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25/09/21 – We've moved to a new or old, if you look it that way location, which means we have a new layout! We'll be letting you know what our new mechanisms are soon!

22/01/22 – Ashes has stepped down from nemesis with Regulus, please send her some compliments and thanks for all she's done for PI! We'll begin transitioning to Bermondsey's reign soon!

We dwell in the dark forests nestled in mountains. They say the forests hold the dark spirits of cats long gone. Whether it's true or not is something you'll have to figure out yourself. Click on the buttons to learn more.
the mansion

The Mansion is the home to Primal Instinct. A manor abandoned long ago, the bare-bone remains houses the cats of the league. The mansion contains four towers; one for the Nemesis and their assassin, one for the Warden and their assassin, one for the mage and the shaman, and one for the proxies. Within the corridors, the hunters, trainees and the nursery all lie in different rooms. There is a greenhouse on the far end of the mansion that houses strange herbs that become part of the league's experiments, and the basement is a perfect place to hold prisoners.

the great oak

Known as the god tree to some, it's almost a fitting name for the great oak tree who seems to have stood here since the beginning of time...or at least to the residents who live here. It's weathered decades, seen generations grow, witnessed the rise and fall of empires...and it's almost revered by all the cats who see its twisting branches reach to the sky, surviving even the lightning strikes that always seem to find its way here. One of the best hunting spots in the league thanks to the bugs and animals that rely on this oak, it's no wonder trainees use this place to practice their climbing and their hunting.

Plenty of ceremonies happen here too. The ceremony of life, the passing of a Nemesis, the burial of important cats to the league...the Great Oak is central to both the forest and to the league's daily life.

HERBS LIST: oak leaf, feverfew
the tunnels

Once home to the Renegade Regime, these empty tunnels remain as the cats moved, and now form a system underneath the mountains that surround the league to the north. They're often empty, but the darkness of the space keeps cats on their toes. After all, it's a perfect spot to ambush the league if worse comes to worse, and patrols often find themselves looking warily around the place, assigning recon missions to explore the tunnels.

However, beware all those who enter, for the tunnels are like a labyrinth. Some make it in and out without an issue, but others find themselves lost to the system of caves, unable to find the exit, meeting their maker in these twisted paths. If you enter, just remember, if the animals of the tunnel don't kill you, surely the darkness will.

HERBS LIST: tansy, lamb's ear

Once, the humans lived in the mountains, but for some untold reason, they left and settled down on the shores of where the city currently is, leaving behind the old buildings that still remain to this day. It seems as if a fire had ravaged the place once, and while some structures are falling apart, many still remain intact. However, few come up this mountain, for there are legends that the place is haunted, that one might see the wrong face of a god and die of fright up in these haunted woods. Beware, traveller, for these legends may seem fanciful, but something must ring true.

HERBS LIST: goldenrod, coltsfoot, raspberry
the marsh

One of the most peculiar locations in the league, the marsh seems almost designed. In the deepest part of the ever-dark forest, the waters of the marsh seem sluggish, as if they go their own pace. The rocks create a sort of bridge, assorted little islands the create a path to its center. A series of waterfalls create its center, and a ring of rocks seem to give a mysterious energy to this place, the carved markings must mean something after all. Whether it's magic or witchcraft, one can't really be sure, but there's a large crystal, a sort of gleaming stone that reflects the light of the moon...there's something mysterious here, a sort of crackling in the it safe to approach? Will it grant your deepest desires? Or will it cast you into oblivion, never to be seen again? After all, you know what they say, you look into the abyss–or in this case, the giant glowing crystal–and it looks back into you.

HERBS LIST: borage, catmint, chervil
photo booth

A strange contraption made by the humans, it takes images and prints them out almost immediately. It's interesting, and kind of fun, and somehow it's kind of damaged but it still works. No one knows what this is useful for, but it still makes for a fun location to explore.
the city

The former home of the league and of Absum Lux, the city is still a familiar haunt for the league due to their history. Home to rogues, loners, and kittypets alike, the city is where cats go to scavenge. Plenty of interesting things can be found here, from different types of food to human artifacts of various interest. The city is by the sea, which makes it popular in the summer, and less so in the winter. Small beach houses and apartments litter the area, and there are plenty of market stalls and cafes all around. The most iconic structure is the church that stands in the center of the city, its spires piercing the skies. It's a fun place to be, but don't get too carried away. The city takes as much as it gives.

HERBS LIST: tormentil

One might imagine that a beach would be warm and beautiful, but the shores of Primal Instinct are nothing but. They don't resemble the soft sands of SummerClan's shores, but rather, they're cold and brittle, with cliffs on the sides and stony paths, pebbles and wild grasses lining the shores of grey waters, the sky rarely opening enough for the sun to shine through. The seashores are often windy and cold, though there are days in the summer when it's almost pleasant to be here. There are crabs and occasionally fish that swim a little closer to shore, but the shores are often of little use...though it's said that if you come at night and the frigid wind doesn't rustle you, the stars are beautiful here.

HERBS LIST: seaweed, samphire(?)
pond & bridge

The pond marks the seasons of Primal Instinct. In the spring, it's overflowing with water from the snowmelt and the spring showers, in the summer it's shallow, a perfect place for young cats to learn how to swim, and in the fall, it becomes almost completely dry, a bed of old leaves and grass, and in the winter, one must be careful lest the fall in the snowbank and find themselves in a tricky spot.

This is a spot where the trees start thinning, the canopy disappearing to the smaller trees as the beach nears. There's a dirt path here, and in the summer, humans can be seen here, often filling the air with noise and scaring the prey away. Be careful, they aren't always friendly, and once they get their grubby paws on you, your fate is dictated by them.

HERBS LIST: willow bark, willow leaves, horsetail
temple ruins

Legend has it that this was once a camp of the league, generations ago when they ruled the forest as an empire, more powerful than any other clan. They say emperors have lived and died on these rocks, that families had torn each other apart with a madness, blood spilt all over the rocks that make the temple ruins. One won't find any fresh blood here; it's been washed away for years, but surely, the air is just a little more stifling in this hallowed spot.

They say the ghosts of the past make their rounds here, haunting those who have unresolved business in their history. Have you repented for your sins? Have you left a stone unturned? Then perhaps it's a good thing to avoid this place; you never know what ghosts still cling to your closets.

HERBS LIST: broom, catmint, feverfew
Our story begins in the Chimerial Forest, far east of the territory that the Clans inhabit today. In this forest there was a delicate balance of power, one that given the slightest encouragement could shift from one Clan to another. The forest had 21 different factions, or Clans, all of which vie for that power. To keep that power from favoring one Clan over the other for too long, a ruling council was born out of the 21 Clans. Of these Clans, 8 were chosen to rule over the rest, dictating where and when each Clan was allowed to hunt, move, or fight. At first everything went smoothly until the need for power drove some leaders insane. The weak Clans soon began to fall, taken over by those who greed outran their common sense. The fight for one of the 8 ruling Clans began, leading to many innocent lives lost and words spoken that could never be taken back.

Of these 8 Clans there was one, ToilingClan, who were waiting, watching from the side of the wars for their own chance to strike and take back the power that they believed was rightfully theirs. Maskedstar, the leader of this Clan soon began to work his way up the ranks, bringing his Clan to nearly the height of their glory. But no good thing ever lasts. On the night of the full moon, the other new 7 houses of the 8 launched an attack, nearly wiping out all of the ToilingClan cats in the process.

All except for two young Apprentices who had been out on their own when the battle occurred. Their names were Chaos and Eternity, two of the older apprentices in the Clan. When they returned to camp, only to find their Clan taken over and imprisoned there was nothing left for them to do. Yet bravishly, almost to the point of foolishness they choose to fight, a quick battle indeed that soon ended in their defeat. However the leaders of the 7 other Clans chose not to kill them just then, but to make an example out of them for all the other weaker Clans who might have had possible thoughts of starting a rebellion.

However, this was not to be their fate. They were thrown out of the territory, beaten and starved to fend for themselves however best the could.The two surviving cats somehow managed to do just that, helping eachother through the long and miserable days. As the time past, these two cats became close, depending on only each other. Although neither of them chose to acknowledge it, something was happening between them that not even they foresaw.

