Posts by Torchiclove

Do you mind if I make a monarch? There's still a spot left....

Name: Draken
Age: 32 moons
Gender: Male
Appearance: Solid black tom with a tough face and unforgiving amber eyes. His fur is sleek and shimmering, matching his always-perked ears and never-quivering whiskers. His tail is long and slightly frayed at the end, giving him the look of a cat that is barely clinging to sanity. His large paws, surprisingly, trod quietly through the forest.
Rank: Monarch, please? If not, warrior.
Personality: Draken is quiet, tough, and never-wavering. His spirit is strong, and, though he uses few words, he can easily bring battling cat's spirit up. However, he is very paranoid. He is wary of every step he takes, worried that he will be murdered by anything, even crazy things. His dreams are filled with images of his blood running crimson against the ground as an unknown cat claws his throat out. Don't scare him, because he does not take jokes well. He'll easily attack someone who plays any kind of trick on him.
Mate/Crush/Kits: None, yet~
Novice/Mentor: ~
Other: None, other than his craving for bloodshed, but fear of his own.

Name: Gypsie
Age: 8 moons
Gender: Female
Appearance: A small tabby caramel she-cat with shaggy fur that often gets matted up with twigs, leaves, and burrs. Her whiskers are unusually long, which goes nicely with her shorter tail. Her nose is a bright pink, leading up to shimmering emerald eyes filled with mystery. Her ears are always kept clean, though they aren't very alert. Her paws tread lightly against the forest floor, not making a sound unless she steps on twigs or crunchy leaf-fall leaves.
Rank: Novice
Personality: Gypsie is a cat of mystery, often making up riddles in her mind. She wants to be the best warrior ever seen, but is often noted as being better at confusing others than fighting. She trains hard, which gives her little time to groom herself. She doesn't care about mates, and she actually does not believe in love. It is for the foolish, the weak of heart, those blinded by vanity. She will easily turn on someone who questions her theories, being hot-headed at times.
Mate/Crush/Kits: Never/Wouldn't dream of it/Le gasp!
Novice/Mentor: Anyone, really~
Other: Have someone crush on her if you want, she'll break their hearts~

Draken stretched lazily, rising from a deep slumber. He padded out of his den, yawning loudly. A little fresh air would be nice, he thought happily, trotting outside. He weaved through the trees, chasing after the precious scent of a fat vole. He soon spotted the tiny brown creature, scuffling among some debris at the base of an oak. He leaped on it with excellent precision, licking his lips as the fresh blood washed over his tongue.

Gypsie padded carefully through the thick underbrush, breating slowly. She'd scented something strange-the scent of a cat. Her ears pricked as her already-matted fur brushed by a low branch, picking up more twigs. She turned to grab one of them and suddenly heard a loud roar...

A lumbering shape lurked in the shadow's, its small, black eyes trained on Gypsie's terrified face. The young she-cat's fur stood completely on end, making her look like a fuzzy chew-toy. She backed up as far as possible, soon feeling her tail brush the branch of a tree. She was trapped! "Help!" The she-cat wailed before a huge shape leaped out of the brush.

(Nothing better than attacks by strange animals, I don't even know what it is~)

In a land far away, where rough kitties prey, lives a group of rogue cats. They'll kill any trespasser on sight with all of their might until the night comes to feed on their sins. When the moon comes full shine, they hide in their dens until only one is left..
And that one is never seen again.

Some info:

History of the Rogues of Echoing Fog:

Territory:

Religion of the rogues:

What the ranks are and what they mean:

Form:

My forms:

Rules:

Sign up, and we'll start when we have enough members. The leader's mate will be chosen In Character, so you can't just put 'leader' in the rank. However, any other free ranks are fine~

Gypsie smiled deviously as she entered the den behind Adder.

"You know, love isn't real," Echo stated matter-of-factly as he padded up to the two toms, chuckling all the way. "No matter how much you believe, love is a void emotion."

The silver tabby gazed at her with humor glinting in his teasing green eyes. "Oh, you sill girl! Watch what you wish for, now. Love can only by followed by hurt. You build it up, then it crashes down, an empire of dirt," He mewed, scowling slightly to himself. He was remembering.

Sylvia picked up the large squirrel she'd killed, noticing a small burn on its tail. A fire nearby, perhaps? She didn't care, carrying it back to where the other members of the career pack were working on a fire. She quickly disspeared into the woods, again, looking for someone to kill. She wiped the blood from the knife she'd killed the squirrel with.

Soon, the young girl came across Cassidy and Amanda. She chuckled, holding a knife in her hand. It wasn't poisoned' no use wasting good things on weak people. She tossed the knife casually from a bush, watching as it flew towards her fellow contestants....

(Can it hit one of them, not kill?)

(Oh, death is good. Sylvia's first kill. Yeah. Super sexy.)

OH MY GOD HI I LIKE RAINBOWS CHOCOLATE IS GOOD FOR EPIC HORMONES SOUTH PARK IS THE BEST SGIW EVER, KENNY IS MY FAVORITE PERSON EVER.

Sylvia glanced at the touching scene, feeling nothing at all. She was glad that the girl was dead. Quick as lightning, she leaped out of the bushes and grabbed the knife, quickly running heer fingers through the blood that'd spilled from Amanda's chest. Her glittering eyes glanced at Cassidy for one moment before she dissappeared, and she whispered, "You're next."

