Age: 10 Months ( Or around abouts)
Breed: Resembles a Somali mix
Current Path Colour: (When receives his path signature) Orange
Starting Path Colour: (When receives his path signature) Orange
Total No. Of Colour Shifts: N/A
No. Of in group Colour Shifts: N/A
History: Young Life:
Born into a small family, Jag often had to make his own fun as his parents were often busy elsewhere. Being a kit
of inquisitive nature, Jag often found himself lost or in trouble with higher ranking cats. As a result, he often caused strife at home with his parents. One day, on the turn of Jag becoming 6 months, he returned home to find his parents missing. Struck with a strange sense of fear, the young cub wandered around outside the den, searching. After a few minutes, a cry split the humid air. As he raced to where the shreik emitted from, his heart raced. Unknown to him, his father was a foul cullion with a cold heart. As Jag stood there, his innocent eyes gazing at his father standing over his frail mother, all of what he knew unravelled. His father was his idol, like every young cub he admired everything his father done, aspiring to fulfil his father's footsteps. How could the Cullion who had raised him, shown him affection, treated him like a prince, how could he do this? The oblivious father carried on with his torment, his large paws pinning down his mate. " You have crossed me too many times, my love" the large tom growled into her ear, ever so slowly pushing her over the edge of the pool of lava. Jag's eyes began to fill with tears, racing over to his father the young cub placed his small paws on his father's leg. "Dad! What are you doin'!" he squealed, his voice thick with panic.
That was when his father turned his head, a manic shine in his hazel eyes. "We have failed, son" the large tom breathed. And with that, and one heave of his mighty bulk, he tipped himself and his mate into the lava, destroying whatever the old tom felt he needed to. The cub's eyes widened with shock as his parents tumbled over the edge, sinking below the surface of the thick lava, never to be seen again.
Jago is a very relaxed young tom, he never really takes many things seriously. He can be quite lazy also, often trying to shun unwanted duties, although never really suceeds.
Jag can also be very caring when it comes to those he feels close to, but can easily give anyone the cold-shoulder. He often tries to keep friends for as long as possible, as he is afraid of losing them.
Jago has a hard time following orders, often trying to get himself out of it or simply refusing. Jag also has the tendancy to fall into the trap of dares, specifically ones he cannot refuse, no matter how stupid. Jag boasts the title of best darer in Sanguis, that is, in his circle of fellow Tyros.
Notes- Only as last resort
Chat- Only on occasion
RP example: Taken from [link] <3 The air was still as the magnificent airship gracefully flew in the night sky, a soft night breeze rustling the small sails. The soft churning of gears and engines broke the stillness of the night. The crew of the Flyre were fast asleep, bar the Astronomer who was sitting at the point of this ship, maps sprawled everywhere, each one displaying all sorts of constilations and star signs. The meaty tom wiped his brow, his chest rising and falling deeply. A smudge of oil was spread across Viktor's brow where he had wiped away the sweat with a bear-like paw. His grey-brown eyes surveyed his handywork, the new engine shining a glossy copper colour. A faint smile reached his square maw as he reached for a stencil, engraving his signature onto his latest creation in gear mechanics and engineering.