.
.
.
.
D e s i d e r a t a_ E ' T a n i -- desiderata.
Desired things. That is the simple translation for this she-cat's name, and it is a fitting one- for she is a feline with a sea of desire in her soul. Passion fills her every being, from the ends of her whiskers to the tips of her finely curved claws, and it sparks a flame of unfaltering will. When she wants something, she will do whatever means necessary to take it- even if a few lives have to be picked off here and there. Her ambition and strive often possesses her calculating mind, driving her to achieve any goal that is set in her line of vision. Though she has a pretty snow-pelt, and a lean-graceful figure, she is not a pretty cat at heart. Her every action is often made with only herself in mind, and she rarely preforms for others. In ordinary circumstances, Desiderata is an introverted but observant she-cat, often assessing her league-mate's actions and exchanging of words. When caught in a conversation, clever word-play is always a tool she uses to keep some sort of upper-hand in the conversation. Trust is not an easy thing to come by, when expected from Desiderata, and is only given to those she finds worthy to have it. She has a bit of a queer gaze, though it is one that you will always remember- with her two optics painted different colors. One side is a brilliant azure color, almost warm to those who observe it long enough, while the other is a fragile color of mint- seemingly liable to shatter at a mere blink of the eye. Though Desiderata lives for herself and her ambitions, she can never seem to break the tie she has to Primal Instinct, the only place that has ever been a home to her.
{ Mate : N/A }
{ Kits : N/A }
A n g e l -- Sandblaze290
Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven. Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels. Angels are pure and loving. They gaze down at the earth. Sometimes they're guardians for others. Well, not this angel. Her ice-blue eyes can be seen on the most darkest night. Her slender shape is hard to distinguish through the dark undergrowth. Light gray fur with black markings that are softer than silk. A dash of white the shape of a water droplet on her chest and a white tail tip. This angel sounds absolutely perfect. But she's not. This she-cat can be sarcastic, rude, and downright menacing. She's strategic and cunning. Angel desires power. And she isn't that power hungry. But she's hungry enough. This cat can kill and she can do it well. She enjoys the satisfaction of sinking her teeth into her enemies' necks and tasting blood. To her she must always be victorious. She knows when to retreat and to stop, but she always has a plan. She is good at hiding her emotions and cats can't seem to break her hard stone barrier she uses to block away cats. At a young age she was abandoned. Her father lived in one of the clans and she searched for him after her mother abandoned her. She succeeded in finding him. He thought she was a nuisance though and ignored her. Angel murdered him in his sleep at night and fled. Then, a few moons later she joined Primal Instinct. There, she could finally spread her wings and be free. The dark angel is victorious once again.
{ Mate : N/A }
{ Kits : N/A }
G o s s a m e r -- Seamless
A single sheer strands is what is begins with. But complexity soon can tear apart such mindless, naïve simplicity without a flash of pity morphing into a hopelessly elaborate labyrinth of braided silk elegantly, entangled in a silver mishap glistening entrails polished to an opalescence. Delicate. Tinted with fragility flimsy to the mercy of even a squirrel’s frosting breath. Oh what cascading disorder draping in arrays, silver chains beaded in iridescent pearls. Somehow, somewhat, in a way, elfinly carved, hastily sculpted, these sole words strung together in a whirling blunder are the definition of such an exquisite creature near impossible to define so artlessly with sincerity. Gossamer is all seamless lines, smooth silken fur, and tempered grace. Petite and slender in size, barely any larger than a newborn kit and commonly mistaken for one especially in the presence of rival clans or groups at gatherings, Gossamer’s scant size proves no radiation of aura in her existence. Despite her small size physique, a trait usually paired with the gift of swiftness and agility, Gossamer is inept, flailing, instead of putting one paw trailing behind another afloat as a dancer’s moves speak of, with limbs splaying in every direction. Her inability to tread in a straight line without tripping, and believe me she has tried, Gossamer had found herself sitting posture slightly downturned with shoulder protruding over her scuffling paws backbone, instead of stiff with proudness, arched hunching muticolored eyes, instead of paws, longingly chasing after a boisterous hunting patrol. This is one of the many effects that come with being a clumsy oaf instead of gracefully swift, like all desired average cats. Evidently, as a result, she can barely hold her ground in an intense battle. No potency in such bloody affairs. No use. Gossamer can barely hold her ground in an intense battle forcing leaders to kindly talk to her masking and velvet coating the rejection of being sent back to camp to guard the queens and yet, she can feel tentative gazes from mothers whose tails curl protectively over their kits claws unsheathed limber muscles taunt as if there were nothing more shielding the new life from enemies than a mouse. Her lengthy front paws, when in pursuit of a piece of prey, lace up into her breathless hide legs panting to catch up with the distance executed with her front limbs and, in result, she tumbles arousing a film of dirt sifting itself evenly and invitingly upon her coat. Underneath that little white lifeless satin cloth that drapes over her and coats her inch-measured bones is not as much muscle as expected from a new