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Post by Terragon Scrufftail on Mar 26, 2007 8:38:28 GMT
NO ONE is to edit their posts. Just post a second time. NO editing.
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Post by Robin Redflash on Mar 26, 2007 14:53:48 GMT
Name: Robin Redflash Gender: Female Species: Red Squirrel Appearance: Robin wears a short darkish green tunic with lighter green trousers underneath. Around her waist is buckled an old faded brown belt with a sheath for her rapiers, one on each side. One is old and used but still obviously a warriors weapon, one is new and shiny with an inscription down one side. Around her head is tied a green headband with a slight fringe of of fur just covering her Sgin Dhu hiding behind it.
Personality:
Robin is a jumpy, almost bouncy personality. Some say that she gives up too quickly but she says that she just changes he mid. She is stubborn when she really wants to be however, she is much more of a fighter than a scholar lthough she loves to solve riddes even if she doesn't always get then right. Robin is normally very friendly and open, but when she is among strangers she goes very shy and becomes incredibly quiet. She is quick to temper but also to forgive, maybe too quick.
Faults:
Frustrated Keeps things in too much Gets confused easily Gets embarrassed easily Shy among strangers Annoying
Skills:
Robin is very acrobatic and more of a fighter than anything else. She can use either her left paw or her right paw as her main weapon paw as she used to use only one rapier but now she uses two. She can use a bow and arrows very well but Robin is also quite skilled with a sling and stones which she learnt how to use from the Gousim. She is quite a quick thinker and is a fletcher and bow maker by trade and hobby. She also insists only playing her reed flute that she carved herself.
History:
Robin used to live in a village in the Western Plains, before it got burnt down by mistake. Robin was only 9 years old then and was accidentally grabbed by a fox named Selunis who was visiting in the confusion. Selunis was then convinced that Robin was a member of her pack, in fact her long lost daughter. So Robin, absolutely terrifed of the fox, played along for a few years, moving around with the nomadic tribe being taken furthur and furthur away from her family. Unfortuneately she decided to climb a tree one morning as exercise and she was seen. Once the tribe found out that she was a squirrel they turned on her. Selunis wanted her dead and they planned to throw her into the sea tied to a rock. However the Skipper of Redwall was returning late from the Hullabaloo and passed by the gang of foxes. He brought Robin off them as a slave and gave her back her freedom instantly. Then she travelled to Redwall with him and his son Seastar Quickrudder where she was reunited with Terragon and then followed her on to Terralux.
RP example:
*Robin is walking through forest just outside Terralux. She remembers that when she was younger all the elders would say never stray from the path you'll get lost and there are monsters just off the path where you can't see them but they can see you. She giggles quietly at the thought of that. The young squirrelmaid has been lost so many times, but it always ends up the same. An adventure and a new story to tell and if she was lucky she might come away with only a few new scars to prove it. Robin's been feeling restless and for some reason today she is feeling even more so than usual. Quickly she looks around and walks off the path, just to prove she can. Then she realises that she looked around first like a little dibbun. Oh....bother! She yells inside her head. Robin moves on quickly but just as the red squirrel is about to turn back towards Terralux, she hears an unearthly cry coming from above her. Drawing her rapiers he leaps backwards about five paces and stands ready. Her eyes scan the sky to see what it could be. Then it hits her from behind sending her sprawling and knocking her rapiers out of her paws. It is a crow. A huge, black, angry crow. She struggles up spittting out clods of earth. That's what happens when you fall with your mouth wide open due to screaming. The squirrelmaid casts around for her weapons and spots them. They are a little more than a metre away amazingly still together. However Robin hears the crow coming back. She grits her teeth in frustration that she can't do anything and readies herself. When it next swoops down at her she is bending down. The bird hits her again, this time it knocks her head over paws yelling at the top of her voice about a metre. Robin's plan had worked, shes landed right next to her swords. She snatches them up and jams them into their sheaths. Then the squirrel is off, she jumps up the nearest tree and hops from tree to tree all the way back to the path. She runs back down it at full pelt all the way to Terralux. Wishing all the way that she meets that crown again on even terms.*
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Post by Stoakly Centurio on Mar 26, 2007 18:00:58 GMT
Robin - Grade 1! Good job. The RPing was fantastic and the appearance was not sueish at all. But a few typos/typoes were made in the Personality to the point where I had to think before I knew what you were saying. The history is a bit odd, how a fox thought she was his daughter and she was caught while climbing a tree. Also, saved by the Skipper of Otters right before death? Thats a bit sueish, too. Not too bad, but there were somethings that need fixing. Oh, and its GUOsim. Not GOUsim. Its : Guerilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower. Good job, and feel free to join any guild you like.
