Post by Pyrrha on Jan 17, 2014 23:41:32 GMT -6
saffronstride
and the arms of the ocean are carrying me
NAME: Saffronstride
AGE: Forty - one moons
GENDER: Queen
CLAN: RiverClan
RANK: Warrior
and all this devotion was rushing out of me
SHORT DESCRIPTION:
A lean fawn-colored she-cat with pale blue eyes and a thin scar on her flank.
APPEARANCE:
Saffronstride can be described as 'stream-lined'; under her spotted coat stretch powerful muscles and lean tendons, all built for power. Her legs are tapered and lean, and when she crouches or stretches each popping socket and tensing length of sinew can be seen shifting and moving beneath her short pelt. She boasts a very oriental face, with sloping features and ears that are oddly large in proportion to her head; her eyes are slightly tilted at the corners, giving her face an all-together sleek look that has been described as both 'eerie' and 'beautiful'. Her name was earned from her slightly-discolored reddish pawpads that her mentor had always teased when behind her.
On her forehead is the classic tabby 'M', so it can be assumed she is a spotted tabby.
One could say her beauty is haunting; though she pales in comparison to the average queen, there is no doubt that her mere presence can shift a room. The moons of her life she spent a cold, calculating hunter have now bled into nothing but maternal warmth and loyal protection - her very being gives off a feeling of trust and calm. Her figure, however, bears no kindness nor want to the bearing of kits, and she fears pregnancies much like her own mother's - difficult and painful.
She bears little scars from her moons of hunting, but a long and 'ugly' white pucker of scar tissue runs from her flank down to her right hind paw - a falcon's failed attempt to carry her off as a kit. Because of earning this scar at such a young age, the pattern in her pelt hiccups around it, and makes an interesting little ripple of dark ticks around the line of the scar, making it pretty evident no matter how small the actual wound was.
Though her colors are bright and she doesn't camouflage well when standing still, Saffronstride has learned to move with the flittering of light through the leaves of the trees, making her more of a stealth hunter and fighter than a brutish one.
and the crashes are heaven for a sinner like me
STRENGTHS:
- Incredibly loyal
- Skilled hunter
- Trustworthy figure
WEAKNESSES:
- A little too selfless - will sacrifice herself for others easily
- Emotionally stunted - can't read others well
- Blindly loyal to her clan
PERSONALITY:
She's an interesting character, to be sure. Boasting an attitude that can snap from maternal love to annoyed rage at the smallest provocation, Saffronstride is truly her father's daughter in the aspect of her personality. While her father was a no-nonsense hunter and fighter, Saffronstride is the level below him - a warrior who boasts an inkling of something like a fun mindset, but can quickly lose it when presented with a dangerous goal.
She has a very warm, maternal attitude she constantly displays; as a warrior, and an older one at that, Saffronstride feels an undying sense of duty and loyalty to the members of her clan, even more so for the youth. Kits and apprentices alike have all recieved some sort of her motherly advice and teasing, and her apprentices can recall her fussing over them as if she was their own mother. To the members of her clan, even the individuals she may dislike, she is nothing but trusting and caring, and has a silent understanding that she would put all of them before herself in times of need. She will easily give up eating, sleeping, and her own health for those around her - and it is easily regarded as a negative trait.
Though she is a very warm person, traces of her youth's cooler attitude still remains, especially in her anger and annoyance. Easily annoyed by too much talking directed at her, or a situation go awry (or just general panic), Saffronstride can get very mouthy, and very cynical. She can get sassy or angry when stressed, and either is a flip of the coin. Though she's tried to boast maturity, there are still some situations that can break her train of concentration and calm, and when her calm breaks, she gets messy. Thankfully, the situations that can ruin her are very scattered and far between.
When confronted with romantic affection or intention, Saffronstride doesn't know what to do with it. She's never really been the object of actal ardent love or romance, and she finds it somewhat distracting. Courtship was always a weird process for her, as she was often the third wheel that her clanmates came running to with drama, and she didn't very much like to hear of all the deception and two-facedness that came with kinship like that. She's not adverse to the idea, but she isn't one for falling for someone at the drop of the hat. (Now, blunt physical attraction is another matter entirely.)
but the arms of the ocean delivered me
MOTHER: Jackalfoot (deceased)
FATHER: Willowdusk (deceased)
SIBLINGS: Brindlekit and Heronkit (deceased)
OTHER FAMILY: Cedarflight (paternal aunt)
MENTOR: Willowdusk (briefly), Slugmane
HISTORY:
The first face that Saffronstride can ever remember seeing was her own father's look of annoyance. Willowdusk seemed inconsolable on the day his mate Jackalfoot gave birth, and only peered through the hatchings of the clan's nursery once before storming out and into the hunting grounds surrounding his home. Nobody could have guessed the reason for his anger, but his mate and mother of his kits understood; at her belly lay three perfectly-cleaned little she-cats, and only one of them bore her father's dusky grey coat.
