Character Name: Foxpaw
Character Age: 9 moons
Gender: Tom
Alliance: Windclan
Rank: Apprentice
Appearance (6 or more sentences): Foxpaw is a sturdily built young fellow, short for his age but with a barrel chest and broad shoulders. As of now, his paws are too big for his body, but in a matter of moons he will mature into a tall tom. He has a pelt long and sleek from good health, a reddish sorrel ticked with chocolate. He has surprisingly bat-like ears, tipped with black, and his paws and tail are as well. His tail is what earned him his name: it's a bushy bottleneck affair, too large for his body, and he carries it high in order to keep it from dragging in the dust. His eyes are a bright amber, wide and innocent in his narrow face.
Personality (6 or more sentences--these sentences form their own section and do NOT count towards the 4 groups below. Those are additional requirements):
---Likes (at least 3): hunting, arguing, twolegs
--- Dislikes (at least 3): kittypets, helplessness, charity
---Strengths (No MORE than 5): fierce, loyal, cunning, charismatic, good with words
---Weaknesses (At least 3): contemptuous, manipulative, arrogant
Foxpaw can be whoever he wants to be, and he's well aware of that. To most, he's a bitter, acerbic-tongued cynic who rails against any convention: to others, he's a naïve, impressionable young adventurer. He knows just how to manipulate cats to his advantage and will use his basic grasp of psychology to his advantage. He thinks, however, that he's the only one that has this skill, and looks down on the brainwashed sheep that he sees as his clanmembers. This, in turn, gives him an almost crippling loneliness, and despite himself he wonders if he'll ever find an equal.
He has an almost hypnotic fascination with twolegs and imagines himself more similar to them than he is to his fellow cats; he will often sneak away from camp just to watch them. Something of a sociopath, Foxpaw doesn't feel many of the emotions that a normal cat would -- say, sadness at a death of a friend -- and instead fakes most of them, very convincingly.
History (8 or more sentences): Foxpaw's life so far has been unexciting. He was born with a stillborn sister whom his parents, Ravenpelt and Silvermask, still mourn over, to his eternal annoyance. He first begin to understand that there was something vaguely wrong about his emotional response when he found his mother crying over his sister one day, and he told her to shut up and get a move on. Since then, he's been more careful to mimic the correct reaction.
He's always been fairly popular, as charming other cats is, to him, effortless: the bigger question is whether he bothers to keep the friendship alive, which he usually doesn't bother with. After hearing stories about twolegs when he was about seven moons old, he snuck out of camp and made it to the twoleg houses. He now escapes to the nearest twoleg dwelling every week or so just to sit outside and watch them inside their houses. So far no one knows about his secret visits.
Roleplay Sample (Required for first advanced bio): Escaping from camp sent a thrill of adrenaline down Foxpaw's spine like few other things did. The rush was fading: in the beginning, it had been almost crippling, and now that several months had passed since his first solo journey from camp, it was just a faint glow. Still, it was there, and Foxpaw allowed himself a shiver of pleasure as he picked his way through the leaves just outside the camp.
It was a beautiful crisp autumn morning, and the brittle air was rich with scents. Flaring his nostrils, Foxpaw could detect the stale trails of old Windclan patrols, a few hunting parties, and even a badger's musk-- long gone, thankfully. The chill pierced even through his thick pelt, but he welcomed it as a nippy reminder of autumn. He loved everything about this moment; he was animated in a way he never was in camp. His amber eyes were bright and alert, constantly moving, and there was something very close to a smile on his muzzle. His steps were purposeful: Foxpaw knew exactly where he was going. He had made this journey dozens of times before, after all.
His pace quickened as he picked up the acrid scent of cement and the cloying smell of twolegs, and in a matter of minutes his lithe movements brought him exactly where he knew they would: to a small twoleg house, complete with a delightfully picturesque garden that was almost a caricature of suburban living. Foxpaw curled his tail over his forepaws and leaned back on his haunches to wait on the tree stump just behind the porch. His ears were pricked and his expression was one of intense concentration mixed with joy.
This was what he was waiting for. He knew that in a few minutes, the gravel would crunch and the twoleg monster would growl to a halt and then the smaller twoleg would step out and mewl and the bigger twoleg would meow back in its deeper voice and they'd get inside the nest somehow and then they would walk to the porch and they wouldn't even know that Foxpaw was there. The suspense was delicious.
Comments (optional): Go easy on me. My first bio in a very, very long time XD