Post by Egotistic on Jun 28, 2021 12:00:42 GMT -6
Hawthorn
Rogue
A massive, rumple-coated tabby tom with green eyes and large, tufted ears.
n/a
male | tom
33 moons.
Appearance
Hawthorn is truly a force to be reckoned with, possessing unnerving strength beneath a long and shaggy coat. For his size, he moves with an uncharacteristic fluidity, each step well-placed and yet cumbersome. His coat is similarly as impressive as his size; excessively thick, coarse and unkempt, it bellies a plethora of well-earned scars. Likewise, it is this coat that has spared him from the worst of his injuries, yet his face and ears, being not so well guarded, are visibly marred by cruel and puckered lashes where well-aimed blows rent away at the flesh. These he toes as tokens—testaments to his prowess in combat, and should be dealt more (for surely he will), he will wear them proudly and with reverence. For, in his eyes, every scar tells a store, and should he continue down the has he is on, he will come by many more before his time comes.
Personality
flippant, willful, patronizing, rash.
confident, loyal, ingenious, vindictive.
flip·pant | /ˈflipənt/ | not showing a serious or respectful attitude. || Despite his reputation on the battlefield, Hawthorn can usually be spotted with a grin pulling at his maw and with himself in a generally cheerful and chummy mood—although, to those who are perceptive enough, it can often be noted that such smiles rarely reach his eyes. Despite this, Hawthorn is known for being laxer than others, forgiving to a fault, and more stable in the presentation of his emotions than others. He uses smiles as a weapon, a challenge to her companions, and a means to tear down social barriers between himself and colleagues. But such behaviors were learned, and so it is with Hawthorn. His generally positive attitude and the rarity with which he is turned to actual displays of anger have allowed him to become a far less likely target for malicious sayings and actions… likewise, he has learned such an affinity makes him far more likely to get away with the jabs and quips he seems prone to, no matter how malicious in intent they may be.
will·ful | /ˈwilfəl/ | having or showing a stubborn and determined intention to do as one wants, regardless of the consequences or effects. || Although the bulk of Hawthorn’s zealous habits stem from an aversion to boredom and a want for engagement, he has developed a reputation amongst his peers as an industrious individual frequently found taking part in the most treacherous of sighting patrols and border excursions. He is quick to volunteer himself for any task—anything to keep himself busy. His seemingly bottomless supply of energy has driven more than a few companions to exhaustion just trying to keep up with him.
pa·tron·iz·ing | /ˈpātrənīziNG/ | apparently kind or helpful but betraying a feeling of superiority; condescending. || To those he does not regard as threats, Hawthorn’s flippant airs and abrasive personality amalgamate into patronizing tendencies and condescending conjectures. He is not above putting others down to lift himself up, nor is he opposed to highlighting the weaknesses in others at their own expense. While he may be well-intentioned at times, more often than not, his tendency to talk down to others—whether subconscious or not—stems from inherent feelings of superiority and entitlement to his position and strength.
rash | /raSH/| displaying or proceeding from a lack of careful consideration of the possible consequences of an action. || Due to his predisposition for activity and progression, Hawthorn has little patience for anything that would stay his paws for longer than he feels is necessary. Long-winded explanations are met with strained stares, stutters, and abrupt interruptions, and hesitant cats often find themselves hard-pressed in getting a word in edge-wise in his presence, himself being more than willing to talk over anyone who does not step up to the mantle fast enough. His blunt nature and tendency for steamrolling compounds the blows to other self-esteem, which his outgoing personality regularly causes.
