Post by Helix Alexius on Oct 3, 2010 16:57:13 GMT -5
Name: Helix Alexius.
Gender: Male.
Age: 34.
Species: Wildcat.
Personality: On the surface, Helix gives the pretence of being an amiable, chatty, (but not to the point of irritance) and well-spoken feline, typically the type a beast one could quite easily befriend and get along with. He is a fairly bright beast for a vermin, and one who takes a pride in enjoying such fine things as poetry and writing, always eager to discuss literary knowledge over fighting. He doesn't seem to discriminate between species and appears just as happy to befriend a fieldmouse as he would a wolverine.
This said, Helix is not an entirely innocent beast; he can often become aloof and cold when he sees no profit in the conversation, and has a terribly short amount of patience with those of less intelligence than himself under his personal command. He is accident prone, unlucky, and seemingly living on his nerves, always found to be moving to relieve personal stress as much as he can through activities such as chewing a quill, tapping a footpaw or grinding his fangs in a most irritating manner. He is best described as 'highly strung', with a high tendency to faint when startled. His near-constant stream of lies and the improvised tales he spins often lead him into worse trouble than he intends, but for some reason he seems to be unable to offer a direct answer to beasts when pressured. He is solely motivated by personal gain, part coward and, like most vermin, inherently greedy should the opportunity to make money or find shelter arise.
Appearance: Picture a wildcat: Large in stature, with dark fur, sturdy build and steel-sprung muscles. With a quicksilver brain, large fangs and aggressive, powerful, sleek, certain, fluid, motions, an incredibly well balanced and powerful fighting machine.
San many of these ideas when you picture Helix.
First and foremost, the size and build: Helix is diminutive in stature when compared to other felines, averaging just out at a regular height for a smaller creature such as a squirrel. He has no rippling, bulging or even toned muscles-he is slender and slight instead, with a wiry frame that seems hardly able to hold its own weight much less bear the stress of larger muscles than his own. This also contributes, it should be mentioned, to that natural feline grace and poise so many of the cat family posses: he walks with more of a trot associated with canines than the slick padding of a wildcat, and always appears to be ready to bolt, standing on the balls of his paws a majority of the time, making him an unpredictable and fast mover.
His fur is a pale milky white-grey, with no other natural markings whatsoever. The only thing that breaks up the colour is an odd black triangle that extends point-down to the jawbone from under his left eye-a tattoo. This left eye is a cold and calculating emerald green while the right remains a shimmering copper-gold hue above a peachy pale-orange nose.
A near constant expression of dogged exasperation or careful scrutiny, hooded by heavy lids, seems to grace his rounded face, whilst his ears are large and tufted at the tips, nearly always found in one of two positions: folded back in anxiety or erect with surprise. He usually has a quill tucked behind the right ear, the back of which is stained many colors from dripped inks that fade but never disappear from washing.
His garb is simple and built for heavy duty: a patched brown and grey vest over an off-white dress shirt and dark trousers held by a crimson sash. Over this is worn a dark blue coat embroidered with black and gold patterns, giving him the appearance of a seafarer. His right arm is encased to the elbow in a scratched old leather guard that loops over his palm.
Allegiance: None; he'll happily work for his own verminous species or for the Redwallers-pay is pay and clients are clients.
Weapons: The primary weapon of Helix' is a fairly battered and well-worn scimitar (he claims it's all been in self-defence to woodlanders and vicious battles to vermin) strapped at his waist which he stole off of a sea captain when he was much younger. Outside of this, the only other real weapon he carries is a simple long-bladed dagger.
However, Helix takes a pride in being one step ahead of disaster and also in being, in no uncertain terms, a falconer, taking a small kestrel with him wherever he goes, whether perched upon his arm or the shoulder. Acting as another pair of eyes and supplying him with an edge over the competition, he uses his 'friend' to locate danger, find others and spy when needed, though her vicious beak and talons have come into much great use before.
Position: N/A, unless either side employing him would install him in a rank. He plies his trade as a scout-come-mercinary.
History: The vast majority of Helix' past is lost somewhere amongst the different tales he tells to whomever asks, giving so many distorted and self-indulgent tales that even he has begun to forget the actual truth.
A particular favorite he likes to tell is that he was the son of a merchant sailor, born at sea and raised thus for all of his life. When he grew bored of the simple life of a trader, he jumped ship with a group of pirates and spent a long time raiding the coast until they got caught in an impressive typhoon. As the lone survivor of the wreck (through some mastery of sailing only an expert could have done, of course) he washed up on the shores and was taken in by some more traders who set him up with everything he needed, a few lessons in morality, and sent him packing for Mossflower. The little carnivorous bird that perches often on the guard on his right arm, named Raife, was apparently a gift from a wealthy Lord he saved when he had a spell as a privateer.
