Posts by ShadeClaw246

Shade regarded him tensely, suspicious. "You seem pretty calm with all of this. You just assaulted your alpha and deserted your pack."

Shade's brow furrowed, "That's rather harsh,"

Name: Sekori Ti'an
Age: 17
Gender: Female
Group: The Hunters
Animal: Cheetah
Description:
Sekori has a lean and slender build, similar to a cat's. Black hair with a subtle hint of a wave is knotted into a messy bun, with a silver dagger slid between the vine band that holds her hair up. Fierce and almost feral eyes are such a light green they at times appear a pale yellow. Skin is smooth and the color of creamy mocha, almost always bruised and dusty.

Personality: True to her tribe, Sekori is secretive and independent. Her trust is rare to be won, and her temper is fiery and short. However she is loyal to those proven to be of "worth" to her.
History: At age seven her parents were killed in-battle along with her little brother. Leaving her with only her older sister, who's attempts to care for Sekori are made in vain.

Animal Form:
Name: Kule
Gender: Male
Species: King Cheetah
Description: [img width=510 height=362]http://37.media.tumblr.com/tum…cacrae61r6bovho1_1280.jpg[/img]

Personality: Cunning and stealthy, this cat is a perfect match for his partner. However also shares her stubbornness and defiant attitude.

The hooded figure slid into the bar, his cloak tattered and worn. Tall and rugged, the gristly man lowered the lipped hood that had hidden his face in darkness. Piercing blue eyes combed through the steadily thrumming inn before resting on an empty stool in quiet corner. His skin was weathered and a strong jaw was bristled with dark unshaven hairs. A long raw scar split across his face, hooking the corner of his lip and carving up to his ear. Fluidly he slunk over to the leather stool, and awaited the attention of the gangly bar tender. “Good evening Corin. It’s been a while,” The limber man started towards a cluttered shelf of musky bottles, “The usual? Never understood your fondness of the ginger brandy but hey, you’re the one paying.” Corin shook his head, his bluntly cut hair swaying. “Not tonight Iro, I’m just here for the favor.” Iro’s hand slowly recoiled from the bottles, but he stood still… back facing Corin. “You did find him didn’t you?” Corin pressed, leaning over the bar slightly; his hands intertwining with each other. A moment’s silence was stretched, but Iro still managed to give a subtle nod. When he turned to face Corin, his lips were pale and pressed tightly together. “Are you sure you want to do this? The Wilds already have it rough… we don’t need any more false hope.” He fidgeted, perspiration kneading his forehead in small beads. Corin’s brow furrowed, and he let out a cool breath between his teeth. For a moment, he looked… tired… broken, frail. He looked up and the weariness was gone, replaced with a hard steel glint. “We’ve got to try. Besides, the Glory has already begun to search… You know what will happen if they find her.” Iro’s eyes flitted away, a mix of shame and embarrassment swimming in them. Now it was his turn to look worn, and he limped over to the window. Rain gathering on the clear glass, and streaming down the wet surface. “He’s in the Gully…” Iro murmured, his gaze distant and unfocused. Corin nodded, and rose from the stool; the damp hood swallowing his face once again. As he began to walk out of the slowly diminishing tavern, Iro cleared his throat. Corin paused, waiting a second before turning his head back. Iro gestured to an unlit candle stick on the table, looking rather red in the cheeks. “W-Would you mind?” He stammered, finger fumbling with his linen shirt. It could’ve been a trick of the light, but some would have sworn to see a small smile crawl onto Corin’s lips. Lifting a hand, a smooth snap coaxed the once seemingly lifeless wick into a bright orange flame. And as suddenly as the strange man had appeared, he was swallowed by the night.