con·fi·dent | /ˈkänfədənt/ | feeling or showing confidence in oneself; self-assured. || Hawthorn is as confident in himself as he is in the decisions he makes—which is to say, very. Possessing a particular aptitude for success in life and the fact that his choices generally lead to positive outcomes (or so he would like to tell himself), he can and does come across as arrogant and stubborn once settled on a course of action. Once his mind is made up, Hawthrone wastes little time trying to direct others down the same path and often comes across as pushy and domineering when he chooses to do so. If one dared to stand up to him, it would require them to possess an equally strong will to steer her right. Despite what some might expect, Hawthorn does not take offense to these incidents and instead tends to gain a bit of respect for whoever is willing to oppose him; the same, however, cannot be said towards those who don’t.
loy·al| /ˈloi(ə)l/ | giving or showing firm and constant support or allegiance to a person or institution. || Particularly true when regarding family, Hawthorn’s loyalties lie with those who he considers family. His allies and close comrades fit under the same umbrella in his eyes—that of family and indebtedness to them—and as such, he is willing to go to impossible lengths to ensure their ambitions and aspirations are seen through, even at the opposition of his own opinions and morals.
in·gen·ious | /inˈjēnyəs/ | clever, original, and inventive. || To one with a mind full of such natural cunning as Hawthorn’s, the pieces fall quite easily into place. He can connect the dots between seemingly unrelated events and suspicious activities with ease and is not prone to having his thoughts or conclusions muddied by close relations or personal biases and similarities. Even amid close friends and family, Hawthorn is ever watchful and not above pinning suspicion on even his family. Before him, lies are easily deciphered and pinned down, their telling often discovered by perceptive eyes and ears in the subtle shifting of expressions and the wavering of one’s voice.
vin·dic·tive | /vēnˈdiktiv/ | having or showing a strong or unreasoning desire for revenge. || Not one to forgive or forget easily, particularly when it comes to the lives of those he holds dear, when the wellbeing of those closest to him is challenged—no matter by whom—Hawthorn will be long in shaking his own desires for vengeance and redemption. So far-reaching are these wants that Hawthorn is not abandoning his own ambitions and that which he holds dear to achieve his own… sometimes even to the point of ultimately going against his own personal moral code.
History
Father: Bramblestrike (adoptable)
Mother: Dustfern (npc | deceased), Lily (played by rain ), Sophie (deceased)
Littermates: Coyotesong (sister | adoptable), Oleander (played by sloth ), Poppy (played by lightning )
Mate(s): n/a
Offspring: n/a
What Happened That Night
Dustfern did hear them, nor did she smell them, and by the time she did, it was too late.
Upon her, they fell with tooth and claw, rending her fur, soft and plush to ribbons, shearing away at the flesh so that the air grew heavy with the stench of blood. Her howls filled the den, only to be muffled, and as her last dying breaths exerted themselves on the act of defending her brood, her young could only watch helplessly as their mother lost the fight she so valiantly pressed against.
Among them, a tom larger than the other filled the air with squalls of fear and defiance, and as they turned upon him—his mother’s killers—he spat and swiped so fearsomely it could be believed he forgot the fragility of himself. And yet still, he hissed and spat, arched his back and bared his fangs, and to look upon him was to look upon the miniature of something that could later grow to become quite fearsome indeed. And so he was taken, hissing and spitting still, taken by the flesh of his scruff, away from the only home he’d known—away from his mother and sister, away from the father who would never cease in his search for him.
Gone, and—sometime later—forgotten.
His brother scowled at him from across the clearing, his breaths coming in shallow, heated pants, his tail standing tall and taut and bristling. Hawthorn frowned back at him as he hitched a paw to wipe a streak of blood from the bridge of his nose. He knew they weren’t supposed to be fighting with their claws out, but that wouldn’t have stopped his brother… his resentment for Hawthorn had consumed him almost from the minute he’d been taken in. Or so it felt.
“What’s your problem?” Hawthorn growled, hackles prickling, ears pinned flat.
“You,” his brother spat.
A knot of anger twisted inside of him. He narrowed his eyes, opened his mouth, closed it, and felt at a loss as to what to say. It wasn’t his fault. If Oleander had been stronger, it would have been the same; only he would have been in his place instead. Perhaps then it would have been his duty to look after Sophie and take the brunt of Lily’s wrath. He hadn’t done anything wrong—his brother just wasn’t strong enough.