Soon Eternity became pregnant and Chaos wasn't at all certain that the kits would be his. Eternity was a striking she cat and often flirted around as they traveled. But he kept his silence as the kits were born, four small bundles that would soon be called Envy, Asylum, Metra and Alcatraz. For a while everything went well as the family settled down, soon forgetting about the Clans they had left. But the peace was not to be.

Late one night a group of cats attacked, quickly overpowering Chaos as Eternity tried to protect her kits. Subdued and powerless, Chaos could only watch and snarl as they dragged Eternity away from their kits, his eyes gleaming furious. Through the group of cats padded forward a large black tom, a livid scar over his right eye. This was Dragon, one of the headers of the Ruling Clans they had left behind. From him, Chaos and Eternity learned that the Clans were no more, destroyed by a group of twolegs and their dogs that had come in with their big machines and ripped up the ground until nothing but dirt and dead cats littered the ground. Only a few cats remained from the once proud Clans but now they were all scattered to the four corners of the Earth...all except Dragon and his group. Dragon had remembered the two apprentices that had been thrown out and presumably died, but he knew better. In his twisted dark mind, Chaos and Eternity had caused the destruction of his power, and for that they would pay. Nurturing a deep hatred towards the two he had set off, following them from place to place until he made sure that he could get them alone. And so the trap was sprung, one he fully intended on making the best of.

Despite Chaos' struggles, he could only watch at Dragon padded over to Eternity dragged her away from the group, slashing her throat with his claws. He then padded over to their kits and pulled them out of the nest, one by one by one, and despite their small cries and feeble blows, killed them right in front of Chaos. Nearly blinded by grief and fury, Chaos fought like a wildcat, killing two of Dragon's group until blood loss prevented him form moving anymore.

Dragon sat back, watching all of this with two of the remaining kits besides him. Alcatraz and Metra, a small she cat whose golden pelt was almost an exact replica of her mothers. He padded over to Chaos and with a gloating look, slashed tiny Alcatraz's stomach, leaving him unable to move and bleeding to death next to his father. As his son died and Dragon was bent over the last kit, his Metra, Chaos slashed out with his claws, catching Dragon behind the next in a critical hit, a one kill blow.

But that blow had cost Chaos the last of his strength and with a sigh he laid his head back down on the bloodstained grass, his eyes glazing over. The last thing he saw before he succumbed to the darkness was Eternity, his beautiful mate, friend, and lover who would live on within him, no matter where he was headed to. And so the great cat Chaos died and with him, the last of the cats from the once proud number one ruling Clans of the forest. But our story doesn't end here, for little Metra, no bigger than an apprentice laid among the dead, her tiny body quivering with fear, grief, and a sense of loss.

But she knew that if she stayed there then those cats could come back and what would happen then? So instead she ran, doing the only thing a kit in her position could do. And ran and ran, never staying in one place longer than a few sunrises. Soon Fall turned into Winter and Winter turned into Spring, allowing a fully grown she cat to emerge. Metra was now a she cat, fully grown and powerful in her own right. But to her, not yet powerful enough. She wanted strength so that what had happened to her family would never happen to anyone again.

It was around this time that she met a strange cat, a tom whom she had seen following her numerous times. Warily she hid in the shadows, waiting, watching until it was the perfect chance to strike and bring him down. But as fate would have it, he was not what she had expected. No instead of asking for mercy he just watched her, smiling as she held him down, threatening to slit his throat. Perplexed and thoroughly confused, she had allowed him to live after he expressed the only reason he had been following her was that they had the same goal in mind, even if she herself hadn't recognized it yet.

With a companion she never thought possible, she and the tom continued along their ways, until they found a place that suited their needs. During the months of traveling, she had told him the very deepest of her secrets, her past and about her family. He was an only child, abandoned when he was young and both wanted to change the future so that history would not repeat itself. They took up residence in a ruin, and after time went by began to think of ways to expand their own grasp of this new territory. The two set off once again together, persuading, kidnapping, and even killing cats to make a Clan of their own. And so the League was born.

Deemed Primal Instinct by those who heard of the fast growing group, shield away from it as these cats were more likely to kill you first and ask questions later. The League became powerful as they continued on their journey, gathering cats as they went along. With Metra as the Nemesis, the League began to grow quickly at a amazing rate. With new names and positions, these two cats built upon themselves a deadly force to be reckoned with. And now they are here, finally settling down in a territory not far from the Clans which was only spell disaster. But for whom? That is yet to be seen.

And so begins the story of P R I M A L   I N S T I N C T
gods & legends
The League has never held a religion on their own, for they believe in only their own power. However, cultures and legends have leaked into the beliefs of the cats who live in the forest now. Many are considered folklore, tall tales to tell misbehaving younglings, but who knows? Perhaps there's a truth to these tales.

The three headed god

There is a story deeply embedded in the forest, that there is a boundary between the world of the living and the world of the dead, and the forest Primal Instinct exists in straddles the line. The Three-Headed God is a mystery; some say he truly exists and others say it’s just a legend, a metaphor. They say he has three heads, and he roams the forest, only showing his face in the trees and the leaves.

His first face is a friendly, smiling one. It’s the foliate face, the face of life. It brings flowers to life, it allows summers to return, and it provides sustenance to the forest to allow its continued growth. It’s surrounded by leaves, found in the twisted branches of the oak trees, bright and dappled in sunlight. It tells you how precious life is, and how one must protect it. His second face, the disgorging face, is the sorrowful one of death. It ushers in the eternal rest, it shows how life is temporal in nature; nothing lasts forever. Summer turns to winter, everything dies, and it comes and reaps what it is owed. It’s cold face can be found in the roots of trees, sprouting from its mouth. His third face is the curious one of rebirth, the bloodsucker, they call it. Life comes in cycles; the only constant is change. Spring comes once more. Death provides food for life. Rebirth is a face of unending change, but it is also the face of a judgemental god, one that shows magic really exists. It brings cats back to life, but at a price. It says that nothing is worth anything without its sacrifice.
garden of tatlia
Primal Instinct's herbs and plants have two purposes. One purpose is for healing and poisoning. There are berries that the Shaman uses to continue life, and others to induce death. There are also herbs and plants that are used for ceremonial purposes. Certain plants have been revered by legends for decades. However, not all of the herbs the League uses can be found in the territory, which is why they must occasionally sneak into other territories to find what they need.


Oak trees - The god tree. It’s said that the gods are watching when lightning strikes it. They say that the gods rest in the spirits of the Oak. They are used to garner favor from the gods, to ask for things such as good health, fertility, and life.

Elder trees - The devil’s tree. It is said that the devil resides in the Elder. If it burns, the devil is here, but if you plant it, you can ward it away. It’s for chasing away bad (vibes) luck and for both wishing curses on others and for protection against spirits.

Birch trees - a sign of renewal and life. The birch tree is used mostly in Imbolc festivals, or the life festival, and as spring returns, their leaves and branches are used to decorate kitting dens to wish mothers good luck with their kits.

Willow trees - a sign of death, the willow is a mourning tree, it’s used in funeral rites and often placed upon graves of cats to wish them a fair journey to the afterlife. It’s a popular tree used in Samhain, the festival of death.

Rowan trees - The fae tree, it’s said to protect one from enchantment. To destroy or hurt a rowan tree is to ask to be cursed. It is a plant often used in enchantment rituals.

The cats of the league celebrate certain festivals. Here are a few that can be found. It's the duty of the proxies and the Nemesis to organize these said activities.

The festival of life celebrates the midsummer, often landing on the longest day of the year. It's a time when the Life Proxy organizes a celebration. Some years, they choose an avatar of life to represent good luck, other years they make well-wishes, but the celebration of life often revolves around cats who are ready to step into their next stage. It celebrates the ambitions and the powers that keep the league alive and well.

They say that the gates of hell open and close with winter's coming, and in a forest where the line between reality and the supernatural feel almost thin, it's no wonder that when the winds change and the cold settles into the bones of this forest, that death seems to cut like the wind. The Death Proxy often must organize a festival to appease the spirits that once roamed this earth, and it's no wonder that the world feels even more haunted during this time.