Plot: In the world, there are two kinds of people. Those ment to serve, and those ment to rule. You've lived in the Gully your whole life, and never before have you seen such a rebellion. Sure, the Wilds have always tried to steal back the throne from the Capital; they are never taken it to such a drastic level until now. You have kept your profile low and your mouth shut. Staying away from trouble, including your fellow people whom rally for redemption. Now, your old mentor has come to you for a favor. There is talk of a girl. The one spoken of in prophecy, who holds the power to end this eternal war. Not forgetful of the debt owed to your old friend, you agree to help him "convince" the girl to come to the Wilds' aid. Easier said than done, one thing leads to anther and soon your retrieval mission has turned into a kidnapping. However what will you do when you find yourself falling in love with your hostage?

Wilds: The lower-class citizens whom all possess a certain... Gift. An ability, given at birth that helps them cope in this world of hurt.
Glories: The "superior" upper-class citizens whom rule the Wilds from the Capital. They lack the talents of the Wilds, but make up for it in their intelligence and resources.
The Gully: A reference to the rough down-town area by which Wilds run amok. Popular place for black market trade and main gathering place of the rebellious.

Requirements: I am looking for an advanced roleplayer who is semi-active (one post a day minimum would be nice, but I get that we are all busy). Your charrie should be a male, roughly in his late teens. As for his power, it should be something that can be used to help contain/aggravate my character. For example if he had control over shadows he could easily catch/sneak up on my girl character. I couldn't care less about looks, as for personality I don't care as long as it is well developed. Please don't rush into their relationship, in the beginning, they should be pretty close to loathing each other. Feelings shouldn't begin to develop within the first day. Thanks, and feel free to ask any questions. Jump in and/or create a form.

Talents: As inferred in the teaser above, certain people classified as "Wilds" have special abilities. For example, Corin has the gift to control fire. These abilities can range, depending on the person.

Here the link to the thread, you'll find requirements and additional information there.
http://warriorcatsrpg.com/index.php?topic=1611995.0

Here is the link to the roleplay thread, additional information and requirements will be shared here. http://warriorcatsrpg.com/index.php?topic=1611995.0

( http://warriorcatsrpg.com/index.php?topic=1611995.0 ) Here is the original thread if you need to go back and clarify anything in the plot. Otherwise, go on ahead and post!

The hooded figure slid into the bar, his cloak tattered and worn. Tall and rugged, the gristly man lowered the lipped hood that had hidden his face in darkness. Piercing blue eyes combed through the steadily thrumming inn before resting on an empty stool in quiet corner. His skin was weathered and a strong jaw was bristled with dark unshaven hairs. A long raw scar split across his face, hooking the corner of his lip and carving up to his ear. Fluidly he slunk over to the leather stool, and awaited the attention of the gangly bar tender. “Good evening Corin. It’s been a while,” The limber man started towards a cluttered shelf of musky bottles, “The usual? Never understood your fondness of the ginger brandy but hey, you’re the one paying.” Corin shook his head, his bluntly cut hair swaying. “Not tonight Iro, I’m just here for the favor.” Iro’s hand slowly recoiled from the bottles, but he stood still… back facing Corin. “You did find him didn’t you?” Corin pressed, leaning over the bar slightly; his hands intertwining with each other. A moment’s silence was stretched, but Iro still managed to give a subtle nod. When he turned to face Corin, his lips were pale and pressed tightly together. “Are you sure you want to do this? The Wilds already have it rough… we don’t need any more false hope.” He fidgeted, perspiration kneading his forehead in small beads. Corin’s brow furrowed, and he let out a cool breath between his teeth. For a moment, he looked… tired… broken, frail. He looked up and the weariness was gone, replaced with a hard steel glint. “We’ve got to try. Besides, the Glory has already begun to search… You know what will happen if they find her.” Iro’s eyes flitted away, a mix of shame and embarrassment swimming in them. Now it was his turn to look worn, and he limped over to the window. Rain gathering on the clear glass, and streaming down the wet surface. “He’s in the Gully…” Iro murmured, his gaze distant and unfocused. Corin nodded, and rose from the stool; the damp hood swallowing his face once again. As he began to walk out of the slowly diminishing tavern, Iro cleared his throat. Corin paused, waiting a second before turning his head back. Iro gestured to an unlit candle stick on the table, looking rather red in the cheeks. “W-Would you mind?” He stammered, finger fumbling with his linen shirt. It could’ve been a trick of the light, but some would have sworn to see a small smile crawl onto Corin’s lips. Lifting a hand, a smooth snap coaxed the once seemingly lifeless wick into a bright orange flame. And as suddenly as the strange man had appeared, he was swallowed by the night.