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Silas
Villager
A Wandering Warrior
Posts: 138
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Post by Silas on Mar 26, 2007 22:46:00 GMT
((I'm sorry! I didn't see that I had to re-post, not edit! Here's the thing... unless yer gonna yell at me again for not doing something right...Oh well.))
Name: Silas R. Hawkeye Gender/Species: Male squirrel
Basic appearance: Standing taller than most, Silas is a well-muscled athletic creature, not exactly a fitness nut though (No pun intended). The only unique mark on him is a scar on his chest, a mere blotch covered over by fur. Otherwise, he appears to be an average squirrel, of normal red coloration, with contrasting blue eyes, and clothes with subdued woodland colors. Wears a basic tunic, never one for formal attire. That is the basic appearance, as best I can describe in the time allotted to me.
Weapon(s): Silas has numerous weapons for differing occasions. Oftentimes, he uses his sword or bow, but will quickly change to his twin daggers if necessary. An additional weapon is a carving spoon, which can take somebeasts by surprise. Why he has these various tools of death is because he has to, essentially, being brought up in the Northlands. (Explain more if need be.)
Age: Just becoming a fully-fledged Adult, around 25 years.
Personality: Quiet, often musing about unknown subjects to the casual observer. But in battle, these traits give way to pure hatred, and sometimes irrational thinking as well. However, when questioned about certain subjects, he blatantly refuses to converse upon it. These are just the main personality traits I've managed to develop so far.
History: Silas has a lengthy history, tracing his roots back to an Island in the western sea. In his life, though, he was born in the community of Noonvale, taught the ways of the warrior by his father, being a descendant of a western clan from the Isle of his ancestors. They did their training in secret, for the other clan members have mysteriously vanished under unknown circumstances. Until then, he's lived near there, being separated from everyone else for ten years, living out a meager existence among the Eastern cliffs. He did not know where to go, or where to search for his parents. After a series of events, he was led to Redwall, and stayed there briefly, only to be led further south, to a developing conflict between Danarth Tolrak and the Northern Peacekeeping Army. Into one of the many battles, he found out what had happened to his mother by seeing his father, Marcus, upon the field of battle. After learning his true past from that encounter, he took up a leadership position in the Reguban council, a combination of the four clans, as their cardinal directions (North, South, East, and West clan) dictated. However, their constant gibbering and mistrust drove him to near madness. He sought out a place where he could actually rest, where he could think on his own time. Silas traversed the path that "Would end in the Earth's light" As Deimar said. That path led to Terralux.
Short RP Example: *The storm raged outside the half-wrecked castle, rain drumming upon the roof of the Tower. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the scene, followed by the boom of thunder. A fox advanced upon a squirrel, who was bruised, cut, and clawed in many different places. One wound in particular bled the most, and that was the re-opened arrow wound in his chest. He panted from exhaustion, nearly a dozen vermin lie dead in a circle around him as he lay against the circular wall.*
You die today, bushtail! *The fox shouted triumphantly over the howling winds. * You lose! *The squirrel looked up into the fox's face, a hardened edge of determination in his deep blue eyes. He got up without saying a word, lifting his sword, limping over to the fox who stood across the room. He tripped over a body, but kept going.* You care... to finish me, coward? See if you can...* He replied weakly. The fox retreated, since he was expecting the squirrel to be upon death's door from fighting his way up to the Tower.