christened guardian. Yet Gossamer is not constituted of fat either and instead, her build is merely nothing more that skin, bones and ghastly white bolts of fabric withholding the empty truth of her feebleness, cringing. Her odd design, hind legs longer than forelimbs, creating slope in her back when she stands, odd posture combining with her lengthy neck fashioning the appearance that Gossamer’s head is set in an aloof manner, is swathed in a dense, creamed coat. With the sun’s finger’s tangled in the silken medium length strands, the fur facing the gilded eye is sifted with golden powder tangling it in a tawny shade while her underbelly and the interior of her leg’s clutch in to their lingering alabaster color. The golden kiss rims her beautiful hollow of eyes, a trait which she takes from her mother, a relic of childhood, and licks its way to her gracefully dancing tail. The same tawny hue shades in her bleached fur at just the right angles illuminating a dreamy glare at first glance and the light, attracted to this spun gold, greedily glints off the certain areas furthermore heightening the hazy cinematic scene, tickling the peaks of her eyes washing the crevices joining her limbs to Gossamer’s trifling size body with a tide of gold leaving a wake of the saturation staining the pureness. Balancing out the tones perfectly highlighting even the slightest of gradients and shadows without compromising or creating the risk of masking the blend. Like a mirage of an aurora, the illusion replacing this feline’s eyes is a discolored as if her orbs became defiant refusing to coordinate with one another disagreeing with the hue. Uncomitting, or so it seems, her eyes furiously clash eclipsing one another’s color each highlighting the other stunningly giving it more prominency against her oddly colored coat while, in benefit, accenting itself. Her face is partially ruled by the serenity of cerulean but, the other half is scorched with fire. Haloing around the onyx pupil is a tracing of ruby crimson. Not stranded red al all. This shade is far more vivid and disconnect the eyes as the battle to which color they should gaze into. Milky auburn is the transition from scarlet to gentle salmon followed by a honey colored vision of beauty the intervention of hues lingering in your eyes. Spiraling drains of muffled silver dabs the left eye and gold hues coordinate into red interlacing, entwining and dancing with one another weaving an abstract uncomprehendable tapestry that even boasts talent to nature’s silk braiding spiders. The proportions of the two baubles are unbalanced by the slightly narrow surface of her face. To sum her up in a color, Gossamer is ashen hued, treading upon the pathway of purgatory. A medley of white and black an infusion or the pureness of an angel’s robe and the ebony that symbolizes demons. As a being, Gossamer is real and true but impossibly artificial, personality a sham. Accusing the murder and early grave of Gossamer’s ancient long-gone self on the blur of confusion suspending and shaping her form clogging Gossamer’s senses in hushed whispers each suggesting a contradicting idea to execute. If, for say, a cat posed a question and faced her dauntlessly with it probing inquiry, it’ll most likely be regarded with the silence or her disorienting versicolored vision. Truthfully, Gossamer has never lost grasp of the sarcasm and ferocity that coated her now dulled tongue but, it has merely gone into hiding provoked by the recent disturbance in events. Most mistake this lack of communication as meekness and a reserve in character forcing cats to believe that she possesses some secret so large in magnitude that even answering their leader must be put into gestures rather than spoken words. The trouble isn’t that Gossamer’s reaction are limited and words can’t be formed or sounded at her tongue in fact, the issue is the reserve of most her distrusting so called “clanmates” assume. Approaching an interrogation, put into Gossamer’s timid eyes and immense fears, is a sensation that of a queen receives once being related of news that her kit has vanished, missing. A hundred thousand voices arouse in her throat each spouting a new opinion drowning out the soul cry of her already timid voice subduing it into the abyss of silence. And those voices all sounding in various pitches each carrying on the tune of a different hymn unable to harmonize into one tone merging into nothing more than discording babble. Unable to furthermore shun the results of her past mistakes, Gossamer gave into the clutches of the lonesome hush no longer spewing her opinions at first which eventually progressing violently like a wildfire to lulling stillness. All to prevent those voices from sounding out. Naïve thoughts, based on no logic or rational thought, still never cease to be summoned racking her mind telling her to bystand until that fantasizing day that purely only her song could be expressed and freely, her voice would be lured out of the cloak that has muffled it for so long. Yet somewhere within her feather-weight cage of a body, something throbs within. In what section of those sterling eyes in which section of the heart in that prison of a constricted chest where someone pulsating violently thrashing lite by a single flame of extreme desire and has knowledge on only what Gossamer knows with it’s constellation of sinfully etched dark scars which once spilt crimson onto the floor blanketed by a gentle coat of pureness to cover it traces. Regrets. Regrets suffocate the forlorn cage of her heart. Mistakes. True every cat has their last regrets but Gossamer doesn’t want that anguish to be breathing or ever existing. Anticipating the day where small was only a phrase used the describe the memories of the past, the frightened kit she was still inside, the warrior her name pronounces, peering at the clotting white masses that once symbolized hope shading grey with no tracing of a silver lining, waiting ever more for that lonesome chime to sound and echo…