“I'm not Lily, you know,” Hawthorn glared at him. “Your quarrel is with her, not me.”
“Close enough,” and there was a deep and impenetrable hatred embedded in those words.
He supposed it was only a matter of time before their life of ease and comfort was disrupted—supposed it had been far too long without conflict for rogues who lived so openly. And perhaps they had deserved it. Maybe none of it would have happened if only they had kept a closer eye on their surroundings, had made a more conscious effort to be on their guard. But moons of easy living and full bellies had slackened their resolve, and so it was so that Sophie was found dead—murdered by the claws of a rogue who called himself Curiosity.
That was how he found her upon his return, stooped in a pool of her own blood, rasping breaths through a gaping wound at her throat, clinging stubbornly to life, surrounded by the ones she loved—but not him. He only watched, stricken and unmoving, and as he listened to the grief-stricken wails of mother and brother and sister, he felt grow within him a desperate and unsurmountable hatred—a fit of unquenchable anger and rage for those who had stripped her of her life.
He found then that he wanted blood and knew that he would go to great lengths to get it.
Mother: Dustfern (npc | deceased), Lily (played by rain ), Sophie (deceased)
Littermates: Coyotesong (sister | adoptable), Oleander (played by sloth ), Poppy (played by lightning )
Mate(s): n/a
Offspring: n/a
What Happened That Night
Dustfern did hear them, nor did she smell them, and by the time she did, it was too late.
Upon her, they fell with tooth and claw, rending her fur, soft and plush to ribbons, shearing away at the flesh so that the air grew heavy with the stench of blood. Her howls filled the den, only to be muffled, and as her last dying breaths exerted themselves on the act of defending her brood, her young could only watch helplessly as their mother lost the fight she so valiantly pressed against.
Among them, a tom larger than the other filled the air with squalls of fear and defiance, and as they turned upon him—his mother’s killers—he spat and swiped so fearsomely it could be believed he forgot the fragility of himself. And yet still, he hissed and spat, arched his back and bared his fangs, and to look upon him was to look upon the miniature of something that could later grow to become quite fearsome indeed. And so he was taken, hissing and spitting still, taken by the flesh of his scruff, away from the only home he’d known—away from his mother and sister, away from the father who would never cease in his search for him.
Gone, and—sometime later—forgotten.
Important Events of Kithood
Kestrelkit is taken from the ThistleClan nursery, leaving his sister and father behind. Assumed dead, when his mother’s corpse is uncovered, it is similarly thought that he met a similar fate. Unknowing of the circumstances leading to Lily and Sophie’s custody of him, he grows up under the impression that he is an orphan by the name of Hawthorn. He is dogged by recurring nightmares of a night shrouded in blood and fear-stricken wails; however, he cannot seem to understand the cause of such dreams.
- - -
Soon after regaining his strength, Hawthorn’s training fell under Lily. Hawthorn reveled in the challenge and proved a natural affinity for combat where his brother was cowed by their mother’s belligerence. His natural talents in fighting further earned him both parents’ adoration and love; it seemed only to earn him the resentment of his brother.
- - -
With the formation of new skills, Hawthorn grows more confident in his abilities. In tandem with teachings of battle and strategy, a hatred for the Clans is similarly ingrained into his way of thinking. Steadily he becomes of the belief that they are entitled to the land they have been stripped of—that one day, the Clans must repay them for the land and lives that were taken from them.
The Mentality of the Weak
His brother scowled at him from across the clearing, his breaths coming in shallow, heated pants, his tail standing tall and taut and bristling. Hawthorn frowned back at him as he hitched a paw to wipe a streak of blood from the bridge of his nose. He knew they weren’t supposed to be fighting with their claws out, but that wouldn’t have stopped his brother… his resentment for Hawthorn had consumed him almost from the minute he’d been taken in. Or so it felt.
