Be Very ~ Rosethorn - WindClan ~ Afraid

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Name: Rosethorn

Age: 37 Moons

Gender: Female

Clan: WindClan baby

Apprentice: She had one named Greypaw, he died at age 13 moons though, right before his warrior ceremony. Now she wants another one – badly.

Rank: Warrior

Mate/Crush: Uhm..... No.

Kin: Patch-heart – Mother – NPC
Tigerfang – Father – NPC
Flowerpaw – Sister – Deceased - NPC
ADOPTED FAMILY::
Smallflower – Mother – NPC
Featherfoot – Sister –NPC
Badgerstripe – Brother -NPC
Birdnose – Brother – NPC

Description: Born and bred WindClan, baby! There’s no denying Rosethorn’s heritage, which has no trace of loner, kittypet or even half Clan blood. Yes, Rosethorn is purebred, her WindClan blood pure as water. So, it’s no surprise she looks like just any other WindClan cat. She is incredibly lanky. Even though this is typical for WindClan cats, Rosethorn is so long limbed she’s almost a caricature of normal WindClan cats. Her legs are long, long, long, her torso is long, long, long, her neck long, long, long and her tail is long, long, long. She’s almost snake like in the way that she moves, stealthily, controlled, but most of all with rhythm. She runs like the wind, too, getting where she needs to go in barely any time at all. But don’t all WindClan cats? Her mother would’ve named her Longkit, had she known she would’ve grown up to look like this. However, when Rosethorn was born, she was sickly, fragile and small. Smallflower thought she’d stay like that all her life, so named her Rosekit. We all make mistakes, though, so it’s no big deal. Rose suited her delicate build and still suits her long calico pelt, and the fragile parts of her appearance, like her ears and her small paws. So really, nothing strange here, except for the abnormally long legs. And tail. And torso.

Personality: Rosethorn has never been a social cat, always quiet, cool and efficient. She gets her chores and work done well, with minimal socialization. So what if she’s a bit quiet? A lot of cats are, anyways. If you bother to come to Rosethorn and talk with her, likely you’ll meet a polite but curt she cat. Maybe not best friend material, but she’s not “bad”. Or so it seems.

If Rosethorn comes to you[/i[, that’s when there’s a problem. Because Rosethorn never bothers to come out of her shell, and it seems because she’s shy. But really it’s because she only comes out when there’s work to do.

What kind of work?

Haha, just the usual, you know. Hunting, training, helping out the elders, stuff like that.

NOT.

Work for Rosethorn is much more. She can’t help but watch the cats around her, it’s part of her nature. She’s always been observant, even as a kitten. So, she watches, and she can’t help but notice these cats around her that just don’t do anything. They hold the Clan back! She likes WindClan a good deal, and doesn’t want them to be dragged down by these pieces of garbage. She also loves StarClan, and hates disappointing them. Since the other cats in her Clan are just too preoccupied to care about these wastes of space, Rosethorn decides to take matters into her own hands. Cleaning up, she calls it. What most cats call it? Murder.

Rosethorn has very simple rules, but she sticks to them like her own personal warrior code. Which, basically, they are.

Rosethorn’s Rules :3
Wrath = Death
Vanity = Death
Lust = Death
Sloth = Death
Greed = Death
Gluttony = Death
Pride = Death

But so what? It’s all in the name of StarClan, after all.

Right?

Right.

History: Birth should’ve been normal. But it wasn’t. Rosethorn’s mother, Patch-heart, really had the Clan’s best interests at heart, but she put the Clan above her own kits. Maybe this is where Rosethorn got a bit of her personality from, but it Patch-heart was not nearly as crazy, but far colder. When she gave birth to two little she kits, she was happy. Until she saw that her second and lastborn, Rosekit, was so scrawny and sickly. Her firstborn kit, Flowerkit, was incredibly beautiful and healthy. So Patch-heart tried to not look at her other daughter, and tossed her out of the nest. She didn’t want a scrappy little weak cat plaguing WindClan’s fine blood.

A queen, Smallflower, saw the whole scene. She saw the little calico kitten squirming in agony of the nursery floor, and then the tortoiseshell mother happily nursing her little ginger she kit. Smallflower took a deep breath and looked at her own beautiful trio of kits, Birdkit, Featherkit and Badgerkit. Then, she quickly got up and took the cast off kitten gently and brought her back to her own nest. She heard Patch-heart proudly give the name Flowerkit to her kitten, and so Smallflower, feeling disgraced at the other queen, named her new kitten Rosekit, sort of an echo of Flowerkit.

Rosekit grew up and, slowly, recovered. The first moons of her life were hard, the medicine cat making daily visits to give her medicine and note her progress. The day finally came when Rosekit was three moons old that the medicine cat deemed her to be now healthy and safe. There was much rejoicing in Smallflower’s family, and Smallflower felt quite smug when Patch-heart gazed at her darkly from her nest.