L e m m i n g -- NewYorkHaze
Lemming is a light brown she-cat with sly, knowing green eyes. She has a presence about her that just screams authority and menace. Cats know to follow her orders or risk feeling her wrath; she has connections to those higher up and can be quite persuasive, which makes many of her clan mates wary of double-crossing her or doing something she doesn’t like. Despite the fact that most cats walk on eggshells around her, Lemming hardly ever gets mad, or more like she hardly ever shows her anger. If she feels threatened or thinks a cat is getting too big for their bridges, Lemming will never directly call her clan mate out. She will gently, almost playfully, imply that they are walking on very thin ice, and that if they want to live to see another day, they should be careful where they set their paws. Lemming’s whole focus is on gaining power and control over Primal Instinct; the she-cat does what is best for her, and will only help or work along side someone if it somehow benefits her in the end. Her hunger for power began even before she could walk.
Born and raised in CreekClan, before the fire destroyed her home-land and her entire clan, Lemming was taught and influenced by her father, Blackriver, in the ways of darkness as soon as her eyes were open. He taught her how to kill, how to sneak up behind someone without them noticing, practically everything a skilled assassin should know, with the hope that she would one day take utter control of CreekClan. Lemming’s father taught her to have no mercy on other cats, to despise weakness, and to never, under any circumstances, let an enemy warrior beat her in battle. If you had to cheat to win the battle, so be it; losing was a sign of weakness, and only winning and power brought honor onto your family. Lemming never knew her mother, but always assumed her father had killed her, since he always used to tell his daughter what a worthless cat she had been, and how she never understood the true meaning of power and ambition. For a short time as an apprentice, Lemming was bullied by her peers; they made fun of her for being afraid of water and because her father was well-known around the clans for being a shifty, suspicious warrior, who many suspected to be a murderer. Once when the group was being especially rude to her, Lemming gave the leader of the apprentices a deep gash across her right eye. From then on, she never had anymore issues with her peers; they were all afraid of her and what she would do to them if they made her mad. She inflicted serious wounds on many of her clan mates, but none of them of them would ever admit to anyone that she was the cat who had inflicted the injuries. After a while, her clan mates began to get fed up with her, and rumors about her and her father being murderers began to spread even more. They were too innocent and pure for her; she didn’t want to lead a clan full of weaklings who couldn’t stomach killing other cats for more territory and power. Her father’s beliefs had rubbed off on her. CreekClan wasn’t good enough to be lead by her, in Lemming’s eyes. Her father’s second mate, Wrenwillow, also hated Lemming, which was another reason why the she-cat was anxious to leave CreekClan. Wrenwillow, equally as cruel as her mate and step-daughter, but more lazy than anything else, wanted her son—Lemming’s half-brother—Hawkkit to become the next leader of CreekClan, not Lemming. Wrenwillow wanted Lemming’s father to focus on Hawkkit’s training, but became angry and bitter once she realized that would never happen; Lemming was her father’s favorite and the one he wanted to become the next leader of CreekClan. As she was leaving CreekClan territory, Lemming’s father caught up with her and demanded that she stay in the clan. When she refused, he threatened to beat her like he used to when she was an apprentice and a kit. Lemming again refused, telling her father that her calling was somewhere else, that she would still become leader of a different group of cats, just a clan or a group that wasn’t so squeamish as CreekClan. Furious by her disobedience, Blackriver leaped onto Lemming, yowling that she was a disgrace to him and all that for which they had worked. They tussled for several minutes, rolling closer and closer toward a gorge near the end of CreekClan’s territory. At the very edge of the drop, Blackriver pinned Lemming down and tried to push her over the side.At the very last moment, Lemming thrust her father off of her, causing him to lose his balance and stumble over the edge of the cliff. He managed to dig a few of his claws into the side of the cliff, holding on for dear life. Lemming could not, however, let Blackriver live; he knew too much and was a burden to her future plans. Grabbing hold of his paw, Lemming pushed it off the cliff, sending her father to his bone-shattering death. After she made sure her father had not broken his fall and was truly a hundred percent dead, Lemming traveled deep into the forest, looking for the group of cold-hearted rogues she had heard about. Eventually, she came across Primal Instinct and fought her way into the group; she soon dropped the ending of her name and became a full-fledged member of the rogues. The Nemesis at the time took a liking to Lemming and taught her the ways of Primal Instinct; he even predicted that she would one day hold great power in the group, whether that meant becoming an assassin, a proxy, a warden, or the next Nemesis. Ever since that day she killed her father, the she-cat has had nightmares about her father coming back to kill her for betraying him. Such dreams have made the she-cat a little off her rocker, and in some cases, extremely unstable. She hides her growing insanity well, however, and is still as driven as ever to become leader of Primal Instinct.
