IDEAS
Males
Maelstrom, Gael, Halo, Twilly
Males
Maelstrom, Gael, Halo, Twilly
▣◈◈Wraith ◈◈▣
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/_712367.jpg)
Aizen "Wraith" Noi
Warrior of DarkClan
Assassin
Spouse: none
Kin: n/a
Children: none
Friends: none
Rivals: none
Wraith is a despicable creature. Yes, creature, not human. He isn't human anymore. Maybe he never was. His entire existence is to kill. His entire focus is to destroy. His entire being is geared towards drawing blood and stealing away the precious force of life. He will counter that force with his own. Death. Death is his love, his life, his everything. When he isn't killing he is dreaming of it. He walks paths drawn in shadow and tainted with evil. His heart is a solid black rock in his chest. His soul is alive with the fires of hell. Wraith. A beautiful killing machine in tis own right. He has known nothing else but killing and that is what makes him so good at it. That is what makes him such a perfect, untainted assassin. Devoid of emotion, of inhibition, of thought, he is a puppet waiting for a master to come and pull his strings. Oh it's tricky. Trickier than one would think. His strings cannot be pulled by just anyone. First they must prove that they can control him, tame him, use him. Then and only then may they call themselves master over him. Even the people that made him this way did not hold such an honor. When he was still a small child, he was taken with several other children to an abandoned ruin, away from the influence of the Clans. There they were brainwashed, trained, reprogrammed to think of nothing but obedience, servitude, and killing. Small bodies grew into lean, muscular machines of combat. Innocent minds were sharpened and honed for strategy, tactics, reaction, and observation. Pretty, wide eyes became cold and cruel. Faces full of emotion became masks. And over those masks were more masks. Over and over, layer by layer, until an unrecognizable thing replaced a once bright and promising child. The people presented these children before the leader of DarkClan. It was then Wraith knew who his Master truly was. Not the petty people who bowed and scraped their knees at the feet of her, but the DarkClan leader herself. The woman who could command a horde with the wave of her hand. The woman who could sentence to death any who opposed her. The woman who bowed before no other. Wraith was in awe of her, Alessandra, and he silently vowed to do whatever it took to become this woman's puppet. The leader seemed to know this of Wraith. And when she gave the order, kill them all, it was Wraith who obeyed. Wraith. The leader gave that name to the nameless. The leader gave him the perfect mask: a disfigured, monstrous skull. A symbol of what Wraith is. A monster. A disfigured, incomprehensible monster. Wraith is the shadow of every DarkClan leader. Seldom is he not seen within the Clan. Even when time passed and old leaders fall while new ones rise, he will be there. Always there, doing his master's bidding. He will serve the strong. Always the strong. For he is strong himself. Wraith is completely muscle. Every bone in his body is strengthened to withstand most pressures. His cold, cruel eyes are blue and void. Nothing there. Nothing at all. Set in a face of a beautiful young man of sixteen. But that's all. Void. A void Wraith whose face is hidden behind his mask. Completing him is his raven black hair, the bandages wrapped about him, the black boots and torn, ragged green pants, the chest straps for the multiple knives and swords at his disposal at all times. He is called assassin, mercenary, murderer, slaughterer, berserker. He is all those and more. He is Wraith. Somewhere... there was... light... once... but no more. No more. Wraith.
AFTERTHOUGHT: Had a really interesting relationship developing between him and the Clan leader, but it never went anywhere.
Warrior of DarkClan
Assassin
Spouse: none
Kin: n/a
Children: none
Friends: none
Rivals: none
Wraith is a despicable creature. Yes, creature, not human. He isn't human anymore. Maybe he never was. His entire existence is to kill. His entire focus is to destroy. His entire being is geared towards drawing blood and stealing away the precious force of life. He will counter that force with his own. Death. Death is his love, his life, his everything. When he isn't killing he is dreaming of it. He walks paths drawn in shadow and tainted with evil. His heart is a solid black rock in his chest. His soul is alive with the fires of hell. Wraith. A beautiful killing machine in tis own right. He has known nothing else but killing and that is what makes him so good at it. That is what makes him such a perfect, untainted assassin. Devoid of emotion, of inhibition, of thought, he is a puppet waiting for a master to come and pull his strings. Oh it's tricky. Trickier than one would think. His strings cannot be pulled by just anyone. First they must prove that they can control him, tame him, use him. Then and only then may they call themselves master over him. Even the people that made him this way did not hold such an honor. When he was still a small child, he was taken with several other children to an abandoned ruin, away from the influence of the Clans. There they were brainwashed, trained, reprogrammed to think of nothing but obedience, servitude, and killing. Small bodies grew into lean, muscular machines of combat. Innocent minds were sharpened and honed for strategy, tactics, reaction, and observation. Pretty, wide eyes became cold and cruel. Faces full of emotion became masks. And over those masks were more masks. Over and over, layer by layer, until an unrecognizable thing replaced a once bright and promising child. The people presented these children before the leader of DarkClan. It was then Wraith knew who his Master truly was. Not the petty people who bowed and scraped their knees at the feet of her, but the DarkClan leader herself. The woman who could command a horde with the wave of her hand. The woman who could sentence to death any who opposed her. The woman who bowed before no other. Wraith was in awe of her, Alessandra, and he silently vowed to do whatever it took to become this woman's puppet. The leader seemed to know this of Wraith. And when she gave the order, kill them all, it was Wraith who obeyed. Wraith. The leader gave that name to the nameless. The leader gave him the perfect mask: a disfigured, monstrous skull. A symbol of what Wraith is. A monster. A disfigured, incomprehensible monster. Wraith is the shadow of every DarkClan leader. Seldom is he not seen within the Clan. Even when time passed and old leaders fall while new ones rise, he will be there. Always there, doing his master's bidding. He will serve the strong. Always the strong. For he is strong himself. Wraith is completely muscle. Every bone in his body is strengthened to withstand most pressures. His cold, cruel eyes are blue and void. Nothing there. Nothing at all. Set in a face of a beautiful young man of sixteen. But that's all. Void. A void Wraith whose face is hidden behind his mask. Completing him is his raven black hair, the bandages wrapped about him, the black boots and torn, ragged green pants, the chest straps for the multiple knives and swords at his disposal at all times. He is called assassin, mercenary, murderer, slaughterer, berserker. He is all those and more. He is Wraith. Somewhere... there was... light... once... but no more. No more. Wraith.