To receive a life, one must give a life. The cycle of rebirth requires a sacrifice, and for those who practice the ceremony of cleansing, one must give up something of importance to receive anything back. While some cats may practice this, others find the idea of staring into the void a little...creepy. It's a ceremony the shaman chooses to celebrate or not. It's when prophecies are received, and it's when death might return with life.
Ceremonies may not be the same as the clans, but they also play a part of the lives of the League cats.

To become the nemesis and receive their five lives, the warden must prove they can handle the pressure of what it means to lead the league. To do so, they must go through three trials arranged by the proxies and the shaman. The first trial is the trial of life; they must understand and prove they understand what the true value of life is. The second trial is the trial of death; the warden must prove they are willing to kill. The third trial is the trial of rebirth; to receive their lives they must understand the power of sacrifice, and therefore, give up something important to them for the sake of receiving their lives.

Not every warden passes all of these trials. Some pass just enough to gain an extra life, others don't gain any at all. No one other than the nemesis and their shaman know just how many lives they've received from these trials, but one thing's for sure, it's no easy game to prove their worth as a Nemesis.

To become a hunter, a trainee must prove themselves worthy by attending an examination arranged by the warden or the proxies. To get to this point, often they attend other tests and activities organized in order to prove their sense of leadership, their skills in fighting, and their intelligence in strategy. Some trials are about survival, about staying in the darkness of the forest and surviving the trials of living alone. Others are about teamwork, or fighting against one another to see if they can survive. No one knows what the next trial is, but one must truly give it their all to pass this test.
This layout belongs to achromatic / audrey! Please do not steal. Images are from Stepan Vrany on Unsplash! Photo edits belong to achromatic. Primal Instinct belongs to Warrior Cat Clans 2, and all lore and characters belong to their existing owners.
MATE Eshek (ex-wife) KITS Cordelia-chan, Nour-chan, Laertes-chan, Matilde-chan HUNTING
The Nemesis is the highest achievement that any cat in Primal Instinct can receive. They are now the top cat, leader of the entire League and with such comes that responsibility. The Nemesis of the group is the leader and the most respected feline in the entire league. If the Nemesis passes a trial, they receive 3 lives each and the prefix or suffix "Et'an or E'tani" is added onto their name. Only the Shaman knows how many lives they have left. Bermondsey E'tan currently has yet to receive their lives.
There are only two places, first place and no place. Everyone remembers the first nemesis of Primal Instinct, but what about the second? The third? Everyone remembers the first, but only the second remembers the second. Bermondsey, the second born of Severine E'tani's second litter, could attest to that. A thin grey tom with almost feminine features, and a wide-eyed bright green gaze, he doesn't really look all too dangerous. He's tall, yes, but too willowy to be much of a powerhouse. He's not much of a flirt like his father either, and not necessarily handsome enough to break hearts at ease. The androgynous look doesn't always suit everyone after all. However, much like his father Alistair before he went mad, he prizes the gifts of his mind rather than his athletic prowess. Rather stern and aloof most of the time, he compartmentalizes his feelings rather well, separating emotions from his own sense of twisted logic. He doesn't form too many attachments. He has a knack for being rather blunt and to the point, rarely disguising or flowering his words to make them nicer or more socially appropriate. He often enjoys employing sarcastic quips and little teasing smirks as well, something he inherited from his father. Being second made him rather unimportant in the family hierarchy, but for him, it's both a blessing and a curse. He learned to slip through the cracks, to listen, and to not be seen. However, don't count him out of the race. The small grey tom might not seem dangerous, but you better not judge this book by its cover.
Bermondsey e'tan
MATE No mate. KITS No kits. HUNTING
Congrats, you stayed alive long enough to be promoted all the way from Youngling to Warden. These means you know have a whole new load of responsibilities from deeming when Younglings are ready to be made Trainees, what Hunters have shown the necessary qualities to become an assassin and who your next target is. Be forewarned - it is easy to crack under this pressure and do not assume that once you have this position you will keep it.
Her fur has captured the appearance and mien of smoke itself, its tendrils moving and curling as if in an unfelt wind. The sands of innocence were corrupted in her long ago, though a prismatic fire has preserved itself in her soul. Eyes, blue glass that shines beneath a canopy of black lashes. Her tear blood runs through twin peaks of cheekbones. A slender pillar of a neck – magnet of eroticism, blinding the veins gorging on flesh, dancing under pulse of blood – or whatever strange liquid flows inside. Her voice is as sweet as birdsong, projecting words as sharp as a whip.
The third most powerful cat in the League, the Shaman holds the power of life and death within their paws. It is their responsibility to know the territory around them as well as the herbs that grow in it. They are also the spiritual guide, knowing the voices of the trees that make the forest, while training the mage in healing arts. There is no guarantee that a Shaman will treat your injuries though- especially if you tick them off. With the knowledge of the poisonous toxins and herbs, they can be a very dangerous enemy.
White mitts like satin gloves, black tuxedo made for a ballroom scene. They fit the atmosphere like they were born of it, a figment of it. The heartbeat memory of a sprawling oak floor, that soft string note of a melody you remember in some golden haze of chandelier lighting, the glare of cutting silver on the wine glass rim. And a burning gaze, like charcoal dimming, dimming into nothingness, in some distant figment of some upper class reverie.
The mage comes from the children of the current or previous Shamans. Traditionally, the mage is often a she-cat, and they're the actual healers of the league. They begin to learn the art of herbs, both the miracles and the poisons. It is up to the current Shaman to dream when and if the apprentice is ready to become a full Shaman. There is only one mage at a time in the league and when promoted, they become the shaman and must also train a mage.
MATE Lucistic (faith) Ex: Funk E'tan KITS (with Bermondsey) Cordelia, Nour, Laertes, Matilde HUNTING
A tall, long-legged she-cat with dusty white fur, mousy grey-brown Siamese markings, and wide, manic, dark blue eyes. She was born in the League to a father who resented her from the moment she first drew breath, blaming her for her mother dying in childbirth and the rest of her litter being still-born. Her early life, though treated with the prestige and cold privilege of having been born to a good family, was a lonely, tortured thing for the simple crime of having been born at all. It left her with a desperate ache for the mother she never knew; a circus queen, a silver screen diva, a party animal alive in screaming colour, getting high and chasing tail, deep down she was just a girl without a mother. When she was nine moons old, already the finest torturer the League had ever seen, she murdered her father and his newest litter; she only spared one of the kits, her half-brother Lorah who she raised somewhere between a faux mother, a big sister, and someone who wanted nothing to do with him, though she secretly cared for him deeply and was plagued by guilt for how she brought him up. It inevitably left him unhinged and with a deep, obsessive attachment to his sister. As a torturer in the Punishment District, shortly after meeting the loner and new Shaman who would eventually become Funk E'tan and her mate, she was promoted against her will to Foreign Affairs Proxy at almost the same time Funk was thrust into the role of Nemesis; they ascended together and were as close as soulmates, king and queen, a pair made in Hell. It’s difficult to tell whether she was quietly good at her paper-pushing job - or just genuinely did no work at all, just using the position she’d never wanted as an excuse to lounge in her marble suite. Then, one morning, heavily pregnant with Funk's kits, she was exploring on the glass roof of the Mansion and fell. She died; two years later, but a split second for her, she gasped back to life. Her kits had died inside her; her best friend - her mate - had grieved and moved on, becoming someone she hardly recognised; the League had left the Mansion; everything was gone. Broken and grieving and lost, she fled to DayClan to be with her best friends, Lucistic and Innocentia, the only remnants of the life she’d once had. But she was always a League cat at heart, and though she holds a deep, almost reverent love for DayClan for taking her in, she spends most of her time beyond their borders, hanging around League territory and befriending Bermondsey - they're a pair no one can puzzle out, not even themselves, though he tries desperately to insist she’s an annoying burden and she spends most of their time together bullying him. When Regulus E’tan offered her the position of Internal Affairs Proxy, despite her animosity towards him for what she saw as usurpation of Funk’s rightful role, she couldn’t say no - and it meant she finally got the District she’d been born in and that she’d always wanted, Punishment. At the end of the day, all she wants is to love and be loved. She lives a double life in DayClan as the maverick Carriondare.
The life proxy is about providing, though not always in the most traditional sense. Of course part of it is about nurturing, but it doesn’t have to be! Life is often violent and ferocious, and to ensure survival, one must do anything at all costs.

