Post by Wildrun on Dec 5, 2008 16:58:28 GMT -5
Name: Trickio Rampbrush
Gender: Female, although you might not be able to tell, the way she can spit curse words (and songs, strangely enough)
Age: About 23 years, possibly 25 (she keeps changing it)
Species: Shrew, specifically a Guosim shrew (whatever kind of shrew they are)
Occupation: Land scout for Guosim shrews, fiddler and flute player, occasional song-writer and on water a port-side rower..
Physical Appearance: Like many (if not all) shrews, Trickio is a short, spiky-haired creature with plenty of muscle. Her fur is a tawdry brown, fluffed up and ungroomed in certain places because, "It ne'er stays the way I wan' it to, anyway!" A colorful shrew bandanna dons her head, smushing some of her spiky fur and causing it to stick out at the sides. Her eyes are smallish and squinty, and either a very deep brown or amber or a twinkling black. Not incredibly fast on her shortish legs, she makes sure to keep a quick-use weapon close by her paw at all times--her blowgun, always with a dart or two at the ready. On the water, her weapon of preference is an oar, and looks somewhat fearsome when she scowls and has one in her paw at the same time. One land, however, since oars are ungainly to lug about, she keeps a paddle slung across her back, barely half the length of any Guosim oar but not failing to make her look a little bit bigger when she uses it. Her clothes, faded oranges and bright yellows and blaring auburn-reds, are not exactly the most inconspicuous thing to be wearing in Mossflower, but a shrew on land would attract enough attention either way. Her trousers are a patchy calico work of burlap, worn around the edges and fixed up with any kind of cloth. If you saw her dancing a jig or preforming on her fiddle you might be certain she was a traveling roleplayer instead of an oar-wielding Guosim shrew. In fact, when she's in a good mood, smiling widely and showing off her sharp white teeth, it's hard to tell the difference!
Possessions: She doesn't carry much, on water or on land. A variety of shrew bandannas, her fiddle and fiddling-bow, a handful of things to kee the strings waxed and replacement strings, too. Some tinder and flint, a few slices of shrew bread and ale at all times, a much-worn-out/through haversack, and her brightly colored clothes and burlap-patchwork pants. Her shortened oar is her main and perhaps only weapon aside from the small blowdart and ready missiles. Some crumpled paper and a disheveld quill, along with a nearly empty cuop of ink accompany her for when she thinks up a new song. A bedraggled and worn travlers cape the color of swamp weed is about the only thing that might count as concealment in the forests. A small shrew wood-whistle hangs aout her neck on a twine cord, and whatever else she needs she either finds and borrows from goodbeasts or finds in the hands of badbeasts and takes.
A small pot of dye also jumbles against everything else in her pack, but she hardly ever uses it (except to scare badbeasts of the swamp).
Personality: Gruff, coarse, and a braggart--"Oi!"--Trickio can be fun to hang around if you can tolerate her. She has a loose sense of right and wrong and scorns at the term 'debate'. "Well if'n ye can't argue it out or brawl, wot use is anythin' else?" Although slightly questionable, her terms of 'good' and 'bad' are flexible and generally turn out for the best...well, sometimes. If she's been conned, beaten, or insulted, she'll attack with all the ferocity of a hare denied his dinner, and woe betide anyone giving her any excuse to do so!
Strengths: Wiry under first impressions and a brilliant swimmer, she can hold her breath underwater for up to two minutes (and thirty-five seconds), and weilds an oar the way a warrior weilds a sword, with the same fatality rate (the fact that she boasts herself a fighter has no immiediate connection). She's a wonderful fiddler and can cook up ingenious songs, recipes, and occasionally schemes, and is the only shrew (that she herself knows off) to spend over half of her time on land. (not that she knows what she's doing most of the time, mind you.).
Weaknesses: A temper shorter than a burnt-out candle wick gets Trickio into all sorts of trouble, which isn't surprising since she sometimes goes looking for it (seriously). Her bright clothing and utter disregard for the fact that singing at the top of her lungs in the middle of the wood not far from swamplands would attract attention to her also ends her in situations where "I'da been better off wit a gang o' shrews behind me, but if'n you think you 'ear me asking fer help it's on yer life!"
She can be cunning when she wants to be, but generally tunes out anything she doesn't think presents any immediate danger to her and may occasionally miss something of importance. "Whaddya mean, don't row downstream? Ye wanna go up? Why? Vermin? Since when've vermin e'er camped out downstream?" [kinda like that]
History: Born a Guosim, bred a Guosim, always a Guosim, Trickio has had her fair share of trouble. She's been stranded in various swamps exactly five and a half times (the half coutning as she managed to only spend three hours wandering around instead of six or seven or even eight, as would be more 'usual'), she's been kidnapped by vermin tribes such as the Painted Ones, Fletchaye (sp?), cannibal lizards, and different kingdoms of toads (apparently, they have kingdoms). After being mistaken for a small rat by a clan of pygmy shrews, she managed to worm her way out of that situation by scrambling up the cliff, startling a gannet, and hitching a ride on the bird's back (not that the bird knew this, of course).
