Posts by jeremiah!

The young of Sheo and Jailbird had been pacing the Bloodclan house nonchalantly, yearning for something to do, when the flaming pelt of a she-cat came bounding past him. She was around the same age as him, him being only a month or two older, but he had rarely spoken to her. Since she was adopted by Caledon, that kind off made them . . . family?

Jeremiah let his ivory paws rhythmically carry his muscular frame towards Liv, his dark green gaze glimmered with curiosity at the strange thing she now sported around her neck. His freckled nose twitched at the pungent scent of kitty-pet, and he could only put together in his mind what she had been doing. In that moment, he decided that he liked her and her spunky nature.

"I like your collar."

Jeremiah's rough, low voice would speak, his maw curled up in to a crooked yet handsome little grin, displaying pointed, milky white teeth.

Jeremiah stalked slowly behind his brother, and hopped on to window sill to take a seat beside Phantom.

His ivory peppered paws rhythmically carried the bulky creamy-hued tabby towards the scent of a stranger, although he was hardly just in his teen years - Jeremiah exhibited an arrogant amount of bravery, constantly trying to prove himself, constantly trying to follow in the mighty pawprints of his late father. A freckled nose twitched, the boy found it difficult to pinpoint the origin of the stranger, concluding that he must have been travelling for some time. Jeremiah arrived next on the scene, judgmental green eyes flickered over the stranger curiously as he took his position beside his leader.

"I'm Jeremiah." His gruff voice spoke, emotionless and stoney. He looked at his leader, waiting for the approval for the tabby to join the clan before he said anything else.

Jeremiah sat beside his siblings patiently, nodding along to the meeting silently.

Jeremiah’s forest-green eyes flickered over the younger feline with a softness that Bloodclanners often did not possess. The fluffiness of her fur and her smaller size made him inwardly coo, and the mouse at her paws, what a sweet heart. The corners of his lips twitched upwardly, and a boyish smile appeared across his ivory peppered maw. If he weren’t surrounded by his tougher clan mates, he would have given her the warmest of welcomes but he knew how this worked . . . he knew to fit in. The large Tom cat lowered his rump to the ground, his thick tail curling over his alabaster paws as he watched silently.

Jeremiah wasn’t sure if he wanted to stick around for what was going to become of the pit; claws flying, flesh ripping, blood pouring. The large cream colored tom cat knew what his clanmates were like, what they enjoyed doing . . . and he wasn’t the same as them - but no one knew that. By a glance, Jeremiah fitted in perfectly, his muscular frame, and intimidating statuesque ensured that he was physically no different than his clan mates.

He slowly prowled towards the pit, and took a seat - silently preparing himself the savage violence that would soon commence.

"You're new,"

A husky voice broke the silence, followed by the soft murmur of large clumsy paws against the cobbled ground. Jeremiahs tone was inquisitive and curious, as his green eyes flickered briefly over the stranger. Jere had been here his whole life, born to the former leader, he knew Bloodclan and its inhabitants. "I'm Jeremiah." He introduced himself with a slight dip of his head whilst maintaining eye contact with the other tom.

Fern’s grey form caught Jeremiah’s eye, his forest-green orbs lingering over her as she chewed on the small creature. He was not the most social of cats, he was rather awkward and docile in Bloodclanner terms. With an urge to make his presence more known and be more sociable, he set a large paw in front of him and ventured closer to her. “Hi, Fern.” His gruff voice broke the silence.

“How are you?”

Username: laetita

Character's name: Jeremiah, but if he joins Windclan he will become Lionscar (for his cream mane-like fur around his neck and the thick scar running down his face)

Position wanted: Senior warrior

Character's experience: Jeremiah was born in BloodClan and son of the former leader, however his persona has given him difficulty fitting in. He is a gentle giant and extremely docile. Jeremiah is going to soon betray BloodClan and run away to somewhere he feels he fits in, which would be Windclan.

Roleplayer's experience: I’ve roleplayed here for around 6 years on different accounts. I’ve played deputies in thunderclan and the old sunclan and MCA’s in Windclan and the old scarclan.

Activity: 7/10

Other: //

Jeremiah’s freckled nose twitched as the pungent, steely scent of blood struck his nostrils. Tattered and scarred ears lying flat to his skull in worry, the large feline instantly propped up to his ivory paws and padded swiftly towards the medic den. He had never met Cora before, but Jeremiah, despite being awkward and unsociable at best of times, had a large heart and caring spirit.

“What happened?” The gruff voice of Jeremiah came next, his cream fur pricked and his round forest-green eyes wide. As his gaze flickered downwards to her bites and the scent that came from them, he made the connection. That was no cat bite. “Dogs . . .” He answered his own question with black lips curling over his fangs.

”I’ll take one.”

Jeremiah’s gruff voice spoke after Sable as he slowly padded forward.

// jere doesn’t stand a chance poor bby

Jeremiah physically looked the part - the bulky muscle beneath his golden-yellow fur rippled with each step his long legs took, ivory-peppered paws held curved daggers for claws and as his maw parted, a row of needle-sharp milky white teeth sparkled against his black lips. But a closer look revealed that Jeremiah was not the beast that he could be perceived. His forest-green eyes were wide like a kittens, and his facial features had not yet matured, cheeks round and his ears fluffy. He still possessed that child-like appearance in his face, topped off by his boyish crooked grin. Heavy paws clumsily lugged his body towards Keaton, head low beneath his square shoulders as his tufted ears flickered at his call.

If it was an arm wrestle, maybe Jeremiah could have stood a chance but a game of balance and skill . . . didn’t look so hopeful. However his immature arrogance made him blind to this fact, and he took a step forward. “I’ll play.” He desperately wanted to make his late parents proud, stories of their bravery and skill were still told right through to Jeremiah’s adulthood.