N o v a -- Silverclaw101
What is a nova? Answer that question, and that might bring you one step closer to discovering what makes this tom tick. And, yet again, it might not. Either way, he’ll leave you guessing at every turn. A nova is an explosion, but definitely not any ordinary combustion. A nova is a nuclear explosion that occurs on stars. Any sudden bright light suddenly seen in the swath of stars that makes up the sky is, more often than not, a nova. So what does this tell you about Nova, you ask? Well, Nova’s tendencies include extremely violent mood swings. He is liable to go from calm and cool to having his claws pressed at your throat in seconds. Explosive tendencies. But that’s not all there is to Nova. Elusiveness is an essential part of his personality. And he’s quite good at it too. He’ll leave you stumped at every turn. Never try to track him down; you’ll probably end up ensnared in an elaborate but simple trap of his own design. And any mental combat is out of the question; his intelligence is stunning and paired with a cold and calculating view on life. There’s a simple way to keep those sharp claws away from your throat, though. Don’t mess with him. Or his siblings, for that matter. Apollo, Calypso, Chimaera, and Drakon. Nova would shed blood and loose blood for them, as he would expect them to do for him. As for his parents; Howlingstar and Salus; well, they to shared some of his loyalty as well, but he wouldn’t fight for them the way he would fight for his siblings. He would fight for them, just not as hard. He did have something to gain from his parents. Blood ties, weaving an intricate web that was quite hard to follow until it connected with the past leaders of Crowclan. He knows what this means, knows what he could eventually become, but is much more comfortable in setting up his siblings as future leaders, simply content to wait. Of course he will snatch at the opportunity if it presents itself, but only if it flies right in front of his nose. He doesn’t care to waste his energy on something like leading a clan. Leave that to his relatives. Which carries us on to our next topic. His pelt. Quite different from that of his parents, it can only be assumed that some hidden gene from some long lost relative presented itself in him. For no family member he knew of had the pitch-black pelt decorated with the swirled ginger tabby pattern that he had. And then there was his pure white chest, a shimmering white that twinkled like stars, if in the right lighting. It’s a mystery he can stay hidden so easily, with his oddly colored pelt. He should stick out like a sore pad. Perhaps his eyes will explain some of this. An old, faded blue, they seem to hold years of wisdom. That’s his talent. He forges wisdom, making improvisations on the spot. His intelligence comes into play again, allowing him to conceal his oddly colored pelt and adding a touch of maturity to his eyes. Layer upon layer of secrecy, surprises at every turn. He lived a nice life in Crowclan, almost a prowler. But it was all ripped away from him when Crowclan dissolved into dust. He traveled with his mother, Howlingstar, mourning the loss of his father, Salus, and his brother, Apollo. They were forced to travel to Venomclan, soon renamed Toxicity, who had treated his clan like dirt. But he'll keep going, he'll grin and bear it. He always does. At least he always did. But then his mother, his stupid stupid mother, now stripped of her title of leadership and simply going by Aroo, decided to make a suicidal move: the she-cat attacked Valkyriestar. And she didn't win. No, she not only lost, but was killed. Nova could not live within the clan that killed his mother. After the horror of his mother's death had unfolded in front of his very eyes he fled the scene. And he knew where he was going, too. Primal Instinct. The only other group that he felt would uphold the values of his birthclan: Crowclan. He will always be an outcast, but he likes it that way. Nova will always keep you on your toes, no matter how you try to sneak up on him.