As the gannet was flying high over an old, burnt-out fortress, she dropped down into that and discovered the remains of a vermin empire, along with the skeleton of two stoats propped agaisnt the far wall near a destroyed compound. Ater ascertaining there was no life to be found in the place ("E'en the insects avoided it!") she left quickly and wandered her way accidentally into Noonvale. Being that her arrival was on the same day as the Autumn Equinox feast, her presence resulted in one of Noonvale's wildest parties.
After being washed out to sea on her 'return trip' to Mossflower, she was washed into the vast West Sea, and ended up in Southswards. Stumbling blindly through the thick forest, she came upon a band of vermin led by a fox who were teasing a young squirrelbabe and threatening him. Intolerant of bullies of anykind, she took her oar in two paws and gave them a thwacking that convinced them quickly that shrews were not only insane, but that Southswards wasn't as easy pickign as they thought. The squirrelbabe turning out to be one of the noble's sons, she earned herself a medal and a feast, and returned to Mossflower in style to brag.
Recently she has been exploring the area around Salamandastron and is looking for some excuse to go inside.
Relationships: A large number of shrews, Guosim and otherwise.
A boisterous holt of otters and a few otter rogues.
Mapel Wildrun, a white-furred mousemaid absorbed in her literature and maps, knows some good songs, and is tracking a stoat.
Oaklea Wildrun, a black-furred mousemaid who's no landlubber, is worth sparring with and tracking a stoat.
Three hares, whom she is proud to say she soundly beat in a bragging contest.
Other: "As o' now I am the holder o' the titles of Chief Bragger o' All Guosim, Biggest Swearer on the River Moss, Best Oar Wielder in Log-a-Log's crew, Fastest Fiddler who e'er played a song, the One and Only Land Scout in Log-a-Log's bunch, and also humbly yours the Supreme Overriding Miz Weasel Thwacker in all o' Mossflower. T'ank you vurry much an' 'at's the truth!"
She is also the best person to go to to make up a ridiculous title.
"Oi!"
Gender: Female, although you might not be able to tell, the way she can spit curse words (and songs, strangely enough)
Age: About 23 years, possibly 25 (she keeps changing it)
Species: Shrew, specifically a Guosim shrew (whatever kind of shrew they are)
Occupation: Land scout for Guosim shrews, fiddler and flute player, occasional song-writer and on water a port-side rower..
Physical Appearance: Like many (if not all) shrews, Trickio is a short, spiky-haired creature with plenty of muscle. Her fur is a tawdry brown, fluffed up and ungroomed in certain places because, "It ne'er stays the way I wan' it to, anyway!" A colorful shrew bandanna dons her head, smushing some of her spiky fur and causing it to stick out at the sides. Her eyes are smallish and squinty, and either a very deep brown or amber or a twinkling black. Not incredibly fast on her shortish legs, she makes sure to keep a quick-use weapon close by her paw at all times--her blowgun, always with a dart or two at the ready. On the water, her weapon of preference is an oar, and looks somewhat fearsome when she scowls and has one in her paw at the same time. One land, however, since oars are ungainly to lug about, she keeps a paddle slung across her back, barely half the length of any Guosim oar but not failing to make her look a little bit bigger when she uses it. Her clothes, faded oranges and bright yellows and blaring auburn-reds, are not exactly the most inconspicuous thing to be wearing in Mossflower, but a shrew on land would attract enough attention either way. Her trousers are a patchy calico work of burlap, worn around the edges and fixed up with any kind of cloth. If you saw her dancing a jig or preforming on her fiddle you might be certain she was a traveling roleplayer instead of an oar-wielding Guosim shrew. In fact, when she's in a good mood, smiling widely and showing off her sharp white teeth, it's hard to tell the difference!
Possessions: She doesn't carry much, on water or on land. A variety of shrew bandannas, her fiddle and fiddling-bow, a handful of things to kee the strings waxed and replacement strings, too. Some tinder and flint, a few slices of shrew bread and ale at all times, a much-worn-out/through haversack, and her brightly colored clothes and burlap-patchwork pants. Her shortened oar is her main and perhaps only weapon aside from the small blowdart and ready missiles. Some crumpled paper and a disheveld quill, along with a nearly empty cuop of ink accompany her for when she thinks up a new song. A bedraggled and worn travlers cape the color of swamp weed is about the only thing that might count as concealment in the forests. A small shrew wood-whistle hangs aout her neck on a twine cord, and whatever else she needs she either finds and borrows from goodbeasts or finds in the hands of badbeasts and takes.
