{ oSaC } Snowbelle the Bleeder

{ Name } Snowflare

Prefix || Snow- the first portion of her original and preferred name, requested to be used as the prefix for her warrior name as well.
Suffix || Flare- given to signify her fiery dedication.

{ Nicknames } Snowbelle, Snowy, Bleeder

{ Gender } Female

{ Age } Two years

{ Breed } Snowshoe x American Shorthair

{ Appearance }

Fur Texture || Short, fleecy

Body Structure || Petite

Pelt || Snowbelle has a rather thin white pelt that is only marked with a patch of creamy, dilute tortoiseshell fur almost at her spine.

Eyes || Her eyes are a piercing violet-blue that she can adjust to her will, whether to make her appear stunning or intimidating. They are the most captivating thing about her.

{ Scars & Disabilities }

Shoulder scar || Received in a fight against a Gang member that provoked her. This fight resulted in her inner circle title.
Flank bite || Received in a scuffle with a stranger from the Gang directly after the Calamity on her right flank. Snowbelle, of course, paid him back in kind. Usually well hidden by her pelt.
Facial scars || Dealt to her by the corrupted Nicholas when he was in his godlike state; both were near lethal Wounds that almost ripped her apart, and have healed considerably well.

{ Accessories }

Neck Fur || Quite literally, Snowbelle wears a fur around her neck. It is actually a smoky-gray tail- her father’s, which was her first worn prize from a kill. The other various furs she has are used as her bedding.

{ Trivia }

Favorite Time of Day || Midnight

Favorite Prey || Rabbit

Favorite Smell || Warm fur

Favorite Activity || Flirting

Favorite Color || Gray or red

Fears || Losing Skinner, being replaced

Smells Like || An assortment of dust, lilies, and something else that can’t be distinguished- this is the poor remnant of her Skinner’s Gang scent.

{ Personality Type }

{ Personality }

Detached || Ever since she was young, Snowbelle has been a rather distanced and detached individual- she hasn’t had much of a choice in the matter. It was either break or be broken, kill or be killed; when it came to her feelings over the matter, Snowbelle learned to simply push them aside. She chooses not to feel rather than face her emotions over crimes she knew she had to commit. In her eyes, it is better to get the job done and not worry about it afterwards, for she would’ve had to do it anyway. However, this also means she has a tendency to not become emotionally involved with others beyond surface things, such as amusement or appearance. Snowbelle also isn’t bothered much by violence, which leaves her job easy but her relationships with other cats difficult.

Dedicated || Snowbelle embodies the word “dedication.” Once she’s sworn to do something or put her feeble trust in another, she will kill for them. Though she didn’t feel much for Skinner’s Gang as a whole, her loyalty to Skinner could not be stronger; Skinner served as a mother of sorts to Snowbelle, and therefore she would do anything asked of her for the other she-cat’s sake. Even though she is not very fond of many of the “softhearts” in Safe Haven, she still carries over her sense of pride and standard to protecting fellow residents. She generally follows Skinner’s word first, though she ultimately obeys the Monarchs and occasionally the Chiefs as well. Even if she doesn’t like it, Snowbelle understands it’s for the good of the whole.

Jealous || After being overlooked practically her entire life until she became an inner circle member, Snowbelle can easily become envious of others- and she definitely holds a grudge. Generally, however, Snowbelle disguises her jealousy unless it is something that she can wield to her advantage. Oftentimes she views her own envy as a weakness. This doesn’t mean that Snowbelle does not acknowledge it, but rather that she hides it and tends to not act upon it in an open way. She will more likely use subtle tools and mannerisms to even indicate that she is unhappy; more often than not, though, Snowbelle keeps silent. She tries not to let her own emotions drive her lifestyle and so denies herself many of the things that make someone human.

Calm || Almost nothing can unsettle Snowbelle or make her upset. Even when fighting, she keeps a calm demeanor, which generally makes it even more terrifying to fight her. Because of her ability to detach, Snowbelle rarely takes the choice to feel emotion; it is due to this that she tends to be serene or even “bored” practically all the time. Snowbelle is a level-headed sort of cat and doesn’t like to let others see her sweat, speaking figuratively. She has sworn off letting her emotions get the better of her and has therefore made the promise never to cry or to appear anything but strong and capable. She certainly does not fail in her goal.