Yeh, I'll do it, just like yer worthless friend. *The fox said, drawing his cutlass. At that remark, the squirrel leaped at him, swinging his double-edged sword with newfound strength.* YaaAAH! * Their blades clashed countless times, the weather outside as well as a battle below the castle raged on, indifferent to their struggle. The fox disarmed the squirrel with a flourish of his cutlass, sending the sword flying from his grasp. The fox then swung in a horizontal strike, which the squirrel managed to avoid by mere centimeters. As he dropped down, he picked up a wooden stake. As the fox completed his swing from left to right, the warrior squirrel leapt up, thrusting the jagged point deep into the vermin's' chest.
The dying fox fell backward, smashing through the remains of a window. As he fell he screamed his final scream. * AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaah! * So horrible, so loud was the scream that the battle lulled, beasts stopped fighting and looked upon the Tower. The squirrel also yelled, but it was one of triumph, of rage, of sorrow and loss in the silence. Even the weather seemed to stop and hear his voice.* RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! *He then collapsed upon the wooden floor, darkness creeping in on his vision. The last thing he heard before he was consumed by the black void was;* Silas! Silas! *The rest of the call was lost to hearing, as he was unconscious.*
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Post by Terragon Scrufftail on Mar 27, 2007 7:01:23 GMT
Silas - Grade Two
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Post by Engel on Apr 2, 2007 21:25:35 GMT
Name: Anna Engeltrud, though she goes by Engel
Gender: Female
Species: Stoat
Appearance: Engel is of average height, with greenish-brown eyes and fur that shifts between white in the winter and russet-brown with a white underbelly in the summer. When indoors (and thus assured of their safety) she wears a pair of spectacles, and more often than not her paws are a little inkstained. She's moderately well-muscled, just enough to lift a throwing axe and chuck it decently, but not enough to last in a drawn-out fight.
For traveling, she dresses in a steel-blue tunic and an old brown leather belt. Over this she wears a dark gray cloak, clasped front and center with a wrought-iron cloakpin in the shape of a clawed paw. Otherwise, she wears her one set of ‘nice clothes,’ consisting of a full green skirt, close-fitted dark brown bodice, and off-white blouse (the outfit is a traditional dirndl minus the apron, for those familiar).
Weapon: Engel wields a falchion with moderate skill, and is in the process of teaching herself to use throwing-axes (franciscas) properly. Her falchion is reminiscent of a cleaver or machete more than a sword, with a black-bound hilt and pommel in the same clawed paw shape, this time clutched in a fist. Her franciscas are unremarkable, worn steel fixed upon wooden handles.
Age: She is an adult, around 27 years old, and very conscious of the fact that she should be settled down by now
Personality: Engel, at her heart, is quiet and bookish. She has a deeply ingrained sense of propriety and manners, and a discreetness about her that disadvantages her (by causing her to be overlooked or forgotten) as much as it helps her by impressing those in better standing than her. The only exception to this was when she was acting -- hidden behind the name and guise of another beast, she found herself able to be as booming and flamboyant as anybeast could wish (though her legs always shook for a good hour after a performance, something her friends always teased her about).
There’s a paradox to how she acts – growing up a palace servant, she acquired at once a sense of gentility and more than a few airs, while at the same time quickly learning when to be servile and silent. As a result she sometimes comes off as two-faced and condescending, when she herself only thinks that she’s watching her own back and acting as she’s supposed to given the situation.
In addition to having some skill at acting, she is a skilled scribe and a moderately good illustrator, and as a result of her trade possesses a deep knowledge and keen sense of concentration as well as a clever and agile mind. She is not accustomed to fighting, and fights more with her brain than her weapons -- she is at her best from a distance, choosing her battles, and at her worse pressed into close quarters, where she is easily flustered.
History: Engel was born to the servants of a warlord-chief to the southeast -- her mother was a cook, and her father a scribe and bookmaker. She was raised by her mother, but as soon as she was old enough was transferred to her father's care to learn his trade. Her father was a good beast, affectionate in a distant, distracted sort of way, and taught his young daughter to read and write as well as how to tend a library. She grew up this way in the study and library of the castle of Lord Gerolf. The warlord, a long-ruffed old fox, upon taking hold of a large territory, had begun to develop aspirations of royalty far above his origins. Accordingly, he had built a castle and was in the process of amassing books he could barely read, having been assured that this was what royalty did. After her father died on an infection when she was 17, Engel held the position of palace scribe and secretary to the warlord herself.
