Post by blexity on Aug 28, 2020 15:48:58 GMT -6
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[attr="class","appHEADER"]Silverbrook
[attr="class","appTAG"]@/silverbrook - silver tabby she-cat with bright blue eyes
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20 MOONS | FEMALE | HETERO | RIVERCLAN | WARRIOR |
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[attr="class","appCATEGORY"]TRAITS
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+ observant + quick-witted + driven + patient + confident | - petty - serious - moody - cunning - judgmental |
[attr="class","appCATEGORY"]PERSONALITY
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[attr="class","appFIELD"]Some describe themselves as shy. Others, as wallflowers. But Silverbrook is just... quiet. She prefers to watch and see what others do, to understand them better. She’s a textbook maximizer—she likes to know what all her options are, to be sure she’s making the best choice. This girl would NOT survive in a Costco. She has a wicked memory, and she uses it. Silverbrook has a thing about grudges. She’s not cruel, and she’s not stupid; she’ll forgive honest mistakes. But she doesn’t care much for bullies and liars. On that note, she’s extremely judgmental. She has strict ideas on what constitues a good warrior, a good friend, and she’s quick to make snap decisions about others. She’s predisposed to the melodramatic, and she tends to weigh everything very heavily. It takes a lot to draw a real laugh from Silverbrook. This isn’t all to say she’s antisocial. Silverbrook can be incredibly pleasant in a social setting. She’s light on her feet and quick with her tongue, and she has a politician’s knack for making everyone feel heard. This is not unintentional— Silverbrook harbors a deep ambition to lead her clan to prosperity, and she will need the approval of her clanmates to do that. She knows full well that ‘deputy’ is not a title earned overnight, and she accepts that she is in this for the long haul. She trusts her own abilities, but not to the point where she’d turn down useful assistance. Just as long as they don’t get too cozy.
[attr="class","appCATEGORY"]HISTORY
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[attr="class","appFIELD"]Silverkit was born to Rainwhisker and Bluefin, a pair of fine, if mediocre warriors of RiverClan. Don’t bother remembering those names, because they died three moons later, and mean very little to Silverbrook. They won’t really come up again.
When she was very small, and her parents still alive, nothing thrilled the precocious kit more than the elders’ stories of ancient and spectacular leaders, fierce warriors and battles that time rendered meaningless. She’d spend her nights straining to see the legions of StarClan through the closely woven nursery walls, and wonder which of the mythical heroes she had locked onto that night. On her worst nights, she’d look for her parents. Sometimes, she thought she’d singled them out, but then a cloud would pass, and she’d return to her visions of grandeur. Leaders were grown! No one cared if leaders were orphan kits.
But no one became leader by sitting in the nursery dreaming about it. It was annoying, how long it took her clanmates to stop tiptoeing around her, after the accident. She wished that they would have treated her like a normal kit—teased her, maybe ruffled her fur during grooming. But they treated her like she was something fragile, something breakable. Eventually, she accepted that no display of capability would change that. She was quiet and reserved by nature, but her clan took it as a sign that she was broken. Fine. By the time she was made an apprentice, Silverpaw had accepted the fact that the quickest path to a fearsome reputation was to be as un-threatening as possible outside of battle, so that her claws could strike unencumbered when needed. It was incredible, she realized, how easily she could flirt with a tom at a Gathering, and then watch him hesitate to take her in a border skirmish. Her mentor, a she-cat named Darkstripe, was fun to josh around with, and Silverpaw dropped her ‘dumb blonde’ act around her, but even then, the apprentice’s default setting was ‘sit back and observe’. It was extremely satisfying, over the course of her apprenticeship, to hear the whispers around her change. She wasn’t a pitiable orphan any more. She was becoming someone formidable. She was lonely, but it wasn’t for lack of social skills—she was a smooth talker. It was just... she didn’t have time for friends, or crushes, or becoming dependent on others in general. Especially since Cloudfeather had died.
Her closest confidant, her maternal grandfather. The old tom had been blind in one eye and lame as a log, but he had made sure his granddaughter had someone “steering her straight”. He had encouraged her ambitions as a strange, serious kit, never laughing like the rest of the clan when she said she wanted to be leader someday. “Okay,” he’d said, shifting his stance. “So here’s how ye do that.”
Her parents’ death had always seemed like something that happened to someone else. She had been young, she wasn’t fully aware of what had happened, only that she was alone, and she was okay. But when Cloudfeather died, Silverpaw was nine moons old. And it stung. He had been the only one who’d seen her for who she was, the only one who she hadn’t had to make a grand gesture of ‘proving herself’ to earn his respect. After Cloudfeather’s death, Silverpaw withdrew even more than before. She spent hours swimming alone, fishing alone, wandering the territory. This wasn’t fair.