Intelligent || Snowbelle is one of the sharpest cats that the Gang had to offer. Even before she had to think about fighting and what move was going to save her life or end the battle the quickest, Snowbelle applied her wits to everything possible. She was clearly the most promising of her littermates, even to her father, though he never dared admit it. As seasons passed, Snowbelle’s wit sharpened to a cunning sort of weapon that she wields with the utmost care. She often is not explicitly open with her intelligence, but rather prefers to let cats make their own assumptions as a tactical advantage. Almost every move she makes has some significance to it; whether she explains it or not, however, is the biggest mystery of them all.

Practical || After living so long with the Gang, Snowbelle grew into a very logical individual. She tends to weigh the outcomes on both paws, balancing the likelier outcome’s pros against its cons and always analyzing what could be done to better her chances. Because she believes emotions are a form of weakness- as they can hinder function- Snowbelle tries to block out how she feels and to judge a situation without attachment. Often she is taken as “coldblooded” due to her actions, but in reality Snowbelle is operating to heighten hers and the Skinner’s chances of survival.

Secretive || Though Snowbelle doesn’t look it, she is actually quite a sensitive cat- or at least, when it comes to the image that she gives others. Her reputation is of high importance to her, and therefore she’ll do almost anything to uphold it. She tends to keep many secrets, especially when they would make her appear weak- no one knows of Kennith, or the fact that she miscarried his litter. She does not tell anyone of her past and is very tight-lipped. Often others will believe they know her well after several weeks or even moons, and then realize they truly know nothing substantial about her. Snowbelle doesn’t work hard to dispel the rumors over her murdering multiple scores of other cats in the Gang- they are partially true, and besides, they make her look strong.

Flirtatious || A trait more recently acquired after her time spent with Kennith, Snowbelle tends to flirt with any male she sees, even if it is discreet. It is not that she is generally looking for a tom- though she does, admittedly, want to see if she could successfully have a litter- but rather that Snowbelle wants to boost her self-esteem and even help boost others’. She liked the way it made her feel when Kennith flirted with her and made her feel wanted, and so she generally does the same to most any tom cat. After rejoining with the Skinner and the inner circle remnants, however, Snowbelle tends to pass off the habit as proving that she is beautiful enough to get any cat she wants.

{ Sexual Orientation } Heterosexual

{ Preferences }

Relationship || Snowbelle doesn’t put much thought into actual relationships with other cats; if she’s going to have a fling, it will most likely stay that- temporary. She struggles to associate attraction with emotion and therefore keeps them strictly separate, for she is afraid of getting hurt again.

Personality || When it comes to characteristics, Snowbelle isn’t very picky. The way a tom’s going to catch her eye is almost always going to be by appearance. The only traits that bother her are whimpering fools or those who don’t place any thoughts into their actions.

Appearance || Snowbelle is quite the beautiful little lady, and therefore her man must be able to match her in looks. She has a thing for gray or red eyes- yes, even darklings included- and prefers toms who are bigger than she is, which is a surprisingly wide array.

{ Religious Beliefs }

None || Snowbelle was never raised to believe in anything but Skinner, and even after hearing about StarClan, she is skeptical. Besides, even if StarClan was real, they aren’t anymore. She is quite certain that there is nothing after life.

{ Rank } Vanguard

{ Apprentice }

None yet || :dev:

{ Mentor }

None || NPC

{ Auma }

+30 || Age

{ Total Auma } 37

{ Power Class } Projection-Class

{ Power Chart } bayflight.deviantart.com/art/S…

{ Self-Class Powers}

Telekinesis || Tier 5

Hydrokinesis || Tier 4

Aerokinesis || Tier 1

{ Special-Class Powers }

Vitakinesis || Tier 5

{ Familiar }

Unknown || Description; last used on ---

{ Favor }

-- || To be updated

{ Total Favor } --

{ Quests }

Name || Description, participants, and if applicable, date finished

{ Previous Lifestyle } Skinner’s Gang, Skinner’s Inner Circle

{ Belief System } Laws of Blood

{ Family }

Molly || Small snowy-white Snowshoe with round blue eyes and a very soft voice, originally a kittypet; biological mother. Deceased.