However, the warlord's reign did not last long. The army, angered and impoverished by his indulgences and an absence of plunder from new conquests, staged a coup led by the warlord's general. Lord Gerolf was killed, as was much of the palace staff. Engel was one of the few that survived, and it was only the friendship of the Lord’s son, Balder, that saved her and a handful of others. He snuck them out the back before diving back into the fray, intent on avenging his father.
Engel was 19 years old at that time, with nothing but the clothes on her back and the few random weapons Balder had flung at her on her way out. The refugees scattered, terrified, and soon Engel found herself alone. It was in the spring of the year, and she had never had to fend for herself -- it was not long until she was near starving, chilled by the intermittent rains. Fortunately, she stumbled upon a group of traveling players and, pride long since gone, begged their hospitality.
The players (a group that called themselves The Red Plum Actors and Gymnasts' Guild) took her in, fed her, and upon finding her literate offered her a job among them. She promised to be at least a passable actor with a little training, and it had been some seasons since they'd had anyone who could play the ferrets, weasels, and stoats in their plays very well. Engel found herself doing just that after a few months of tutoring to act and downplay her accent – she played not only female mustelids (for which there were perilously few parts), but also young males and even the occasional vixen. She earned some brief acclaim in her younger years as a very compelling Veil in a particularly well-attended production of The Tragedie of the Outcast (of Red-Wall), though she swears to this day that she doesn’t think she ever made a convincing boy. In time, she learned to love acting as something more than a means of earning her livelihood, and in time even wrote a few plays of her own for the guild to perform. But several months ago, the troupe finally disbanded, and Engel found herself once again adrift, searching once more for a place to call her own.
RP example:
Tiberia. Please, *The stoatmaid pleads, flinching away.* Can’t you stick those whiskers on without gluing them?
Fraid not, ol’ gel. *The older hare chuckles, dabbing a liberal amount of thick, pasty glue on the end of the cluster of wiry false whiskers. She puts the glue pot back on the makeup table, brush askew, before turning back to the young stoat.* Besides, ye wouldn’t make a very good Mad-Eyes lookin’ like a lady, wot? ‘Ow’s ‘at s’posed t’scare th’ kiddies in th’ audience?
Maybe a lady speaking in the deep, commanding tones of an Emperor? *She tries hopefully, letting her voice drop into a chesty rumble halfway through*
*The matron hare only laughs, sticking the whiskers onto the young stoat’s snout and holding them there a second to fix.* Tsk. Not quite, m’afraid. *She lets go experimentally, then grins as they stay, reaching for the other clump of whiskers to fix glue to them.* Now what else . . . remind me t’pillow up your shoulders before ye put th’ robes, right? You’re still a tad slim, even for Ublaz.
*Engel sighs, but nods dutifully, looking up with her eyes as the older hare puts the other cluster of false whiskers in place* Tiberia?
Yes, m’dear? *The hare asks calmly, holding the whiskers to let the glue set*
When am I going to get to play a girl?
*Tiberia laughs heartily at that, ruffling the fur between Engel’s ears fondly.* When they start makin’ parts for lady-type weasely things, I s’pose. Now ‘and me th’ brown on th’ table there – your throat needs a bit’o darkenin’ yet.
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Post by Engel on Apr 3, 2007 2:54:11 GMT
Addendum because, well, I can't edit my post. Sorry about that.
Looking back, I realize that I may have needed to explicitly state personality faults and skills, rather than leaving them implicit in-text. I'm sorry for that -- I missed that reading through the first time, as that bit wasn't in the instruction post.
Vices: often shy or meek, prone to putting on airs, impatient with herself and others when they don't grasp things as quick as she'd like, self-critical, easily-flustered, prone to being judgmental and without compassion when upset with others
Virtues: discrete, considerate, diplomatic, adaptable, clever, dedicated, slow to anger, braver than she gives herself credit for
Skills: Acting, reading, writing, simple illustration
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Post by Stoakly Centurio on Apr 4, 2007 19:48:12 GMT
:(Engel - Grade 1 I loved the character and the history, for it was 0-3 on sue points. Good job with the RPing, and I like your writing flow.
