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MOUNTAIN0US — FtH//Catkin// Nobody of Agartha
#catkin #deer #rp #deerrpg #fortheherd
Published: 2024-03-01 08:53:38 +0000 UTC; Views: 1350; Favourites: 16; Downloads: 0
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Description
CATKIN
Nobody of Agartha
Same info just looks prettier.
Playlist | MoodBoard
-Update Log-
03/01//14:Accepted and uploaded to group
-Basics-
Name: Catkin
Nicknames: Kit
Gender: Doe (AFAB)
Pronouns: She/They
Age: Adult (approx 2 y/o)
Joining Date: 03/01/2024
-Physical-
Species: Common (Mule/Whitetail deer)
Height: Average, 46 in
Weight: Average
Appearance: The young hart has a sandy colored pelt with a thick gray ruff around her neck that extends over her large ears and down her spine. She sports a small set of antlers and pale golden eyes. She is thick-set and scruffy, her pelt and build more suited for the cold north of her home than the forest she's come to roam.
Voice: Quiet and raspy, usually speaks in monotone. X
Scent: Freshly turned soil and fir.
Scars/Disabilities: None
Notable features: Dark freckles, light eyes, big floppy ears.
-Social-
Herd: Agartha
Task: None
Rank: 0-Nobody
Family:
???- Father- Unknown
Aspen- Mother- Deceased
Ninebark- grandmother- Deceased.
Mate: None
Offspring: None
-Personality-
Wc: 399
Confident-Easygoing-Astute
She is a gregarious sort, carrying herself with a pride and ease that few of her kin possess. She is often the first to seek out and introduce herself to others and stick her nose where it doesn't belong. Her calm and friendly demeanor means she rarely gets in trouble for her oversteps, always quick to smooth over ruffled fur with clever words and promises. In the same way she's a very difficult doe to ruffle, even those dedicated to the task are lucky to get so much as a dirty look from her. Despite her airy appearance, Catkin is incredibly sharp-witted. She is quick to pick up on problems and see solutions where others may falter. Having survived off charm and the good grace of others, Catkin is well versed in how to fawn and flatter to get what she needs.
Candid-Teasing-Blithe
Not fond of beating around the bush, Catkin is one to say her thoughts plainly when asked, but one does have to ask. While her curiosity is the thing that gets her in trouble often, her sharp tongue is in a close second. Some may find her honesty refreshing, others best be cautious when speaking to her lest they get what they ask and then some. She rarely means for any of her jabs to hurt, but her mouth is faster than her mind. While Catkin is more than happy to follow tradition and play by the given rules, she rarely sees much point in them and will readily toss them and caution to the wayside when it suits her. Her casual indifference doesn't come from a place of contempt, but more so a fault of youth.
Morbid-Insensitive-Naive
Born and raised surrounded by death, Catkin has an awful sort of curiosity for the subject. Cause of death is more interesting to her than death itself, and dead bodies she finds will get a thorough inspection should she get the chance. She doesn't always realize her interest in such matters may be inappropriate until she's crossed a line. Catkin was raised with few adults who were willing or able to teach her what is and isn't proper for small talk. With her isolated upbringing, this doe had experienced very little of the world and as such is unaware of much of it. She sees the best in everyone because she doesn't know to look for the bad in them. Cruelty, evil, bad intentions, all things she has little knowledge of from her young life.
-History-
Wc :1180 CW: Illness, poisoning.
Far north, along the steep mountain sides a herd once roamed, filling the valleys with raised voices and the clattering of hooves against stone like thunder. For countless cycles they persisted through harsh winters and lean summers, never faltering no matter the odds. The herd had pushed all others from their rocky lands, and grew numerous with few predators daring to pursue them through the treacherous slopes. It was to this grand herd that Catkin was born, But it was not a grand herd that the fawn knew. She was brought into the world just as the first snowflakes fell on a deathly silent scene.
Despite the fortune they had had for generations, the herd's luck ran out the spring prior. They had been struck with plague, and had lost not only half its number but every other fawn born that year. Healers could find no cure and the diviners found no help from the winds despite their desperate prayers. Those that remained were so exhausted by grief they couldn't bring themselves to celebrate a life that would likely end before it truly began. Aspen, the mother, didn't even dare name the little thing until the herd's elder threatened to give the mite to someone more worthy.
The herd's only remaining elder, Ninebark, couldn't bear to watch her herd fade before her eyes, and was desperate to push them through the dismal winter. The herd had stood for generations, they couldn't fall to meer illness. She blamed its current curse on the many that had thrown aside their herd's traditions, but perhaps the old doe could pull them back with a tangible sign. Catkin's birth was the perfect chance. With no other diviners to challenge her it was a simple feat to fake a miracle
The herd believed in a great many things, none more so than harold's: deer whose birth marks a great change for the herd and born with gifts from the cycle itself. Ninebark herself was a harold, and she proclaimed the fawn one as well. The elder called her wolf-marked with her sooty pelt and yellow eyes, claiming it meant her end would be to fangs not to the famine or feebleness they had lost so many to that year. If a winter's fawn would not fall to the illness, then surely the herd would survive it as well.