Rosekit grew up well with her adopted brothers and sisters. However, she was always a shy kitten, and often isolated herself from her family, instead choosing to play on her own. This didn’t much bother Smallflower. She thought that it was normal the kit shouldn’t be so attached to her family. After all, they weren’t her birth family. Smallflower decided to not tell Rosekit she was adopted, though Rosekit often wondered how her calico pelt fit in with a litter born with fur different shades of brown and grey.

Soon, Smallflower began to notice that there was something a little different about Rosekit. Rosekit often escaped outside for extended periods of time throughout the day. She didn’t engage in games of mossball or bug hunting with the other kits. Only once had she engaged in a game with them, and it was wrestling. She was wrestling Featherkit, when, suddenly, she raked unsheathed claws down her flank. Featherkit squealed and began shrieking. Rosekit stepped back as Smallflower rushed forwards, as though not quite realizing her own strength. Featherkit was alright, but weary of Rosekit afterwards. It didn’t really matter though, because Rosekit never played with them again.

Instead, Rosekit made herself a new game. She grabbed pawfuls of freshkill, saying they were for the queens, and brought them behind the nursery where she played with them. One night Smallflower asked Birdkit to go bring Rosekit in for the night. Birdkit trotted to the back of the nursery, where he found Rosekit. She was sitting in piles of old prey, their limbs, organs and fur missing. Their heads were twisted around, bodies mutilated. Birdkit shrieked and ran inside to get Smallflower. Smallflower arrived and was disturbed by what she found. She ordered Rosekit to bury this no longer edible food and scolded her for wasting it. Rosekit was angry, and that night made her own nest away from her family. Smallflower figured she was just grumpy, and decided she would come back later.

Rosekit slept in her nest for a week or two, until a stench appeared in the nursery. Smallflower tracked it back to Rosekit’s nest. She lifted up some moss and shrieked, as she found pieces of mutilated crowfood – had Rosekit not buried the ones from before? – all underneath her bed. Rosekit had been sleeping just above this for how long?

Badgerkit, Featherkit and Birdkit stopped talking to Rosekit, afraid. Even Smallflower kept her distance. Soon the three kits were made apprentices, but not Rosekit. She congratulated them, and was acting normally for a few days. Smallflower figured the events, the stage, whatever were in the past. SO Rosekit became Rosepaw and was apprenticed to Foxtail, a small, snarky tom. He knew what he was doing when it came to apprentices, and was strict and disciplined. He was also very greedy though, and it made Rosepaw’s progress sometimes difficult.

One night there was a fight in the apprentice den. Flowerpaw, who had since grown to be incredibly beautiful, was surrounded by all the toms who basically lined up to lick the dirt off her paws. She was flirting around, and then turned her attention to the long limbed, awkward Rosepaw, who was minding her own business and getting ready to sleep. Flowerpaw flounced over and began embarrassing her. She mimicked Rosepaw’s awkward walk, which had no yet evolved into the elegant strut it would become. Flowerpaw mimicked her stutter, her laugh, her way of keeping her head down. Everyone laughed and nobody stood up for Rosepaw. Rosepaw ran, anger, blinding her, outside, and turned only to hiss at Flowerpaw, “Someday you’ll look as ugly as you actually are,” before shrinking out into the night. Flowerpaw laughed and the apprentices settled into sleep.

The next morning, there were no traces of Rosepaw so they figured she had slept outside. Featherpaw shook Flowerpaw to wake her up for dawn patrol, but when she turned her over, her face had been clawed to shreds. Featherpaw screamed and jumped back, letting Flowerpaw fall back into the blood soaked nest. She was dead, no doubt about it. The apprentices ran outside and found Rosepaw, as usual, sitting by herself eating breakfast. They threw accusations at her, and alerted warriors. Suddenly, Featherpaw pointed out, slowly, Rosepaw had been out all night. She hadn’t returned, so couldn’t possibly have done this. Everyone agreed wearily. They chalked it up to a fox attack. Flowerpaw had probably gone out at night and had been attacked. After all, fox was scented in the territory. Flowerpaw was buried and that was that.

Rosepaw continued to train and grow. When she reached 14 moons, Foxtail decided to give her one last assessment. He followed her secretly as she hunted. She caught a rabbit nicely, and Foxtail waited for her to bury it. Instead, she picked it up and trotted to an old, rotted log near the edges of territory. She stayed in there for a while, and then trotted back out and back towards camp. Foxtail waited till she was gone then looked in the log. What he saw frightened him. Pieces of prey were hung up, skinned, and grotesquely mutilated. But worst of all... There. Was. Flowerpaw. Her bright ginger fur and scent made him sure of it. Her fur was strewn everywhere and her body... Skinned. Hadn’t she been buried a while ago? Foxtail took a deep breath and backed up, right into... Rosepaw. He turned, sputtered, but couldn’t make words. She stepped forwards, face solemn.

