Irisbell and Rohlwing

[Tempest]

Name: Irisbell
Nicknames/Aliases: "Bells"
Gender: Female
Age: 15
Species: White footed woodland mouse
Occupation: Former oar slave, wandering young one.

Physical Appearance:

General:
Irisbell has a thin look to her from being slightly underfed at the oar, but is strong and wiry. Her fur is a light tan-brown from head to tail tip, glowing golden in the sunlight. Her underbelly is the soft white color of thistledown. Her eyes are a sharp grey-black like a storm on the horizon with a flash in them that sparks dangerously. Her nose is a light tan-pink as are her ears and tail. She's strong from constantly pulling an oar and her paws are tough and don't bleed easily, but her footpaws are tender and get torn up from walking easily. She is fairly tall, something she herself never fails to forget, pulling herself up to her full height if she ever has to stare someone down. She has a nick in her right ear. Appalling scars rend her back, marks she received from the whip of vermin.

Attire:
She wears a light tunic of a red-orange color with heavy leather shoulder pieces attached by straps crossing her chest. She long ago stopped wrapping her paws from blisters and cuts as the hard long work at the oars has turned her paws tough and callused. She might, however, wrap her footpaws with strips of cloth as they are tender from not moving around on them after a long time at sea. She wears a heavy leather pawring with a design burned into it.

Possessions:

Irisbell no longer has anything of her own. She once owned a glaive (a long pole-arm blade staff) named Locust and a small bronze bell she wore in her ear, things she lost to searats and never had a chance to recover.

Personality:

Irisbell has a sharp personality like a two-edged sword. She's wary and doesn't trust other creatures easily. Her tongue can lash out and say things before she has a chance to stop it and an angriness boils just below the surface of her blood, ready to burn things if you say the wrong thing to her. To her, life is honor - if she needs to protect her honor against what other creatures say with tooth and blood, she will. But there's a blunt edge on her two-edged sword. On the other side of her sharp edge is someone quieter, who likes simple things like sunny rain showers and laughing Autumn leaves. It's Rohlwing, her ever-companion, who really brings out that side in her. Her favorite plant is holly, reminding her that life can be beautiful despite struggles, pain, and hardships.

Strengths:
Irisbell does not back down easily. If she is standing for what she thinks is true and honorable, with all the fierceness in her, getting through her won't be easy. She's strong in her body, as well, and physical feats don't often daunt her. She has no fear of things like water and fire to the point of stupidity.

Weaknesses:
Living under a searat's whip and tongue taught her to jump into action rashly against others, whether with word or weapon. When she flares up, it's hard to calm her down again. Watch her eyes carefully for the dangerous flash that tells you her blood is heating up. She's poor at identifying edible woodland goods and her footpaws are vulnerable to being torn from walking.

History/Background:

Irisbell isn't quite sure where she came from. She never looked at a map in her younger days and once was taken to sea, lost all bearings of anything.
She and her family lived in the far Southern lands, though Bells isn't aware of it. She lived in an outcrop of rock slightly inland but near enough to the coast for it to be sandy in areas. A few natural caves had been carved bigger to accommodate larger groups of creatures. Generations of her family had lived here, welcoming others. Blood lines didn't matter - they were all family, whether mouse or hedgehog or mole. Using the protection of the rocks but not being able to sow much in the sand, they had small gardens scattered about the best patches of earth within the forest, more inland from where their caves were. They lived a strange mixture of a peaceful life and a challenged one - they farmed and worked on simple art works, like carving furniture of driftwood and inlaying them with seashells, or having cooking competitions. But they also worked hard to train themselves for defence. They told each other stories of seavermin attacking the coasts and scared each other into working hard to protect their rag-tag family. They practiced with polearms and closer-ranged daggers, having prize-brawls with heavy bark armor to win the best bowl of stew or blackberry mint crumble. But even the oldest ones knew only stories of being attacked - it had been several generations since their rock outcrop had been visited by searaiders. Even though they knew they were an ideal pick, a small colony of creatures of many trades, harboring valuables of family generations, they began to loose their vigor of practice. As the lull of peacefulness came over them, they lost their drive for protection. Though younger creatures like Irisbell still practiced with polearms and daggers with vehemence in hope for an attack, an adventure -  the of-age creatures had less of a fervor to keep up routines of defensive training, and those were who the tribe would really need if a time of trouble came, those with strength and more power than the small ones.
The Raid came when Irisbell was nearing to be twelve. Somewhere behind the fog a sun was shining, Bells had known, but she felt like it had fled with the hope of her people. The shadow of the ship was not seen until it was too late. The vermin announced their presence with fire; flaming stars fell from the murky skies, thudding into the sand and burning there to light the creatures that were helplessly running about, trying to get into formations to protect their land. But they were long out of practice - it was really the young ones who were most proficient. They held their own as the Raid moved in closer. They protected what was sure to be lost while the once stronger and more experienced fell. Irisbell can still remember the throbbing in her ears - anger. Burning urgency. The blood of battle roaring in her head.
But it wasn't to be. Seavermin came from all sides, emerging out of the fog like bringers of death; more fiery stars dropped from the sky, flung from those on the ship behind the heavy clouds of mist. Irisbell flailed in every direction, she and Locust a one creature with a wild need to protect what was theirs. The grey fog and dark vermin and fire blur into a strange memory for her; she doesn't know all who fell, those who were left alive - she only knew it was a slaughter and very few were brought back onto the ship with her. Her weapon was wrenched from her hand; in the battle the dank but sweet ringing of the bell was lost as it was torn from her ear. She was a captive, her family no more.
The ship she was taken onto was called the Riptongue. It was massive and the name fit it - pulled through the water by hundreds of oars, it cleaved a huge tongue of wake into the ocean. Irisbell was thrown bodily down into the bilges and chained to an oar. Over the course of a season of choking back emotions of fear, anguish, anger - Irisbell slowly got a hold of herself. She held short, murmered conversations with her oarmate during the sparse times they weren't rowing. Bells draped herself over the oar in exastion and the hedgehog looked at her blistered paws and said grimly, "You've got a ways to go."
"It's harder than glaive practice," Irisbell muttered with about as much energy as a beetle drowned in honey.
"Is that a weapon?"
"Yes. Long staff with a blade, cuts through vermin like butter. If only..."
"Everyone here has a few 'if only's," He said sadly.
It was inevitable that Rohlwing and Irisbell become the closest of allies. They were chained to the same oar until Irisbell was fifteen - or what she tried her best to guess. Time and location muddled themselves into a grey mass in their heads after seasons of rowing, rowing, rowing. The great time of constant rowing wasn't "living". At the oar, using ever ounce of energy and all the muscle in your body and still being punished by the whip for it was not living. But it strengthened Irisbell to more than she had ever been. Through the pain and muddle of emotions for lost family and burning anger at vermin, Irisbell and Rohlwing developed a plan.
"'Ey yous, git yur lump moving!"
"Stop that!" Irisbell's voice cracked. "He's - he's - " Her eyes were red-rimmed and hollow. Beneath the black despair a fierce fire burned. "Dead." It was a simple enough plan. It wasn't uncommon for creatures to die at the oar.
The rat prodded Rohlwing with the end of his whip. "Oi, Glibgut, this un's dead!"
"Throw 'im overboard. The mousie too - we don't 'ave time fer this, Cap'ns scream'in 'is 'ead off!"
They were dragged to the above deck. Sunlight flooded Irisbell's senses from being in the dank and dark for so long, but not enough to cloud was she was thinking. She threw herself over board before the duo realized that Rohlwing was not, indeed, dead. She scrapped her arm on the way down; Rohlwing's head collided with a piece of driftwood. The hedgehog was a dead weight in the ocean for a moment, then he shook off his acting and starting treading water. Bells scrapped the blood from her arm into the hull of the ship.
“This is my vow! I will come back here again, to slaughter these vermin like they did our families, and give them pain like they gave us, until there is nothing left to give pain to!” Her words rang with harshness and strength. It was no lie that she spoke.
“And I vow also!” Rohlwing said, his words hard. He wiped blood off his forehead with his paw and scrapped it onto the hull of the ship next to Irisbell's mark. “I will return to give back what has been given to us – freedom to these creatures enslaved, and death to the scum aboard this vessel!”