Life proxy is to provide at all costs. It’s to nurture younglings and provide trainees with what they need, yes, but it’s also to wage wars to make sure the young ones are fine, to steal prey from other’s mouths to feed their own. It’s about survival and that’s their main priority. They flirt and flutter through the clans but their sole duty is to ensure PI’s continued survival.

They’re in charge of Beltaine (or whatever we name that) as it’s the ceremony of life.
MATE Accalia (ashestoashes) EX: Adelaide KITS Alula-Nova (shadowbladeღ), Tarn (ashestoashes) HUNTING
"I can live neither with you, nor without you." His pelt is every much as an enigma as him, from thick to thin markings, from solid contrast to fading soft blends and amber eyes so dark and red, you could swear it rivaled the color of sticky pooling blood that had been spilled and untouched for hours. You are just curiously wandering when you feel a funny feeling and go over to shrub and just as you peak through the vegetation- Boo. It is spoken in the most calmest voice it someone how manages to scare even you as you jump back. This lone kit shows no fear and it is then decided the kit known simply as Uta, would be taken back to join the group known as Primal Instinct. It's a wonder how this mischievous maker got to PI territory, but now that's he's here everyone is stuck with him. He speaks very polity in a gentle kind voice but watch out- because the next moment you will probably fall prey to one of his little pranks. No one could ever guess these harmless pranks were ever more than that- but no one- not even his favorite friends be it Touka or Yomo would see the manipulative, truly sadistic and savage side of him for so long. Despite being about middle-aged he still looks way younger than this, part of it must be good genes, another part must of his been his frequent free travels in DayClan for it's beauty in land and anyone willing to be his muse. One of the closest territories, allowing travelers and inspiration - testing the waters with them constantly, never giving them fully a reason to chase him out but never seeming to go away was another form or entertainment and existing to be a nuisance for others. He lives for creating chaos and destruction, fascinated with thrills of being alive and the unpredictable nature of cats and the wonders of how a cat changes because of a single moment and to see it happen. . . Sadistic and savage from his violent upbringing believing in no love of the cold void of a world they live in reduced to fueling it with in chaos because he's already unfazed by most things, even holding exotic aesthetics of ill yet masterful tastes of high regard so why not keep it interesting? Killing regardless or whether it was deserved, some just for fun - for the thrill of it. Yet still under all that horror having genuine concern for his select few - not everything is purely out of his own benefit if it meant he can help those close to him as well or keep them safe. To bad for his kits that didn't really include them. Most of his offspring come from flings with lack of knowledge of their existence until they seek him out, at least he tells them the handful of names of their would-be step mothers to find or know of their other siblings for their own benefit but otherwise if they've made to adulthood their not his responsibility anymore and leaves apathetic to their existence. Adelaide's litter, originally the only one in PI he might never would've talked at all if it wasn't for the fact he was genuinely concerned Adelaide has no desire to raise them or be attached at all - funny how it's fine for him to be that way and such audacious game-changer when the mother isn't. Tbf Uta couldn't grow an udder and nurse them himself even if he wanted to, but he still absolutely 90% neglected and emotional abandoned them. So how exactly did his newest litter come to be? Funny story, Accalia adored the tom that treated her so normally and he was fascinated with her unique look, she was an artwork and masterpiece, he gave her the spotlight and feelings of acceptance. He on the other hand, madness and all with a shrinking friend circle, an obsession with a lost love and the closes to him Accalia - his constant. There for it all and if the world should end she very well might still be there by his side and it's lonely on the edges. . . She's the last one left, how cruel of life to have him actually care for her, actually scared for her, addicted to her friendship filling the empty void that without her might just make him finally give up. But that fear, that distress, it makes him smile to feel a thrill again, anything again. Naturally always around each other, gave the kits the luck of actually seeing their father, even if he's really only there for their mother. Just excited little furbabies going 'daddy!' and he just slowly paws them to the side or back to their mother like 'who are you, why are you calling me that- oh wait yeah'. He might bring them something shiny or a skull to play with, that's what all the parents bring right? Perhaps some fertility issues delayed the newest kits arrival but they're the ones that got through. He only exists in their life by chance and they don't realize that or don't care, who knows? Maybe if the she-cat and fuzzballs pressure him enough to act like a dad he might just become one. Accalia's pent up anger and creativity with any revenge she wanted and Uta's thrills and 'artworks' are just their favorite little bedtime stories. They're not that bad, they even look like Accalia so maybe all the keeping his distance, keeping all of them safe from his savage group, safe from him and his enemies act was going about it the wrong way this whole time. Still, recently he just can't help but feel despair without Yomo it's just so maddening. And yet, indulging in manipulating in the world's events and hedonistic slaughter to gain a sense of being "alive" - he wouldn't possibly keep doing that around the kits now would he . . . ? Something's gotta change, before something or someone breaks.
The death proxy is about keeping accountability, it’s about making sure no one takes more than their fill. While death may seem cruel and unjust, death is also patient, death is also a kindness. Death is logic, it ignores emotions, it takes and takes no matter what. The death proxy takes care of the internal issues. They provide justice in a way, solving issues that are too small to be brought up to the Nemesis. They cull out the weak, they punish those who took too much, and they make sure everyone stays in line.
Beauty divine, if beauty is red wine. An intoxicating concoction—dangerously smooth, creeping obsession—she is an aged Merlot you can't pull away from your lips. Chelsea isn't just anyone's drink. Occasionally, her piquancy is too dark, at other times too sweet. Pair her with the right circumstance and the flavors unite, an electrifying mix of humor and elegance and condemnation. She has tasted power and got drunk off the idea of it, and like an addict short of their next fix there's nothing she won't do to taste it again. Spawned from the red empress, Severine, she is fiery authority, but like her father Alistair she is cutting chill, fire and ice laced in silver robes and burnished eyes. Darkness is her legacy, passed down from mother to son to brother to child like a coveted heirloom, though Chelsea intends on making herself the final stop of possession.
This one cat is chosen from the best of the best hunters and are trained from the moment she or he is deemed able, in the perfect art of killing. His or her sole purpose is to be the individual fighting force of the League, protecting the Nemesis at all costs. When the Nemesis steps down, the assassin does too, either to a hunter or becoming the next assassin for the upcoming warden. Fine-tuning leadership qualities and often doing the dirty work that his or her mentor assigns, these can be the longest time in their lives. The effort is worth it though as most Proxies and Nemesis are chosen from the Assassin.
One would think she would be a joy to be around. She looks pleasant and beautiful, just as her grandmother Katie did. In fact, she's almost a spitting image. The only difference is that her fur is short, and she has a bobbed tail and green eyes. Her name came from her grandmother, it was supposed to signal power and her resemblance. As one gets to know her, they begin to realize she is much like her grandmother was at a young age. Sarcastic, observant, energetic, and contentious. Kate is a daddy's girl, and Harley would almost do anything to make her happy. In fact, she would do almost anything to make him happy. Kate of course, is the perfect little princess, and the only she-cat in her litter. Her two brothers are a bit odd, she thinks. One seems to have a macho attitude about him, and is always trying to best her. The other is frail and small, and just doesn't fit in with them. Their mother wants nothing to do with them, but Kate could care less. Rhiannon basically rejected them at birth and abandoned them, leaving them with their father and to be raised in a barn. However, their father seemed to get a bit sickly, and they returned to their birthright, where Rhiannon had also went, causing a bit of family tension there. Though, upon joining, Kate quickly realized something. This... was home. This, was where she would gain her own power.
This one cat is chosen from the best of the best hunters and are trained from the moment she or he is deemed able, in the perfect art of killing. His or her sole purpose is to be the individual fighting force of the League, protecting the Warden at all costs. When the warden becomes Nemesis, they become the head assassin as well. Fine-tuning leadership qualities and often doing the dirty work that his or her mentor assigns, these can be the longest time in their lives. The effort is worth it though as most Proxies and Nemesis are chosen from the Assassin.
a small group of cats chosen from the hunters. they train under the assassin, the warden and sometimes the proxies in assassination and defending the nemesis. the next assassin is chosen from their ranks, and some other positions like to look to them for replacements as well.