K r y p t o n i t e -- Emberwish
Unreal.Like a shimmery reflection in the water.Toss a pebble in the water, the image becomes distorted and unclear.Does she even exist? She's just like a reflection in the water, elusive and obscure.Lurking between the shadows, a figure unseen.If fortune goes your way, you may catch a glimpse of this mysterious she-cat.All you will see is glowing pools of kryptonite green, before you black out.She is your worst nightmare, if bad fortune ever allows you to get on her kill list, she'll send you to your deathbed in a blink of an eye.You say every cat has a good side? Oh this makes me laugh, Kryptonite having a good side? That's like death berries not being venomous. She doesn't trust anyone, it seems like no cats are plausible to her.Except Katie, Katie has been the only cat who "understood" Kryptonite.How? Kryptonite came to Primal Instinct as weak, proud, stubborn cat, who seemed to have no potential at all.Katie apparently saw through her mask and brought her true potential out.She still is a very stubborn cat, and way too proud but she's still improved immensely Hm? Oh I see. You're wondering how this purely cat is different from other villains. What she craves is a child, not love if she has learned anything; love is for the weak. She yearns for a child, so should teach her to be mighty and also so she could have a real friend, not like her false parents who filled Kyprtonite's head with lies.She toys with tom's weak, gullible hearts and makes them fall prey to her claws, it gives her pleasure to see cats bow down to her.She's a nonexistent goddess of pandemonium, chaotic and skilled in fighting.She has a pelt of black deeper than death, and eyes of Kryptonite.Never underestimate this cat, or she will be your demise.
{ Picture of character } .
N a m e -- Username
TBA.
N a m e -- Username
TBA.
___M o u s e -- Ashenfate
Beauty is undefined beyond words. Her green eyes always soft, like the pine needles that sway gently in the breezes, or perhaps the dark color of ivy. They hold a wise look within them, even with a cat with such a young age, it seems she knows more about the world than most cats will ever discover. Her dreams carry her throughout the past and into so much more. When she isn't in her dream-scape world, she's in life. Though she is beautiful it is not just her looks that make it so, but how strong and compassionate she is. When Mousepoppy was born, her life was set out in line for her already. StarClan had everything laid out for her, and her paws seemed to go upon the right path. She was pulled from her nest at a young age, as soon as her eyes were open, and forced into the life of healing and herbs. Not once did Mousepoppy complain, she took to the life as if it were normal. The royal-blooded RubyClan she-cat went through her kit-hood with StarClan constantly lingering. Mousepoppy never felt alone, although her time with her family was so limited, she still kept strong to what StarClan wanted. A healer, or, in Primal Instinct's case, a shaman. When Mousepoppy was around novice age, the equivalent to trainee age, RubyClan fell. Some how, the small grey cat kept her faith in StarClan, even knowing that her clan, friends and family, were out in the world, dead or alive. She tended to hang around Toxicity land for quite some time, only because she had no other place to go, and for some reason, Valkyriestar made no move to chase her from the territory. Finally, Mousepoppy decided it was time to move on. Frail and weak, she found Primal Instinct. It seemed like the perfect time, as Primal Instinct was desperately in need of a medicine cat. Mousepoppy already knew all there was to know about healing, so she was the perfect fit. Mousepoppy settled into her new home, her story left untold to those who do not ask. This caring and sweet she-cat has went through a lot in her life, but StarClan is the thing that keeps her going. Though she keeps this under wrap, as Primal Instinct is more of a Dark Forest group. So calm and collected, is this she-cat. With still much to learn, she is already a legend. Perhaps any cat would be with as much as she has accomplished. Her beautiful nature and passion for herbs will bring her far, even further than it already has.
Mate {{ unknown }}
Kits {{ Moth, Minnow, Mink }}
___N a m e -- Username
TBA.
{ Picture of Character } .