AFTERTHOUGHT: Had a really interesting relationship developing between him and the Clan leader, but it never went anywhere.
✣✤✥ Raxis ✣✤✥
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/_7379347.jpg)
Raxis De Bois
Warrior of FireClan
Sellsword
Spouse: none
Kin: n/a
Children: none
Friends: none
Rivals: none
Raxis De Bois is one of FireClan's prime sell swords. Well what on earth is a sell sword? A mercenary. A fighter for hire. If there's adventure to be had or things that need done that require physical skill and adept fighting, then Raxis De Bois is the man for the job. With the appropriate amount of coin of course. He doesn't do things for free. Your typical FireClan hothead, pardon the pun, he's bold, brash, fierce, and a formidable opponent in battle. But a soldier he does not want to be. Despite his appearance, he's not so young. He's been in war. Fought for good and evil. He's seen both sides. The broken and weary, the proud and victorious. He's been cast aside like the miserable pawn he was and picked up right after to try fruitlessly again. For one leader or another. They're all the same to him. Something he's often repeating. He eventually got tired of the games, the battles. The endless sacrifice and self-destruction he was constantly being thrown into. He gave it up and became a sell sword. He fights with a mundane, simple purpose: money. He no longer worries of the strife. He is no longer torn between two sides. He doesn't care if its right or wrong. He just does it. It's the only thing he's good at and the only thing he'll keep doing. Until either he dies or a different opportunity arises. He often hates himself for being so weak and pathetic, but its hard to blame him. He has a feeling that one day, when another war appears, he will end up abandoning this petty charade and join the fight. He can't resist the call. It's in his blood. Always has been. He was born in a long line of warriors, generals, combatants, and brawlers. Everyone who knows the De Bois knows Raxis will never give up the fight. He'll die on the battlefield by his own hand, as countless of his family have fallen before him. It's their way. If they are dying in battle past the point of all hope, they will execute themselves. And so the saying goes: No one can kill a De Bois but himself. It goes to prove, Raxis favored and treasured companion is his beautiful sword. After a particularly terrible battle, a high ranked warrior of LightClan gave him a precious metal, and with it, Raxis forged his own blade. Eldurin. Afterwards, he was also given a suit of armor of the same material. It glows a mysterious blue color whenever he is thirsty for battle. Sort of a foreboding warning, is it not. He left LightClan, that was his home, and joined FireClan soon later. Only a year after, and LightClan fell. Raxis vows to find the cause and restore LightClan to the way it once was, but he doubts his own ability. Raxis De Bois is a young man of twenty-eight with shaggy black hair and dark gray eyes.
AFTERTHOUGHT: He didn't do much...
Warrior of FireClan
Sellsword
Spouse: none
Kin: n/a
Children: none
Friends: none
Rivals: none
Raxis De Bois is one of FireClan's prime sell swords. Well what on earth is a sell sword? A mercenary. A fighter for hire. If there's adventure to be had or things that need done that require physical skill and adept fighting, then Raxis De Bois is the man for the job. With the appropriate amount of coin of course. He doesn't do things for free. Your typical FireClan hothead, pardon the pun, he's bold, brash, fierce, and a formidable opponent in battle. But a soldier he does not want to be. Despite his appearance, he's not so young. He's been in war. Fought for good and evil. He's seen both sides. The broken and weary, the proud and victorious. He's been cast aside like the miserable pawn he was and picked up right after to try fruitlessly again. For one leader or another. They're all the same to him. Something he's often repeating. He eventually got tired of the games, the battles. The endless sacrifice and self-destruction he was constantly being thrown into. He gave it up and became a sell sword. He fights with a mundane, simple purpose: money. He no longer worries of the strife. He is no longer torn between two sides. He doesn't care if its right or wrong. He just does it. It's the only thing he's good at and the only thing he'll keep doing. Until either he dies or a different opportunity arises. He often hates himself for being so weak and pathetic, but its hard to blame him. He has a feeling that one day, when another war appears, he will end up abandoning this petty charade and join the fight. He can't resist the call. It's in his blood. Always has been. He was born in a long line of warriors, generals, combatants, and brawlers. Everyone who knows the De Bois knows Raxis will never give up the fight. He'll die on the battlefield by his own hand, as countless of his family have fallen before him. It's their way. If they are dying in battle past the point of all hope, they will execute themselves. And so the saying goes: No one can kill a De Bois but himself. It goes to prove, Raxis favored and treasured companion is his beautiful sword. After a particularly terrible battle, a high ranked warrior of LightClan gave him a precious metal, and with it, Raxis forged his own blade. Eldurin. Afterwards, he was also given a suit of armor of the same material. It glows a mysterious blue color whenever he is thirsty for battle. Sort of a foreboding warning, is it not. He left LightClan, that was his home, and joined FireClan soon later. Only a year after, and LightClan fell. Raxis vows to find the cause and restore LightClan to the way it once was, but he doubts his own ability. Raxis De Bois is a young man of twenty-eight with shaggy black hair and dark gray eyes.
