Post by Taxx on Feb 6, 2019 0:16:31 GMT -5
Name: Toril (the Resolute)
Age: 36 moons
Sex: She-cat
Gang: Marauders
Rank: Boss
Social Stats
Intelligence: 7
Empathy: 5
Charisma: 10
Willpower: 10
Battle Stats
Strength: 8
Endurance: 8
Agility: 10
Instinct: 12
Picture:
Description Summary: Small dilute calico she-cat with light green eyes
Full Description: Toril was originally named for her fur- specifically, for the gray patches. They blend smoothly with tan splashes and the white that marks her chest, stripes a narrow path down her nose, and marks each paw. Her pelt is short and a bit on the thin side, meaning she can’t be out very long in the coldest moons of leafbare.
While far from being the most massive cat within the Gang, Toril is sturdy- hard of muscle; lean but strong. Her moons of apprentice training were difficult but they have more than paid off and she is as competent as any in her Gang when it comes to the fights and raids they carry out. Her legs may be a bit on the shorter side, but there are advantages to being slender, and she's far from weak. Toril carries herself with an air of swaggering confidence. Large strides and expressive gestures get her attention, and her personality takes care of the rest.
Personality: At first glance, you might expect this tiny, delicate she-cat to have a similar temperament- kind, soft, timid. Nothing could be further from the truth. There is a touch of mercy within her, but you’d have to have spent a great deal of time around her to see it. Toward her mother and sister, Dusk and Mist, she will show affection, and she's a touch softer with new apprentices.
But these are rare instances, and Toril usually shows a different side. She is bold and outspoken, blunt and ambitious, loud and boisterous and bursting with the vitality that marks her undeniably as a Marauder. The she-cat has no problem making her opinions known, and rarely takes the time to consider another cat’s feelings before speaking- especially if she’s caught off guard.
A dry sense of humor that might ruffle some cats the wrong way, and an almost constant sarcasm that even her own kin aren’t safe from- these she uses frequently, as readily as she’ll use her claws on an enemy. Rather cynical- a glass half empty sort for sure, Toril tends to see the worst in everything- though she keeps this to herself.
Stubborn as well, it can be almost impossible to dissuade her from a course of action she’s set on. A rigid set of beliefs shape her personality, as well as the loss of her father, who she loved dearly, and though she rarely shows it to the fullest, she deeply cares for her remaining kin and her Gang, and would do anything for them- even if it means her life.
History: Born Dove, she was one of two she-kits born to loving parents. Dusk and Storm were both attentive, and the tom frequently would give his mate a break while he took over, playing with the two young kits or telling them stories, and it was he who gave them their first taste of freshkill- a mouse, fresh caught and still warm. Dove adored him from the first, and as he tended to visit around the same time each night, she began to abandon all play as the time neared and set up a watch, greeting her father with a joyful cry when he appeared.
Her early days were filled with play, and it was the best time- she had a mother to watch over her, a sister to play with, and a father to share his experiences with hunting or fighting with each visit. She was quick to realize the importance of rank he held- and through him, that she and Mist held, and that eventually, one day, she or Mist would be called on to continue the line of leadership.
In due time, she and Mist became apprentices, and the mottled new apprentice, while thrilled to take up her new duties, could not help a pang for what she would be leaving behind. And she was glad when Storm’s attention never waned, only now, it wasn’t all just him telling her about his day- she could tell him about hers too. When she expressed trouble in battle, he gave her tips, arranged mock battles, encouraged her. Dusk helped where she could, but as close as the relationship between Dove and Storm was, so was the relationship between Mist and Dusk.
Dove learned- she would never be very strong, but she was fast and agile and she developed ways to use those traits to her advantage- and proved herself a worthy opponent. At seven moons, a raid against the Guardians was arranged, for herbs they were low on. Dove was called to join them, but when they were caught she had to fight; with little hesitation, she lunged for apprentice of the Guardians and thoroughly trounced him before snatching a mouthful of leaves and leaving with the rest of her Gang.
The training was hard, but Dove excelled. She pushed herself to be the best, learned how to hunt and fight, using the tips given to adapt her style to suit her frame. She tried to help Mist, too, but her sister seemed to have a far harder time with the more strenuous aspects of training; hunting she did well at, but fighting proved to be a challenge she couldn't seem to overcome. So she switched roles, learning instead how to scout- and this she proved herself well suited for.