Eventually, it was Darkstripe who tugged her out of it. Darkstripe was a tough young thing, and Silverpaw was her first apprentice, but she’d noticed a thing or two about her apprentice. Silverpaw hadn’t wanted to listen to any reason, even if it had come from Riverstar himself, but Darkstripe made a convincing argument. Warriors—leaders—have to deal with death frequently. Handling loss well was something that could make or break a clan’s trust in their leader during hardships. So was Silverpaw going to stay here in the marsh, moping, or was she going to pick herself up and make her grandfather proud?
Silverpaw was given her warrior name at thirteen moons, and was named according to her continued practice of solitary swimming when things got overwhelming. Now, Silverbrook spends her time training herself to follow in her deputy and leader’s footsteps. Hawthornesnake and Lionstar were two of the most impressive warriors she’d ever known, and to emulate them... well, she’s working on it.
When she was very small, and her parents still alive, nothing thrilled the precocious kit more than the elders’ stories of ancient and spectacular leaders, fierce warriors and battles that time rendered meaningless. She’d spend her nights straining to see the legions of StarClan through the closely woven nursery walls, and wonder which of the mythical heroes she had locked onto that night. On her worst nights, she’d look for her parents. Sometimes, she thought she’d singled them out, but then a cloud would pass, and she’d return to her visions of grandeur. Leaders were grown! No one cared if leaders were orphan kits.
But no one became leader by sitting in the nursery dreaming about it. It was annoying, how long it took her clanmates to stop tiptoeing around her, after the accident. She wished that they would have treated her like a normal kit—teased her, maybe ruffled her fur during grooming. But they treated her like she was something fragile, something breakable. Eventually, she accepted that no display of capability would change that. She was quiet and reserved by nature, but her clan took it as a sign that she was broken. Fine. By the time she was made an apprentice, Silverpaw had accepted the fact that the quickest path to a fearsome reputation was to be as un-threatening as possible outside of battle, so that her claws could strike unencumbered when needed. It was incredible, she realized, how easily she could flirt with a tom at a Gathering, and then watch him hesitate to take her in a border skirmish. Her mentor, a she-cat named Darkstripe, was fun to josh around with, and Silverpaw dropped her ‘dumb blonde’ act around her, but even then, the apprentice’s default setting was ‘sit back and observe’. It was extremely satisfying, over the course of her apprenticeship, to hear the whispers around her change. She wasn’t a pitiable orphan any more. She was becoming someone formidable. She was lonely, but it wasn’t for lack of social skills—she was a smooth talker. It was just... she didn’t have time for friends, or crushes, or becoming dependent on others in general. Especially since Cloudfeather had died.
Her closest confidant, her maternal grandfather. The old tom had been blind in one eye and lame as a log, but he had made sure his granddaughter had someone “steering her straight”. He had encouraged her ambitions as a strange, serious kit, never laughing like the rest of the clan when she said she wanted to be leader someday. “Okay,” he’d said, shifting his stance. “So here’s how ye do that.”
Her parents’ death had always seemed like something that happened to someone else. She had been young, she wasn’t fully aware of what had happened, only that she was alone, and she was okay. But when Cloudfeather died, Silverpaw was nine moons old. And it stung. He had been the only one who’d seen her for who she was, the only one who she hadn’t had to make a grand gesture of ‘proving herself’ to earn his respect. After Cloudfeather’s death, Silverpaw withdrew even more than before. She spent hours swimming alone, fishing alone, wandering the territory. This wasn’t fair.
Eventually, it was Darkstripe who tugged her out of it. Darkstripe was a tough young thing, and Silverpaw was her first apprentice, but she’d noticed a thing or two about her apprentice. Silverpaw hadn’t wanted to listen to any reason, even if it had come from Riverstar himself, but Darkstripe made a convincing argument. Warriors—leaders—have to deal with death frequently. Handling loss well was something that could make or break a clan’s trust in their leader during hardships. So was Silverpaw going to stay here in the marsh, moping, or was she going to pick herself up and make her grandfather proud?
Silverpaw was given her warrior name at thirteen moons, and was named according to her continued practice of solitary swimming when things got overwhelming. Now, Silverbrook spends her time training herself to follow in her deputy and leader’s footsteps. Hawthornesnake and Lionstar were two of the most impressive warriors she’d ever known, and to emulate them... well, she’s working on it.
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PREFIX; blue-gray shiny pelt | SUFFIX; quick swimmer; winding pattern on fur |
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blexity | |
AGE | PRONOUNS |
TIME ZONE | CONTACT |
[attr="class","appOOCfield"]I am going to strangle BBCode with my own bare hands. |