Viewing Profile -> Bait

Warrior Cats: A RPG

NEWS: June's Gathering is up!
Check out Project: Zelig!
The Tribe has a board now.

Weather: It's newleaf! Each clan is having some weird weather.

Ongoing Events:
Congratulations to Elephant Graveyard for winning the shopkeeper design contest!

Voting for summer's Artist and RPer of the Season have started! Open through June 30th.
Click to vote for: Artist of the Season | RPer of the Season

Make 60 posts this month for a chance at winning a $15 gift card in our June Raffle!

Personal Photo

No Photo

Custom Title
Bait doesn't have a custom title currently.
Personal Info
Location: No Information
Born: No Information
Website: No Information
No Information
Other Information
Rank: ???
Gender: he/him
Played By: Shally
Custom Title: I'm fighting with gravity trying not to fall
Joined: 9-August 17
Status: (Offline)
Last Seen: Apr 17 2018, 09:52 PM
Local Time: Jun 23 2018, 01:41 PM
28 posts (0.1 per day)
( 0.07% of total forum posts )
Contact Information
AIM No Information
Yahoo No Information
GTalk No Information
MSN No Information
SKYPE No Information
Message: Click here
Email: Private
View Signature



My Content
Apr 17 2018, 09:52 PM
Remarkably, he was healing. Scars crossed his side, and so far, no fur seemed willing to grow. They were still tender to the touch, even to the kiss of air or rolling over in his sleep, but they no longer seeped and smelled of infection. If he'd known where to go, he would have tried to leave the medicine cat den - but he wasn't sure where he belonged. Bait was not a warrior - he wasn't sure what he was, though. He'd come here after nearly dying, and life had been a tumultuous mess ever since.

His paws itched to move again, but he couldn't bring himself to leave camp - not quite yet. Bait felt dirty for taking unearned prey from the fresh-kill pile, but Telly was insistent that he eat. Back at the Farm, he'd always caught his own food - or gone hungry, more often than not. And, many times, he'd tricked dogs out of their scraps or kibble, earning him his rather ill-thought nickname.

It was a point of pride, sort of. Shame and pride.

The skinny brown tabby tom slipped out of the medicine cat den, looking around camp. When he determined no one was looking too hard at him - eyes on him made his pelt itch with nervousness - he padded towards the fresh-kill pile, looking for the smallest piece of prey he could justify taking.

Mar 24 2018, 12:12 AM
It seemed, in the past few days, that Bait had finally turned a corner. He was still a sorry looking tom, with ragged fur and raw wounds - but finally, those wounds were healing. There were still faint traces of sickly infection, but it seemed his worn body had finally decided to fight back. Without Telly's gentle care, he would have died moons ago. Now, he was finding some strength once more.

After having his wounds checked for the morning, Bait had cautiously poked his head out of the Medicine Cat's den. While being forced to be cared for had allowed him to adjust more fully to camp, and the presences of so many other cats, his time there had also sheltered him from the chaos. So many scents and sounds and voices carried around the camp that he felt almost as if his senses were being assaulted. It was too much, too much, too -

No, he thought firmly to himself. The tom's steps weren't quite steady - but he moved on his own now. Quiet as ever, he slipped from the den fully and kept to the edges of camp, sharp eyes observing all. Those eyes were now, at least, clear.

He raised his nose to the air, jaws parting slightly as he searched for one scent in particular - the only familiar one that really mattered.

Feb 11 2018, 10:56 PM
In the nest farthest from the entrance - one he'd painstakingly dragged himself to, so his back was always to the wall - lay Bait. The young tom smelled strongly of herbs, with an undercurrent of something sickly. It was likely only due to Telly's careful, attentive care that he was still alive at all. Even then, it wasn't going so well.

What had been deep rents in his side wrought by the claws of a badger were now plastered patches of herbal poultices, but beneath it they were deep with infection. He had little strength, though he tried, occasionally, to slink out of camp to make dirt, it was often he didn't make it. His vision was fuzzy, and he'd grown so used to all of the comings and goings that his reaction was at most a listless ear twitch.

Still, he was trying - he'd accepted death as inevitable, but maybe not today. Telegraph had tried so hard - Bait thought it'd be terribly unfair just to die on him. If he was going to die, maybe he could muster some strength and find a hole to die in. That'd be kinder, he figured. Proper. It was what cats did.

When morning came, he weakly raised his head, blinking dull eyes as he watched morning light filter into the medicine cat den. His second eyelid wouldn't go away, covering a part of his eyes and making a clear case for a very, very sick kitty. "Morning," he croaked softly to the first cat who he saw, though he couldn't quite make out their face.
Oct 11 2017, 09:36 AM
For all that he was self taught, Bait wasn't the worst hunter to ever exist.