Saffronkit had never understood her father's disapproval of her, though it was never explained to her directly. An old-fashioned, xenophobic tom, Willowdusk had boasted his kits to all be male, and to all be powerful, strong, and large like him. Instead, two of his daughters had died in the night from their weak lungs collapsing, and the one kit who had survived was weakly and as pale as sun-pocked sand. Before she was even old enough to accept the name 'Saffronpaw', Willowdusk had tried and failed to toughen his only child, and every session had ended with her getting bored, or being nearly injured.
Being born in an untimely Leafbare, Saffronkit rarely ventured out from the quiet warmth of the nursery and her mother's company. Her mother was her only close companion, as she found the nursery to be empty and the elder queens that sometime visited to be boring and dull - so much so that she'd refuse to speak around them, and hide in her mother's fur. She didn't like stories, and she hated to be groomed - the only thing she could do was sleep and patrol the corners of the nursery, damp with snow and reeking of wet fur. She would constantly complain of her paws being wet, but having never stepped outside of the nursery, this news never reached anyone but her mother.
It was a shame, too, for her wet, snow-damp paws were the result of an improper tuck and fold in the nursery's foliage, and Jackalfoot, her thin pelt and weak disposition not withstanding, found herself gravely ill with a Leafbare chill not a moon after Saffronkit's birth. Her death was inevitable, and on the night of his silent and resentful vigil, Willowdusk promised to watch over their daughter, but not be the rock that his mate was for her.
No; instead, Willowdusk was her teacher, her lecturer. He ingrained the perfection of his bloodline and her role in it deep in her brain, and his cold and cruel attitude slowly became the norm to her. When her apprentice days came and her father refused responsibility, Saffronpaw was assigned to a very world-weary and talkative warrior by the name of Slugmane, named for the odd way in which the fur on his skull swept down to his back like a greasy slugtrail. His kind and fatherly personality desperately tried to chip away at the stern and ice-cold exterior her father had given her, but Saffronpaw did nothing but regard her mentor as just that - another teacher to learn from, but not to admire.
Slugmane's paternal affection for her eventually lead to her earning her warrior name - Saffronstride, named for her pawpads and her lean gait. Only after his death would she ever learn to appreciate the kindness he'd given her.
After earning her warrior name and striving desperately to please her father, Saffronstride developed an even colder personality, resembling the Leafbare she was born in. Though she was a skilled hunter and fearless fighter, and her loyalty was never questioned, she was definitely a weight upon the shoulders of the clan. Some didn't trust her with their lives, and others found her look to be 'untrustworthy' and 'sneaky'. Some accused her of working with other clans, others found her guilty of stealing prey for herself.
No matter what was said, all rumors were ignored. It seemed that anything other than a direct order fell on deaf ears.
That all changed, however, when she was assigned her first apprentice; a kind, warm-hearted runt named Toadpaw. A distant family relative, Toadpaw put Saffronstride on a pedastal higher than that of all StarClan's members - he thought her to be the pinnacle of all he wanted to be as a warrior, and thought her to be all a fighter should be. In the face of his ardent adoration and absolute devotion, Saffronstride couldn't help not to give way in her cold exterior - when she was training Toadpaw, she seemed genuinely happy.
Nothing went wrong with Toadpaw's training; he became a warrior, named Toadchaser, and granted her his trust and loyalty. It was only then did those words legitimately sink in for her; the bond that her father had trusted by blood was nothing compared to the ones earned. Though her own father, long dead, had promised her his loyalty simply because he was related to her, but Toadchaser had given it to her because of the relationship they'd built and the trust they had. It took her months to truly break free of her cold armour and harsh personality, but Saffronstride eventually bettered herself for the cats around her, and adopted her selfless attitude to make up for the harshness she'd given them in youth.
Since then, she's had another apprentice, and a new leader come to power. Her loyalty to her clan is rooted deep in everything she does, and she prides herself on her ability to protect her clanmates and the trust she's gained from them.
Saffronkit had never understood her father's disapproval of her, though it was never explained to her directly. An old-fashioned, xenophobic tom, Willowdusk had boasted his kits to all be male, and to all be powerful, strong, and large like him. Instead, two of his daughters had died in the night from their weak lungs collapsing, and the one kit who had survived was weakly and as pale as sun-pocked sand. Before she was even old enough to accept the name 'Saffronpaw', Willowdusk had tried and failed to toughen his only child, and every session had ended with her getting bored, or being nearly injured.