A small pot of dye also jumbles against everything else in her pack, but she hardly ever uses it (except to scare badbeasts of the swamp).
Personality: Gruff, coarse, and a braggart--"Oi!"--Trickio can be fun to hang around if you can tolerate her. She has a loose sense of right and wrong and scorns at the term 'debate'. "Well if'n ye can't argue it out or brawl, wot use is anythin' else?" Although slightly questionable, her terms of 'good' and 'bad' are flexible and generally turn out for the best...well, sometimes. If she's been conned, beaten, or insulted, she'll attack with all the ferocity of a hare denied his dinner, and woe betide anyone giving her any excuse to do so!
Strengths: Wiry under first impressions and a brilliant swimmer, she can hold her breath underwater for up to two minutes (and thirty-five seconds), and weilds an oar the way a warrior weilds a sword, with the same fatality rate (the fact that she boasts herself a fighter has no immiediate connection). She's a wonderful fiddler and can cook up ingenious songs, recipes, and occasionally schemes, and is the only shrew (that she herself knows off) to spend over half of her time on land. (not that she knows what she's doing most of the time, mind you.).
Weaknesses: A temper shorter than a burnt-out candle wick gets Trickio into all sorts of trouble, which isn't surprising since she sometimes goes looking for it (seriously). Her bright clothing and utter disregard for the fact that singing at the top of her lungs in the middle of the wood not far from swamplands would attract attention to her also ends her in situations where "I'da been better off wit a gang o' shrews behind me, but if'n you think you 'ear me asking fer help it's on yer life!"
She can be cunning when she wants to be, but generally tunes out anything she doesn't think presents any immediate danger to her and may occasionally miss something of importance. "Whaddya mean, don't row downstream? Ye wanna go up? Why? Vermin? Since when've vermin e'er camped out downstream?" [kinda like that]
History: Born a Guosim, bred a Guosim, always a Guosim, Trickio has had her fair share of trouble. She's been stranded in various swamps exactly five and a half times (the half coutning as she managed to only spend three hours wandering around instead of six or seven or even eight, as would be more 'usual'), she's been kidnapped by vermin tribes such as the Painted Ones, Fletchaye (sp?), cannibal lizards, and different kingdoms of toads (apparently, they have kingdoms). After being mistaken for a small rat by a clan of pygmy shrews, she managed to worm her way out of that situation by scrambling up the cliff, startling a gannet, and hitching a ride on the bird's back (not that the bird knew this, of course).
As the gannet was flying high over an old, burnt-out fortress, she dropped down into that and discovered the remains of a vermin empire, along with the skeleton of two stoats propped agaisnt the far wall near a destroyed compound. Ater ascertaining there was no life to be found in the place ("E'en the insects avoided it!") she left quickly and wandered her way accidentally into Noonvale. Being that her arrival was on the same day as the Autumn Equinox feast, her presence resulted in one of Noonvale's wildest parties.
After being washed out to sea on her 'return trip' to Mossflower, she was washed into the vast West Sea, and ended up in Southswards. Stumbling blindly through the thick forest, she came upon a band of vermin led by a fox who were teasing a young squirrelbabe and threatening him. Intolerant of bullies of anykind, she took her oar in two paws and gave them a thwacking that convinced them quickly that shrews were not only insane, but that Southswards wasn't as easy pickign as they thought. The squirrelbabe turning out to be one of the noble's sons, she earned herself a medal and a feast, and returned to Mossflower in style to brag.
Recently she has been exploring the area around Salamandastron and is looking for some excuse to go inside.
Relationships: A large number of shrews, Guosim and otherwise.
A boisterous holt of otters and a few otter rogues.
Mapel Wildrun, a white-furred mousemaid absorbed in her literature and maps, knows some good songs, and is tracking a stoat.
Oaklea Wildrun, a black-furred mousemaid who's no landlubber, is worth sparring with and tracking a stoat.
Three hares, whom she is proud to say she soundly beat in a bragging contest.
Other: "As o' now I am the holder o' the titles of Chief Bragger o' All Guosim, Biggest Swearer on the River Moss, Best Oar Wielder in Log-a-Log's crew, Fastest Fiddler who e'er played a song, the One and Only Land Scout in Log-a-Log's bunch, and also humbly yours the Supreme Overriding Miz Weasel Thwacker in all o' Mossflower. T'ank you vurry much an' 'at's the truth!"
She is also the best person to go to to make up a ridiculous title.
"Oi!"