AFTERTHOUGHT: He didn't do much...
○◎◌ Io ◌◎○
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/_7343701.jpg)
Io Amarok
Deputy of MoonClan
Spouse: none
Kin: n/a
Children: none
Friends: none
Rivals: none
Io. It's hard to really tell about this boy. He's all ice and snow, but velvet and shadow too. There's no easy way to describe him, no perfect category to stick him inside. Io is cold. His icy stare can freeze any heart yet at times it melts them. He keeps his distance. He doesn't speak unless there's call for it. Being partially mute, he has had a lot of trouble speaking normally on a day to day basis, but he communicates in other ways that get his point across bluntly enough. He cares for his Clan, and it shows, but people wouldn't know it just by asking him. In any life threatening or Clan threatening situation, he would go to the extreme to guarantee his fellow brethren's safety. So much as to break every moral and code laid down for the Clans. He is quite possibly the most ruthless of all MoonClan. Not to say he does not share the clam and peaceful nature, just that he has a different way of attaining that peace. If a threat poses itself, he will not talk it out or try and reach a solution through compromises. He will take initiative and neutralize the threat. Permanently. This has caused a great deal of controversy between him and fellow Clanmates. On some instances, he has been deemed unfit to lead, but the Clan has put a deal of faith into him and his ability and he will see them all survive to the end. When LightClan fell, he knew that they couldn't survive through avoiding the problem. They were being targeted. Things had taken a drastic turn, and what better way to respond than with drastic measures. He wasn't all that keen on simply killing and fighting at first. In fact he wanted more than anything to reach some kind of peaceful balance with DarkClan and MoonClan, but the more time went on and MoonClan became more heavily targeted, he realized those sorts of solution wouldn't work. Times had changed, and the only course left was to adapt. To his own Clan and to those who pose no threat or wish no ill will, he is absolutley self-sacrificing and caring towards them. He does not discriminate between strong and weak. He believes all have the potential to be great if only they are helped to be that and not hindered. He is kind and gentle, and those are the times where he seems soft and loving. Like some pure, guardian angel. Yes, a guardian angel. That is how Io can be described as. Gentle and loving, but fierce and menacing when things grow dire. Io has been described as beautiful before. He has pale, flawless skin the color of milk chocolate. He has shaggy, white hair, and the most insane, ice blue eyes. They seem to glow and shimmer, writhing and pulsing, as if they are alive all in themselves. Endless, endless, cold, frosty blue. Like the sky or some northern ocean dropped into his eyes. He wears mostly white, such as his armor and normal clothing. Seldom does he wear other colors. Io is very strong, but lithe. Nearing eighteen years, he is growing stronger and more powerful every day.
AFTERTHOUGHT: He was so much fun to rp! I forget where I put him though... he appeared on another site. Well, I'll remember eventually. But anyway, a bunch of girls liked him which amused me greatly because he was clueless about it the whole time.
Deputy of MoonClan
Spouse: none
Kin: n/a
Children: none
Friends: none
Rivals: none
Io. It's hard to really tell about this boy. He's all ice and snow, but velvet and shadow too. There's no easy way to describe him, no perfect category to stick him inside. Io is cold. His icy stare can freeze any heart yet at times it melts them. He keeps his distance. He doesn't speak unless there's call for it. Being partially mute, he has had a lot of trouble speaking normally on a day to day basis, but he communicates in other ways that get his point across bluntly enough. He cares for his Clan, and it shows, but people wouldn't know it just by asking him. In any life threatening or Clan threatening situation, he would go to the extreme to guarantee his fellow brethren's safety. So much as to break every moral and code laid down for the Clans. He is quite possibly the most ruthless of all MoonClan. Not to say he does not share the clam and peaceful nature, just that he has a different way of attaining that peace. If a threat poses itself, he will not talk it out or try and reach a solution through compromises. He will take initiative and neutralize the threat. Permanently. This has caused a great deal of controversy between him and fellow Clanmates. On some instances, he has been deemed unfit to lead, but the Clan has put a deal of faith into him and his ability and he will see them all survive to the end. When LightClan fell, he knew that they couldn't survive through avoiding the problem. They were being targeted. Things had taken a drastic turn, and what better way to respond than with drastic measures. He wasn't all that keen on simply killing and fighting at first. In fact he wanted more than anything to reach some kind of peaceful balance with DarkClan and MoonClan, but the more time went on and MoonClan became more heavily targeted, he realized those sorts of solution wouldn't work. Times had changed, and the only course left was to adapt. To his own Clan and to those who pose no threat or wish no ill will, he is absolutley self-sacrificing and caring towards them. He does not discriminate between strong and weak. He believes all have the potential to be great if only they are helped to be that and not hindered. He is kind and gentle, and those are the times where he seems soft and loving. Like some pure, guardian angel. Yes, a guardian angel. That is how Io can be described as. Gentle and loving, but fierce and menacing when things grow dire. Io has been described as beautiful before. He has pale, flawless skin the color of milk chocolate. He has shaggy, white hair, and the most insane, ice blue eyes. They seem to glow and shimmer, writhing and pulsing, as if they are alive all in themselves. Endless, endless, cold, frosty blue. Like the sky or some northern ocean dropped into his eyes. He wears mostly white, such as his armor and normal clothing. Seldom does he wear other colors. Io is very strong, but lithe. Nearing eighteen years, he is growing stronger and more powerful every day.
AFTERTHOUGHT: He was so much fun to rp! I forget where I put him though... he appeared on another site. Well, I'll remember eventually. But anyway, a bunch of girls liked him which amused me greatly because he was clueless about it the whole time.