Smoke curls at his cloud-adorned paws as he steps across the embers and debris of the life he knew before. It seeps into his fur, dyeing it such a dark grey that some may question if he was born from the night sky. The only connection to the world below is his earthy brown eyes, deceptively warm and inviting. Charon, the ferryman of the dead. This wasn't always his name, but one he came to be known as. He was found as a young cat by Shina, the former Ambassador Proxy. He couldn't remember his name at that point but knew that the mother that took care of him usually referred to him as 'Charon,' so that is the name he told the tom. Truthfully, he doesn't remember much except for being a dog for this mother and her posse. If they wanted someone gone, poisoned, or punished they would find a way to take care of it. His duty in this game was to literally 'ferry the dead' to a place where no one would find them. It was a gruesome job and long hours on his paws, as you could imagine. It definitely wasn't one that a young cat like himself should have been doing. When mother, who wasn't really his mother and he honestly couldn't remember her name if he tried, and her crew disappeared one day, that is when Charon discovered he had made a fatal mistake. They had been found out through one of the bodies. He was fortunate enough that Shina found him and brought him to Primal Instinct before someone else did. It took many moons for Charon to find his voice in the group. The majority of the time, he remained silent and calculative, and many were and still are shocked when he does speak up. He was a hard worker and good at his job, so he found himself earning the trust of those around him and the wary gazes started to ween. In some ways, he became a dog again, answering to the beck and call of the ranks above him. The difference now is that in his time of growing up in Primal Instinct, Charon stopped taking responsibility for the actions of his higher ups. If they made a move or request he found was out of line, he would speak his mind on the subject. Some find him to be alluring in the way that his deep voice can be so sarcastic, but tactful. Those who have befriended him or earned his respect are usually met with cool snark and a completely unattached personality, but the deepest loyalty that you could find in a cat. He does have a few quirks as a cat that grew up burying the dead. He has found ways to determine cause of death and mask those causes, and he finds the afterlife fascinating. The best way to get this cat talking is to bring up your thoughts on the dead and afterlife. It's maybe just a little creepy, but you'll learn a thing or two about hiding the body that way.
A flower in bloom, beautiful and so full of live one can't help but stop to stare. It's hard to be around her and feel like she belongs in the shadows of the leagues home. Surely there is some mistake, surely she is just a little lost on this crazy plain of life and will find her way soon. Wander off this land of darkness and death to find the sun she so clearly belongs under. Thoughts and comments such as these make her laugh, a beautiful bell like sound that has others holding their breath. A wink, perhaps a flirty smile, and she simply shakes her head with some amusement only she understands and moves on with her day. Or she'll boldly declare that she takes after her kitty-pet father who was such a handsome thing her mother took him as her own despite his kittypet origin. She'll leave out that her mother then murdered her father and left Hawise and her brother Wendel orphaned and abandoned. It ruins the appeal of the story she understands, and she would hate to ruin a good tale with something so tragic. This unspoken ending would help many realize the truth between Hawise's pretty facade. But as with most of her unspoken words it instead hides her vulnerable parts. She won't speak of the things that could let others learn of her, won't let others see the real her. Hawise has her plans and her goals, and anything to achieve them is shrouded in a veil of secrecy. Because in truth Hawise is no flower but a weed like many of her half siblings and extended family. Broken by her circumstances and so so bitter. But instead of speaking of this she will flutter her lashes and share a ready laugh. Hawise will carve out her own opportunities and make her own success, she needs no one and is content with no one knowing the monster that lays curled in her heart.
Destined to be the ever protectors and main fighting force of the League, these are the cats who excel at either tracking, hunting, or fighting. They are the first to explore a new territory and fend off any of the dangers that may arise. The code is simple- Kill or be killed. Raise a claw against a fellow Primal Instinct though and you will have to answer for it. A fight here or there is expected but maiming is frowned upon while killing is not condoned. After all these teachings nothing but survival of the fittest.
Just when they thought that Katie's line was gone, somehow she always works her way back into Primal Instinct, even if it is simply her children. It was laughable, almost, whenever Bellamy heard the rumors that her children were dead. Of course, this arrogant tom had to come back and prove them wrong. So the black and white tuxedo tom made his way back to Primal Instinct, his sharp green eyes filled with a dark desire. It was time for him to wreck havoc on them once more. It would be advisable to stay out of his way.
Tall tom with messy black fur and lighter brown highlights. Pale green eyes and elongated canine teeth. His rather goofy appearances adds to his very strange personality. He's a cat that just sort of showed up one day and weaseled his way into the ranks of the League. He doesn't ask questions keeps his nose down and likes to avoid conflict. He is an introverted nerd that can spill many random facts about birds or other wildlife. He spends many of his days wandering the woods.
Logician [n] : An expert in or student of logic, or reasoning that has been scruitinized and determined valid and rational. To a logician, the physical world has every answer you could ever need. It will give you every solution to every problem you find, if only you study and experiment enough. Charlotte is a logician, something that has been at odds with the very core of her family for a long time. You see, long ago, her bloodline was cursed. Every feline who descended from the lineage would suffer madness or destruction in some shape or another. It was a useful way to describe the madness that lurked under most of their skins, the ways in which so much destruction couldn't simply be coincidence, could it? The curse has been her crucifix, her cross to solve the great mystery of the curse. After all, a logician would not simply accept that magic caused their ruin. No validity test could prove that. As such, it has been Charlotte's mission to understand the curse, to medically intervene to prevent the descent into madness. In her quest for answers, she found psychiatry. The study of the mind, regulated carefully by chemicals that adapt moods. This became a fascination of hers; it was not a curse with its claws at her family's throat; it was a mental illness, one she would study and learn as much about as possible, often through strange experimentations on other cats with similar symptoms. These experiments were not always moral, and they left in her wake a pile of bodies that she will never be able to outrun. They were for a cause though: to save the cats she loves. You see, at the core of the feline is a savior complex, one that drives almost everything she does. However, perhaps that's getting a little ahead. After all, the Charlotte of today did not appear out of a vaccuum, nor should it be a surprise that she ended up this way. To fully understand Charlotte's past, it is first important to understand her parents. Safiya and Avi, young and in love, stars never meant to be in the same sky. Safiya, daugter of Severine E'tani, the Nemesis, and Alistair, the Warden. Beautiful Safi, a sweet soul who was born of the blood of kings. Avi, a tom known by no one, who once lived in an actual dumpster. A queen and a peasant, from two different worlds. Out of the collide of worlds came a litter of kittens, born when Safiya was far too young to be a mother. Avi and Safi, after all, were only trainees. Yet, the love they had for their kittens was divine; despite their own youth, the family was strong and loving. There were four in the litter: Avery, Fitzrovia, Louisa and herself. They were happy children; they loved each other and their life was relatively drama free, apart from an accident that left her partially blind, at least until their father's execution. You see, despite Safi and Avi falling deeply in love, the queen's family was not impressed with the suitor being born of low-blood. Avi was killed by her uncle, Daireanne, under the supposed order of her grandmother. Grief consumed her mother, and blood continued to reign from the family as Safiya murdered her mother in an act of desperate revenge for her fallen beloved. Too soon after, Safiya realized it would never be safe for her in Primal Instinct, and the she-cat elected to leave herself. By this time, her kits were old enough to survive alone, and they became even more inseparable. This was particularly true of Charlotte and her sister, Louisa. The two were as thick as thieves; there was seldom a time where one was more than a few steps from the other. This meant that when Louisa began to show symptoms of the curse, Charlotte was the first one to know. A gentle soul, Charlotte did everything in her power to save her sister, the origins of the savior complex that would grow to be her own ruins. Yet, it was not enough. Nothing she could do was enough, and her sister faded before her eyes into an untimely death. Filled with shame and guilt that there was nothing that she could do to prevent her sister's demise, Charlotte fled the League in search of answers. She needed to know how she could have saved Louisa. She needed to know how she could save anyone else. It was this period of time that hardened her; she had 'seen' firsthand