The driftwood that Rohlwing hit his head on was what they clung too; watching the sun and striking east toward what they hoped was land. The waves tossed them about; they struggled to swallow air and not water. If this was a simple sea they battled with, they had nothing against a storm-struck one. Clouds gathered. The waves got harsher. Salt water sloshed into their dry mouths, doing nothing for their thirst or hunger. They were thrown about; the sky was growing darker. Little could be seen. Rain poured down and down. With the power of a badger lord ten fold the sea beat at the friends clinging to each other. When they hit a rock, the chain connecting them broke, but still they clung to each other. It seemed forever – howling winds and rain, an ocean fighting with itself to swallow the young creatures whole.
Land is beautiful, and don't ever let anyone tell you differently. The two were tossed onto soft sands, unaware of their surroundings. The waves pulled them back out to sea, then washed them back onto the beaches. Rolling with the waves, Irisbell collected herself and dragged Rohlwing out of reach of the hungry ocean. This was how they began their wandering, two creatures hardened by the harshness of life, seeking to carry out their vow.

Relationships:

• Rohlwing, constant and inseparable companion.
  
• Verill, her mother. Rung, her “father”. Dandi, her younger sister. Willum, her “brother”. Creatures close to her that were murdered by seavermin. Rung, and otter, and Willum, a young mouse, were members of their colony and like adopted family to Irisbell.
  
• Seavermin/Corsairs, the kind of enemy to Bells that just the thought of them stings and makes her blood boil with ferocity.
  

Name: Rohlwing
Nicknames/Aliases: Always his full name.
Gender: Male
Age: 15
Species: Short-eared hedgehog
Occupation: Former oar slave, wandering young one looking for purpose.

Physical Appearance:

General:
Rohlwing is strong and stocky like most hedgehogs, but more so from constant work at an oar. His spikes are a dark brown with a few grey streaks on them here and there. His underbelly is a dirt color, a mixture of muddled brown and black. His snout is the same color, his eyes an intense green with an earthy brown deepness to them, the kind of eyes that soak in everything he sees and reflects it back in the color. He isn't too tall, but he has a strong presence. His paws are tough from pulling at an oar, and his arm muscles strong. His ears have the same grey streaks that his spikes have. He has fierce scars that tear through his back, something you can faintly see through his spikes.

Attire:
A leather breastplate of sorts with earthy green and tan rubbed into the grooves. A leather battle skirt hangs from the bottom of it, five panels with green and sandy-tan stained metal studs on it, protecting his legs. His back is protected only by his spikes. He wears a small brown cap on his head, created from a ring of dark barkcloth with a drawstring gathering up and closing up the top. Sometimes a dyed feather of a flower might adorn it.

Possessions:

Only a single wooden bead he wears around his neck and three strings from a musical instrument. The bead is carved with thin curling designs, the grooves colored blue and yellow. It was a gift from his little sister. All other things he owned – a spiked battle club, a short stocky bow, a pawring with tiny green river stones pressed into it, a thin-necked musical instrument – were lost when he was taken by seavermin.

Personality:

Rohlwing is the leveler head of the duo. He has a calm attitude of small smiles and soft chuckles that can bring many creatures – especially Irisbell – away from angry thoughts. He has an artistic eye for beauty and has a vocabulary of colorful words. His soft way of speaking – his words rolling off his tongue like a quiet river – gives him the essence of a fantastic poet. He has a knack for complimenting others and making stressed atmospheres cooler. He has a cold hatred for vermin, the kind of hatred only those who have experienced pain and hardship by them can harbor.
Strengths:
His ability to stay calm in tough situations is amazing. He does not have the rashness that Bells does, a trait that he has to hold her back on often. He isn't a bad cook, which makes up for Irisbell's lack of skill, and he has a head for poetry and song.

Weaknesses:
After four years at being at sea, pulling an oar, and then being tossed by the same hungry ocean for days, Rohlwing has a severe dislike of the sea. Any water that moves more than a rippling brook makes him nervous. He can't use a polearm to save his life without tripping over it. He has little ability with sharp objects, preferring blunt, skull-crushing weapons.