“Greedy Foxtail,” she said, almost sadly. She approached a few more paw steps, and pounced. That was that.

Rosepaw returned with a few pieces of fresh kill that evening. Warriors asked her if she had seen Foxtail.

“No... Was he supposed to be assessing me?” she asked, feigning innocence. Patrols were sent out but nobody found him. They did find Rosepaw’s log, but it was completely empty.

Rosepaw was “distraught” upon hearing the news that her “beloved” mentor had “disappeared”. Seeing her so sad, she was made a warrior. Rosethorn.

Soon after, her adopted siblings became warriors. Birdnose, Featherfoot and Badgerstripe. She was happy for all of them, and spoke to them a little more often. They were good cats, and Smallflower had raised them well. Rosethorn acknowledged the fact they were all good hearted and valuable to the Clan, and made sure no harm would befall them. See? If you’re a good cat, Rosethorn won’t do anything to you.

It was around the time Rosethorn was 20 moons that she got some attention from a handsome, older warrior named Mudtail. Sure, it was a bit creepy that a 5o moon old warrior was courting a 20 moon old one, but so what? Rosethorn had become a case a bit like the ugly duckling. She had grown a bit into her awkward build, and was far more graceful now. He had done worse, anyways. She remembered with a shudder that Flowerpaw, aged 8 moons, bragged about how he had “flirted” with her. He was a womanizer, but Rostehorn didn’t care. She was happy with the attention he gave her. She felt flattered, and gained confidence.

Mudtail was adamant about keeping their relationship a “secret”. She agreed, but was a little confused. Was he ashamed to be, as he said, “in love” with her? Why didn’t he want other cats to know? She never asked and she stopped caring after a while. Mudtail and Rosethorn met every few nights, at midnight, in a special spot in the moor. They had spent wonderful, passion filled nights together before, and he introduced her to many new things. They remained “lovers” until Rosethorn was almost 25 Moons old. That’s when another she cat, about 18 moons old, named Sandheart, announced she was carrying Mudtail’s kits. Rosethorn felt shocked, angry and betrayed. She decided, very sadly, what she needed to do.

The next night she waited in their usual spot. After a little while, Mudtail arrived. She turned around, her bright green eyes staring at him evenly, her face emotionless.

“Rosethorn, I... I can explain,” he said, approaching her. She blinked at him, but still not showing any emotion. “Prove it,” she said quietly, watching his moves carefully.

He reached her and sat down next to her, tail sweeping around her. She felt, for a moment, her head rest on his broad shoulder. He said quietly, calmly, sincerely, “I love you, Rosethorn, I do...”

For a while everything was peaceful. Lost in his charm, Rosethorn forgot her plans. They were in love again, right? Mudtail loved her, he loved her so much, she felt it... This night was turning out like any other one of their nights on the moor now. Suddenly, everything went wrong. Sandheart had been watching Mudtail carefully since she found out he was fathering her kits. She had seen him get up in the middle of the night, and followed. What she was seeing now made her blood boil. She screeched, her hackles rising as she watched them on the moor, and she was sure that they weren’t just “friends” as Mudtail had told her. The things they were doing... they weren’t “friend” things, she knew.

Sandheart’s screech startled Rosethorn, and she stood up quickly. That screech shattered her world, and she came crashing back into reality. She looked down at Mudtail laying in the grass. A moment ago he had been her mate, now... now she saw him for what he was. A cat who would do anything for “love”, a cat that was willing to fool her, make her think they were in love just to use her, a he had done with many she cats before. And Sandheart... Rosethorn saw her now, running down the hill at her, claws unsheathed.

Sandheart had a temper, a terrible temper, and Rosethorn knew it. She would’ve made easy work of Sandheart, for wrath plagued the queen. But she was carrying kits. Rosethorn would never kill a cat carrying kits, for they were innocent. So, Rosethorn did what she had to. She turned to Mudtail, who was getting up, and clawed him across the face. Stunned, he fell over backwards, and she pounced. It was over in seconds.

Sandheart skidded to a halt in front of them. She saw the evil glint in Rosethorn’s eyes, and, being a smart cat, took off back towards camp, before spitting at Rosethorn, “You killed all those cats, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?!

