Flamestorm//FrostClan

Why do you shun me for who I am?

FOR I AM Flamestorm
of the great FrostClan

Age thirteen moons
Gender masculine
Rank warrior.

How can I hide in the shadows of the unknown?

WHEN MY PELT IS auburn
and my eyes are amber

Scars a scar behind his left ear, his right ear is also nicked in the top, only a small line at the moment
Appearance As orange as one can imagine, Flamepaw's coat can be referred back to that of a fire's deep inner core. He burns a dark orange colour, but not exactly a bright florescent orange. His pelt takes the colour of left over embers from the flame's ashes, dark, and what would give you the greeting of sullen. Flamepaw isn't a gawky, small apprentice, but he could come quite close. He is skinny, and the meat on his bones could be compared to that of a rabbit's. Much like his brother Windpaw, his frame is wiry, but one could not call it delicate. As his brother's power resides in power and brute strength, his was resides in speed and accuracy. His family may be known for the speed and skill, but one can say, that he inherited this wholeheartedly. His back legs aren't unusual strong, and one might admit to themselves that he had lost a few of the muscle there --for he could not climb at an accuracy as most cats, although climbing wasn't a very high priority in the mind. What he lacked in muscle in his legs, was made up in his tail. His tail was a long flashy thing, with unusual strength and a few extra bones and muscles. As he could not face one head on, his tail acted as both a shield and a weapon. His tail was his strength, it gave him his accuracy, speed, and power. Within a second, it could act as a snake, and curl it's furry body within it's master and break a stick in half with just the slightest flex. It was a whip. One that enabled him to fight back.

Why do you judge me for what I’ll become?

JUST BECAUSE I’M secretive AND murderous

Personality A scourge along side his brother, yet unlike his twin, he finds no appeal in just killing the prey. He likes to play with it before capturing it, and having it killed and tracked down. It was a game for him, he merely killed for pleasure and a thing to do, as most things in the clan bothered him. Windpaw was a thing that bothered him, but knowing the fact that his brother was completely loyal to him, and no one else, he kept him by his side. For as both were villainous and murder-happy peers, Windpaw could always be called the better fighter. However, it gave him no advantage, as Windpaw was the muscle, he was the strategist, the brains of the family. He planned the killings and when they would be, and where. His plans consisted of tormenting and he left the teasing and the killing to Windpaw. He could kill if he liked, oh, yes, he could kill quite easily, Windpaw even, for there was no brotherly love binding him to the fool, only needs and ambition. He kept Windpaw at his side for no other than that. Yet, to his utter dismay, there was one string of truth that attached him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

In battle he would be equally matched with his brother because of their different strengths --making it seemingly impossible for either to gain the upper hand, thus, what bonded them together. Together, the were the mafia in their clan; but letting no rumors fly. Flamepaw did not tolerate the excessive overuse of rumors. If Windpaw wanted them, fine by him, he cared not whether Windpaw took all the credit or not. Windpaw could be the star of the show for all he cared. All he wanted was the pleasure of killings, and the guts of the prey in the end. Flamepaw, though, was not in a obsessive-compulsion disaster with blood like his brother, he didn't mind the sweet smell of blood in his nose, or a pool of it lapping at his paws, but he would not shed a tear, or even sigh when he would have to wash it off. What was the point? It attracted more attention, and that was one thing he hated, despised and loathed --attention. It was defiantly something he could live without, and he had no intention of killing someone just to gain one's respect, unlike the mind of his brother.

He was never considered a normal apprentice, always quite with his mentor, unless provoked. Provoked was when he would show a bit of his true self. He does not like to show feelings, and his face is a mask of what might seem like grumpiness or an indulging serious attitude. He would not show his emotions, as he would rather be killed. It was the one thing that was kept precious to him, someone who showed their emotions he considered weak.

He is not one to judge at first glance, and he is accepting of something someone may not possibly ever be able to fix. It may annoy him, or throw him the wrong way, but it would always surprise one to say that he could tolerate a bunch of kits squealing in his ear. Of course, they wouldn't get away with a few scratches, but yelling was not his style. Overall, a quite, contained, vicious and deadly enemy.

Preferences blood-lust, killing, murder, strategy, deadly secrets over others, fooling others, 'playing with his food', Place of No Stars -- kits, elders, traitors, cats who surrender.
Secret Ambitions To one day overcome his brother and take control of the four clans -- or alongside his brother, still confused 'bout that part
Strengths/Weaknesses fighting, courage, stamina, killing, bloodlust, cunning, intelligent, his long claws, his tail, his fangs, his mind, accuracy, agility -- brutal strength head on, showing his emotions, cats finding out who he really was.

How am I punished for what my kin has done?

EVEN IF MY PARENTS ARE Ashsky AND Nightvine

Family
Father;; Nightvine
Mother;; Ashsky
Brother;; Windchill | played by Arashi/Coon
Brother;; Redpaw [deceased]

Event that Lead to being a Warrior n/a
History His parents were not ones who could be considered as kind, maybe is father, but never his mother. His mother was an ungrateful fraud who took her mate's love as handled and to her own accord and gain. She was greedy, and he gave her all she wanted, plus more. He loved her dearly, yet she could care less about him. As they grew older, he slowly began to understand what she was, and his love for her drained. Only his loyalty, and the fact that soon she was to be expecting kits kept him at her side. When the kits were born, there were only three when she expected and pleaded StarClan for at least six, if not more, and she was bitterly disappointed when they did not grant her wishes. She went into a fitful rage, that not even the leader or medicine cat could calm her.

She raged for four days, before finally remembering that three weak kits were suckling her. Little comfort was brought to her when she found out that they were all males. Males! How she despised them. She blamed it on her mate --how dare he? It was then, that he cracked, his love for her drained entirely and a huge spat was argued up. They soon began to fight, and this time, not just with words, but with tooth and claw. Flamepaw opened his eyes to this site, the blood soaking his pelt around him and his three brothers. It was an omen, he believed, for this was what StarClan didn't want them to become. Keh, that was way to mad. StarClan, he had heard the name before. It was a name ugly and bitter on his tongue. He decided then and there, his parents tearing themselves apart before his eyes, that he would be like them. If it meant defying one's protection, hell, he didn't need it. To his appraise, it seemed that the all grey cat next to him, had the idea of his own.

It was a few moons later, specifically, or to the best approximate degree, six moons later. They were six and one half moons old now. Around this time, it was when he had set up Windpaw and left aside one for himself, a few traps to spring on their fellow neighbours and clanmates. It was then, that Redpaw found out.

Redpaw was a burly fellow, with a heart like a lamb, he's voice was that of a feather's and he would always speak with such innocents, it was even enough to drive Flamepaw mad. Something must be done about him, whether he found out about the killings or not. It was he, Flamepaw, who came out with the plan, and then he sent his willing brother to do it. Windpaw didn't quite carry out the plan as told, but it was good enough, and soon, Flamepaw came to the place where his dead brother lay, his brother's green eyes glassy. It was his turn now. It spent him a good two hours whacking the corpse with his tail, splitting it into pieces, and then clawing it to shreds. When it was no longer reconizable, he carried that which remained to a nearby fox den, and placed the seizure corpse outside, later wading into a river, and placing his brother's tail on a low hanging branch.
Sample RP n/a