Of course these lies don't stand up to being breathed on, but if someone spots a hole in these tall tales, he'll just lie again.
The actual truth is far from it. Born in a small coastal village to the North, he grew up as a classic young kitten, with nothing of interest happening in his life until a small pirate sloop appeared and began to try and attack the small sentry the village had. Without waiting for a call to arms, he ran and never looked back, leaving his family and friends to whatever fate there was.
After some time wandering, he picked up the kestrel Raife as a fledgling he found fallen out of its nest that bonded to him and never left. He stumbled upon a larger village complete with a docked merchant vessel and signed aboard without any further thought, spending the rest of the time learning the ways of the sea the hard way, and almost losing his life as often as he found himself gleaning valuable knowledge. Bouncing from one island to another over the seasons and developing his ability to be both a smooth talker and good reader, he was eventually stranded on Mossflower shores after a heated debate with the Captain pertaining to some lost charts and left to his own devices. He now sells himself and his companion to various hoards, forts and camps as spies, mercenaries and scouts for hire, advertising their abilities to provide a birds-eye view of the enemy to get free meals, accommodation and an extended lifespan.
Whether he'll help Redwall or their opposing forces, of course, depends upon who gets to him first, and with the highest offer.
RP Sample (can be from another site):
(Taken from another site, loosely Redwall-based ;3)
Gender: Male.
Age: 34.
Species: Wildcat.
Personality: On the surface, Helix gives the pretence of being an amiable, chatty, (but not to the point of irritance) and well-spoken feline, typically the type a beast one could quite easily befriend and get along with. He is a fairly bright beast for a vermin, and one who takes a pride in enjoying such fine things as poetry and writing, always eager to discuss literary knowledge over fighting. He doesn't seem to discriminate between species and appears just as happy to befriend a fieldmouse as he would a wolverine.
This said, Helix is not an entirely innocent beast; he can often become aloof and cold when he sees no profit in the conversation, and has a terribly short amount of patience with those of less intelligence than himself under his personal command. He is accident prone, unlucky, and seemingly living on his nerves, always found to be moving to relieve personal stress as much as he can through activities such as chewing a quill, tapping a footpaw or grinding his fangs in a most irritating manner. He is best described as 'highly strung', with a high tendency to faint when startled. His near-constant stream of lies and the improvised tales he spins often lead him into worse trouble than he intends, but for some reason he seems to be unable to offer a direct answer to beasts when pressured. He is solely motivated by personal gain, part coward and, like most vermin, inherently greedy should the opportunity to make money or find shelter arise.
Appearance: Picture a wildcat: Large in stature, with dark fur, sturdy build and steel-sprung muscles. With a quicksilver brain, large fangs and aggressive, powerful, sleek, certain, fluid, motions, an incredibly well balanced and powerful fighting machine.
San many of these ideas when you picture Helix.
First and foremost, the size and build: Helix is diminutive in stature when compared to other felines, averaging just out at a regular height for a smaller creature such as a squirrel. He has no rippling, bulging or even toned muscles-he is slender and slight instead, with a wiry frame that seems hardly able to hold its own weight much less bear the stress of larger muscles than his own. This also contributes, it should be mentioned, to that natural feline grace and poise so many of the cat family posses: he walks with more of a trot associated with canines than the slick padding of a wildcat, and always appears to be ready to bolt, standing on the balls of his paws a majority of the time, making him an unpredictable and fast mover.
His fur is a pale milky white-grey, with no other natural markings whatsoever. The only thing that breaks up the colour is an odd black triangle that extends point-down to the jawbone from under his left eye-a tattoo. This left eye is a cold and calculating emerald green while the right remains a shimmering copper-gold hue above a peachy pale-orange nose.
A near constant expression of dogged exasperation or careful scrutiny, hooded by heavy lids, seems to grace his rounded face, whilst his ears are large and tufted at the tips, nearly always found in one of two positions: folded back in anxiety or erect with surprise. He usually has a quill tucked behind the right ear, the back of which is stained many colors from dripped inks that fade but never disappear from washing.
His garb is simple and built for heavy duty: a patched brown and grey vest over an off-white dress shirt and dark trousers held by a crimson sash. Over this is worn a dark blue coat embroidered with black and gold patterns, giving him the appearance of a seafarer. His right arm is encased to the elbow in a scratched old leather guard that loops over his palm.
Allegiance: None; he'll happily work for his own verminous species or for the Redwallers-pay is pay and clients are clients.