Dove's training group consisted of three sisters, she-cats as reckless as they came in the Gang, and she spent many moons working with them- and pitting herself against them- as they worked their way toward becoming warriors. They were a moon younger, but age meant nothing; their abilities were honed as finely as her own in fighting and hunting. She enjoyed the daily challenges, pushing herself to match their abilities or issuing her own challenges to prove herself a true Marauder.
The four took their warrior test together, leading a raid against the Renegades for food and herbs, returning home successful with their prizes. And she took her new name- as discussed with Storm when she had been planning the raid, hoping for its success, she gave up the name 'Dove' to be replaced with one more fitting. As Toril, she put her mark on the wall, alongside the rest of her former apprentice group, and started her new life as a warrior with a friendly tussle with a Gangmate.
She was equally pleased when her sister joined her a short time later as a scout, but Mist seemed less interested in duties of scouting; within six moons of earning her title, she was situated comfortably in the nursery with a litter of kits at her belly. Toril was happy enough to watch the kits as they grew, but she had no intention of joining her sister in this. One day, she knew, she would have to have kits, to continue the lineage, but not yet. And, if she died before she managed that goal, she was covered- her sister's kits would take over in her stead.
Not much exciting happened in that time; hunting and raiding went on as usual, and Toril took part in training an apprentice while watching others train her sister's three kits. It was, however, their warrior test that led to Storm's death. The raid itself went great, and the cats were making their noisy way homeward when a shape hurled itself from an alley and sank its fangs into Storm's neck. A dog, Toril noticed in the first stunned moment, frozen as she watched her father struggle- and then she screeched and hurled herself forward, the rest of the Gang at her heels.
The dog didn't turn tail and run immediately, but it was outnumbered and it couldn't fight them all. After one snap came far too close to a niece, Toril used the momentary distraction and sprang right onto its back, digging her front claws and sharp teeth in while her back claws raked deeply through skin. Another cat joined her, gripping on to one flank, and then suddenly there was a rush of water out of nowhere, drenching the cats and the dog, and they scattered with yowls of surprise- two apprentices carrying Storm's body.
It was obvious at a glance that the tom was dead; blood was soaked into the fur around his neck and his eyes stared blankly. Toril hunched over him for a moment, breathed in his familiar scent one last time, and then straightened. She sent her niece to fetch Mist and Dusk, and then nodded to the rest; two of them lifted Storm and carried him toward the river.
Her mother and sister were waiting, the rest of the Gang were standing around them, some lining the path to the bridge. There was silence but it had a tense quality, like a spring about to break. Toril held back as the two carrying the former leader paused at the top of the bridge, waited just a heartbeat, and then let him go. Throwing her head back, Toril yowled to the sky, "His Final Leap!" and the rest of the Gang echoed it back to her.
Ignoring the twist of grief that came when she heard the splash of Storm's body into the water, Toril whirled around and hurled herself at a Gangmate perched near the edge of the bridge, and for a moment the two grappled, hisses punctuated by the thud of paws landing blows. Seemingly in complete ferocity, but at the same time, they broke off, pretending indifference in each other.
The rest of the day passed in similar acts, but though there were injuries, no more cats died. And life went on apace- the only change being the leadership. Toril took leadership easily, but there was truly little change from her days as a warrior. She gave advice where needed, and decided where and when to raid- or trade- but most decisions were done as a group, as they had been done under Storm.
She is still new to the role, and she has named her sister Mist as her General, the two leading the Gang together- Toril as the one to charge ahead and get things done, while Mist talks her down from rash action if she must.
RP Sample: Toril let a day go by, plenty of time for Mist to recover from the birth, before she visited to see her little nieces and nephew. Looking bright and proud, Mist welcomed her sister, and Toril settled down beside her, looking over the small forms of her kin. They weren't named yet- would not be until they opened their eyes, but they were lively and none seemed destined to be lost. A purr fluttered in Toril's throat and she nuzzled the ginger fur of the single tom, a little copy of his father, while the other two were gray tabbies like their mother.
"I'll look forward to seeing them running about camp," Toril commented, and Mist purred.
"Before you know it," she replied, gently licking the bigger of the tabbies to soothe her.
"Well, let's hope they got your temperament," Toril purred, stretching out and settling in for a lengthy visit with Mist and her kits.