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Post by Willow unlogged on Apr 9, 2007 20:27:08 GMT
Name: Silent Willow Gender: Male Species: Squirrel
Appearance: Willow almost looks like a chipmunk. He has brownish reddish fur, blue sparkling eyes, and wears a diaper under his very long habit that goes to his footpaws
Weapon: A stick
Age: Dibbun Personality (quirks, faults, skills): Willow is the most cutest thing alive. He can do everything except clean, bathe, cook, fly, read, write, and sing. He can draw perfectly, he can run fast, and he can swim like an otterbabe
History:
Silent Willow was born in an island of Dura when he was a tiny squirrelbabe. He had the greatest friends there. He was living the life of a prince. No one in that island had ever killed a living soul. They eat salads and fruits that grow in trees throughout the island. That is.. not yet. On the second month, someone was plotting against the Durans. They were called the White Vipers. They lurked in the shadows, killing whoever passes by with golden shards. Since Willow's parents were the richest squirrels in the island. They were bound to die first. But they had some loyal friends who hid them. Alas, they too died. Almost every squirrel in the island died because they protected the rich family. Finally, they had nowhere else to go. On the third month, the King and the Queen had no choice but to leave their beloved island forever. The leader of the Vipers, Cobra, their trusted goldkeeper, murdered Willow's father with his own sword. They had seen the Queen trying to sneak Willow in a boat and prepared their arrows for combat. The Queen looked back, and turned to Willow. She gave him a kiss for the last time. She took off her medallion and brought it upon Willow's neck. This was the symbol of the Dura Clan. Pushing the logboat, she waved goodbye to her beloved son and died on that spot. Of course, Willow was already in the Horizon Line before any of the Vipers could kill him. For three days, the squirrel had nothing to eat but some candied chestnuts he had saved to give to his grandmother. On the fourth day, the logboat hit land. Willow walked the shores and entered the forest. His nose went up. He could smell food. Urging to move on, Willow finally came across Terralux and lived as a Cadet.
Short (3 - 15 paragraphs) RP Example
The Night when the Vipers Attacked. Scene 1.
**Willow was being carried in a little basket made out of oak. He could see his beautiful mother, smiling at him. The scent of rosemary was in her cloak. She took hold of his tiny paw, it was gentle but firm.** Hello, my prince of Dura. You look hungry. Would you like some Candied Chestnuts? **The dibbun nodded slowly and took the bad of chestnuts his mother offered him. Willow set the small bag inside his diaper.** Mumma. I'm gonna give this to Gwan later. I'm not dat hungwy at all. **The Queen laughed and petted Willow.** I'm glad I have a son like you. One who is very thoughtful and kind. Willow, one day you would rule this land with a fair maiden who is the Queen. I would be an old bag sitting on my chair, being a burden. **Willow touched the Queen's paw and hugged it** I love you mama. We would ruwe this wand togeda. You will wive foreva and eva. Daddy would take us shelling in his boat. And wen I find a big shell, I'll turn it into a cwown and give it to you. **A tear streamed down the Queen's cheek. It landed on the squirrelbabe's nose. Willow touched his mother's cheek.** Why are you cwying, mama? Don't be sad. You making Wiwwow sad too. I don't want mama to be sad. **The Queen hugged her little one tenderly and tickled his chin.** Willow. I love you too. You will make a fine King. Everyone will be glad you're their king. **Willow giggled.** I'm lucky to have a mama like you! You are vewwy pwetty when you're not cwying. **The Queen wiped her eyes and took Willow out of his cradle** Let's go see what the others are pl-
**There was a scream from nowhere.** It's the Vipers! They have come and killed half of the Durans. Lady Peridot. You must leave the island immediately!
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Post by Stoakly Centurio on Apr 16, 2007 21:32:20 GMT
Willow - Grade 3. Your character is rather sueish, because he can draw perfectly, a SQUIRREL DIBBUN who can swim like an otter, ect. You kept switching tenses left and right, and also, the history is sueish. 1. He's a prince. 2. He's an orphan.