Accepted. We'll just have to wait for a healer until we rp. Or we can have the Rogue's youngest healer.
And no. I wanted to be the healer, but I didn't want to be a king and a healer; it'd be a little unfair~

And I think I forgot to mention that healers are allowed to have only one litter of kits, and one of those kits is always used as a sacrifice eventually.

Yes. It is quite alright. We need more members. Mur.

Echo's ears pricked as he heard voices near his home. He raced through the bushes, calling over his shoulder, "Come on Gypsie!" He skidded to a stop in front of the two she-cats, breathing heavily. "'Sup?"

(Would've typed more; had to get off)

I haven't read The Last Hope, but from the spoilers that are too tempting to read I know who dies. I really, really, REALLY hate

and if he really did choose

I will personally stab every copy of The Last Hope with a bloody knife. Kill Brambleclaw, kill him with fire.

Demented looked up from where he was devouring a mouse, noticing a faint shape in the dark forest. Oh! Blood to spill? A new ally? he thought happily, trotting towards the she-cat with no precaution whatsoever. "Hey, I'm Demented. And you are?" His deep mew echoed off the trees eerily.

(Hey. I'm demented. Lawl.)

...BUMP!

Sᴄʀᴇᴇɴ Nᴀᴍᴇ: Torchiclove
Sᴄʀᴇᴇɴ Nɪᴄᴋɴᴀᴍᴇ: Torchic or Tor
Aᴄᴛɪᴠɪᴛʏ Mᴇᴛᴇʀ ( Hᴏᴡ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ? ): 10 on weekends, 5 on school days
Cᴀᴛ Nᴀᴍᴇ: Shattersoul
Gᴇɴᴅᴇʀ: Female
Aɢᴇ: 16 moons
Rᴀɴᴋ: Warrior~
Aᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ ( ᴘɪᴄs ᴀʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ ): (That but with sad, dark eyes and a gaunt figure; she barely eats)
Pᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ: A young she-cat thrown through the spires of a cold, icy life that shatters her very being. She has slipped into post-traumatic depression after her parents being torn apart viciously by a pack of a wild dogs. Vision of blood spraying everywhere as joyful barking split the air still rush back at her, giving her frequent panic attacks and mental breakdowns. When she is actually fit to be a cat, she is an excellent fighter with ruthless claws and sharp fangs. When she is just normally at camp, she barely eats, her ribs always showing through the pelt that barely clings to her bones. It's hard for her to eat as she already stomachs the pain of a broken life. Her spirit is trampled, her purposes crushed, and she doesn't believe in love, but she still clings on to life itself, the only thing she has left.
Hɪsᴛᴏʀʏ: She grew up normally, until, at 11 moons, she was on patrol with her parents. A pack of dogs ripped them apart and all she did was scamper up a tree in fright. But there was nothing she could do, right? But she still feels guilt for the tragic day...
Fᴀᴍɪʟʏ: All of them are DEAD.
Mᴀᴛᴇ/Cʀᴜsʜ: She doesn't believe in love anymore.
Kɪᴛs: ~
RP Sᴀᴍᴘʟᴇ: Gypsie gazed across the moon-lit clearing, her eyes ablaze. Fog surrounded her and her rogue clan-mates. The tall pine trees that dappled the forest with eerie shadows seemed taller than ever on this dreadful night, the night of the full moon.
"Who will it be?" Whispered somecat.
"Silence!" Gypsie hissed, her bright blue eyes boring into the glittering green spheres of Katari, one of the other rogues. "I have made my decision. The cat to be swallowed by the mist on this, the night of the full moon, will be Griffen!" Shock rippled through the rogues as Griffen stepped forward. A mere novice! And Gypsie's son at that! Why would a healer be so cruel to her own flesh and blood?
"I accept my fate." Griffen's voice was strong, but it started shaking the more he spoke.
"May the mist guide you well, young one," Gypsie whispered, and all the cats retreated to their dens. (If you need a sample of fighting, here it is!)
Shattersoul yowled in pain, taking a sceond the lap the blood welling from her side. "You'll pay, badger-breath!" She yelled, launching herself at the ginger she-cat before her. Crimson claws raked the ginger, Flameflicker's, side. Blood oozed from the cut as Flameflicker fought back viciously with tooth and claw. "You'll die today," Shattersoul whispered, raking thorn-sharp claws against Flaemflicker's heavily-furred neck. Her throat filled with blood instead of air, making her gag as the writhed violently on the blood-drenched ground. Shattersoul spat on the dieing she-cat, walking away while kciking dirt on the practical-corpse. Flameflicker's eyes drained of life as she drowned in her own hot, sticky blood.
Oᴛʜᴇʀ: ~

Sylvia stared proudly at the blood on her fingernails, smiling. She spread the blood across the top of each nail, like red french tips. She decided to paint herself with the blood of all the people she killed. And if all went as planned, she would soon get a pedicure.

Sylvia returned to the career's camp, grinning maliciously. "Hey, while you guys were sitting on your butts I managed to kill somebody," She declared happily, pumping a fist in the air. This was the lighter side of Sylvia; partying, extreme, and totally evil.