Hawthorn
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I am happily taken and in a relationship, I am not looking to ERP. Thank you :)
“I have often dreamed of a far off place, where a great, warm welcome will be waiting for me.
Where the crowds will cheer when they see my face, and a voice keeps saying
… this is where I'm meant to be…"
- Go the Distance, Hercules
PRONOUNS: She/Her.
SEXUALITY: Bisexual.
ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Good.
BIRTHDATE: February 22nd - Pisces.
SPECIES: Half-Predator, Half-Prey Geodoe.
[Hybrid of Tufted Deer and Red Deer]
CIRCLES OF INFLUENCE: The Blood Moon, Duality
Thorns/Vines, Wildlife, Druidism, Guardianship,
Autumn & Winter, Predator x Prey, Radical Acceptance
A Fire Within
.: Wild-Blooded . Fiery . Resolute . Determined . Honourable . Dutiful . Valiant . Tender :.
With the poise and grace of a princess, the savage efficiency of a predator, and the cunning wiles of prey, Hawthorn is a force of nature that no one can understand or hope to control. Tawny brown fur covers her body, the markings of a doe permanently worn on her hips, stomach, and back. Her hooves are pure ruby that catch glints of sunshine as effortlessly as they find purchase on the fertile earth of the forest. Typically, her hair, an earthy brown streaked with bright shocks of crimson red, is worn in a ponytail tied just as wildly as her homeland. When worn loose, it reaches nearly to the ground in great shimmering waves of bronze. Her garb, barring special events peppered throughout the doe's life, is simple. A great cloak - given to her by her father - wine red and lined in golden filigree, adorns her lithe frame. A loose leather belt with small leather pouches fastened to each side hangs low on her hips, loaded with silver-tipped bolts for hunting her nemeses. The Crimson Doe watches over her wood, The Wildlands, by helping the preyfolk survive with a soft guiding hand or taking up arms against the larger predators brave enough -- or ignorant enough -- to prowl her domain.
Hawthorn was born under extraordinary circumstances. The blood moon hung perilously low in the sky throughout the labor which brought her into the world. Born into The Wildlands' version of royalty, the carnivorous doe grew up under numerous watchful gazes. Her mother, Cerise, looked on in near-horror, her father, Roncier, proudly taking her under his gentle tutelage, and her people watching cautiously with both fear and reverence - her role was to protect them, but who would protect them from her? As a fawn, Hawthorn was raised with the typical cervine diet of berries and underbrush, but she always hungered for more. She wanted to feel the rush of blood between her fangs as they sunk into the flesh of her prey. This was the final straw for her mother, and she was banished from the clan for her carnivorous desires; no true daughter of the Chieftain's line would put them in such danger. So, the young doe left in exile, learning and growing in the wilds of her home, with nothing but the warm remembrance of her father's voice guiding her.
The Sauvage Clan once existed as a powerful alliance of all cervine clans strewn throughout the Wildlands, unified under the chieftain Roncier and his noblewoman wife Cerise. Together, they stood as a last bastion against the eternal nemeses named The Revenants. Beings of hatred and shadow, they stood as a formidable foe against the primitive defenses of the isolated clans. Under one banner, however, they became manageable. However, a large rift was driven between predator and prey working together, as Revenants largely appeared to be lupine in nature, naturally feeding the distrust from within.
Desperate, harsh wheezes ripped through her throat, and the blood moon reflected mournfully in the wavering pools of her cerise eyes. Grief and misery wracked the doe's lithe form for a moment as she observed her people's destruction. A twig snapped, and her expression did, too. Instantly, Hawthorn was crouched low, her haunches tensed and ready to spring towards the threat as soon as it revealed itself. A shadow moved, the doe pounced, and the shadow moved no more. Metallic-tasting fluid flooded her jaws, her sharp claws bared chunks of fur and flesh, and her eyes burned with a fiery heat reserved only for those breathing their last. Never again.
At the tender age of fifteen, tragedy struck the forsaken fawn and the clan she had been cruelly expelled from. Exiled from her kind and left in near solitude - save for the wildlife she befriended - Hawthorn took up residence in an abandoned Moon Temple once belonging to the very priestess who ensured her conception. Left the sole guardian one fateful night when her clan was decimated by The Revenants, Hawthorn staunchly defends the Wildlands from within, caging the slimy enemies within a hawthorn cage, barring them access to the world beyond
Remaining in solitude, her only friends are wildlife, nature, and a mysterious wind. Ignorant to the world beyond her wall, she awaits the monthly Blood Moon which calls forth the darkness to do battle. Harassed by bounty hunters, overzealous adventurers and simple fools, the lone doe stands unyielding, each and every night.
Alone.