Your RPing was grade 2 quality, but sometimes you did not remember punctuation.
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Fireclaw
Canopy Cadet
Dark Times Lie Ahead.... For The Lazy
Posts: 31
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Post by Fireclaw on Apr 17, 2007 0:05:52 GMT
Name fireclaw Gender male , Species squrrile
Appearance fur color red eye color blue green tunic leather belt
Weapon bow and arrow long rang dirk short range Age teen
Personality Loves qeusting and loves dueling with his saber(He like traviling light a saber is sometimes the only wepon he takes when scouting or somtimes just his pouch and sling)
History fireclaw His parents were slaves. Then after 5 years in the slavery the happend to escape into mossflower. The Horde captian at the time Darkclaw was not happy he sent chance and they search and searched but fireclaws parents hid soon Darkclaw gave up . Fireclaw was very young when this happend as they were travling they meet a band of roving see rats(sorry fireclaw had a sister and they had been travling for about a year) well they killed his parents but his sister took little fireclaw and they escape he has vag memers of a redstone building kind animlas but he never for got the look of the leader he was a young weasle named Kilch desdend of fergo.
Short (3 - 15 paragraphs)*a sturdy squrrile walks up to you he is dressed in a green tunick with a bow and quiver over his back and a pouch and dirk and sling in his belt * Hello I am fireclaw*puts out paw*
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Post by Stoakly Centurio on Apr 17, 2007 2:28:07 GMT
Fireclaw, Grade 3. You're staying right where you are for now, but PLEASE work on grammar, spelling, and punctuation! Also, work on your history. *sigh*
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Post by Terragon Scrufftail on Apr 17, 2007 17:02:27 GMT
OOC: And do not edit your post!
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Post by Engel on Apr 17, 2007 20:52:48 GMT
Submitting an alter here, just so people know what he's about if/when I eventually pop in with him. Oh, and so I know if he meets approval.
Name: Balder
Gender: male
Species: red fox, silver phase
Alignment: ambiguous-leaning-good. He would probably at least be semi-good, if he wasn’t so often in a state of having given up hope for himself.
Appearance: Balder is built broadly for a fox, relatively wide-shouldered and well-muscled. His fur is a dark gray (actually black with longer silver guard hairs) that darkens to near-black at his muzzle, eartips, paws, and in a long dorsal stripe culminating in a striking white tailtip. His fur is thick and ruffed around his neck, as well as his cheek fringes, this being more obvious in the cold months. His eyes are gold-green. He has a few scars, one on his head just under his ear and the rest being lash-marks that the fur on his back doesn’t completely hide.
Balder is most comfortable wearing his tattered old brown cloak and a pair of forest-green trousers cross-gartered with strips of leather. His belt is black, with an unpretentious brass buckle. In his raiding days, he wore a high-collared dark red coat trimmed in gold-yellow.
Weapon: Broadsword (main), whip, dagger.
Balder’s sword is red-bound, all in steel with a twisted-branch pommel and crosstree. Though the sword is his primary battle weapon, the bullwhip is his favorite and everyday weapon, and he’s rather skilled with it. The dagger was bought at the same time as the sword, and bears the same design – he uses it more for eating, simple surgery, and knocking beasts unconscious than fighting.
Age: 29, easily an adult
History: Balder was raised the favorite son Lord Gerolf, a military leader in the far southeast. He had a comfortable childhood, if not an entirely pampered one: from a young age he was groomed to be a fighter as well as a leader, as was subject to every tutor his father could get his paws on. His letters teacher was his fathers archivist, a graying old stoat called Benno, and his daughter was one of the few friends of Balder’s childhood.
When Balder was 22, General Reichzahn led a coup in the dead of night, early in the spring. It was well-planned, and he caught lord Gerolf off-guard and killed him moments before the army began to swarm the castle, reclaiming it. Balder was sleeping at the time, but managed to gather as much of the help as he could and rush them out the back before diving into the fray, intent on avenging his father. He cut down a great many beasts, among them the general, as the battle spilled out of the castle into the surrounding courtyard. The battle lasted for four days, Balder rallying the remaining loyalist force and taking up an entrenched position within the castle’s entrance hall. The loyalists were destroyed, but not before reducing the dissenters to a ragged fringe. The mutineers scattered, but even with the apparent victory, Balder knew that his remaining numbers weren’t nearly sufficient to man an empty and ravaged castle. He ordered the remaining men to take what they could, as thanks for their loyalty, and forbid anyone to follow him. He then set off on his own northeast, a self-imposed exile for failing to protect his father’s house and name, taking nothing with him but a change of clothing and some modest funds.