▽¥▽ Peridot ▽¥▽
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/_4612390.jpg)
Peridot Nareli
Warrior of EarthClan
Spouse: none
Kin: Cremia (twin sister)
Children: none
Friends: Cremia
Rivals: none
Peridot Nareli, the eldest of the Nareli twins, is an odd boy to be sure. He is shy and very introverted, kind of a recluse. He gets along with adults, but never seemed to relate to others his age, now and when he was younger. His sister is the only exception. He tends to act older than his age and can pass for a young adult despite his age of sixteen years. It's all in his stature and carriage. Naturally a sweet and gentle boy, he is very loving and warmhearted to those he cares for, most notably his aforementioned sister Cremia. When he is angry, he doesn't lash out. Rather he attains his revenge slowly, subtly. When it happens its a shock to all who witness it. He's quite manipulative and persuassive. He knows how to push buttons and get the very reactions he wants when he wants them. No one really knows this darker side though a couple have mused at it. One could almost say he enjoys tampering with people's emotions and perceptions. He has a very distorted view of the world and ordinary things in general. Wether its his basic motives, morals, inhibitions, or preferences in things. Hard to believe it honestly. He has all the appearances of being carefree, genuinely happy, and a very bright young man all around. To put it simply in terms most would understand, both Peridot and Cremia experienced an unspeakable trauma in their past. A trauma neither sibling remembers really. The effects of the suppressed memories present themselves in daydreams and nightmares. Despite appearances, Peridot doesn't sleep. He barely eats. He can hardly write his name or do many ordinary tasks. He's always found sleeping in the oddest places at the most inconvenient times. He's rather weak in body and mind both, since he hasn't been getting the proper care he needs. Again, no one would know this about him. He can be quite the good actor. Peridot has an almost obsession with taking care of his sister. He's almost always checking on her, making sure she's alright, and having the best of the best whenever possible. Sometimes he annoys her, sometimes she enjoys the attention and his company. It's a habit of his he won't break. He really, truly, cares for and loves her. Peridot is quite tall for his age, often confused as an older brother and not a twin of Cremia. He has dusty, milk chocolate brown hair like hers and peridot colored eyes. He named himself after their color. He is pretty identical in facial structure and body proportions to his sister, only more masculine.
No one really knows the story of the twins. Certainly not Peridot or Cremia themselves, for it has all been lost to them, locked away somewhere in their minds. Years ago, FireClan was at war with outsiders. No, the twins were not FireClan. They were outsiders. The twin children of one of the rogue leaders. Merely little children trapped amidst this dire conflict, they had absolutley no say in the events that unfolded around them. Too young to fight, their primary knowledge of the war was of the injured and dying men and women they helped tend to and the varied weapons they had to clean and prep. One night, the rogue camp was devoid of leader and the strong warriors as they prepared for a surprise attack on FireClan. Aware of this, FireClan used the absence to their advantage. In the middle of the night, they slaughtered all those who remained within the camp. Cremia and Peridot hid, confused, frightened, staring in horror as family, friends, and allies were torn to pieces before their eyes, for none really last long when a target of a FireClan warrior's wrath. A spy recognized the children and stole them away to FireClan, presenting them before the leader. FireClan's leader had good use for them it seemed. Leverage. Perchance the rogue leader had a heart for his own children. They bargained with the rogue, that no harm would befall his children should he and his pack leave. But they underestimated him. The rogue leader had nary a heart, and he paid the twins no mind. So FireClan carried out their threats, and they made no reserves for the weaker, smaller twins. They were enemy. They were treated as such. Peridot and Cremia suffered for two years under the FireClan's harsh decree. Until history repeated itself. FireClan's strong stole away in the night. Their cages unguarded, the twins slipped off into the night. Running for the only place they knew where to go. Camp. But there was no camp left for them. FireClan and rogue met in battle and it was pure carnage. Caught once more in the midst of the conflict, but now with the very battle before them, the two barely escaped with their lives, having little to no combat experience and very weak and dishevvelled. They wandered aimlessly, hopelessly. Far from the reaches of FireClan and into unknown territories. A long time later, a terrible storm brewed. The two took shelter under a tree at the bottom of a cliff. The storm raged. The rain became a torrential flood. With a terrible roar, boulders and mud swarmed down the side of the cliff and crushed the two. Trapped and injured, they waited out their fates. The storm raged for days, and there wasn't much hope in sight. But, on the fourth day, the rain stopped. By afternoon, an EarthClan patrol came to the area to clear it of the debris and rocks since they had all tumbled into one of their paths. As they dug, they found bodies. Expecting to find corpses, the warriors were surprised to find the two children alive, barely, yet alive all the same. They nursed the children back to health with much difficulty. Their injuries and severe trauma to their heads had made them lose a lot of memory. Coupled with suppression, it was hopeless for anyone to figure out who they were or where they came from. As no Clans claimed any missing children, EarthClan took it upon themselves to accept the twins into their care. The twins still retained their basic personalities and normal responses from before their trauma, and it appeared a little odd. Flinching, screaming, crying, biting, lashing out, cowering in fear: they reacted most strangely at the oddest of times, and they trusted no one but each other for years. Slowly they learned and relaxed into the safety of their new life. Now young warriors, the twins seem to be fully immersed and adequately placed in their new lives. Even with new names, as their old ones were lost, it is indeed as if they have been reborn, the avalanche washing away their pasts. But history has a way of catching up with people, and it lets the twins know that someday it will all be clear to them again, sending little reminders in the forms of daydreams and nightmares.
AFTERTHOUGHT: A different member played the sister Cremia. Cremia stuffed snow down his shirt. Yah... that's about it.