History/Background:

Rohlwing was from the high north. His tribe made home in the forest trees banking the beaches. Their small force of able hogs protected their way of living and the wives and younger ones with everything they had. They wore armors that blent with the forest and sand colors, creeping up on anyone who got near to their quiet, tucked away home and attacking before they were attacked. Vermin liked to beach their ships on the shore and look for provisions – and anyone they could plunder. Occasionally their tribe was almost beat down – they would retreat, hide low for a few days, and set their home up somewhere else. Rohlwing became part of the small force that protected the tribe when he was eleven.
It was hardly a year. He wasn't experienced yet. It was a huge ship. Hundreds of oars pulled it closer to shore.
Everyone in their tribe was armed. They would fight and not back down. It was how they were. Tree and sand – trees do not budge in a storm. Sand shifts and adjusts to all around it.
The ship was short on crew. The hog tribe had a chance. A good one. The tribe beat the vermin back – Rohlwing was beginning to fell confident. Then he was hit from behind and lost consciousness. The vermin retreated, taking prisoners to power their ship with them. The tribe had beat them back – but much damage was done. Families lost their sons and daughters. Their home was destroyed – crushed and in flames. They would have to move again. But keep close. Sand does not shift far – only under a strong wind. The tribe refused to let the attack be a strong wind. They would stay close so their offspring that now slaved at the oars would find them again.
Riptongue was an impressive ship. The crew didn't exactly live in grandeur, but the oar slaves were worse off. In the bottom of the ship, two to an oar, their footpaws in bilge-water, they toiled. Bending their backs in rhythm to propel the ship, working constantly – and yet still punished for what “little” they did, in seavermin standards. The whip lashed out and cut their backs mercilessly. The creak of the ship and the crack of the whip and the screaming, painful cry of the victims was enough to make anybeast rather drown. They were hardly given enough to survive on, but survive they did. Or some of them. Rohlwing refused to be one of those thrown over the edge because they had died at the oar – or grown too weak. He lived on that ship through sheer willpower. After a year of hard slavery and little rest, half of which he didn't have an oarmate for because the young fellow had died (“Bless his soul, somebody, please,” Rohlwing had muttered) a young mousemaid was chained next to him. She was in fitful tears. Covered in wounds. Rohlwing could tell she had struggled hard to protect what was dear to her.
“...Your family...”
“All gone.” Her voice was harsh, choked, without hope.
“You fought hard.”
“Sometimes strength isn't good enough.”
“...It'll be worse than fang and fire down here.” He was still pulling the whole weight of the oar. Irisbell's arms were flung over it limply. “But we'll make it out.”
The sureness in his voice has always been a rock to her.
It was inevitable that Rohlwing and Irisbell become the closest of allies. With each other, they became the strength of two creatures, no longer two young ones with souls dying from grief. They slept leaning on each other, feeling strength and protection from the body next to them. They talked quietly and sacrificed their food when the other was wasted. They tended to each other wounds from the whip as well as they could, washing them with healing salt (but dirty) bilge-water. Three years together at an oar is a long time to get to know each other. Rohlwing even adopted Irisbell's old pet name - “Bells”. Through the pain they aided each other, one goal in mind: to rid themselves of the curse of slavery and those around them. Irisbell and Rohlwing developed a plan.
"'Ey yous, git yur lump moving!"
"Stop that!" Irisbell's voice cracked. "He's - he's - " Her eyes were red-rimmed and hollow. Beneath the black despair a feirce fire burned. "Dead." It was a simple enough plan. It wasn't uncommon for creatures to die at the oar. Rohlwing only took the slightest of breaths. It wasn't difficult to act limp over the oar – it was a small relief to let his muscles fall at ease.
The rat prodded Rohlwing with the end of his whip. "Oi, Glibgut, this un's dead!"
"Throw 'im overboard. The mousie too - we don't 'ave time fer this, Cap'ns scream'in 'is 'ead off!"
They were dragged to the above deck. The brightest sunlight filtered orange through Rohlwing's eyelids. He felt a tug at the chains the connected the two companions, and then he was falling. The impact with the water hurt. Irisbell scrapped her arm on the way down; His head collided with a piece of driftwood. They vowed with their blood on the hull of the ship that they would return to pay back what had been done to them.
Somehow the washed up on land. Starving, wasted, and thirsty, but alive. The chains connecting them had been broken by a rock, but they would never leave each other. They were closer than any kin – an unrivaled friendship. This was how they began their journey – this is how their story continues.

Relationships:

• Irisbell, constant and inseparable companion.
  
• Tuls, his father. Myram, his mother. Ree, his young sister. All living.
  

[Tracy]

I'm actually cool with both of these. I was anticipating an issue with their ages, but the personalities, along with strengths/weaknesses are entirely age appropriate. Just make sure you do keep that in mind when actually playing them. =)

Someone else will have to approve them, but I can't see any real issues here.

[Elizabeth]

Approved.