For a few years he fell in with various vermin hordes, whenever money was tight or regional tensions were high, though he tended to keep to himself, and take his leave quietly once the leader made the inevityable decision to bite off more than he could chew. However, in his last raid under “Mad” Stoneyes Forgetail, a great, bristly northern rat, he was cut down by a competing horde and pressed into slavery*. He was marched west for several months, finally escaping when he caught a fever and one of the slavers took him out of his chains so as not to risk the rest of the line getting ill. Ill as he was, he barely managed to stumble into the outskirts of a shrew settlement, where he was discovered by some young ones out to play. The local healer, took him in, and eventually he recovered, though the fever had left him half-deaf. Out of a sense of obligation, he stayed on with the elderly shrewmaid who he considered his savior, acting as her near-servant in a spectacle she and her live-in daughter found alternately amusing and terribly annoying. When she died about three years later, he took off again, rusty at his fighting skills but with enough knowledge to reasonably call himself a healer.
Personality: Balder, at this point in life, has evened out to be an amiable enough beast. He’s a bit detached from the world, which serves him both ill and well, allowing the many and varied judgments passed on him to glide away like water off a duck’s back. He is slow to take offense, and it takes quite a bit more than a misunderstanding or simple insult, but when he does take umbrage he will harbor that grudge as long as he needs to to act on it well and fully. In short, he is a hard enemy to make, but a dangerous enemy to have.
With reasonably polite beasts he is well-spoken and gracious, if occasionally cool, and even on occasion will show evidence of a sense of humor that is highly developed but capable of surprising blackness. He is fiercely loyal to those he feels protective of or indebted to, and has a very refined sense of honor. He carries himself well, and is careful not to give hints to the steady pessimism most of his inner life has fallen into at this point. He is cynical at best regarding the concept of “good,” holding that even if it does exist he probably can’t aspire to it. He seeks only to be magnanimous, and at his best, just.
Virtues: deliberating, protective, worldly, honest, loyal, courageous, stoic, occasionally humorous Vices: vengeful, grudge-holding, brooding, pessimistic, violent, haughty, reckless
RP example:
*The fox is groaning again – terrible, soul-chilling groans, like a beast pleading to die. It’s had a fever for the past two days, and even the other slaves huddle away from it as far as their chains allow, trying not to catch ill as well while they all wait for the inevitable.*
*Crooktail looks over his shoulder at the huddled slaves, then grumbles, kicking as the other guardsman.* Jus’ go put the sorry wretch out of his misery, already.
*The other guardsman snores. Crooktail looks at him a moment, disgusted, before grabbing the keys and standing. He strides over to the line of slaves they've been transporting through the woods, nudging the shivering, huddled fox with a footpaw.* Up an’ attem, Sooty. We’re takin’ a walk.
*The fox struggles to open bleary eyes, then lurches to his feet, manacles clanking. Crooktail unhooks him from the long trail of slaves, then pulls him off into the wood. The fox stumbles, shivering and panting, trying to keep up. After a minute or so Crooktail stops, jerking the unsteady beast to a halt, and goes to work unclipping his manacles.*
Been a good run, Sooty, *He murmurs, unlocking his footpaws, then his forepaws.* Can’t have you gettin’ the whole lot sick, though. *He turns the key in the lock, not seeing as the fox looks up with wild, glinting eyes.*
*He fox snarls audibly, the second his paws are free tackling the slaver. Crooktail tries to shout, but finds a strong paw clamping his muzzle shut, the other scrabbling at his belt and drawing his dagger. Just as quickly the fox throws it aside, pinning the rat under his weight. He’s shivering to the point of shaking with sickness, teeth chattering, but manages to gasp out halting words regardless, voice weak and dry as death.* I’m – a little ash-sh-shamed – to be using such an old trick. *He laughs hoarsely, leaning closer.* Th-though maybe it’s not a t-t-trick --- when you’re a-actually ill.