Abyss - Timidbird1566
"Whoever fights with monsters should see to it that he does not become a monster in the process. And when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you." -Nietzsche. Not many under stand the abyss or Abyss. Complicated. A maze. Trials. For when you gaze into her pale green eyes, you gaze back at yourself. A reflection. The key to fighting off the monsters is to not become one in the process. You could say the she-cat has a little... disorder. More of a major one actually. If you stare at her long enough, you'll find that her personality changes. Not just any, but yours. Or at least how you see yourself or how she sees you. Others have a two sided personalities, but she has hundreds. Hundreds of ones yet to be discovered, and ones that never will. Mingling with her true self, changing her to someone else. Though she was never herself to begin with. The first time she changed herself, it was in order to keep herself 'safe.' From herself. The true her, buried in the others she mimics; is a stubborn she-cat one where loyalty isn't just a word. It's life. Though that changed as she grew older. Abyss was raised in a small family of four, small and simply. A father, mother and brother. All perfect kittypets, loved by any twoleg. Not abyss though. A small gray she-cat unlike her white family, and owl like amber eyes. No, that wasn't what bothered the twolegs and her family, it was her tail. A small stump of a tail, born that way. Though they did try to treat her equally even though her brother was perfect and born with all of his body parts. That didn't stop her from seeing the longing glances she saw everyday from her parents. Wishing she was perfect too, not a wild feline. Life plummeted when their twolegs left them, abandon them in the woods with out second thought. They too, were replaceable. Instinct kicked in, so some food was caught for just enough for them to go on. Their kittypet fat becoming hard toned muscles, and claws becoming small blades. Didn't stop the sickness. It was something called 'foam mouth.' A cat's mouth would foam, and soon insanity followed up right behind. There was no cure. You could probably guess her shock when she woke to her father pinning her, spitting foam on her. Blood soaking from his white fur and dropping onto her 's. One bite would mean death, a scratch would be painful but due able. She fought harder than she ever had that day, rolling around that den with her father. One second before he makes a killing bite, and another he hits the ground. Two hours later, exhaustion took over them both, her father falling over dead. Sprawled in the dirt. In the dirt and blood. Abyss sat in vigil for three days. For her brother. For her mother. For her father. Three moons sunk three suns rose. She felt to sick to eat. The guilt of killing her kin, sick or not, weighed heavily on her shoulders. As if she too, was holding up the sky. So, in order to protect herself she changed. In order to protect her sanity, but if you ask me, she probably lost every ounce of it left. Though unlikely as it sounds, there may be a way for her old self to return. If that is, she didn't become a monster in the process.
Amity -- valiance.
An orange tabby she-cat with dark brown eyes. She's a relativity friendly cat, never shy, always welcoming and bright. She's a good supporter, but lacks the skills of a flawless leader. She's not courageous, nor brave. But she has a strong determination, and the eye for justice. She's just like any other ordinary clan cat; loyal, trustworthy, honest.. Though, she is a bit more independent than most of her clan-mates. She has a small bit of silent arrogance in her, always knowing that she is better in a way, but never voicing those thoughts aloud.
Ariadne -- Mayarose100
Brave. Beautiful. Cunning. Daring. She is all of these things. She is a light brown tabby she-cat and has ice-blue eyes. Her underbelly and paws are pure white. She is never afraid to stand up for herself. She once defied her father's orders, but it resulted in a slash in the face. She got her payback though. She is a creature of the night and day. Her younger memories are a blur, not that she cares though. Watch out everyone. She's waiting.
Aztec -- Naturecat
Rain pattered down on the cold, hard stone, and thunder rolled in the sky. A flash of lightning, and a faint outline of a cat could be seen in the distance. The cat was running. Another flash of lightning and it was gone. Who was this tom? There is only one name for him: Aztec. The sinister tom came from a distant land, far from the ones that Primal Instinct are familiar with today. He was born to a tribe of cats who ran their life in a very foriegn manner. Aztec was born to a beautiful she-cat named Joya who died when he was a young cat. Aztec was always considered to be handsome even today. His coat is of a dark, gray, almost silvery blue colour, with tourqouise eyes, like his father, so his mother told him, and a long, slender tail. Aztec never met his father until later on in his life, but he was always told that he was a great and well-respected cat by the name of Moctezuma. He wears a collar of small, blue stones that his father supposedly used to wear, and around one foreleg, the right one, was a thin circlet of gold. So life went on, and Aztec became a young adult, and he began to wander farther and farther from home. For some reason he felt himself being called to a distant land, and the urge to answer the call became too immense. Aztec no longer felt at home. His mother had passed, and dark thoughts began to cloud his young mind. He found a taste for cat blood to be overpowering, and he enjoyed making sacrifices to his ancestors. The time came for Aztec when he felt he should leave his homeland all together. And he did. Aztec traveled many miles, through mysterious forests to dark, misty swamps until he came across the land of Primal Instinct. It was a thunderous night, too, very dark with no moon to guide him. Water splashed on the moist earth, and a trail of pawprints formed behind Aztec as he ran. But one pawstep across the scent line of the murderous clan and he was jumped on by a large, pale tom-cat. The two wrestled in the dirt until Aztec began to notice that the had the same coloured eyes and dark markings around the eyes. It was Montezuma, his father. Montezuma recognized him and displayed a show of affection for his long lost son. Aztec was in wonder as he set eyes upon his father. They shared many characteristics and had the same dark personalities. Montezuma introduced him to Primal Instinct, and no one doubted that he would be as good of a fighter as his father. And thus Aztec began his new life amongst the power-hungry cats under the leadership of the Commander. Aztec's demeanor eventually became more intense, as Primal Instinct awakened his power-hungry spirit even more. Never had Aztec felt more at home than in Primal Instinct. Unlike his father, Aztec no longer yearns to return to the homeland, for there are too many dark memories, and some of his deepest secrets are buried there. Underneath the earth, in a deep cave which fills with water during showers, the skeleton of the one cat Aztec hated the most will lie until the end of time. His thirst for power and revenge overcomes him often, and he often has time for the company of others, until, of course, the she-cat of his dreams catches his eye. Blood is spilled over the pages of his history, a deep and dark story, that can only end one way: disastrous.