the cruelty of the world, and it morphed her from sweet, innocent child to a more steely, guarded adult, one that asks questions of every thing. She feels that she must learn it all; this desire for education is a compulsion. After all, she didn't know the answer to how to fix things once, and it led to her best friend's death. She will never let that happen again. However, it is important to understand that Charlotte's savior complex is not extended universally. She sees value in some cats, and those cats she feels are worthy of being saved. Those are the cats that she will lay down her life for, that she will do anything in her power to save. She has witnessed so much loss of cats she believes should have been saved, and as such, if you meet her expectations, you will have her resolute and unending loyalty. A cat like Charlotte is not the worst to have on your side, either, as her determination to solve every problem combined with her more than astute mind makes her a mental power player, one who will walk to the ends of the earth to ensure you are okay. Anyone else, in her mind, is expendable. It is unclear where the division of worthy and unworthy lies, although it is that division that has cost the lives of many. You see, if you are unlucky enough to be considered less than desirable to the she-cat, you will suffer the same fate as her father, the tom who her family first decided was undesirable. She has long stopped counting the number of cats who did not survive her experimentation; the lives burnt to ash under her paws were those of cats who did not matter enough to survive. To them, she almost considers her actions favors; after all, she is saving them from an existence of mediocrity and disappointment. Because her thinking is rather black-and-white, she ensures that she has a logical reasoning behind every cat she finds expendable, although this logic is shared with few. On the surface, though, she is a ... decent enough cat. More jaded than your average cat, maybe, but not outwardly cruel. In fact, if you catch her in a good mood, hints of the young, energetic, kind child she once was can push through the cracks and make an appearance. Forever dedicated to her work, Charlotte appreciates the company of anyone who is willing to question the world with her. She enjoys a challenge, or really anything that allows her to avoid the fact that burbling beneath her skin, she can slowly feel the madness start to take in.
When one is born in a hurricane, they learn to weather a storm. A creation in uniting two who were never meant to be together, a swirl of ginger and white was born, along with his three siblings. Fitzrovia, the oldest of the litter containing Charlotte, Louisa, and Avery, he feels strongly protective over his siblings. While he has inherited Avi's humour and bright green eyes, he also inherited the same curiosity and warmth that had defined Safiya's fate. Dubbed the braveheart, it's quite amusing to see that this tom is actually quite nervous. He worries about everything, from his mother to his family to his sisters and brother, to his friends and the fate of the league. He speaks with the eloquence that was taught by his mother, and with the same warm tones that captivated the hearts of many that had the misfortunate to befall his grandparents, whom he knows little about. The only thing that moves him past his constant wall of worry is his family. For them, he will be the lion that rears its ugly head. He'll do anything to protect the things he loves, the things he own. Crossing him might be as easy as crossing a little kitten on the streets, but cross him when he's not in a gaming mood, and you'll be faced with years of what they called 'survival of the fittest.' Fitzrovia, more commonly known as Fitz, might be an nervous little thing most of the time, but find the lion and within and you'll wish you'd never bite off more than you can chew.
"Hide your soul out of reach," his mother would speak kindly, looking at his wide blue eyes, brushing her tongue over his tussled silver fur, "for the Sluagh will steal you away." Growing up hungry changes someone. He had been an older litter than his sister Rhiannon; her gilded idea of their childhood was not shared by him. Their mother was sickly, their father was aggressive. He was a cat who did everything a little too quickly. He grew up too fast, he learned the tricks of the trade as soon as he could, he had a natural gift for hunting and fighting. It helped him; he wouldn't have made it on his own after leaving their home so young, and with his sister in tow. His past has clouded his eyes and buried his heart; he wears a jaded smile and has little care for the world. While his sister seeks immortality in her own rigid way, he's more laid-back, amused by his sister's antics, though he will do anything for her. One thing he knows is that the nature of the universe is temporal; it's entropy and chaos all wrapped into one, and change is the only thing that's constant. Despite his easy smirk and kind nature, when it comes to things that matter, he's extremely protective. He has little care for most of the world, and he will willingly set it on fire and watch it burn before letting it take away those he loves.
Slinking in the shadows like a tiny gray panther, with a sharp golden gaze. Kurma is cold, and rigid on the outside. She lives by a strict self imposed code, and works hard to be the best she can be. You have to be the best in a world where the strongest survive. Her father was weak, gave in to his petty desires and abandoned her and her sick mother. Eventually even her mother could not stay strong and was overcome by her illness, leaving Kurma alone. With a lean body made for hunting and steady muscle ready for fighting. Kurma isn’t a cat to be trifled with, though she has her weaknesses just like any other cat. This cold cat has a soft interior, she can’t help her motherly instincts, despite never having had a litter of her own. Never would she allow a kit to suffer, willing to put herself at risk. Always desiring kits of her own, she found and raised shiver, a white Tom kit she spotted lost in the forest, probably abandoned by a loner. Putting aside her own struggles and memories of her painful past she dedicated herself to this helpless cat raising him to be strong, hoping he would never feel her pain.
It's been a long time since anyone has seen his face. Most of the cats that populate the League wouldn't know of him, and those that do would most likely not recognize him. He grew into those large limbs he had, though his once patchy black and white fur has revealed gorgeous black rosettes on a charcoal pelt. Like pencil scratchings on a paper. He's extremely striking, and deeply reminiscent of times gone. His light green eyes are the nail in the proverbial coffin. Not that he hides his heritage. One of the firstborn sons of Funk E'tan, his memories of the once nemesis are hazy. Maybe the lineage made him a bit snobby, not as appreciative of what he had. He became a wanderer, like his father. Coming and going whenever he felt like it, though it's his first time coming back since the League has moved back to the mansion. He's learned a lot, but it's mostly boiled down to it being better to mind his own business. He doesn't talk much, stoic and intimidating. Still mostly observing those around him. He once had a strong sense of family and unity, but now that they're all gone, that part of Pesmerga has extinguished as well.
––that whoever believes shall not perish, but have eternal life," were the words that inspired Rhiannon from a young age. She had been born small, on the eve of Samhain. Only witches' cats were born on such a cursed day, the others from her hometown believed. Hailing from the land of druids and loch monsters, her looks reflect that, with the wide-set ears, silver eyes and dark markings upon her ruddy tabby face, almost similar to a Scottish wild cat, Rhiannon has traveled far. Her early days were spent as a village cat, an omen amongst those who believed in the philosopher's stone. It was a cozy life despite them begging for scraps. When her mother died an untimely death, her father turned against her, claiming she had been the omen of death that had wrought disaster upon them all. It was her brother that stole her away in the night lest their father's teeth grew hungry for blood. Practically raised by her brother, it's been the two of them against the world since, searching for what they believe is the source of immortality, as their village legend once told. Clever–conniving at times–she knows what she wants and she's willing to play the long game. After all, she intends to live forever, or she'll die trying, and she won't die for anything less than that.
Give him an inch and he'll take a mile, take your eyes off him for a moment and he'll disappear to cause a ruckus. There has never been a reserved bone in his body, and never did he have a positive figure in his life that would encourage patience. Instant gratification is what he seeks and if he can't achieve it then he doesn't want it. There's something wild in him, out to seek a good time and not caring how long the good times last. He finds himself with very little patience for others and often bites at the bit to escape those he finds uninteresting. His arrogant and dismissive nature makes him something of a fool. But he's a pretty fool with his soft cream coat laced with light tabby markings on the legs and around the features of his face. Bringing attentions to his big baby blues; distracting from his dark tail that lashes with ill-intent more often than not. When he's feeling exhausted rather emotionally or physically he pouts and plays up dramatics to try and get attention and others to cater to him. Which in turn either works perfectly, gets amused looks, or draws negative reactions that send him scuttling to hide out until the heat blows over.