Warrior of EarthClan
Spouse: none
Kin: Cremia (twin sister)
Children: none
Friends: Cremia
Rivals: none
Peridot Nareli, the eldest of the Nareli twins, is an odd boy to be sure. He is shy and very introverted, kind of a recluse. He gets along with adults, but never seemed to relate to others his age, now and when he was younger. His sister is the only exception. He tends to act older than his age and can pass for a young adult despite his age of sixteen years. It's all in his stature and carriage. Naturally a sweet and gentle boy, he is very loving and warmhearted to those he cares for, most notably his aforementioned sister Cremia. When he is angry, he doesn't lash out. Rather he attains his revenge slowly, subtly. When it happens its a shock to all who witness it. He's quite manipulative and persuassive. He knows how to push buttons and get the very reactions he wants when he wants them. No one really knows this darker side though a couple have mused at it. One could almost say he enjoys tampering with people's emotions and perceptions. He has a very distorted view of the world and ordinary things in general. Wether its his basic motives, morals, inhibitions, or preferences in things. Hard to believe it honestly. He has all the appearances of being carefree, genuinely happy, and a very bright young man all around. To put it simply in terms most would understand, both Peridot and Cremia experienced an unspeakable trauma in their past. A trauma neither sibling remembers really. The effects of the suppressed memories present themselves in daydreams and nightmares. Despite appearances, Peridot doesn't sleep. He barely eats. He can hardly write his name or do many ordinary tasks. He's always found sleeping in the oddest places at the most inconvenient times. He's rather weak in body and mind both, since he hasn't been getting the proper care he needs. Again, no one would know this about him. He can be quite the good actor. Peridot has an almost obsession with taking care of his sister. He's almost always checking on her, making sure she's alright, and having the best of the best whenever possible. Sometimes he annoys her, sometimes she enjoys the attention and his company. It's a habit of his he won't break. He really, truly, cares for and loves her. Peridot is quite tall for his age, often confused as an older brother and not a twin of Cremia. He has dusty, milk chocolate brown hair like hers and peridot colored eyes. He named himself after their color. He is pretty identical in facial structure and body proportions to his sister, only more masculine.
No one really knows the story of the twins. Certainly not Peridot or Cremia themselves, for it has all been lost to them, locked away somewhere in their minds. Years ago, FireClan was at war with outsiders. No, the twins were not FireClan. They were outsiders. The twin children of one of the rogue leaders. Merely little children trapped amidst this dire conflict, they had absolutley no say in the events that unfolded around them. Too young to fight, their primary knowledge of the war was of the injured and dying men and women they helped tend to and the varied weapons they had to clean and prep. One night, the rogue camp was devoid of leader and the strong warriors as they prepared for a surprise attack on FireClan. Aware of this, FireClan used the absence to their advantage. In the middle of the night, they slaughtered all those who remained within the camp. Cremia and Peridot hid, confused, frightened, staring in horror as family, friends, and allies were torn to pieces before their eyes, for none really last long when a target of a FireClan warrior's wrath. A spy recognized the children and stole them away to FireClan, presenting them before the leader. FireClan's leader had good use for them it seemed. Leverage. Perchance the rogue leader had a heart for his own children. They bargained with the rogue, that no harm would befall his children should he and his pack leave. But they underestimated him. The rogue leader had nary a heart, and he paid the twins no mind. So FireClan carried out their threats, and they made no reserves for the weaker, smaller twins. They were enemy. They were treated as such. Peridot and Cremia suffered for two years under the FireClan's harsh decree. Until history repeated itself. FireClan's strong stole away in the night. Their cages unguarded, the twins slipped off into the night. Running for the only place they knew where to go. Camp. But there was no camp left for them. FireClan and rogue met in battle and it was pure carnage. Caught once more in the midst of the conflict, but now with the very battle before them, the two barely escaped with their lives, having little to no combat experience and very weak and dishevvelled. They wandered aimlessly, hopelessly. Far from the reaches of FireClan and into unknown territories. A long time later, a terrible storm brewed. The two took shelter under a tree at the bottom of a cliff. The storm raged. The rain became a torrential flood. With a terrible roar, boulders and mud swarmed down the side of the cliff and crushed the two. Trapped and injured, they waited out their fates. The storm raged for days, and there wasn't much hope in sight. But, on the fourth day, the rain stopped. By afternoon, an EarthClan patrol came to the area to clear it of the debris and rocks since they had all tumbled into one of their paths. As they dug, they found bodies. Expecting to find corpses, the warriors were surprised to find the two children alive, barely, yet alive all the same. They nursed the children back to health with much difficulty. Their injuries and severe trauma to their heads had made them lose a lot of memory. Coupled with suppression, it was hopeless for anyone to figure out who they were or where they came from. As no Clans claimed any missing children, EarthClan took it upon themselves to accept the twins into their care. The twins still retained their basic personalities and normal responses from before their trauma, and it appeared a little odd. Flinching, screaming, crying, biting, lashing out, cowering in fear: they reacted most strangely at the oddest of times, and they trusted no one but each other for years. Slowly they learned and relaxed into the safety of their new life. Now young warriors, the twins seem to be fully immersed and adequately placed in their new lives. Even with new names, as their old ones were lost, it is indeed as if they have been reborn, the avalanche washing away their pasts. But history has a way of catching up with people, and it lets the twins know that someday it will all be clear to them again, sending little reminders in the forms of daydreams and nightmares.
AFTERTHOUGHT: A different member played the sister Cremia. Cremia stuffed snow down his shirt. Yah... that's about it.
.:±:. Twilly .:±:.