Cedric -- Cheetahsmeow
The scars on this tom mean more than battles lost, they mean lives taken. For each cat he kills, he gets a scar. It's a tradition. He has scars all over his body. Mainly on his upper back, and neck. Cedric is proabably the saddest cat anybody could ever meet, and with his black fur and blue eyes, it's only easier to believe. He is one of the largest cats in Primal Instinct, and strongest. He's a skilled fighter and hunter. Cedric has the nickname 'Ghost Cat' because he has the tendancy to appear, and disappear the very next second, nobody knows how. Cedric rarely talks, but when he does, it's short, and to the point. Cedric doesn't talk much because of what happened to him family, and himself. They were captured by a group of rouges, and tortured. They were cut, bruised, bit, and even burned. Cedric was forced to watch as they burned his mate alive, and then drowned his kits. He still remembers his mates agonized screams...."CEDRIC! PLEASE! MAKE IT STOP!--NO!" were her last words. Echo was her name. His two kits, Ivy and Leaf died silently. They were forced under a lake, and he watched as their tiny bodies twisted and shook until the stopped altogether. Only then was Cedric set free. He vowed to kill the rouge band, and one year later, he did. He burned all of them, and drowned all of their kits.
Candor -- xXSpadeXx
Candor the honest is what most people call this fully truthful tom cat. He has a black and white coat and dark brown eyes that are practically black themselves. He choose Primal instinct as an apprentice, having lived as a loner most of his life time. He proved to be an excellent hunter and was soon respected by these dark cats. Though he decided to leave his honest lifestyle for the darkness and bravery of Primal instinct, he still never tells a lie and can tell if someone else does so.
Cyrano -- Naturecat
He is daring, he is bold, the cat to test them all. Free-fighter, free-lover, the tom of Primal Instinct. Cyrano is his name, rimes are his forte. He speaks with the eloquence denied to most felines, and comes across as arrogant and loud. Yet there is a reason for what he does. Yes, he is a clever mind, but within him is a cat who fears rejection. Why is this, one might ask? Who wouldn't love a tom who speaks with the aire of the noblest of toms and fights in the spur of the moment with not the slightest fear of death to unbalance him? Cyrano needs to make himself seen as boisterous, because he does not want to be known as the tom with a set of whiskers on one side of his face and no whiskers on the other. He is ashamed of the look of his face, and for this reason fears to go further than to love from afar. He is not bad-looking from any other angle, however. His coat is a bracken colour, and his eyes a deep blue. Yet he is always self-conscious of his face. Cyrano knows he can achieve whatever he wants, overcome all obstacles, win the respect of any cat, but he knows he can never find true love. He despises the very mention or notion of whiskers in his presence, and will not hesitate to retaliate with words or claws, or even both.
Death-- jaymist
As the real things strike quickly, sharply, deadly, and silently. Death is as deadly as can be. The huge black tom keeps to him self. He is bloodthirsty and as evil as evil can get. Everyone says he has no heart and no soul. They would correct. He killed is weak little family. They were holding him down. His cold, dead, amber/red eyes strikes fear into everyone he meets. Everyone stays away from him and they are right to do it. His temper makes him kill on the spot. Not that he is complaining. He came upon Primal Instinct as a kit and fought to stay. He may have a sliver of good, but it is highly doubtful.