He met the darkness and the divine; they gave him a choice: sleep for an eternity, or wake up for a lifetime. Sinclair opened his eyes, met with the fearful, bewildered stares of his family just above where he was supposed to be laid for rest. He climbed out of his grave, gave a nod, turned and left, and didn’t look back. He spent months wandering in isolation, testing his perceived immortality in increasingly extreme ways, unaware it was a false belief. He is shrouded in scars without stories, as when he rose from his unfinished grave, he seemed to have left a part of himself in there. His mind is dotted with blank spots, there’s memories, feelings, faces and names missing. Even now he is forgetful and inattentive, often dropping tasks in the middle of doing them for something more interesting. Draped mainly in black, there are streaks of white or grey that run through his coat, giving him a mottled look, and around his neck hangs a mane of completely pale fur, all matched with earthy hazel eyes. Despite the strange way he carries himself, as if he’s still unused to his own body, he is strangely polite, calm, and open. He seems almost unbothered. His face doesn’t portray a lot of what he feels, the quiet sense of guilt, of confusion, bitterness, and unworthiness, and he only offers up as much as he needs too — there is nobody he fully trusts. But nevertheless he is friendly, not overbearingly quiet or loud, and is surprisingly persistent when it comes to the pursuit of knowledge. Stubbornness runs as deep as his recklessness, his disregard for his own life wrapped up in the lie he’s fed himself that he’s indestructible, immortal. Though he is calm, he’s not above impatience, wanting to hurry through one thing to get to the next; he has a a constant will to distract himself. His absent-mindedness leaves him unpredictable and messy, both in the emotional and physical sense — he loses track of his emotions just as much as he loses track of the time or the things he was doing. He’s quaint, blunt but optimistic, morbid and apathetic, able to overlook darkness and tragedy because everyone has dealt with it, everyone must deal with it, and everyone will experience it. The natural flow of life intrigues him. His guilt sits over his head like a rain cloud, feeding him bizarre ideas, making it seem he has to earn his life or something terrible will befall him again, one without an escape. There’s a sense of emptiness to him, but if you asked him about it all he would do was laugh, smile, or give an offhanded remark.
If fools run in where angels fear to tread, then Verne is the greatest fool of all. Reckless to a fault with a bravery few can match, she's constantly waiting for a 'dare you' to jump into the unknown. A scrappy little cat, her long furs carry the strange scent of a foreigner. This calico–with her ginger and tabby grey fur–came from the loch where Herne once hunted with her sister, Niamh. Before arriving here, she had lived many lives, from sailing the seas upon a ship to wandering the forests where they once said monsters roamed. Verne has an imagination that she constantly finds herself wading through, a deep ocean of thoughts and ideas and possible futures that sometimes cloud her vision of reality. While she never hesitates to rise up to any challenge, she also rarely thinks of ulterior motives. Her golden eyes only shine with truth, however blunt it may be. She's not the manipulative type–too bad at lying to do that, her sister would say–but she's willing to go to lengths to get what she wants. Still, that doesn't make her all friendly and innocent. They say she and her sister left their birth village because they made a deal with the devil. Even now, no one really knows their story, only bits and pieces of it, and she's happy to keep it that way. She's constantly on the edge of the unknown, staring out into a world, ready to begin. The mountains ahead may be the challenges to come, but she's ready to take the very first step. Character created by Achromatic, played by bauble.
Every group needs members to fight and hunt as the need of Primal Instinct cats rise. Every dawn there are new members joining and the useless ones are disappearing into the night. These trainees learn the basics of hunting and keeping a lookout for enemy cats. They will stay trainees until the Warden oversees a patrol with them and deems them worthy of becoming full fledged members.
A smoky, dark-gray Lykoi she-cat with light-green eyes and white patch on the back of her right ear. Being young when destiny decides to rudely kick down her door of peace is somehow familiar, also the door was unlocked and would've welcomed it presence. Daughter of Uta and Accalia of PI she's the youngest and only one of her siblings to have the miraculously luck of having her father in her life. Her father is another story, most of his kits outside of PI and the one litter that was completely neglected by both parents. So how exactly did she came to be? Funny story, her mother adored the tom that treated her so normally and was fascinated with her unique look, she was an artwork and masterpiece and he gave her the spotlight and feelings of acceptance. Her father on the other hand, the sadistic little manipulator more truly fascinated with thrills of being alive and the unpredictable nature of cats and the wonders of how a cat changes because of a single moment and to see it happen. . . But he likes to be involved because it's lonely on the edges; a shrinking friend circle, an obsession with a lost love - makes you revalue what's closes to you and Accalia his constant, there for it all and if the world should end she very well might still be there by his side. Growing up, her parents naturally always around each other gave her the luck of actually seeing her father, even if he's really only there for her mother. She's just the little excited kit going 'daddy!' and he just slowly paws her to the side or back to her mother like 'who are you, why are you calling me that- oh wait yeah' Perhaps some fertility issues delayed this kit's arrival but she and her sibling are the ones that got through. He only exists in her life by chance but she doesn't realize that or doesn't care, who knows? Perhaps this little devil makes her own faith, maybe if the two she-cats pressure him to act like a dad he might just become one. Her mother, for a PI cat, is actually very sweet, loyal and trusted too easily but she wasn't dumb - pent up anger and creative with any revenge she wanted are just Alula's favorite little bedtime stories. Her father couldn't be any more opposite, unfazed by most things even holds exotic aesthetics of ill yet masterful tastes. Sadistic and savage from his violent upbringing believing in no love of the cold void of a world they live in and reduced to fueling it with in chaos and destruction. She's heard bits of her father's kills, some regardless or whether it was deserved, some just for fun, for the thrill of it. Yet still under all that horror having genuine concern for his select few - not everything is purely out of his own benefit if it mean he can help those close to him as well or keep them safe. Alula believes this is what her mother sees in him as well. By all chances she's still managed to have a calm, loving, stable upbringing among the PI environment of survival for the fittest and she understands the life and death of those around her and her wildcard place among it all. And still such an optimistic little kitten- well anything is possible after all so why let anything stand in the way? She's full of hope and fighting to be the best version of her she can be. She's a kind, considerate, respectful and straightforward she-cat whose rather quite in-tune with emotions and emotionally mature in navigating otherwise difficult situations. She see the good, and the protentional in others and funny enough like her dad in a way she wants to help them transcend for their own benefit. Alula is confident, and rather competitive for without my enemy what would I do? She can't say no to challenge because how else can she push herself to be better and she can't inspire others if she's not trying her best. Alula is surprisingly calm and down-to-earth she-cat with an unshaken level-headedness about her as a polite and steady cat even in conflicts and crisis, she focuses on how others feel and what they want and being as reasonable and realistic as she can in fining the silver lining in everything. Even her appearance and 'attractiveness' to others means little her as she looks just like her mother and she's most beautiful cat she knows. She surrounds herself with the intelligence, cunning, creativity of her parents, the love and kindness of her mother, the callous cruelty and lethality of her father, the cleverness and complexity of her role model and secondary mentor Niamh, the maturity, wildness and protectiveness of a few of her half-siblings
There was a serpent in the Garden of Eden- a cunning, wicked creature that cut through perfection to exposure insecurity. A sower of discord, a starter of problems, casually cruel and chaotic. Perhaps it was divine inspiration or merely irony that bestowed the name Eden upon a serpent reincarnate, a purebred picture of perfection with a deep desire to cause trouble. This she-cat comes from an innocuous background, a pedigree kittypet of the Havana Brown breed who found herself terribly bored with her pampered life. She left her old life behind to find her own garden of eden, a playground for her impulses and desires. It’s not so much that Eden is sadistic. She doesn’t seek any particular reward, she has no ulterior motives or desire to destroy. Rather, Eden is curious. She wants to know how far she can push others, what flaws she can exposure and manipulate. She wants to be entertained, to find stimulation in the pursuit of potential outcomes. Physically, she’s rather unassuming- silky brown fur, round green eyes, a build of medium height and weight. Mentally, she’s a surgical needle in the hands of a spoiled brat, bright and witty, selfish and petulant.