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/_4164264.jpg)
Telurius "Twilly" Gruffian
Apprentice of EarthClan
Spouse: none
Kin: n/a
Children: none
Friends: none
Rivals: none
Telurius Gruffian, nicknamed Twilly by some obscure person or other, is a nine year old apprentice and something of a genius. Very bright, attentive, and productive, he is a very quick learner and it takes hardly any time at all to pick up on things. He likes to tinker with things, pulling them apart and putting them back together. He always helps out, doing bits of everything and doing them well. Catching up on a lot of skills, he's pretty much a jack-of-all-trades. He is speedily rising through his apprenticeship, and many say he will be a great warrior someday. Problem is, he doesn't really fit in. In the grand scheme of things, this is a minor flaw, but it hurts him socially. He prefers being alone, sure, but he wouldn't mind some company now and then. He has trouble communicating properly with people, and usually turns them off. He comes across as a very blunt know-it-all, telling them their flaws straight out or appraising them when they least expect it. Sometimes he states the obvious, or goes into long explanations of things. Sometimes it's intriguing to hear him talk, but otherwise it gets very annoying very fast. He doesn't really know why or how he started acting this way, but it's his nature, and natures are harder to change than habits are to break. Being skilled in so many things, he can't seem to settle into one profession. Does he want to be a blacksmith? A hunter? A fletcher? Perhaps he just wants to be a fighter. It irritates him, and he can sometimes drive himself mad with all the questions he has about himself. He thirsts for knowledge. More or less obsesses over it. A healer once commented he might have some mental disorder, but that has yet to be proven or explored further. Telurius is ordinarily bright, cheerful, and always smiling. Warm hearted, loving, accepting. He likes being out alone in nature, out where he can see the sky. He loves birds the most, and draws them in his sketchbook or his notebook or just about anything wherever he goes.
AFTERTHOUGHT: Planned but never played.
Apprentice of EarthClan
Spouse: none
Kin: n/a
Children: none
Friends: none
Rivals: none
Telurius Gruffian, nicknamed Twilly by some obscure person or other, is a nine year old apprentice and something of a genius. Very bright, attentive, and productive, he is a very quick learner and it takes hardly any time at all to pick up on things. He likes to tinker with things, pulling them apart and putting them back together. He always helps out, doing bits of everything and doing them well. Catching up on a lot of skills, he's pretty much a jack-of-all-trades. He is speedily rising through his apprenticeship, and many say he will be a great warrior someday. Problem is, he doesn't really fit in. In the grand scheme of things, this is a minor flaw, but it hurts him socially. He prefers being alone, sure, but he wouldn't mind some company now and then. He has trouble communicating properly with people, and usually turns them off. He comes across as a very blunt know-it-all, telling them their flaws straight out or appraising them when they least expect it. Sometimes he states the obvious, or goes into long explanations of things. Sometimes it's intriguing to hear him talk, but otherwise it gets very annoying very fast. He doesn't really know why or how he started acting this way, but it's his nature, and natures are harder to change than habits are to break. Being skilled in so many things, he can't seem to settle into one profession. Does he want to be a blacksmith? A hunter? A fletcher? Perhaps he just wants to be a fighter. It irritates him, and he can sometimes drive himself mad with all the questions he has about himself. He thirsts for knowledge. More or less obsesses over it. A healer once commented he might have some mental disorder, but that has yet to be proven or explored further. Telurius is ordinarily bright, cheerful, and always smiling. Warm hearted, loving, accepting. He likes being out alone in nature, out where he can see the sky. He loves birds the most, and draws them in his sketchbook or his notebook or just about anything wherever he goes.
AFTERTHOUGHT: Planned but never played.
⇝✙ Severin ✙⇜
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/_1739691.jpg)
Severin Gael
Warrior of MoonClan
Spouse: none
Kin: n/a
Children: none
Friends: none
Rivals: none
Severin Gael is a lean, tall young man with cruel teal eyes and soft, blue-green hair that falls into his face all the time. He has pale skin, to the point it has a frosty luster to it. He is primarily seen in black and teal, his trademark colors. He prefers his shirts baggy and boots to shoes. He has a quiet, aloof air, and some kind of superiority. Like he's better than most people. He doesn't say it or act like it, its kind of an aura he gives off. Severin is soft spoken and well mannered. He doesn't talk unless someone's talking to him or if its necessary that he does. He can be very poignant and outspoken on occaisons. Just blurting stuff out wether he really means to or not. He hates beating around the bush and likes to arrive at the point. His bluntness gets him into trouble on and off, especially among other violent folk of the Clans. He doesn't seem to care what people think of him but he seems to care a lot about his impressions of other people. A first impression better be the best impression on earth because that is what will solidify in his memory. Unless he can watch the person grow and change, he has low expectations about them. He is one of the most violent MoonClan members you shall ever meet. He kills first and doesn't bother asking questions later. It is extremely unlikely that he won't kill people right off the bat. He won't even say hi or make his presence known. He'll just come to life and stab someone in the heart before they can say "Severin". His only reservation seems to be towards little children or people he presumes are weak and not worth his time. It seems to be his unspoken goal to kill everything and everyone that so much as dares to breathe on this planet. He still retains human emotions though and human conscience, he's not a heartless killer. He just has the drive the annihilate driven to the max. Another out of whack trait about him is his sense of smell. He's like a bloodhound. Picking up the faintest of smells, able to distinguish things just by their presence. This is a bit of a plus as he is partially blind in his right eye. The vision comes on and off in that eye which gets downright annoying and irritating. Without his greater sense of smell, he would be fumbling about and probably be very dead right now. Speaking of stumbling, he seems to have a habit of stumbling into the thick of danger. He doesn't mind it so much. It's a way for him to test the extent of his ability: physical strength, senses, strategy, etc. Whatever is he doing in MoonClan one might ask? What a perfect question. DarkClan. DarkClan when it was