Brutus || Large soot-gray tabby tom with ripped ears and blaring yellow eyes; biological father. Deceased.

Oliver || Small tan-and-cream tabby tom with blue-green eyes; biological brother. Whereabouts unknown.

Nano || Tiny dark-gray tom with a white face and legs; biological brother. Deceased.

Tuss || Tiny patched tom with mostly soot-gray fur overlapped with cream; biological brother. Whereabouts unknown.

{ History }

Before Birth || Brutus was a tom higher-up in the social stratification of Skinner’s Gang, years before the Calamity struck and even longer before Hopflight and Lynxtail sent out the Call. He was known for his ruthlessness and his seeming lack of emotion; however, for reasons that no other Gang member would ever understand, he chose a she-cat who had originally been a kittypet as his mate. Unbeknownst to everyone else, Brutus truly loved Molly in the beginning. However, as his ranking grew and he fought his way from the bottom, he began to view her with disdain. His mate’s heritage was a potential soil on his reputation.

As was deemed necessary in Brutus’ eyes, Molly soon enough became pregnant with his kits. Yet moons had passed since he had taken her on as his mate, and over the past half-year he had grown to view her carelessly and without emotion. The cruelty of Skinner’s Gang did not allot for much empathy within its most serious members. When the Skinner that Brutus had faithfully served was murdered by his mate, Brutus silently and without grief bowed his head to his new ruler. Molly merely trembled in fear and awaited the coming of her children. She had become nothing more than Brutus’ property, and through her mate, the Skinner’s as well.

Kithood || Molly gave birth just days after the fall of the previous Skinner to four small kits. Brutus was clearly angry at their pathetic state, yet he said nothing. He did not say much anymore.

Because Brutus was silent, Molly named her kits in their father’s stead. There was only one female, whom she named Snowbelle. Molly had always wanted to have two daughters named Bella and Snowy; when she was only given one, she combined the two. The three toms were named Oliver, Nano, and Tuss.

Promptly after they were born, the new Skinner handpicked Snowbelle to become a part of her inner circle when she was older. Snowbelle grew up under this knowledge; she never knew any different than the fact that, once she was ready, her life’s purpose was to serve her Skinner. Perhaps in a healthier litter, she would have been challenged by her brothers, but as it was they were generally weak kits. Snowbelle was only two moons old when her weakest brother, Nano, finally passed away. Nothing Molly did could help her son.

Though Molly was quiet and obedient to Brutus’ every command, she loved her daughter with all of her heart. Snowbelle was her precious Snowy, her pride and joy, and she had been recognized by the Skinner herself; and in turn, Snowbelle adored her mother. Tuss and Oliver rarely did much during the first three months of their lives, and so Molly was Snowbelle’s only friend. She grew up being taught kindness, and due to the fact that Brutus was rarely in her life, kindness was what Snowbelle soaked in.

Yet her simple kithood did not last long. When she, Tuss, and Oliver turned four months old, Brutus suddenly began to take an interest in his children. He started to teach them battle moves and the ways of the Gang, and ultimately, the highest respect for the Skinner. Snowbelle listened with rapture, and though Molly feared her daughter’s corruption, she meekly kept silent.

Snowbelle began to learn the rules of the cruel place she was growing up in. She and her brothers began to play fight, practicing their battle moves on each other and arguing over the designs of their future blood marks. Their father’s was impressive and intricate; he took special care to carve it into every bit he owned and to stain each pelt he won with it. Snowbelle did not love her father, but she did respect his dedication.

The Skinner began to see Snowbelle when she was still a kit, and Snowbelle took to her at once. The she-cat was regal and proud, and yet she also carried a softer side than she had expected from Brutus’ words. Snowbelle respected her leader more than any other cat in the Gang, as was expected; but should Skinner have not even been their leader, Snowbelle would have most likely looked up to her all the same.

Apprenticeship || Snowbelle was beginning to slowly make progress, learning to use her smaller size and agility to her advantage in battles, by the time she reached six to seven moons. She was never going to be big, but she was intelligent and sharp-witted. Yet she lacked a certain cruelty that Brutus seemed to wish to fashion within her, and it was most likely due to Molly that this was the case. Snowbelle never allowed herself to admit that it slowly killed what little was left of her father’s love for her mother. He was simply waiting for a chance to be rid of her.