Some chose to see it as a sign that their trial was over. Wolves could be outrun, unlike the plagues devouring them. Others saw it as a guarantee for more suffering. They were already so weak and so few, how could such a cruel promise bring any hope? Ninebark insisted that the child was a good omen, her assurances bordering on fanatical. When the herd would not hear her the old doe instead filled the young thing's own mind with these promises and certainties.
Little Catkin proved more than eager to defy her grim odds. Her legs were sure, her eyes sharp, and her voice strong. Even as the long winter brought hunger upon the already weak herd the child thrived, Ninebark ensured it. When Aspen's milk dried and forced Catkin to wean early in the season's harshest point, the elder made the herd give up their food for her, when that grew scarce the old doe dug up sleeping mice and caught sheltering birds to feed the fawn. Anything to keep what she saw as the future of the herd alive. It worked, and while the herd grew thin and their numbers dwindled Catkin persisted.
Come spring the herd was only a quarter of what they had been the year prior. With the warm weather came sickness once more, and those who still could fled to the valleys. Aspen insisted they leave as well, but Ninebark would not leave her herd to suffer alone. She also insisted on bringing Catkin along with her to comfort the sick and dying. Aspen refused, unwilling to expose her daughter to the illness. No other fawns had been born that year, and she would not lose her child because of her mother's ravings.
But Catkin believed in her heart her grandmother's teachings and gladly took the burden of caring for the stricken. She would be selfish not to, when she was so certain her death would not come from the illness they suffered. The youngling spent her days collecting grass from the low meadows and ferrying wet moss to those who could not make the trip to drink and eat. She spent her evenings learning her grandmother's soothing songs and verses to ease the dying on their way. By summer she could name every plant on the mountainside and could recite her herd's prayers in her sleep
Despite their efforts the herd grew smaller and smaller as the months passed, and even Aspen fell ill. Catkin sat with her mother, counting her labored breaths as she sang her to a final sleep. The weak doe begged her daughter to leave with her dying breath, to take what few healthy souls were left and abandon the mountainside. Catkin hesitated but finally promised she would, if only to let the doe pass in peace.
In truth there were no healthy deer left but herself. even Ninebark had begun to slow, be it from age or illness she couldn't say. If Catkin were to flee she would do it alone, but hesitated to leave any to suffer a quiet passing. She spent the day foraging and praying as Ninebark had taught her but found no solace in it anymore. The low meadows began to grow sallow, the grass now dry and bitter as autumn approached. Catkin struggled more and more to find enough to feed her ailing family along with herself. It was overwhelming to care for the herd alone while she herself was barely out of her spots. Catkin, however, persisted as she always had.
One cold eve the setting sun revealed a solution to her and her herds problems. The deep orange light illuminated a yew bush, its branches laden with blood-red bounty. A gift from the cycle itself, perhaps an answer to her prayers. As the sun fell, Catkin returned to her herd and began passing around the meager food she gathered, each bushel holding more than just meadow grass this time.
Valerian and chamomile eased the mind and could soothe one to sleep, and a few bright berries carefully picked would entice those who had lost their appetite. Catkin sang her verses louder than she had before as those who remained drifted off to sleep. The only one who fought to stay awake was Ninebark, who sang along despite the plague and herbs sapping her strength. If the old doe had recognised the berries she didn't say, eating them without a fuss. As her last verse faded to echos, Catkin stood watch over her sleeping herd as she had always done.
The mountain side grew deathly silent that night and when the sun rose Catkin descended the mountain for the last time, alone.
She wandered for months, hesitating to approach a new herd until she was certain the plague had not followed her. She fell in with solitary folks and other travelers easily enough, sharing with them stories and songs in return for a bit of company. While She found her time alone agreeable, Catkin was often aching for the constancy of a herd. Something always kept her moving, however, never settling fully anywhere. As she faced the winter once more, Catkin found herself at the edge of a dark wood. The fearful residents were not the sort she was accustomed to, but something about the haunted place called to her.
-Other-
Extras/Trivia:
Despite the herd's rules against unneeded noise, Catkin enjoys humming and singing to herself.
Grows a thick woolly coat in the winter.
Insomniac.
Has a big sweet tooth, favors wild strawberries.
Having lived through famine, Catkin is not picky about what she eats. The odd doe will make a meal of a slow mouse just as readily as she would a patch of clover.
Has a very strange relationship with death.
Smells heavily of earth and is often covered in mud or dirt.
Collects weird things she's found, certainly has more than a few bones stashed away.
Fond of insects