Draco - Swiftdash
Do you ever wonder what a meaningless life feels like? Do you ever wonder what a life to destroy other lives is like? Do you wonder what endless slaughter is like to the murderer? Do you wonder what endless killing is like? If you want to know these things, you must ask someone with a first hand account. Draco his lived that nightmare. He has killed many and crippled many over his lifetime. Draco is fiery orange tabby tom with blazing amber eyes. He has unusually long claws as well as an unusually long tail. He can sometimes by arrogant, and is an extremely well built, both mentally and physically. His is usually very blunt with other cats, not hiding his displeasure. He is a kind cat if you are on his side. If you are not, he is a brute. He loves critiquing others fighting techniques, then showing them some of his personal favorites. He has been known to be a little bad tempered, and will stop at nothing to annihilate the Clans.
Ella -- nzanegurl
If you want mystery, you have it. Ella is great at keeping secrets, even though its not always the best decision. She cares for her own and refuses to lend help to those who oppose her league. She has the highest respects for those who rank above her, and would do nothing to sacrifice that. With her jet black fur and keen amber eyes, it isn't difficult to move through the shadows without being seen. She never boasts about what she knows and in every way tries to spread her knowledge throughout her fellow cats. Se has a short stubby tail from when she was just a newborn and her mother tried to carry her by the tail. Maybe others THINK that they can get buy her but she's actually very observant. So basically, she is a normal member of Primal Instinct, except for her intense patience and herb know-how. And just like her leaguemates, she would give her life for any Primal Instinct cat. Anytime, anywhere. Lost within her thoughts, she dreams of her lost position. Being the former Mage, she knows everyone, and is skilled in protecting herself. Her heart is big and she is none less lethal than any other cat. She chooses to befriend those who are true to Primal Instinct. She is wary to take a mate, for her father was proven to be violent and neglectful. Her mother was once the Shaman, and her wisdom has passed down to Ella. She considers herself to be "of royal blood" because of her bloodline. She chooses to be fair and forgiving. Ella is to be considered the gentler of the league. Only time will tell how long her heart will remain pure.
Era - *Jaypaw *
You think you know this she-cat who has more secrets, and has told more lies then there are Eras, and Eons? Would you like to know just how wise this she-cat is? She's seen everything from the desert to the artic, from the ocean, to the sky. She's seen everything that no body has ever dreamed of seeing. She's been through more then any cat could even think of being through, this is how she knows so much. She has been alive for longer then most cat's but she looks young, and maybe she is or maybe she has been through so many era's, in different life times. Maybe she has the thoughts and memories of others, or maybe she doesn't. Nobody could possibly think that they know Era, this is why she was named this. She has black fur white white stripes along her back, and white paws. Her eyes are a startling silver. Era knows probably every fighting trick in the book, every hunting technique known to cats. Era has one younger sister, who she doesn't really pay attention to, but she loves her greatly. Era is a dangerous cat, with so much wisdom and power withing her body, mind, and claws. You don't want to cross paths with her because she's fast as sound, and can slash your throat before being up in a tree. She is lithe and long legged, the thing about her that scares other cats, is that they now nothing about her, or her sister Arya.
Felicity -- rphasodic.xoxo
There is a whisper in your ear. Everything inside you tells you to find the voice. It sounded welcoming and like it could protect you from the harsh forest. But let me tell you, this cat is far from safe. Her are two different colors, one being blue the other crimson. She is flame orange, with black spots over her eye, front left paw, right side, and tail tip.She looks to strange to even been real. But she is, and you can find that out if you're not to careful. She has special trait that draws in even the most smart cat to her deadly grasp.She is the grand daughter of Ebony and Kyo. A Shaman and Warden who no longer hold their positions.She doesn't exactly have respect for anyone though, due to her being used to getting everything she wants.Though she loves her father a lot, she doesn't respect his decision in giving up the Nemesis position twice. But she does want the spot for herself. Life is something that is to short to her. Being born into Primal Instinct was a happy thing for her, but when life got hard, it was in her best interest to leave the group in hopes of becoming stronger. Is it possible that maybe she was scared of life as an evil cat? Perhaps. She never was really so called evil, though she loves the flowing of blood on her paws. It was more like she had a bad streak in her than being a full out killer. So how is it that Felicity found herself in Primal Instinct again? Well maybe she felt that deep birth loyalty in her. Either way, she was there. When Primal Instinct decided to leave the forest, she stayed behind, not following her friends and family. Instead she transfered herself over to Crowclan. She knew that the Warden, Savannah, was from there, so she decided that strong cats can be formed in Crowclan. So now she finds herself attatched the group. Her best friend is of course Savannah's son, Blitz. She finds that at times he's the only one she can speak to.
Flash --- xxserenity
Flash has dark reddish-ginger fur with two identical streaks of white running down his face from his eyes to his nose. His chest and paws are creamy-white