Being born in an untimely Leafbare, Saffronkit rarely ventured out from the quiet warmth of the nursery and her mother's company. Her mother was her only close companion, as she found the nursery to be empty and the elder queens that sometime visited to be boring and dull - so much so that she'd refuse to speak around them, and hide in her mother's fur. She didn't like stories, and she hated to be groomed - the only thing she could do was sleep and patrol the corners of the nursery, damp with snow and reeking of wet fur. She would constantly complain of her paws being wet, but having never stepped outside of the nursery, this news never reached anyone but her mother.
It was a shame, too, for her wet, snow-damp paws were the result of an improper tuck and fold in the nursery's foliage, and Jackalfoot, her thin pelt and weak disposition not withstanding, found herself gravely ill with a Leafbare chill not a moon after Saffronkit's birth. Her death was inevitable, and on the night of his silent and resentful vigil, Willowdusk promised to watch over their daughter, but not be the rock that his mate was for her.
No; instead, Willowdusk was her teacher, her lecturer. He ingrained the perfection of his bloodline and her role in it deep in her brain, and his cold and cruel attitude slowly became the norm to her. When her apprentice days came and her father refused responsibility, Saffronpaw was assigned to a very world-weary and talkative warrior by the name of Slugmane, named for the odd way in which the fur on his skull swept down to his back like a greasy slugtrail. His kind and fatherly personality desperately tried to chip away at the stern and ice-cold exterior her father had given her, but Saffronpaw did nothing but regard her mentor as just that - another teacher to learn from, but not to admire.
Slugmane's paternal affection for her eventually lead to her earning her warrior name - Saffronstride, named for her pawpads and her lean gait. Only after his death would she ever learn to appreciate the kindness he'd given her.
After earning her warrior name and striving desperately to please her father, Saffronstride developed an even colder personality, resembling the Leafbare she was born in. Though she was a skilled hunter and fearless fighter, and her loyalty was never questioned, she was definitely a weight upon the shoulders of the clan. Some didn't trust her with their lives, and others found her look to be 'untrustworthy' and 'sneaky'. Some accused her of working with other clans, others found her guilty of stealing prey for herself.
No matter what was said, all rumors were ignored. It seemed that anything other than a direct order fell on deaf ears.
That all changed, however, when she was assigned her first apprentice; a kind, warm-hearted runt named Toadpaw. A distant family relative, Toadpaw put Saffronstride on a pedastal higher than that of all StarClan's members - he thought her to be the pinnacle of all he wanted to be as a warrior, and thought her to be all a fighter should be. In the face of his ardent adoration and absolute devotion, Saffronstride couldn't help not to give way in her cold exterior - when she was training Toadpaw, she seemed genuinely happy.
Nothing went wrong with Toadpaw's training; he became a warrior, named Toadchaser, and granted her his trust and loyalty. It was only then did those words legitimately sink in for her; the bond that her father had trusted by blood was nothing compared to the ones earned. Though her own father, long dead, had promised her his loyalty simply because he was related to her, but Toadchaser had given it to her because of the relationship they'd built and the trust they had. It took her months to truly break free of her cold armour and harsh personality, but Saffronstride eventually bettered herself for the cats around her, and adopted her selfless attitude to make up for the harshness she'd given them in youth.
Since then, she's had another apprentice, and a new leader come to power. Her loyalty to her clan is rooted deep in everything she does, and she prides herself on her ability to protect her clanmates and the trust she's gained from them.
never let me go, never let me go
ROLE-PLAYER: Pyrrha!
(*note: I roleplayed this character on another site, under the same name, so the writing has only been tweaked somewhat to fit this one. If that's a problem, I can easily rewrite the app!
WRITING SAMPLE:
No matter how much she tried, it seemed that she could never refuse a genuine request.
One of the many apprentices scuttling about the camp had asked her to fetch more moss for their den. Though she'd initially refused, her hunt had ended early and fruitful, and in a episode of spontaneity Saffronstride had decided to take a small 'detour' down the Branch Trail. Her entire thought process since she'd set paw out of camp was laden with doubt and hesitations - 'What if they go cold or sore without extra moss?' 'What if its necessary later on, even if it's not needed now?'
It was easy to get the she-cat into a mental knot like this, and it was inevitable that she'd end up doing what you asked of her, if you asked with a small mewl and your eyes blown up the size of moons.