LightClan, that was his home. Then the evil tainted the very cores of its members and Severin was no exception, fallen prey to its malicious will. He doesn't remember it though. The change. Vaguely. This is where his memory begins. Awakening somewhere in MoonClan, then running off into the night to kill some woman he never knew. That someone left their mark though. While he attacked her relentlessly, she gained the upper hand and tore his left arm clean off. He would have died had it not been for a passerby who heard his screaming. A different person. A young girl. He doesn't remember her very well either, but he knows she saved his life. Then... then he was waking up in MoonClan's camp, a healer tending to him, the girl nowhere in sight. They nursed him back to health, taught him things. And for a while, there was goodness and peace. Then it happened. The killing. MoonClan took it upon themselves to watch over him, try to reverse the terrible darkness that has fused to every part of him. They also don't feel as threatened, seeing as he's half blind, missing an arm, and seems to suffer from some sort of memory loss or other. A possible trauma that resulted in amnesia and a nature to kill. He has no say in the matter of his actions. Pure, unhindered instinct takes hold of him and drives him recklessly and dangerously onward. It bothers him, sure, he sometimes does wonder why he kills. He ponders about it to the same extent as someone may ponder the reason why they breathe, or why leaves grow on trees, or why water is a liquid. And the answer is always the same: because it is. There's no further explanation than that. Either it is or it isn't, and in Severin's case, killing is the nature of things. Comes as naturally as the aforementioned breathing. Severin gets about just fine on the island. He feels no need to worry about himself. Even during droughts and storms, or days when he's sick or starving, he still doesn't worry. He never really thinks about death or what would happen if he died. He just lives life in the moment, never looking ahead. He looks back though. As far back as his lost memories allow him. He remembers the people he's killed. They haunt him in his sleep.
AFTERTHOUGHT: Planned but never played.
Warrior of MoonClan
Spouse: none
Kin: n/a
Children: none
Friends: none
Rivals: none
Severin Gael is a lean, tall young man with cruel teal eyes and soft, blue-green hair that falls into his face all the time. He has pale skin, to the point it has a frosty luster to it. He is primarily seen in black and teal, his trademark colors. He prefers his shirts baggy and boots to shoes. He has a quiet, aloof air, and some kind of superiority. Like he's better than most people. He doesn't say it or act like it, its kind of an aura he gives off. Severin is soft spoken and well mannered. He doesn't talk unless someone's talking to him or if its necessary that he does. He can be very poignant and outspoken on occaisons. Just blurting stuff out wether he really means to or not. He hates beating around the bush and likes to arrive at the point. His bluntness gets him into trouble on and off, especially among other violent folk of the Clans. He doesn't seem to care what people think of him but he seems to care a lot about his impressions of other people. A first impression better be the best impression on earth because that is what will solidify in his memory. Unless he can watch the person grow and change, he has low expectations about them. He is one of the most violent MoonClan members you shall ever meet. He kills first and doesn't bother asking questions later. It is extremely unlikely that he won't kill people right off the bat. He won't even say hi or make his presence known. He'll just come to life and stab someone in the heart before they can say "Severin". His only reservation seems to be towards little children or people he presumes are weak and not worth his time. It seems to be his unspoken goal to kill everything and everyone that so much as dares to breathe on this planet. He still retains human emotions though and human conscience, he's not a heartless killer. He just has the drive the annihilate driven to the max. Another out of whack trait about him is his sense of smell. He's like a bloodhound. Picking up the faintest of smells, able to distinguish things just by their presence. This is a bit of a plus as he is partially blind in his right eye. The vision comes on and off in that eye which gets downright annoying and irritating. Without his greater sense of smell, he would be fumbling about and probably be very dead right now. Speaking of stumbling, he seems to have a habit of stumbling into the thick of danger. He doesn't mind it so much. It's a way for him to test the extent of his ability: physical strength, senses, strategy, etc. Whatever is he doing in MoonClan one might ask? What a perfect question. DarkClan. DarkClan when it was LightClan, that was his home. Then the evil tainted the very cores of its members and Severin was no exception, fallen prey to its malicious will. He doesn't remember it though. The change. Vaguely. This is where his memory begins. Awakening somewhere in MoonClan, then running off into the night to kill some woman he never knew. That someone left their mark though. While he attacked her relentlessly, she gained the upper hand and tore his left arm clean off. He would have died had it not been for a passerby who heard his screaming. A different person. A young girl. He doesn't remember her very well either, but he knows she saved his life. Then... then he was waking up in MoonClan's camp, a healer tending to him, the girl nowhere in sight. They nursed him back to health, taught him things. And for a while, there was goodness and peace. Then it happened. The killing. MoonClan took it upon themselves to watch over him, try to reverse the terrible darkness that has fused to every part of him. They also don't feel as threatened, seeing as he's half blind, missing an arm, and seems to suffer from some sort of memory loss or other. A possible trauma that resulted in amnesia and a nature to kill. He has no say in the matter of his actions. Pure, unhindered instinct takes hold of him and drives him recklessly and dangerously onward. It bothers him, sure, he sometimes does wonder why he kills. He ponders about it to the same extent as someone may ponder the reason why they breathe, or why leaves grow on trees, or why water is a liquid. And the answer is always the same: because it is. There's no further explanation than that. Either it is or it isn't, and in Severin's case, killing is the nature of things. Comes as naturally as the aforementioned breathing. Severin gets about just fine on the island. He feels no need to worry about himself. Even during droughts and storms, or days when he's sick or starving, he still doesn't worry. He never really thinks about death or what would happen if he died. He just lives life in the moment, never looking ahead. He looks back though. As far back as his lost memories allow him. He remembers the people he's killed. They haunt him in his sleep.