Are you waiting for everyone to join or can we start?

Velia Pierce

Corin Linx

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Corin had never been one for small talk. As coy and sly as the old dog stood, he could be astonishingly blunt. Buttered words and smooth tones had their uses, that was without question. However at the end of the day, Corin always found that his reliable old saxe knife was more than capable of handling any situation; and this had been indeed a very long day. It was this exact gleaming dagger that now was pressed greedily into the drunken slur's throat.
In most circumstances, Corin found violence a tool. It was to be used in moderation and handled with the utmost vigilance. This particular tool was only to be practiced in the appropriate event, this was a morale that Corin prided himself with. Now the weathered fire-tamer was within a hair's length of shattering it. A long day of riding in a plump overfed excuse of a horse had gifted Corin a stiff splintered back, a backside marbled with a deep assortment of blacks and blues, and a mood that even a Glory would be wary to reckon with. It of course did not help that he looked about worse than how he felt, which was quite a statement considering his shrieking tendons and rattling headache. Upon his face he wore pronounced somber bags under his eyes (which were swollen after having been relentlessly pounded with icy hail) that only served to enhance his gaunt appearance. Cloak heavy with mud and bountiful with tears, Corin undoubtedly held the look of an unkempt beggar.
Perhaps it was this appearance that had goaded the snide drunk. Or the apparent stormy musk that enveloped the strange newcomer. Not that it mattered now; he being compressed against the tavern wall, held at the mercy of a cold steel blade. The disoriented man gulped, feeling a warm scarlet liquid stroke his throat as it dripped from the small incision in his neck. The deadly rider leaned forward, only to coax his victim further into the slick wood. "I will ask you one more time, and one more time only you slobbering cur." Corin's breath was hot and sticky on his ear. "Where does the Ainsworth household lie?" Opening and closing his mouth like a landheld trout, the man gurgled an unintelligible reply, and Corin lessened the pressure applied to his windpipe. "West." He gasped, before slumping to the dirt in a crumpled heap; knocked out cold with brandy and nerves.
Darkly Corin slid his knife back into its sheath, mounting his steed once again. Spurring on his horse, Corin let the creaking of his throbbing bones whisper to him in this night of eternal black. It was this ever-present chatter that only made him more grateful when his fist found the heavy door of Jared's home.

Corin Linx
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"Has my face become so blunt?" The older-man grumbled sourly under his breath as he entered the warm cottage. The blithering gale and nipping ice must have weathered down the impassive mask he wore with such pride. That or of course the boy simply knew him too well; years of affiliation could do that he supposed. Rather stiffly, Corin removed his damp cloak; fitting it to a bare hook fastened near the door. It hung there limply, like beaten roadkill; loosing the steady fat droplet of water every few moments. His boots he left on, despite them holding their mug's worth of gravel, mud, and gradually thawing ice. Without the security of his lipped hood, Corin's wildly cut hair was tousled and jutted out in every opportune place. Though his legs protested, the beaten-looking Wild managed to tramp his way to an inviting seat next to a crackling hearth. A variety of pops and cracks were heard as Corin lowered his bruised bottom into the chair, what remained silent (but very much present nether the less) was the shrieking fire that was lit to his legs and back. Stifling a groan, he settled for a strained huff as he sunk into the chair with open relish. For a stretched moment, Corin closed his eyes in a slow blink before letting them slid open once again.
An electric blue gaze leisurely combed through the room, which was softly lit by the tame inferno that lay in its nest of embers. The warmth from its fiery tongues stroked the gristly man's ever-present scar, whether the heat soothed or aggravated the old wound was lost to Corin. The sting was less demanding than his headache.