“What’s your problem?” Hawthorn growled, hackles prickling, ears pinned flat.
“You,” his brother spat.
A knot of anger twisted inside of him. He narrowed his eyes, opened his mouth, closed it, and felt at a loss as to what to say. It wasn’t his fault. If Oleander had been stronger, it would have been the same; only he would have been in his place instead. Perhaps then it would have been his duty to look after Sophie and take the brunt of Lily’s wrath. He hadn’t done anything wrong—his brother just wasn’t strong enough.
“I'm not Lily, you know,” Hawthorn glared at him. “Your quarrel is with her, not me.”
“Close enough,” and there was a deep and impenetrable hatred embedded in those words.
Important Events of Adolescence
Abandoning their previous lodging, Hawthorn and his family move to the campgrounds. The shelter offered by the cabins shields them from the worst of the elements; gradually, they begin to know comfort and sink into their new way of life while Sophie is given the opportunity to recover from her wounds. Hawthorn continues with his training while his brother is entrusted with the task of caring for Sophie; though he doesn’t envy his brother, he pities him, something that only seems to further divide them as Hawthorn’s ego and patronizing nature manifest themselves.
- - -
Despite an effort to make amends with Oleander, the two are regularly in conflict with the other. A fight that results in the spilling of blood forces the brothers' feelings to come to the surface; however, both leave without a better understanding of the other—Hawthorn believing that his brother’s anger is misplaced and he has no right to hate him for something he cannot control.
- - -
Lily begins to take Hawthorn on scouting missions that draw them closer to Clan territory. Developing an interest in the Clans and their habits, the first seeds of curiosity are planted as their ventures lead them deeper and deeper into enemy hunting grounds.
The Dichotomy of Powers
He supposed it was only a matter of time before their life of ease and comfort was disrupted—supposed it had been far too long without conflict for rogues who lived so openly. And perhaps they had deserved it. Maybe none of it would have happened if only they had kept a closer eye on their surroundings, had made a more conscious effort to be on their guard. But moons of easy living and full bellies had slackened their resolve, and so it was so that Sophie was found dead—murdered by the claws of a rogue who called himself Curiosity.
That was how he found her upon his return, stooped in a pool of her own blood, rasping breaths through a gaping wound at her throat, clinging stubbornly to life, surrounded by the ones she loved—but not him. He only watched, stricken and unmoving, and as he listened to the grief-stricken wails of mother and brother and sister, he felt grow within him a desperate and unsurmountable hatred—a fit of unquenchable anger and rage for those who had stripped her of her life.
He found then that he wanted blood and knew that he would go to great lengths to get it.
Important Events of Adulthood
Sophie is murdered by a rogue of the name Curiosity, forcing them to leave the campground. Embittered and encouraged by a want for revenge, Hawthorn continues his training under Lily, bent on avenging his mother’s death as well as growing strong enough to support her ambitions of driving ThistleClan from the forest. During this time, Hawthorn’s relationship with Oleander grows further tense; he can’t help but place blame on his brother’s cowardice for the death of Sophie.
- - -
A flood ravishes the island, making prey scarce and shelter harder to come by. Despite their small numbers, Hawthorn begins to desperately miss having a home to return to.
- - -
An abandoned she-kit is found half-starved and freezing on the moor. Returned to live among their ranks, Hawthorn instantly takes a liking to her and accepts her as family. Through her, he finally finds the sibling comradery he failed to find in his brother and dotes on her heavily.
- - -
Opportunity presents itself, and Lily finally avenges the death of her mate, killing Curiosity. Power now within her grasp, Lily’s whispers of driving ThistleClan from the forest become a growing reality Hawthorn intends to back to the best of his ability. He joins in the effort of reform, aiding her in the amassing of strong and able cats whose loyalties can be pinned on her and her effort.
- - -
Present time…