Referral: Zen!
Age: 36 moons
Sex: She-cat
Gang: Marauders
Rank: Boss
Social Stats
Intelligence: 7
Empathy: 5
Charisma: 10
Willpower: 10
Battle Stats
Strength: 8
Endurance: 8
Agility: 10
Instinct: 12
Picture:
Description Summary: Small dilute calico she-cat with light green eyes
Full Description: Toril was originally named for her fur- specifically, for the gray patches. They blend smoothly with tan splashes and the white that marks her chest, stripes a narrow path down her nose, and marks each paw. Her pelt is short and a bit on the thin side, meaning she can’t be out very long in the coldest moons of leafbare.
While far from being the most massive cat within the Gang, Toril is sturdy- hard of muscle; lean but strong. Her moons of apprentice training were difficult but they have more than paid off and she is as competent as any in her Gang when it comes to the fights and raids they carry out. Her legs may be a bit on the shorter side, but there are advantages to being slender, and she's far from weak. Toril carries herself with an air of swaggering confidence. Large strides and expressive gestures get her attention, and her personality takes care of the rest.
Personality: At first glance, you might expect this tiny, delicate she-cat to have a similar temperament- kind, soft, timid. Nothing could be further from the truth. There is a touch of mercy within her, but you’d have to have spent a great deal of time around her to see it. Toward her mother and sister, Dusk and Mist, she will show affection, and she's a touch softer with new apprentices.
But these are rare instances, and Toril usually shows a different side. She is bold and outspoken, blunt and ambitious, loud and boisterous and bursting with the vitality that marks her undeniably as a Marauder. The she-cat has no problem making her opinions known, and rarely takes the time to consider another cat’s feelings before speaking- especially if she’s caught off guard.
A dry sense of humor that might ruffle some cats the wrong way, and an almost constant sarcasm that even her own kin aren’t safe from- these she uses frequently, as readily as she’ll use her claws on an enemy. Rather cynical- a glass half empty sort for sure, Toril tends to see the worst in everything- though she keeps this to herself.
Stubborn as well, it can be almost impossible to dissuade her from a course of action she’s set on. A rigid set of beliefs shape her personality, as well as the loss of her father, who she loved dearly, and though she rarely shows it to the fullest, she deeply cares for her remaining kin and her Gang, and would do anything for them- even if it means her life.
History: Born Dove, she was one of two she-kits born to loving parents. Dusk and Storm were both attentive, and the tom frequently would give his mate a break while he took over, playing with the two young kits or telling them stories, and it was he who gave them their first taste of freshkill- a mouse, fresh caught and still warm. Dove adored him from the first, and as he tended to visit around the same time each night, she began to abandon all play as the time neared and set up a watch, greeting her father with a joyful cry when he appeared.
Her early days were filled with play, and it was the best time- she had a mother to watch over her, a sister to play with, and a father to share his experiences with hunting or fighting with each visit. She was quick to realize the importance of rank he held- and through him, that she and Mist held, and that eventually, one day, she or Mist would be called on to continue the line of leadership.
In due time, she and Mist became apprentices, and the mottled new apprentice, while thrilled to take up her new duties, could not help a pang for what she would be leaving behind. And she was glad when Storm’s attention never waned, only now, it wasn’t all just him telling her about his day- she could tell him about hers too. When she expressed trouble in battle, he gave her tips, arranged mock battles, encouraged her. Dusk helped where she could, but as close as the relationship between Dove and Storm was, so was the relationship between Mist and Dusk.
Dove learned- she would never be very strong, but she was fast and agile and she developed ways to use those traits to her advantage- and proved herself a worthy opponent. At seven moons, a raid against the Guardians was arranged, for herbs they were low on. Dove was called to join them, but when they were caught she had to fight; with little hesitation, she lunged for apprentice of the Guardians and thoroughly trounced him before snatching a mouthful of leaves and leaving with the rest of her Gang.
The training was hard, but Dove excelled. She pushed herself to be the best, learned how to hunt and fight, using the tips given to adapt her style to suit her frame. She tried to help Mist, too, but her sister seemed to have a far harder time with the more strenuous aspects of training; hunting she did well at, but fighting proved to be a challenge she couldn't seem to overcome. So she switched roles, learning instead how to scout- and this she proved herself well suited for.