Sekori wasn't in a good mood. After retreating to her bed yesterday after a strenuous day of training, she had only just closed her eyes when she was again woken! Most horrifyingly, she had been out of her village. The little slumber she had managed to keep had been polluted with disturbing dreams. Sekori wasn't superstitious, she had no time for the "omens" and "warnings" that disgraced her few hours of solitary rest. As a Kainyee, she had to worry about war. Battle drills, hunting, and patrols to protect the hidden misty borders of the mysterious land of the Hunter's consumed her days. Not to mention, her upcoming ceremony. Ugh, the ceremony. Like she had time for that, all that the young huntress hoped for was a companion that could keep up. Some beast with a respectable species that could stay out of the way until told otherwise. Not that she should be speaking of respect and keeping up; as she was very late. A late night had made her sleep in! The ceremony must've already started! Her fingers working nimbly to gather her thick raven hair into a bun, the girl let her pale emerald eyes flicker down to examine herself in the clear reflection bowl. A sharply angled face with a piercing gaze met her own, and scanned over her dark skin. Sekori's slender hand reached for her silver dagger, which she slid into place in her bun. Sighing in disdain at the day before her, she stalked out of her hut in a rushed fashion. The girl hated the shame and embarrassment that prickled her skin as she entered the ceremony and strode over to the man.

Name: Rowin Grace
Nicknames/Titles: "Little Wild", "Row", "Child of the Moon"
Race: Hywin
Gender: Female
Age: 40 years
Appearance: A slender young woman who appears as a twenty-year-old human. Rowin has sleek silver hair that brushes just past her shoulder-blades, often weaved with feathers, beads, or other natural decorations. Her face is sharply angled, giving it a fierce appearance only to be enhanced by piercing violet eyes. The Hywin is of average height, and has lightly tanned mocha skin. Though skinny as she is, it is evident of her warrior attributes in her toned stomach, legs, and arms.
Personality: In a word, fiery. Indeed, this Hywin is out of place with her disciplined people. Rowin has been named of her famous temper as "Little Wild", an annoying but never-dying childhood nickname. Strictly independent, self-reliant, and cocky; Rowin shares a love of mischief as well. Especially she enjoys traveling with rogues, performers, and other unkempt company. A developed skill of pick pocketing only adds to her personality as a rebellious, wild Hywin. As much as she enjoys pushing other's buttons, there is no stupidity to her actions. Rowin is coy, sly, and calculating; but hates to be bested.
Background: An orphan to the raging war, Rowin was forced to live in the local orphanage until her late teens. It was here that her unusual skill set of skin-changing was noticed, and immediately her life was consumed by training. As much as her fellow Hywin tried though, Rowin obeyed her own rules and refused to attend any schools or classes forced upon her. Instead beginning to test her own skills on the streets of her home city. To the horror of her people, the girl seemed to defy the proper and respectable behavior of the Hywin. Eventually leaving the orphanage to wander the land, at times participating in a variety of gangs, street performances, and at times acting as a revered spy (usually only when cashing in a favor or as blackmail).

Strengths: Cunning mind, theft, street fighting
Weaknesses: Allurement to trouble, fear of being trapped or contained, cocky attitude, defiance to authority
Affinities: Shape-shifter
Weapons: Throwing knifes (in belt), poison vials (in belt), close-combat dagger (belt)
Tools: Lock-picking wallet
Misc: A silver necklace with a trinket in the shape of a leaf in the center.

Biting her lip as heads turned, Sekori stormed up to him. "Let's just get this over with." she thought sourly as she received the chalice and lifted it to her lips. The effect was immediate, and she found herself spiraling into the dream realm. She stood in a shrouded forest, fog dancing around her feet. Suddenly the earth began to tremble, and an ear splitting growl tore apart the air. And there he was, fierce, huge, and powerful. The King Cheetah stood and faced her, his intense amber eyes drilling into her own. This wasn't bad. She could deal with this, he would certainly be able to keep pace with her. Sekori just hope he wouldnt be too clingy like most spirit animals. Suddenly a voice rang clear in her head "Kule" it almost seemed to growl, before fading into the mists. Sekori began to gasp, and found herself back in reality. The beast stood next to her, still but firm.