*Crooktail tries to struggle away, muffled squeaks escaping between his lips, only to go still as the mad-eyed, emaciated fox digs his claws deeper into his muzzle.* N-now . . . you’re going to be very quiet – when I take my p-p-paw back. Do you kno-now why?
*Crooktail looks up with frightened, questioning eyes, going deathly still as a pointed black claw comes into view and hovers a hair’s breadth from his eye. The fox grins, breath trembling out of him in fitful gusts between pointed, deadly teeth.* It’s becaus-se – I am your very. Best. Friend.
*In retrospect, he thought later, he probably should have been a forewarned enough when he signed on under a chief who took the moniker “Mad”
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Post by Cuoha, Matt & Terry on Apr 25, 2007 18:55:23 GMT
Name: Cuoha Cloudfoot
Gender, Species and Appearance (fur colour, etc.): Cuoha is a short but slim squirrelmaid, with reddish-brown fur and diminutive ears. She wears a leaf-green habit with a brown habit girdle and leather sandals. Her tail fur is often tangled as she enjoys swimming in rivers and lakes.
Weapon: Gullwhacker style rope
Age: 60 seasons (15 years)
Personality: Cuoha is very adventurous and outgoing, constantly chatting animatedly to anybeast who will listen. She is never afraid to try new things, but is often a total disaster at them due to her lack of co-ordination, and she often trips over her own feet. Cuoha acts first and thinks later, meaning she often says or does highly stupid things. She is prone to Dibbunish bouts of giggling, even as an adult. (I wasn't really sure how to organise it into skills etc. so I did it like that. Hope it's OK.)
History: Cuoha was born at Redwall Abbey during the Spring of the Swooping Swallows. Her father was Aumuei Cloudfoot and her mother was Aruq Sternpaw. She was a particularly troublesome Dibbun, exasperating Mother Mellus thoroughly with her antics. She was always very adventurous and admired Martin the Warrior, so when she grew out of Dibbunhood she left the Abbey to become a roving warrior. However, she soon discovered that she wasn't able to kill another beast, due to her physical incompetence. She visited Salamandastron and fought a battle with the Long Patrol, but she was almost slain several times and didn't manage to kill anybeast, so she started looking for somewhere to start a new life, eventually stumbling upon Terralux, where she discovered that she enjoyed cooking a lot more than fighting and spent her time cooking interesting dishes for feasts at Terralux.
RP Example (Cuoha's battle with the Long Patrol): Eulalia! *Cuoha shivered with excitement at the prospect of the oncoming battle. She felt safe surrounded by the many ranks of hares. She gazed down at the vermin horde in the valley below her. She smirked. They were a motley collection of searats and weasels, and didn't look as though they had been subjected to any military training, judging by the messy lines they formed. Cuoha curled her Gullwhacker around her paw. This would be simple, she thought.* CHARGE! *The Long Patrol regiment thundered down the hill, with the squirrelmaid running in the front rank. The pounding footpaws and war cries filled her with an adrenalin-pumping sensation. She ran at full speed, whooping with excitement. Suddenly, the regiment met with the vermin horde. Overcome with exhilaration, she had let her guard drop. An enemy spear was thrust towards her, and she tried to duck, but her momentum carried her forwards into the spear head. Luckily, it only nicked her shoulder, but it was still excruciatingly painful. She was angry now. How could she have let something so stupid happen?* I could have been killed! *Cuoha growled fiercely to herself. Recklessly, she swung her Gullwhacker at the nearest rat in fury at her own stupidity. It caught the rat a stinging blow, but then wrapped itself around Cuoha's footpaw. She tumbled to the floor and ended up sprawled ungainly across the grass. Thoroughly embarrassed, Cuoha began to untangle the rope, but this required her to take her concentration off the battle for a moment.* Aargh! *Cuoha felt a weasel's spear haft thump her between the ears. Her senses started to swim, and she passed out, falling into a void of inky blackness.*
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