats regret taking him away as subtly as he could. With no vision for a future of his own, all he can hope for now is that his family doesn't follow in the foolish pawsteps that had lead to his own dead end.

RELATIONS: Clover ( mother, alive ), Mouse ( brother, alive )

Other: Shortstar rules !