Most of the time he ate his own catches, and buried the remains out in the forest. He was still rail-thin, eating only what he caught and occasionally what he could find. At the very least, the young tom was self-sufficient. Still, he saw what the others did, when they didn't notice him watching. They hunted and patrolled and worked together, and they stored prey for everyone in the center of camp.

So today he'd caught a mouse. It was nothing spectacular, just a field mouse like he'd caught back on the farm. But it was something.

It was his contribution.

So at dusk, the little tom slunk back into camp to deposit it on the freshkill pile. And then, nervous and flighty as ever, his belly railing at him for giving up a perfectly good meal, he made for the camp entrance. Time to get back out, and maybe nab a bit of sleep.

Aug 10 2017, 01:37 AM
[dohtml]<center><link href="|Satisfy|Gloria+Hallelujah" rel="stylesheet"> <style type="text/css">

.ninebaitcont {

.ninebaitcont a {
font-family:'Love Ya Like A Sister';
text-shadow:1px 1px 1px #ffffff; }

.ninebaitimg {

.ninebaittext {
line-height:13px; }

.ninebaittext b {
text-shadow:0px 0px 2px #000000;}

.ninebaittext i {
text-shadow:0px 0px 2px #000000;}

.ninebaitlyrics {
font-family:'Alegreya Sans SC';
transition:1.5s ease;
text-shadow:0px 0px 2px #000000;}

.ninebaitcont:hover .ninebaitlyrics {
text-shadow:1px 0px 2px #ab925f, 1px 1px 2px #ab925f, -1px 0px 2px #ab925f, 0px 1px 2px #ab925f, -1px 1px 2px #ab925f, 0px -1px 2px #ab925f;
color:#190a01; }

.ninebaitlyr2 {
text-shadow:0px 0px 2px #000000;}

.ninebaitname {
font-family:'Gloria Hallelujah';
text-shadow:0px 0px 4px #000000; }

.ninebaitinfo {
font-family:'Alegreya Sans SC';
text-shadow:0px 0px 2px #000000;}


<div class="ninebaitcont">
<div class="ninebaitimg"></div>
<a href=""><div class="ninebaitname">Bait</div></a> <div class="ninebaitinfo">Loner - ??? Moons - No Rank</div>
<div class="ninebaittext">

Even though he knew that the tom wasn't chasing him anymore, he didn't stop. His legs quivered with exhaustion and pain, but he kept going at an unsteady limp. His ears were pinned and his breathing came ragged with fear and pain and exhaustion. The noises of the forest - new to the young tom - made him flinch and cringe as he went.
There was no real purpose to his wandering now. He'd crossed the scent markers - he knew what those were - and left his pursuer behind. The tom who'd chased him away was large and terrifying and cruel, but not <i>stupid</i>. Not stupid enough to mess with the dreaded forest cats that the cats on the farm were always talking about.
Hailey had told him that Seven had gone to join the forest cats, though. That had always stuck out in his mind - his sister joined the forest cats? Why had she gone? Hailey had always been quiet on the subject. To be fair, Hailey was quiet on most subjects. Story time hadn't exactly been something he and his siblings had. No - on the farm, you figured it out on your own.
When he was younger, Bait had asked questions. Lots of questions. He'd been curious and eager and undeterred by the side-eyed glances of the farm toms. But as he'd gotten bigger, things had changed. And when they began calling him Bait - short for dog-bait - the young cat had learned to keep his head down. The less attention drawn to him, the better.
Bait couldn't even remember now why he'd been searching for Hailey. He'd needed... Something? Something about his sister Ten. It was there, lost in a fuzz of pain and blood loss and desperation. His golden eyes rolled as he tried to think on it, and then he pushed on with a sigh. If he could just find somewhere to sleep, just for a little while, maybe he'd be okay. The pain made it hard to think. Bait wasn't a stranger to pain, but he didn't think the toms had ever hurt him this badly.
He stumbled and let out a gasp of pain as his tired paws finally gave out. With a whimper he eased onto his side, stretching out his twisted paw. Maybe... Yeah. Here would be good. For now. Just for a little while, he decided.
Gingerly he pulled his paws in, the young tabby tom curling up in the middle of the forest floor. Blood matted his fur and one ear hung tattered, and fear scent lingered in his fur. Though he let his head fall to his forepaws, his ears remained pricked and alert for any approach. He just needed a few minutes.
Just a few.

<div class="ninebaitlyrics">You reached the edge there is no choice</div>
<div class="ninebaitlyr2">now you have to jump and see where you land</div>
Last Visitors

Apr 27 2018, 08:23 PM

Apr 27 2018, 04:29 PM

Mar 23 2018, 11:53 PM

No comments posted.
Add Comment

Affiliates [ View All | Link-us ]
Antarsia-Rpg Warriors: No Moon Bearbones Feles rebirth