The long legs finally came in handy. Rosethorn caught up with Sandheart and pounced on her. She had Sandheart pinned, and it would’ve been easy to kill her right then and there. But, she remembered the kits, and controlled herself. Instead, she dug her claws into Sandheart’s shoulders and whispered, “If you come back to WindClan, EVER, I’ll see to it that you join the others... With that, she gave Sandheart a long scratch along the side of the face, just for good measure. Sandheart winced, nodded, and whimpered. Rosethorn let her up, and Sandheart ran, towards the highstones. Rosethorn chased her good ways, to make sure she was gone, then returned to Mudtail. She couldn’t help but look at him sadly. He had been her first love. Even though she knew he hadn’t truly loved her, she had loved him, because she had made herself. This was the first time she had felt any emotional attatchment to one of her kills. Rosethorn didn’t like it, it made everything harder... She knew she had done the right thing, but after this incident, it grew difficult for her to trust and become attached to others.

Rosethorn dragged Mudtail’s body and pushed it down the gorge. He fell into a pile of bushes and brambles, completely hidden. Rosethorn padded back to camp, slipped into her nest unnoticed, and slept there till dawn.

Cats worried about where Sandheart and Mudtail had gone. They searched and searched, but neither of them was found. Rumours swirled that they had eloped together to raise their kittens as loners. Nobody really knew anything for certain, though. Except for Rosethorn. And StarClan. And Rosethorn was happy about that.

When Rosethorn was 28 Moons old she was granted an apprentice. You see, she was just liek other cats. The only weird incidents had been in her kittenhood, and nearly everyone had forgotten about them. Her apprentice was Greypaw, a young tom full of spirit and intelligence. She was happy – maybe she’d raise a decent cat for the Clan! Sure, Greypaw at times had trouble concentrating and listening to instructions, but Rosethorn dedicated herself to correcting this.

Rosethorn and Greypaw started off being the typical mentor and apprentices. Warriors praised her work on his training and she felt very happy to be doing something right. Rosethorn caught a case of green-cough in Leaf-Bare, however, and was forced to spend a moon in the medicine den. The case was not life threatening, but it forced her to take a break from her job as a mentor. Greypaw’s training was put a little bit on hold, but several warriors took turns bringing him on patrols.

When Rosethorn was well again, she looked forwards to getting back into training with Greypaw. When she told him to get ready for hunting, however, she could see he had changed.

“Rosethorn, I don’t want to,” he mewled with a bratty tone. Rosethorn clenched her teeth and used the death tone – the tone all apprentices obeyed. Greypaw sluggishly got to his paws and padded out of camp with her.

Rostehorn hated to see her apprentice turning out like this. She thought discipline would fix it, but his attitude got worse. He was rude to grown warriors, mean to other apprentices and lazy. She hated to admit it, but he dragged the Clan down. Patrols had to take breaks every few minutes for him to lie down and rest his paws. She couldn’t bring him training with other apprentices because it affected their training too. Greypaw was 13 moons old and Rosethorn knew what she had to do. She hadn’t done this kind of work in almost a year, but she knew she had to do it.

She sent Greypaw out hunting and went to “assess” him. She watched him stroll around aimlessly for almost an hour before finally catching a mouse. Then – before her shocked eyes – he ate the mouse and promptly fell asleep. Her belly flared as she stalked over to him and batted him on the head to wake up.

“AAAOOOUUUCCHHH!” Greypaw wailed, dramatically rolling on his back.

“Get up,” Rosethorn growled through gritted teeth.

“No.”

“I said get up,” she hissed, thinking she was being really quiet patient.

“No, you hit me. I don’t need to do anything!”

“You will get up if you know what’s good for you.”

Finally Greypaw rolled to his feet, glaring at her the whole time.

“Now follow me.”

Greypaw, surprisingly, obeyed, and complained the whole time they were walking. They soon arrived at the cliff, below which was the river that separated WindClan and RiverClan.

“What are we doing here? I’m tired and it’s late,” Greypaw mewed.

Rosethorn didn’t reply. Instead, she pushed the unsuspecting Greypaw into the river. His cries subsided slowly as distance and water muffled his voice. After a while, it simply stopped altogether. Rosethorn, feeling satisfied, returned to camp. When she got there, she feigned anger.

“Where is Greypaw?” she growled angrily.

“I haven’t seen him. Didn’t he go out hunting somewhere?”

“Yes, and I’ve been out since sun-high looking for him. If he’s fallen asleep somewhere again, I’ll claw his ears off.”

But Greypaw was not asleep. He was dead. Of course cats looked and wondered where he was, but nobody could find him of course. Rosethorn, again, pretended to be very sad and upset.

It’s been a while since Rosethorn has struck. That’s a good thing, but Rosethorn feels very unfulfilled. There are some cats she believes the Clan could do without, but she’s not yet calculated her next move. Until then, she will continue serving her Clan.

Roleplay example:

Other: She’s not a bad cat, in fact, she’s good. Just a little loopy, a little creepy, and her belief in StarClan and what they want is a bit murky. Just remember, if you are a good cat and take care of the Clan, nothing will happen to you...

And sorry the bio's so long :S

[. s p o r e l e t t ♪]