AFTERTHOUGHT: Planned but never played.
¤♐¤ Maelstrom ¤♐¤
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/_3548540.jpg)
Maelstrom Polaris
Warrior of _
Spouse: none
Kin: n/a
Children: none
Friends: none
Rivals: none
AFTERTHOUGHT: Planned but never played.
Warrior of _
Spouse: none
Kin: n/a
Children: none
Friends: none
Rivals: none
AFTERTHOUGHT: Planned but never played.
☣☣☣ Halo ☣☣☣
![Picture](https://www.editmysite.com/editor/images/na.png)
Halo Montmorency
Warrior of _
Spouse: none
Kin: n/a
Children: none
Friends: none
Rivals: none
AFTERTHOUGHT: Not really planned and never played.
Warrior of _
Spouse: none
Kin: n/a
Children: none
Friends: none
Rivals: none
AFTERTHOUGHT: Not really planned and never played.
Mercy
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/_4971861.jpg)
Kouki "Mercy" Tygrmann
Warrior of DarkClan
Master Interrogator
Spouse: none
Kin: n/a
Children: none
Friends: none
Rivals: none
AFTERTHOUGHT: Planned but never played.
Warrior of DarkClan
Master Interrogator
Spouse: none
Kin: n/a
Children: none
Friends: none
Rivals: none
AFTERTHOUGHT: Planned but never played.
Kazimierz
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/_2470175.jpg)
Kazimierz Lief Stryker
Warrior of DarkClan
Slave to Mercy
Spouse: none
Kin: n/a
Children: none
Friends: none
Rivals: none
Dark chocolate hair, eyes the color of allspice, skin as smooth as newly spun silk, and a face flawless of any markings or blemishes; Kazimierz Lief Stryker is not nearly as ordinary as he looks. He is well acquainted with the crime and conspiracy that taint the hearts of hundreds within and outside the Clan. His own tainted heart has long tasted the black and bitter satisfaction of anarchy, murder, and sin. He is not pure by any stretch of imagination and though many can claim innocence at young ages, he cannot. He is a wandering soul, without a purpose and searching for a calling. He has partaken of many human indulgences, particularly those dealing with the bedding of women and the acquiring of wealth. He ceased in both activities entirely not too long after his sixteenth birthday. Nearing seventeen, his life had taken an unfortunate turn of events, events he will not name. In accordance with these events, he ended up the eternal slave to the frightful torturing and interrogating maestro, Kouki "Mercy" Tygrmann. This master of his finds a fancy to torturing the young man, both physically and mentally. Kazimierz has nowhere near gotten used to the tortures, but he is no longer as surprised that they occur. It is a part of his master's nature that he simply had to learn to deal with. Mercy also proves maddeningly ridiculous in his demands, and doesn't care for Kazimierz' well being by any stretch of the imagination. Off on his own at rare opportunities when his master no longer requires his services for the day, he seems to have returned to his killing and otherwise dark natured ways. It appears that the young man, now seventeen, hasn't changed all that much from the way he was before he became Mercy's slave, but he has. He really has. It's what's on the inside that has transformed so drastically, not the outside facade he parades in. Kazimierz has a strange symbol on the back of his neck, right where the first vertebrae can be felt. He keeps it hidden by wearing collared shirts or jackets. Occasionally a choker, collar, or scarf.
AFTERTHOUGHT: First appeared on Black Butler. Used there, here, Imagine This, and on Aisthesis. Planned but never played.
Warrior of DarkClan
Slave to Mercy
Spouse: none
Kin: n/a
Children: none
Friends: none
Rivals: none
Dark chocolate hair, eyes the color of allspice, skin as smooth as newly spun silk, and a face flawless of any markings or blemishes; Kazimierz Lief Stryker is not nearly as ordinary as he looks. He is well acquainted with the crime and conspiracy that taint the hearts of hundreds within and outside the Clan. His own tainted heart has long tasted the black and bitter satisfaction of anarchy, murder, and sin. He is not pure by any stretch of imagination and though many can claim innocence at young ages, he cannot. He is a wandering soul, without a purpose and searching for a calling. He has partaken of many human indulgences, particularly those dealing with the bedding of women and the acquiring of wealth. He ceased in both activities entirely not too long after his sixteenth birthday. Nearing seventeen, his life had taken an unfortunate turn of events, events he will not name. In accordance with these events, he ended up the eternal slave to the frightful torturing and interrogating maestro, Kouki "Mercy" Tygrmann. This master of his finds a fancy to torturing the young man, both physically and mentally. Kazimierz has nowhere near gotten used to the tortures, but he is no longer as surprised that they occur. It is a part of his master's nature that he simply had to learn to deal with. Mercy also proves maddeningly ridiculous in his demands, and doesn't care for Kazimierz' well being by any stretch of the imagination. Off on his own at rare opportunities when his master no longer requires his services for the day, he seems to have returned to his killing and otherwise dark natured ways. It appears that the young man, now seventeen, hasn't changed all that much from the way he was before he became Mercy's slave, but he has. He really has. It's what's on the inside that has transformed so drastically, not the outside facade he parades in. Kazimierz has a strange symbol on the back of his neck, right where the first vertebrae can be felt. He keeps it hidden by wearing collared shirts or jackets. Occasionally a choker, collar, or scarf.
AFTERTHOUGHT: First appeared on Black Butler. Used there, here, Imagine This, and on Aisthesis. Planned but never played.