Thanks! When can we get started?

Testing

~Bump

Okay

Hey, can I jump-in or would you like a form?

Hey, I know that you were waiting for a couple more people but could you consider starting the thread a bit early? By no means trying to be rude, but I really am interested in this plot and don't want it to be wasted. I could make another character if that will help get things rolling.

Silver was a bad-dog. The city wasn't what made her selfish; the absence of the sun didn't make her cruel. Though such things might make other's pelts prickle, they simply settled into her's like a smooth second coat. Yes, the ash and grime of abandoned streets smudged her muzzle; her coat was dull and muted without light. Yet no, it was the No-Paws that had done this. They had taunted and teased her into this savage flea-bitten mongrel like an artist's hands that coaxed clay into shape. Now it was she, not them! That had to pay the price for their treachery. No-Paws. Howling, caging, hitting, killing, No-Paws. How she hated them so, her fury burned like a wildfire in a parched summer woods. It crackled and rose and intensified until it danced in her eyes and clouded her mind. It was this hatred that pushed her to fight. To scramble and clasp at the very edge of life, despite the soft eternal sleep that called to her often. For as much as it tempted Silver, she could not bring herself to accept death. She couldn't end up like Parsel. Oh, poor Parsel. Bred, born, and raised in this hell hole; only to die in it without as much as a pawstep outside her prison. Silver would not allow it, she might have been bred for this; as well as born and trained for it, but she refused to live it. She had to escape. She would see the unknown outside the Fence. Until then though, she had to keep being bad. As much as it killed her, tore her, destroyed her; she couldn't stop. Because in this life, in The Pit, being bad is the only way to survive.

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Plot: Years after the Last War, the world is left charred and in ruins. Few humans survive, and things are forever changed. There are mysterious new adapted species, harsh new landscapes, and bizarre but deadly weather. Everything is intoxicated with danger, and dogs are left to fend for themselves. In a dog-fight ring called The Pit, a new city he-dog is brought in one day (you). Anxious to escape, he meets Silver; a fierce fighter who shares his desire to leave (but is less adamant about leaving with another dog). He somehow convinces her to break-out with him, and the two are free! However despite this guarded she-dog's tough personality, it is clearly evident that she is clueless about how to survive in the city. You being street-smart, offer your assistance; which is quickly shot-down by her stubborn attitude. Knowing she will surely die without help, you go against her wishes and decide to stick with her. After hearing of a safe-haven called Light Valley, a plan is speculated to guide Silver there and drop her off before parting ways. The way there is full of challenges and danger, but the risk is taken. However as the journey progresses, you feel yourself begin to like this she-dog more and more, and suddenly realize that leaving her might be harder than you thought.

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(Please submit a form mimicking the format of my own, no one is guaranteed a spot until I have okay-ed/selected you. As for requirements, please be advanced and semi-active. Go wild with your character, but I recommend equipping him with a personality that could go head-to-head with Silver's fiery one. You are allowed to have an "owner", but he/she must be killed off or left behind before they reach Light Valley.)

[size=20pt]*Silver*[/size]
Image:

Gender: Female
Personality: A distrustful dog, Silver has been forever scarred by her past. Her survival is key to her, and she has had little experience with "fun". As a result she is tense, instinctual, coy, and has gone to great lengths to barricade herself from the world and all of its hurt. The way she thinks and processes is strictly logical, making her socially strained with other dogs.
History: Silver was born in The Pit, and has never seen anything outside of it. Her life has been liven through bars, her only reason of still being alive is her skills in combat. Taught by a dog-fight champ, Parcel, her survival is owed to this now deceased dog (who in ways was like mother to Silver).
Fears: Being constricted/contained/suppressed, No-Paws