And the day came sooner than Brutus had expected. Shortly after slaying an opponent and skinning them of their fur, the huge gray tabby traced the blood on his claw over the fresh pelt in the symbol of his blood mark and departed to retrieve his other spoils. When Molly noted the pelt lying outside, she moved to take inside as she was accustomed to doing- and in doing so, she accidentally smudged Brutus’ still-wet blood mark. As soon as the tom returned and saw the kittypet trembling in fear with blood on her dainty white paw, he realized what had happened. His blood mark had been defiled, and as their laws decreed, he had to fight Molly to the death for his honor.

Snowbelle swore that her father would pretend he had not seen it occur; after all, no one had seen it happen. But Brutus drew himself up and, in a low, dark voice, challenged Molly as tradition called for. The kittypet slowly began to shake her head in terror, quivering like a leaf, and Snowbelle felt her body growing numb. Brutus wouldn’t. Brutus couldn’t.

Brutus did.

Molly went down in seconds, her delicate throat torn open by a single blow of Brutus’ mighty paw, and scarcely had she bled out and her paws had ceased to twitch did the tom silently move forward to take her pelt as his own. Snowbelle watched in absolute horror, shutting down even as her mother’s blood soaked into the ground. Molly was dead. The only cat who had loved her was dead.

Snowbelle changed that day. Something inside of her, something precious, died. From the moment her mother stopped breathing, the white she-cat became colder, as ruthless as her father in battle. Though she was not overly cruel as Brutus often was, she dispatched her opponents swiftly and silently. Skinner seemed quite pleased with her progress, and Snowbelle took it in silence. Hardly anything mattered much to her anymore.

Just before she turned a year old, she was bestowed her inner circle name in a vicious fight that ended with her opponent dying from sheer blood loss- she was Snowbelle the Bleeder. Oft, the cats she felled- but did not kill- simply referred to her as the Bleeder, for her uncanny ability to slice a cat open before they even knew what was happening. She served Skinner with her heart and soul, but one thing was strange about Snowbelle- she often left her opponents alive, and the very few she did kill, she did not wear the pelts of. No, there was only one pelt Snowbelle decided that she wanted to wear, and she had not won it yet.

When she was twelve moons old, Snowbelle challenged Brutus to a duel. When her father turned away from her with a soft chuckle, the she-cat stepped forward decisively and ripped one of his pelts- with his blood sign crusted over the pale fur- straight down the middle, marring the sign unmistakably. The tabby tom slowly turned and eyed the destroyed pelt, and as his gaze slowly flicked up to his daughter’s, he seemed to resign himself to something.

It was not much of a fight. Snowbelle wondered at the time if Brutus had even been trying, though of course it wouldn’t have mattered much in the end. She’d always known she would emerge the victor. When Brutus fell dead to the ground, the she-cat silently eyed the body of the cat who had fathered her and then took just one thing from him as her victory prize. She continues to wear his tail as a “scarf” and no other pelt.

Adulthood || About the time that Snowbelle felled her own father, the Calamity struck with a ferocity that she had never seen before. She had been waiting for the Skinner to return from a private task when the ground suddenly began to roll beneath her paws, groaning and creaking as if it were simply floating above something hollow and very, very upset. It was sheer luck that Snowbelle was not crushed. When the earth cracked and sent cats tumbling down into blank space, Snowbelle was somehow spared, protected by the house that collapsed over her head. She lay still for several minutes, waiting for the last few beams to give way and kill her, but when nothing happened the white she-cat dared to crawl free and gaze out at her home.

She recognized nothing. Bodies were strewn about, the sidewalk heaving upwards in broken hills and houses slanted completely sideways. Snowbelle nearly tumbled right down a chasm when walking in a daze through the dusty stupor of the Gang’s stomping grounds, only managed to notice it by glancing down at the blood trail that abruptly ended at its jagged edge.