Her thin tail slung low to the ground and licking at her hind legs, Saffronstride carefully picked her way along the trail, trotting lightly on her paws and keeping her gaze on the ground and the branches above her. As an apprentice, she remembered her mentor springing on her from the low-slung arms there once; she'd gotten a sore shoulder and a stern lecture on the importance of keeping her wits about her. She thought she'd ignored him, but it seemed like she'd picked up more than she could even remember hearing.
In reality, Slugmane had given her much more knowledge than she would ever admit to. Though he was old and had his share of grumbling and complaining, the rickety tom had been nothing of supportive of her, even when her own father wasn't. She was surprised how much his teachings had rubbed off on her; she'd even noticed a few ticks of his she'd seemed to pick up. The way his tail would snap if he got annoyed, the way he'd have a habit of twitching his nose when he was interested in something. Little things like these seemed to come out more and more along the moons - she'd even developed his way of wiggling his haunches when crouching.
A sudden spark of pain burst in her paw, and the she-cat swallowed a small noise of annoyance, shaking her forefoot and giving a small glance to her fish-colored pawpads.
Warmth blossomed somewhere inside her; yes, old Slugmane had even had a help in her name, old, dusty pelt that he was.
Stopping suddenly as her stinging paw met something soft and moist, Saffronstride dipped her head, prodding the moss she'd stepped on with her nose. It smelled fine, and the wet foliage she touched was clean and didn't drip with anything but clear rainwater. The fresh rain had been a treat; it must have washed it, or at least cleaned it up.
Well, whatever had happened, it would do.
It would have, rather, had there not been a noise and a scent that was unmistakably Nightclan that distracted her. Her ears swiveled atop her skull, and the lean she-cat settled down on her haunches, her tail flickering over her paws as she listened for the intruding sound - and the intruder it came with. Scents could mean anything; she wasn't about to put her guard down simply because she smelled her own clan. Slugmane had told her that the last time he'd done that, he'd gotten assaulted by a half-clanner with their loyalties elsewhere.
A small, amused noise quirked in her throat; yes, he'd taught her way more than she'd ever let on, alright.
One of the many apprentices scuttling about the camp had asked her to fetch more moss for their den. Though she'd initially refused, her hunt had ended early and fruitful, and in a episode of spontaneity Saffronstride had decided to take a small 'detour' down the Branch Trail. Her entire thought process since she'd set paw out of camp was laden with doubt and hesitations - 'What if they go cold or sore without extra moss?' 'What if its necessary later on, even if it's not needed now?'
It was easy to get the she-cat into a mental knot like this, and it was inevitable that she'd end up doing what you asked of her, if you asked with a small mewl and your eyes blown up the size of moons.
Her thin tail slung low to the ground and licking at her hind legs, Saffronstride carefully picked her way along the trail, trotting lightly on her paws and keeping her gaze on the ground and the branches above her. As an apprentice, she remembered her mentor springing on her from the low-slung arms there once; she'd gotten a sore shoulder and a stern lecture on the importance of keeping her wits about her. She thought she'd ignored him, but it seemed like she'd picked up more than she could even remember hearing.
In reality, Slugmane had given her much more knowledge than she would ever admit to. Though he was old and had his share of grumbling and complaining, the rickety tom had been nothing of supportive of her, even when her own father wasn't. She was surprised how much his teachings had rubbed off on her; she'd even noticed a few ticks of his she'd seemed to pick up. The way his tail would snap if he got annoyed, the way he'd have a habit of twitching his nose when he was interested in something. Little things like these seemed to come out more and more along the moons - she'd even developed his way of wiggling his haunches when crouching.
A sudden spark of pain burst in her paw, and the she-cat swallowed a small noise of annoyance, shaking her forefoot and giving a small glance to her fish-colored pawpads.
Warmth blossomed somewhere inside her; yes, old Slugmane had even had a help in her name, old, dusty pelt that he was.
Stopping suddenly as her stinging paw met something soft and moist, Saffronstride dipped her head, prodding the moss she'd stepped on with her nose. It smelled fine, and the wet foliage she touched was clean and didn't drip with anything but clear rainwater. The fresh rain had been a treat; it must have washed it, or at least cleaned it up.
Well, whatever had happened, it would do.
It would have, rather, had there not been a noise and a scent that was unmistakably Nightclan that distracted her. Her ears swiveled atop her skull, and the lean she-cat settled down on her haunches, her tail flickering over her paws as she listened for the intruding sound - and the intruder it came with. Scents could mean anything; she wasn't about to put her guard down simply because she smelled her own clan. Slugmane had told her that the last time he'd done that, he'd gotten assaulted by a half-clanner with their loyalties elsewhere.
A small, amused noise quirked in her throat; yes, he'd taught her way more than she'd ever let on, alright.
Lyrics: Never Let Me Go by Florence + the Machine