It is said that you should always be suspicious of the quiet ones as if their lack of emotional control somehow makes them devious. Eero has always thought the opposite. It’s not the silent, calculative type you should be weary of, it’s the ones that scream their stories the loudest. Growing up with his two sisters Satu and Louhi has taught him this. The third born and only male had always put him in an inferior position, but he never felt like he was left wanting for attention. With long, inky black fur and glowing amber eyes, it was no wonder that his mother referred to him as, ‘Little Dragon.’ Ismene had always been a good, doting mother to him. She gave it all for her kits and more. However, the intensity of her trying and desperation to meet her children’s needs wore on him more than they both realized. He felt bitterness towards other cats for being so absent during his kithood while he saw his mother striving so hard. His judgment grew as he did and he started to feel protective over his sisters, mothers, and anything or anyone else he cared for. This protectiveness molded into possessive, or maybe it had always been that way and he had the wrong word on it for his entire life. His mother worked hard to make sure he did not underestimate any cat or creature, so this desire to figure out the motives of the cats around him became something of a quiet, burning obsession. He learned to pick apart a cat’s character and find the pieces that shaped them all by watching their mannerisms and routines. Does that make him seem shifty? Probably. That is why many mistrust the silent ones. It depends on their motives. As for Eero, he does not have any desire to do evil but to protect what is his. Through his learning, he can be adaptable in unfavorable situations and incredibly cunning when dealing with equally as unfavorable characters. His quiet character does not make him unkind and insincere. If anything, he is someone you might want to grow close to. He’s highly demonstrative with his emotions because words become meaningless to him. When someone means a lot to him, he will show them by what he does. You can always count on being protected with Eero at your side.
A beautiful calico patterned Japanese Bobtail with heterochromia. Luminance was named after Glowstar because she is married to both Funk & Fox. She takes after her adoptive father Michele a bit (who is the adoptive son of Funk) and is a collector. Her collection however involves bugs but in particular butterflies. Does have a problem following directions as she tends to see a million ways to do a task and wants to try them all.
Son of Uta and Accalia, Tarn is a like grey lykoi tom with dark stormy eyes. Tarn grew up with two parents and his sister, however he truly only saw his mother and sibling as family. Tarn could see from an early age Ulta had no real interest in him so learned to attach himself to his mother. In that matter he was a mommy's boy through and through. Despite the fact his sister looked up to their father Tarn is actually pretty close to Alulla-Nova kun. The tom has a strong will power as well as a good general sense of direction in life. He is a cat all about taking action even if he doesn't necessarily think things through first. Unfortunately he is also a cat of pure emotions allowing them to help decide most of his problems and decisions. Unsurprisingly that has lead the tom to an array of problems but somehow cones out (mostly) unscathed. All he wishes for is to be a better cat than his father was. To be what his mother was like. Perhaps he is heading in that direction anyway but who truly knows?
It's fascinating how Nour was named for a divine light when she so clearly associates with the darkness. In a world where religion is all but transactional, what's the point of building a temple for the night? One can bargain with thunder, with the sea, even with death, but the night comes and it goes, a regularity in a world of chaos. One cannot bargain with the night itself. One cannot worship what is unquantifiable, and perhaps that's why she so strongly relates to it. Nour believes she's just as unquantifiable as the night. She keeps her cards hidden, close to her heart, yet she wears that on a sleeve, honest to a fault because she never learned to keep her mouth shut. She's aggressive and feral, competitive to a fault, reckless, throwing herself headfirst into situations completely driven by emotion, and yet, when things matter, she holds herself back. She looks at the bigger picture with a calculating eye and decides after seeing all the possibilities. She claims she cares for no one and yet, for those who worm their way into her heart, she's a lioness watching over the pride, her fierce green eyes challenging all who mess with her. She claims she has no interest in love or romance, and yet you find her with her sultry smirk and dulcet tones, with everyone wrapped around her little finger, taking pleasure in beating toms at their own game, making them feel inferior to her skill and charisma. Like the night, she sees herself as something others will never understand, she holds her head up high as if she was the esoteric, taboo form of god itself. All you really need to know about Nour is that she doesn't subscribe to your cultural norms; the church's doctrine has lost its charm, for the only god she sees is the ever-still incomprehensibility of the night, and the power she holds onto tightly with her own paws.
Cordelia emanates confidence and charisma- and why shouldn't she? She grew up as the eldest daughter of a proxy and the warden, and she had nothing but support and love from a young age. She's always fallen easily and naturally into the role of first born, assuming the long legs, lilted voice, and reckless adventuring of Eshek and the witty remarks and death stare of Bermondsey. Pretty in a unique way, with soft white fur, big blue eyes, and oversized ears and legs, she's relied more on her natural charm and strategy. With her outgoing personality one would assume it's easy to get into her good graces- but double crossing this she-cat could lead to more dire consequences that you'd imagine.
The yolk of her malice was drawn in ink as scarlet as blood, milked from the frays of an aging family tree full of twisted and withered branches. Her story was written long ago, by the hand of a spiteful god irrevocable in his damnation – or so she’s been told; the tales of a family curse has filled her head with exceedingly bloody intentions. At odds with her sundered soul, Tilly is outwardly a bright, preppy cat. She doesn’t evoke imaginings of further gnarled branches; rather she seems more like the sweet nectar of that aged tree, petals of her charms bursting through the surface. She has big blue doll eyes, soft plumes of white fur, fluffy even in adulthood, and oversized ears – cherubically proportioned when measured against the rest of her face. She’s positively adorable. Because of her charisma, no one takes note of the streak of malice that runs through the tiny cat; her barbs and failed traps are written off as impish playfulness, if noticed at all. This reality often enflames the darkest corners of her psyche: Matilde hates being underestimated. She was born with a desire to weave her own path out of the independence that’s knitted into the fibres of her pads, and when she’s not hatching new plots, her zeal sends her chasing adventure after adventure. But no matter where she goes, her mind has obsessively settled on a final deliberation, the answer to a question that’s gripped the minds of every reticent soul that’s been tormented under the branches of that gnarled tree: what’s the best way to eradicate a family curse? Eradicate the family.
A whole new world, wouldn't that be nice? If he could have everything he ever wanted, he'd be at the top of the ladder, all grins, and charisma, with the prettiest she-cat at his side and all the riches in the world, never having to bow down or serve anyone else. Of course, that's far from the truth. Born as a scrappy little kit in a world that didn't have space for scrappy cats like himself, he's always had to fight his way up. His ginger fur sticks out all over this place, his blue eyes flash green like envy in just the right light, he truly fits his namesake. He too, is the type who wants to know more for the sake of having an upper hand. Equipped with a sarcastic tongue and a dangerous gleam in his gaze, his personality is one that fans a flame. He enjoys the idea of chaos, and loves to start drama wherever it goes. It makes him feel powerful, being the center of attention, manipulating everyone, making them his flying monkeys. When he says dance–in the gossipy words of someone who knows too much–they dance. Creative and clever, he constantly tears things down to build them in his own image. He believes he can hold a new world within him, that he's meant for greater things, and no one will stop him in the end.
We begin with the youngest members of the League. These are the newborn kits that are overseen by the spies when they are currently not on duty. Use this time well to begin strengthening your fighting skills because it is from here where your path of life will begin. From here there are three possible paths that you may take. When promoted they can either become an assassin successor, a mage, or a trainee.
A solid black tom with pale yellow eyes. Wendigo is a strange and sometimes cruel tom that has a sly tongue. He has a way of slipping out of tough situations when things get out of hand. Freak would probably be a good description of him if others knew the twisted thoughts that ran through his head. Countless times Wendigo has contemplated what it would be like to have a taste of the flesh of his own kind; to take a bite of fresh cat. No one knows of this secret, of course – perhaps the monster is waiting for the perfect time to turn his wicked fantasy into a reality.
Red furred tom with green eyes. A think cat on the smaller side that's got a weaselly appearance but over all handsome. Trickster that loves to cause havoc and trouble in general. Moral compass is questionable.
has a perpetual pneumonia. a rusty brown tabby tom with pale green eyes. goes to bed as soon as the sun goes down, short tail, jealous of medicine cats, thinks birds are unsettling, prone to explosive anger
In the past, PI has taken numerous prisoners for various reasons. Nowadays, the League doesn't take a lot of prisoners since their focus is on survival. So if you end up here, you're in some deeeeeeeeeeeep trouble. Your cats will also end up here if you forget to reply to the AC.
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