She’d most likely gone twenty minutes before a scrawny tabby leaped from the shadows in a rage, claws outstretched for her throat. Snowbelle easily sidestepped and killed him with a quick slash to the throat, staring down at the unknown cat with a sense of apathy. Upon further inspection, it was one of the cats related to a mottled orange tom who’d been causing Snowbelle and the Skinner trouble. She would later have to engage in swift battles for her life against angry survivors, but in the meantime Snowbelle was focused on finding the Skinner. That was her priority.

A full day passed before she had to admit defeat- the Skinner was not here. She’d had to fight three cats, two of which were dead and the final gone someplace to nurse their wounds, most likely trembling in terror. Snowbelle was lost. She didn’t know which direction to go, or where the Skinner would’ve tried to make a camp of sorts. Did she have anyone with her? Was she safe?

Eventually Snowbelle silently admitted defeat and abandoned the town that she had grown up in, but had never seen as home. The entire world had been ravaged by this unknown catastrophe. The number of bodies she saw continued to rise; after a few days, though, they began to dwindle off. She highly suspected it was due to the shadowy creatures she saw flitting past, never taking notice of her. Snowbelle quickly discovered that even the larger ones were perfectly edible; they were harder to bring down, but she needed the meat. She lived in this haggard way for weeks, wandering the earth by herself. Twice she ran into would-be bandits that planned to mob her. Twice, she killed them without consideration.

Yet one day, almost an entire month after the accident had come to pass, Snowbelle once again came across a lone cat after a long and tiring hunt. She prepared herself to deal a killing blow, tensing…and the cat rounded the bend at a simple walking pace, completely calm despite the charged hostility in the air. Snowbelle stared at him in shock, and in her moment’s hesitation, the tom blinked at her and smiled. She still fails to understand why she could not strike.

The tom introduced himself as Kennith, and when Snowbelle continued to stare at him warily, hunched into a hunter’s crouch, he smiled yet again and somehow managed to convince her that he was no threat. Even after Snowbelle tried to back away and run, Kennith caught her, asking her to stay. Snowbelle could scarcely believe that anyone would seek out her company, and she told him so. Kennith merely chuckled.

And so began a relationship that would change Snowbelle’s perception of the world forever.

Kennith helped Snowbelle hunt, and for half a moon they simply wandered together before he suggested settling down. Snowbelle still struggled to trust him; the first several nights, she stayed awake, watching him and making sure that he meant her no harm. It still took her weeks before she was able to actually sleep in his presence. She assured herself that this was the logical way to survive- she needed his partnership in order to better her chances of finding the Skinner. Yet even knowing this, Snowbelle finally agreed to stay in one place for a while.

Kennith broke her carefully constructed barriers, slowly, painfully, but surely. Snowbelle did not understand the way she gravitated silently towards this tom, why she felt so strange inside- why she felt good inside- when he simply smiled at her. The way he spoke to her made her feel important. She felt special around him. He offered no judgment, no questions of her past, and she did the same in return.

She lived with Kennith for three more months. Admittedly, Snowbelle began to lose hope of ever finding the Skinner- but Kennith took that disappointment and gave her a new hope at life. She didn’t know what love was, but she loved Kennith. And of course, she told herself later, that was why things had to end. It was better this way.

They had been hunting together, as usual, when Kennith saw the black cat. At first Snowbelle was wary, trying to get him to skirt away from the strange individual, but Kennith argued and suggested that perhaps it was friendly. They made it around the bend where the cat had disappeared and found it nowhere in sight. Snowbelle turned to tell Kennith that this was probably for the best, just in time to see his eyes go wide and a glittering spark stab through his chest. Behind him, the jet-black cat’s bloody gaze glittered coldly, fixated on Snowbelle’s with a detached apathy that was even more terrifying than bloodlust. She gave the dying tom at her paws a final, horrified glance. Then she ran.

Snowbelle never stayed to find out what the creature was, but she knew it wasn’t a simple cat. It had killed Kennith without even raising a claw. It had even summoned something. She was completely horrified, yet she kept silent, unwilling to admit her agony even to herself. She shut it away as best as she could. It was too late, though; Kennith had taught Snowbelle how to care. In her mind, he’d taught her how to be weak. She wouldn’t stand for it. She had to find the Skinner.

