Post by Smokeleaf on May 15, 2010 19:01:31 GMT -5
Name: Laurelnose
Rank: honorable, trustworthy Pelt
Age: that fair age between young and middle-aged
Gender: the delicate she-cat
Clan: Clan of the Embers
Clan Relations: Ever available
Pelt: Winter embraces the sleek pelt of Laurelnose, colored white like the hoar-frost of morning and speckled with wild ginger. Her ears are soft, pink wild flowers, and her nose, a delicate mulberry in its snow-covered bush. The slenderness of a distant stream is held captive in her lithe little frame. Strong muscles act as the ripples through the water, and her tail is the delta which slices the land and waves in a meandering path. Legs resemble the tall trunks of the whispering birch. In time immemorial, the storm clouds of war raged over the Clan, and the impeccable pelt of the she-cat was sliced by relentless claws, leaving a lasting scar on her tender nape. Alas, even through perseverance, the slate-colored rain cannot be cleaned from her pelt, and the characteristic soot settles forever on her fur.
Eyes: Even the sky is envious of the rich, royal color that fills her eyes. Emotion is perfectly distinct; the passion in her heart is so plentiful, that it has no choice but to exit through her soul’s crystal windows. No aspect of the ether is missing, and even the clouds are present in the constant misting over; faraway places and dreams stretch across her vision like silt in a stream. Focus is determined purely fictitious.
Personality: No petty words could properly represent the passion that fills her heart; no number could quantify the hope, the love, the emotion! Oh, dear burning Clan of Embers, what hath thou done to the poor she-cat? Your commonplace desire for new life has made a mockery of her, and her thirst for romance can never be quenched! War and the pursuit of prey were denied in her psyche; instead, only language blossoms in her talents. Where are her peers, her mate, her kits? No one strays near, save the muses which warp her mind and inculcate in her their poetic voices. Silence is never nearby; her voice must forever sing to the heavens, and praise must flow constantly from her tongue. Oh, Flaming Eternal! Grant her the love she so desperately desires! Allow her to hear the purrs of a tom, and the pitter-patter song of little paws! Save us all from her passion!
History SparkNotes Version: Laurelnose is a young EmberClan she-cat with a mostly white pelt, although there are a few ginger splotches here and there. Build-wise, she’s thin with a long tail. Her eyes are blue. All she can think about is romance, and she speaks in extremely flowery language, making metaphors of things she’s never even seen before. It wouldn’t be so bad if she were quiet, but unfortunately, she can’t shut up. If you’ve never heard of an adjective before, prepare to learn. Due to EmberClan’s obsession with “new life,” she’s desperate to woo a tom and have kits, but has, as of yet, been unsuccessful, which only increases her passion. Weird cat. Good luck.
Other: Dear Diary, I had a very nice meeting with a thesaurus today…
Rank: honorable, trustworthy Pelt
Age: that fair age between young and middle-aged
Gender: the delicate she-cat
Clan: Clan of the Embers
Clan Relations: Ever available
Pelt: Winter embraces the sleek pelt of Laurelnose, colored white like the hoar-frost of morning and speckled with wild ginger. Her ears are soft, pink wild flowers, and her nose, a delicate mulberry in its snow-covered bush. The slenderness of a distant stream is held captive in her lithe little frame. Strong muscles act as the ripples through the water, and her tail is the delta which slices the land and waves in a meandering path. Legs resemble the tall trunks of the whispering birch. In time immemorial, the storm clouds of war raged over the Clan, and the impeccable pelt of the she-cat was sliced by relentless claws, leaving a lasting scar on her tender nape. Alas, even through perseverance, the slate-colored rain cannot be cleaned from her pelt, and the characteristic soot settles forever on her fur.
Eyes: Even the sky is envious of the rich, royal color that fills her eyes. Emotion is perfectly distinct; the passion in her heart is so plentiful, that it has no choice but to exit through her soul’s crystal windows. No aspect of the ether is missing, and even the clouds are present in the constant misting over; faraway places and dreams stretch across her vision like silt in a stream. Focus is determined purely fictitious.
Personality: No petty words could properly represent the passion that fills her heart; no number could quantify the hope, the love, the emotion! Oh, dear burning Clan of Embers, what hath thou done to the poor she-cat? Your commonplace desire for new life has made a mockery of her, and her thirst for romance can never be quenched! War and the pursuit of prey were denied in her psyche; instead, only language blossoms in her talents. Where are her peers, her mate, her kits? No one strays near, save the muses which warp her mind and inculcate in her their poetic voices. Silence is never nearby; her voice must forever sing to the heavens, and praise must flow constantly from her tongue. Oh, Flaming Eternal! Grant her the love she so desperately desires! Allow her to hear the purrs of a tom, and the pitter-patter song of little paws! Save us all from her passion!
Other: Dear Diary, I had a very nice meeting with a thesaurus today…
