Post by Badfaith on Jan 2, 2008 0:13:18 GMT -5
Name: Gabriel
Age: 26 moons
Rank: A Leader, of sorts.
Clan: His true allegiances lie only to himself, the Clans could call him a Rouge, or a Loner, it fluctuates.
Physical Description:
Gabriel is sleek and well groomed, his claws gracing the tips of his over large, pink paw pads, not lashing but flexing playfully, a simper on his wide expressive jowls, scruffy underneath as though upset by the wind. His fur a muddy brown seeming to darken dreadfully until near the tip of his long bony tail it's almost jet black like ink.
His fur is oddly curled though it never seems to be out of place as much as Gabriel rather vainly grooms it with his long pink tongue, a few shades darker than his cracked, dirty paw pads. His fur is long and drips like swamp water over his short legs.
He is a hefty tom with a stout form and broad muscular shoulders where the fur bunches and inescapably ruffles and rumples into creases at his strong neck. His face, unlike the rest of his body is narrow and angular giving him a distinctive profile. His round orange eyes seem to pop from his dull features like a tabby tom on a snow drift. They crackle and smolder not like fire, but like the embers of a past one darkening and brightening with the weather, the mood, the company.
He is heavily whiskered and they seem unusually long and curled. He seems endearing, the only thing that sets it off is perhaps the tattered ear that flops unceremoniously to his side, graying and rotting from the inside like his paw pads and matted like a dead rabbit on a snowy day.
His smile is wide and weird, with his short stocky form and pleasant airs they are the most intimidating part of his body, flashing eagerly and aggressively in small pursed smiles and on occasion huge toothsome grins which are somewhat akin to that of a crocodile's.
His tail often twitches with amusement or contempt as he curls, it's hard to tell which.
Personality:
Gabriel is mild tempered, or seems so for a Rogue, he is outwardly withdrawn and courteous. Despite his smaller stature he walks with airs of intimidation, control and prestige, very rarely losing his temper or jumping to conclusions. He is an intellectual and will not suffer fools and does not condone needlessly violent acts but he has no qualms about committing them when he judges they are needed or deserved.
Gabriel does not beleive in Starclan, though he rarely mentions this in order to keep the trust and compassion of any cats who do. Gabriel has a sort of nasty detachedness about him, he does not seem to be affected emotionally by much of anything and the only things he will outwardly show is indignation and even cruelty. He has no concept of mercy or devotion, he will do what it takes to keep his Clan alive and soley in his control.
Gabriel is also deeply disturbed, bordering lunacy though this is a secret he keeps well guarded, for it is not known even by himself.
History:
Gabriel was born a Kittypet and lived an unremarkable life into his older stages of youth. Around apprentice age the family dog began to irritate him, he tried to talk to the creature and ask him to shut up and leave him alone but of coarse the stupid thing did not understand. With careful planning Gabriel had the dog dead well within a few days, leaping upon it and killing it while it slept, by ripping out it's throat with his teeth.
He left his home before his two-legs returned that night with a new confidence. He realized he could do anything, if he could think it out, he repeated this feat for a group of alley cats one night, leading a large dog that had been terrorizing them for moons out into the road where it was run over and immediately killed. The cats, emboldened and awed by Gabriel's swift justice, bravery and intelligence they began to follow him, they taught him how to fight and he taught them his ideas, shared with them his world. The only thing he asked in return was blind obedience and complete power over their lives.
Role Play Example:
From Priori Incantetum
But the Professor appeared to be preoccupied at the moment, even if he had been in the least inclined towards anger which he was not, mark me, he is not perfectly mild of temper, this man, but his students are valued above little else in his mind and Olivia was one of them, and he was very proud to have her here.
Despite not being angry he certainly looked agitated, almost fearful as he carefully opened the clasps on the sleek black brief case and put his hands together neurotically twitching a bit before taking something out. The inside was a nastily gaudy dark green velvet, but it looked soft and clean though it only remained in view for a moment before the case swung shut and clasped itself on it's own accord.
What Rook had in his quivering, bandaged hands at first appeared to be some sort of odd square pieces of obsidian. On closer inspection however they were indeed wood stock, a sort of odd, hard shiny black paper.
Though they were certainly not the kind of parchment any student was ever likely to find in a class set or even in one of the main shops at Diagon Alley.
They were cards, of some sort, he was holding them in a deck but he diddn't have to grasp them all at once, they were magically set on top of one another (this was apparent because of the absence of any tie to have them hanging that way).
However, what was written on the cards, (in some really fine golden ink) was certainly more interesting than what they were made of. Rook lifted one of them putting the rest in his coat pocket and set it on to the projector whispering an incantation to dim the lights (and they did dim, darkly).
The image that was reflected there in the white light was only a little blurry but clear enough to grant the grand illustration that the card seemed to boast, or either wise aggressively shout.
It was an ink drawing, not a color one though the different tones and cross hatching depicted the meaning ;for certainly there was something, some kind of singing magic underlying that the picture only half represented or attempted to represent.
It was of a young man in no more than his late twenties and no younger than his early teens. His hair was curly and allowed to flow freely over his shoulders, though the bold colors of his motley clothes could not be visible, the strokes (and perhaps that stuffy, malevolent magic hanging around in the air) made them vividly imaginable, almost tangible.
He was standing jovially on a cliff face overlooked by a bright stylized sun, the gold seeming almost to bleed in circles in the creation of it. The youth's face was stroked to look bathed in sunlight, one hand was pressed in that familiar shading motion over his eyes as he looked blissfully out into the horizon.
The eyes were simply drawn like the rest, but it seemed to hold so much. He was ambitious, desperately brave and above all hopeful. He exuded hope and nativity though at the same time there was a ferocity to him. The other hand was resting on his sword belt to illustrate this.
His parcel hung loosely from his shoulders like a back pack and a little dog (perhaps a terrier) nipped at his heels. The dog did not look nearly or even half as amiable as it's master, for gold inked teeth were bared in a wolfish grin, that could easily become a snarl, seeming to bark not at the man but at the world around it, more specifically Rook, Harleen, Evander and Olivia. The white's of the creature's eyes were rolled and it had it's front paws batting at the blond man's loose pant legs.
On the right hand side, at the same level that the sun was placed, the number 0 hung like a star boldly and heavily inked in gold.
Unlike nearly all other pictures in the wizarding world the card stayed stationary, it spoke for itself quite literally with the caption at the bottom bold and biting.
THE FOOL
For a short amount of time Rook let them observe in silence, the man's shadow diddn't touch reflected image of the card at all, as if it wouldn't have dared it. But it did flicker in the projected light as he picked up the deck and began to shuffle it.
Finally in half a minute he broke the silence.
"W-what I h-have in my h-h-hands is a d-d-deck. Perhaps you've seen them before, perhaps n-n-n-not. C-c-certainly none like these, and c-c-certainly none in this s-s-school, before th...th...this c-c-class, t-t-today."
He took a deep breathe, as chiaroscuro in nature as the card displayed on the board. It seemed to contradict itself, he was both smiling enthusiastically and sighing apprehensively. That ever present wariness lingered in his eyes. He pressed on.
"Th-t-this is not the f-first c-c-c-card, the last, or any c-c-ccard in between, it represents b-beginnings before beginnings, a c-c-clean slate, and faith. A-a-above all, f-f-ffaith, t-t-this card is the p-p-p-preliminary and it p-p-prepares you for t-t-the cards to c-c-come, l-l-like child-hood is s-s-supposed to p-p-prepare you for adult h-h-hood.".
Other:
Leader of a pack of rogues ^.^'