Dove's training group consisted of three sisters, she-cats as reckless as they came in the Gang, and she spent many moons working with them- and pitting herself against them- as they worked their way toward becoming warriors. They were a moon younger, but age meant nothing; their abilities were honed as finely as her own in fighting and hunting. She enjoyed the daily challenges, pushing herself to match their abilities or issuing her own challenges to prove herself a true Marauder.
The four took their warrior test together, leading a raid against the Renegades for food and herbs, returning home successful with their prizes. And she took her new name- as discussed with Storm when she had been planning the raid, hoping for its success, she gave up the name 'Dove' to be replaced with one more fitting. As Toril, she put her mark on the wall, alongside the rest of her former apprentice group, and started her new life as a warrior with a friendly tussle with a Gangmate.
She was equally pleased when her sister joined her a short time later as a scout, but Mist seemed less interested in duties of scouting; within six moons of earning her title, she was situated comfortably in the nursery with a litter of kits at her belly. Toril was happy enough to watch the kits as they grew, but she had no intention of joining her sister in this. One day, she knew, she would have to have kits, to continue the lineage, but not yet. And, if she died before she managed that goal, she was covered- her sister's kits would take over in her stead.
Not much exciting happened in that time; hunting and raiding went on as usual, and Toril took part in training an apprentice while watching others train her sister's three kits. It was, however, their warrior test that led to Storm's death. The raid itself went great, and the cats were making their noisy way homeward when a shape hurled itself from an alley and sank its fangs into Storm's neck. A dog, Toril noticed in the first stunned moment, frozen as she watched her father struggle- and then she screeched and hurled herself forward, the rest of the Gang at her heels.
The dog didn't turn tail and run immediately, but it was outnumbered and it couldn't fight them all. After one snap came far too close to a niece, Toril used the momentary distraction and sprang right onto its back, digging her front claws and sharp teeth in while her back claws raked deeply through skin. Another cat joined her, gripping on to one flank, and then suddenly there was a rush of water out of nowhere, drenching the cats and the dog, and they scattered with yowls of surprise- two apprentices carrying Storm's body.
It was obvious at a glance that the tom was dead; blood was soaked into the fur around his neck and his eyes stared blankly. Toril hunched over him for a moment, breathed in his familiar scent one last time, and then straightened. She sent her niece to fetch Mist and Dusk, and then nodded to the rest; two of them lifted Storm and carried him toward the river.
Her mother and sister were waiting, the rest of the Gang were standing around them, some lining the path to the bridge. There was silence but it had a tense quality, like a spring about to break. Toril held back as the two carrying the former leader paused at the top of the bridge, waited just a heartbeat, and then let him go. Throwing her head back, Toril yowled to the sky, "His Final Leap!" and the rest of the Gang echoed it back to her.
Ignoring the twist of grief that came when she heard the splash of Storm's body into the water, Toril whirled around and hurled herself at a Gangmate perched near the edge of the bridge, and for a moment the two grappled, hisses punctuated by the thud of paws landing blows. Seemingly in complete ferocity, but at the same time, they broke off, pretending indifference in each other.
The rest of the day passed in similar acts, but though there were injuries, no more cats died. And life went on apace- the only change being the leadership. Toril took leadership easily, but there was truly little change from her days as a warrior. She gave advice where needed, and decided where and when to raid- or trade- but most decisions were done as a group, as they had been done under Storm.
She is still new to the role, and she has named her sister Mist as her General, the two leading the Gang together- Toril as the one to charge ahead and get things done, while Mist talks her down from rash action if she must.
RP Sample: Toril let a day go by, plenty of time for Mist to recover from the birth, before she visited to see her little nieces and nephew. Looking bright and proud, Mist welcomed her sister, and Toril settled down beside her, looking over the small forms of her kin. They weren't named yet- would not be until they opened their eyes, but they were lively and none seemed destined to be lost. A purr fluttered in Toril's throat and she nuzzled the ginger fur of the single tom, a little copy of his father, while the other two were gray tabbies like their mother.
"I'll look forward to seeing them running about camp," Toril commented, and Mist purred.
"Before you know it," she replied, gently licking the bigger of the tabbies to soothe her.
"Well, let's hope they got your temperament," Toril purred, stretching out and settling in for a lengthy visit with Mist and her kits.
Referral: Zen!