Two weeks later, she realized she was pregnant. At first Snowbelle panicked; she wasn’t sure what to do with kits, and she didn’t even know how she could raise them in this kind of world. She reinvigorated her efforts to find someone, even if it wasn’t the Skinner, but it was all to no avail. It may have been a blessing in disguise when Snowbelle lost Kennith’s kits after just a moon. She blamed it on herself, of course; it was a sign of the utmost weakness, a failure as a she-cat, and so Snowbelle silently buried her children and set out once more. She met with luck, this time: after six moons of separation, she finally found the Skinner and two others- one, an inner circle member, and the other a young she-cat that the Skinner had picked up moons prior.

Snowbelle was welcomed back into their midst, but she was never the same again. She no longer took delight in killing or bloodshed; she did what was necessary without complaint, but she always carried a dead look in her eye when she did it. When the Skinner decided to answer the Call, Snowbelle mutely went along with her. It took moons more before Snowbelle began to smile again. When she did, she started to flirt, as Kennith once had. Though she never admitted this to anyone, she had liked how she’d felt whenever he had flirted with her. She had done enough evil in this world and wanted to give someone else that feeling, too.

Roleplaying Information

{ Character Status } Active

{ Methods }

Notes || Preferred

Skype || Preferred

Comments || Closed

Google Docs. || Limited

Forums || Closed

Chats || Limited

{ Lengths }

Script || Open

100-200 words || Closed

200-400 words || Open

400-600 words || Open

600-800 words || Limited

800+ words || Preferably Closed

{ Time Zone } Eastern Time

{ Roleplay Sample }

Taken from The-Golden-Butterfly with Ktori || The Blue-Light relaxed ever so slightly when the clear surprise in her eyes softened to something much more warm. At the same time, he was admittedly self-conscious- no one had ever looked at him like that except perhaps Primus- and tried his best to disguise this fact. He was quite adept at the practice, anyhow. One of the many perks of having been raised by his parents was having the option of showing only what you wanted others to see. Yet even so, Ktori had a bit of difficulty concealing himself when Tia was staring at him with eyes rounder than the moon itself. It appeared as if she couldn’t widen them any more if she tried. Yet he still felt a strange sense of relief when Tia accepted, his eyes glowing. ”Alright then,” he said simply, before adding at the sight of her clear tension, ”but don’t worry. I won’t spend the whole night boring you half to death. We can still go hunt foxes or whatever it is you like to do.”

Was he joking? How…how strange. Even though the twins had always joked together, and even Tertius had been subject to sarcasm now and then, Ktori had always been the flat kit. He had never once laughed before, and he had forgotten how to smile. Once, he thought, he’d smiled at D’ialia- but she had been so taken aback by it that he had immediately sworn off the idea. Of course Ktori was capable of sarcasm- that was dry enough for his tastes- but even then…. It was rather nice, he supposed. Nice to lighten up just a bit now and then. It was still strange and raw and uncomfortable to an extent, but if it meant getting better with social situations and dealing with others, then so be it. He could stand a bit of discomfort.

He suddenly became aware that Tia was staring at him. Ktori blinked quickly and looked at her in slight confusion, wondering if perhaps she really wasn’t feeling well after all- when then she huffed out loudly and bent over to sever a budding marigold from its leaves. For a moment the Blue-Light stared at the half-ruined bud with wide eyes, before immediately his whiskers started to quiver and his eyes gleamed. It was the closest to laughter he ever came. ”Yes, you did,” he admitted, very gently collecting the torn petals from Tia’s paws and examining it. ”…However, this one’s still quite young. Or, at least, it was- it won’t do much good for anything now.” Ktori took the small bloom and silently tucked it away under the bush, where it might help return its nutrients to the parent shrub that had made it. ”You see, you can’t pick herbs until they’re ready. See how some of these are still closed, and others are starting to open up? If the flowers aren’t fully open, it means they’re immature. The more immature a flower is, the less powerful its effects will be. So if you can, you want to let the flowers grow as long as possible before you pick them.” He decided to comment on her picking of the blossom on another occasion. He was already growing uncomfortable with talking so much, though it was not so bad, talking to Tia. In just the course of an hour or two, he felt almost…glad for her company. Or at least he did not feel the usual want to get away. Perhaps Light Tribe really is softening me.