Post by milkfur on Jan 24, 2010 23:38:13 GMT -5
Name & Clan: Oilsmear
Age: 16 moons
Gender: Male (Tom)
Allegiance: Tunnelclan
Rank: Warrior
Description: Oilsmear is a completely black tom with sleek short fur that looks as if it's always wet. He has fiery amber eyes. He's small with wiry muscles instead of a large fighter, and is a better hunter than fighter. His tail is a stumb due to an accident in the city.
Personality: Oilsmear is relatively good-natured, having a high tolerance for kit and apprentice jokes and annoyance. He is friendly, but he is biased, and he refuses to believe that anything other than what he says is right. He obeys rules with ease, but he thinks that everyone should obey rules with him. He's very bossy, although if he's warned that he's getting too bossy he'll shut up right away, but the bossiness never goes away; only temporarily. He's also terrified of going out of the sewers; he is afraid of the city after an accident in the past.
History: Oilsmear grew up with his parents not paying too much attention to him and always being put aside, even his mother in the nursery fed him as a chore. It influenced his bossiness since he now desires attention and being listened to. His tail is also cut short due to an accident where his tail was stepped on by a Twoleg, and it had to be amputated when he was an apprentice, causing him to keep mostly in the sewers. Reserved to the sewers, just about every journey out into the city is a little adventure for him.
Relatives: None known
Other: Oilsmear woke from the warriors den and stretched his paws out in front of him, jaws stretching wide in a yawn. He shook sand from his pelt after sleeping on the floor of the sandy hollow, and then padded out of the den. Standing in the center of the basement camp, Oilsmear glanced at the fresh-kill pile. There was a stringy rat on the top of the pile so he went over and took it, his stomach growling. He ate it in a few quick gulps, the rat not nearly as satisfying as mice. Once he was finished the rat, he glanced around for anyone to go on a patrol with. The clearing seemed surprisingly empty, and he wasn't about to go out alone. Instead, he took a fish and padded towards the elders den not out of kindness towards the elders he was feeding, but greed as he waited for someone to patrol with.
Age: 16 moons
Gender: Male (Tom)
Allegiance: Tunnelclan
Rank: Warrior
Description: Oilsmear is a completely black tom with sleek short fur that looks as if it's always wet. He has fiery amber eyes. He's small with wiry muscles instead of a large fighter, and is a better hunter than fighter. His tail is a stumb due to an accident in the city.
Personality: Oilsmear is relatively good-natured, having a high tolerance for kit and apprentice jokes and annoyance. He is friendly, but he is biased, and he refuses to believe that anything other than what he says is right. He obeys rules with ease, but he thinks that everyone should obey rules with him. He's very bossy, although if he's warned that he's getting too bossy he'll shut up right away, but the bossiness never goes away; only temporarily. He's also terrified of going out of the sewers; he is afraid of the city after an accident in the past.
History: Oilsmear grew up with his parents not paying too much attention to him and always being put aside, even his mother in the nursery fed him as a chore. It influenced his bossiness since he now desires attention and being listened to. His tail is also cut short due to an accident where his tail was stepped on by a Twoleg, and it had to be amputated when he was an apprentice, causing him to keep mostly in the sewers. Reserved to the sewers, just about every journey out into the city is a little adventure for him.
Relatives: None known
Other: Oilsmear woke from the warriors den and stretched his paws out in front of him, jaws stretching wide in a yawn. He shook sand from his pelt after sleeping on the floor of the sandy hollow, and then padded out of the den. Standing in the center of the basement camp, Oilsmear glanced at the fresh-kill pile. There was a stringy rat on the top of the pile so he went over and took it, his stomach growling. He ate it in a few quick gulps, the rat not nearly as satisfying as mice. Once he was finished the rat, he glanced around for anyone to go on a patrol with. The clearing seemed surprisingly empty, and he wasn't about to go out alone. Instead, he took a fish and padded towards the elders den not out of kindness towards the elders he was feeding, but greed as he waited for someone to patrol with.