Weapons: The primary weapon of Helix' is a fairly battered and well-worn scimitar (he claims it's all been in self-defence to woodlanders and vicious battles to vermin) strapped at his waist which he stole off of a sea captain when he was much younger. Outside of this, the only other real weapon he carries is a simple long-bladed dagger.
However, Helix takes a pride in being one step ahead of disaster and also in being, in no uncertain terms, a falconer, taking a small kestrel with him wherever he goes, whether perched upon his arm or the shoulder. Acting as another pair of eyes and supplying him with an edge over the competition, he uses his 'friend' to locate danger, find others and spy when needed, though her vicious beak and talons have come into much great use before.
Position: N/A, unless either side employing him would install him in a rank. He plies his trade as a scout-come-mercinary.
History: The vast majority of Helix' past is lost somewhere amongst the different tales he tells to whomever asks, giving so many distorted and self-indulgent tales that even he has begun to forget the actual truth.
A particular favorite he likes to tell is that he was the son of a merchant sailor, born at sea and raised thus for all of his life. When he grew bored of the simple life of a trader, he jumped ship with a group of pirates and spent a long time raiding the coast until they got caught in an impressive typhoon. As the lone survivor of the wreck (through some mastery of sailing only an expert could have done, of course) he washed up on the shores and was taken in by some more traders who set him up with everything he needed, a few lessons in morality, and sent him packing for Mossflower. The little carnivorous bird that perches often on the guard on his right arm, named Raife, was apparently a gift from a wealthy Lord he saved when he had a spell as a privateer.
Of course these lies don't stand up to being breathed on, but if someone spots a hole in these tall tales, he'll just lie again.
The actual truth is far from it. Born in a small coastal village to the North, he grew up as a classic young kitten, with nothing of interest happening in his life until a small pirate sloop appeared and began to try and attack the small sentry the village had. Without waiting for a call to arms, he ran and never looked back, leaving his family and friends to whatever fate there was.
After some time wandering, he picked up the kestrel Raife as a fledgling he found fallen out of its nest that bonded to him and never left. He stumbled upon a larger village complete with a docked merchant vessel and signed aboard without any further thought, spending the rest of the time learning the ways of the sea the hard way, and almost losing his life as often as he found himself gleaning valuable knowledge. Bouncing from one island to another over the seasons and developing his ability to be both a smooth talker and good reader, he was eventually stranded on Mossflower shores after a heated debate with the Captain pertaining to some lost charts and left to his own devices. He now sells himself and his companion to various hoards, forts and camps as spies, mercenaries and scouts for hire, advertising their abilities to provide a birds-eye view of the enemy to get free meals, accommodation and an extended lifespan.
Whether he'll help Redwall or their opposing forces, of course, depends upon who gets to him first, and with the highest offer.
RP Sample (can be from another site):
(Taken from another site, loosely Redwall-based ;3)
Bone buttons slid neatly and efficiently through the designated slots as Kerri fastened his jacket against the anticipated night chill; the wildcat was not well known for his subtlety when it came to evaluating those around him, and so his eyes flicked over to Clarence with just a hint of a baleful stare as he surveyed the stoat. The tom never made a show of checking his weaponry in a public place: not only did it detail every element of your arsenal to the possible opponents and rivals around, but it fell flat as an intimidation tactic in the feline's opinion. He simply saw it as an unnecessary sign of restless paws, and restless paws got chopped off when one wasn't looking.
"Be ye thinkin' they'll do? Or will someone be gettin' much more creative ternight?"
"I am not the one evaluating them, sir" Kerri mumbled smoothly as his gaze locked on to the bistre todd nearby and offered him a smile, "though they do believe I'm not to be trusted. You trust me, don't you Captain? Of course you do; you of all beasts are perfectly aware that I never, ever lie; why, if the one trying to threaten me with the bow asked, I would be most happy to let him know that I would have his throat ripped out if it were not for the assignment and that I would like him as a friend. I leave their evaluation to you."
Stepping past the fox for the door, Kerri offered the intimidating figure of the Iron Mask a cursory glance and in doing so promptly broke into a shrill giggle, making some comment about how ugly the fellow must be amidst the childish noise as he made for the door. He would lead them through the back alleys and streets of the Imperium for a good fifteen minuets before they came to a narrow, dark alley filled with junk and to where a small pile of uniforms would be waiting nestled inside a battered crate at the centre.
"Be ye thinkin' they'll do? Or will someone be gettin' much more creative ternight?"
"I am not the one evaluating them, sir" Kerri mumbled smoothly as his gaze locked on to the bistre todd nearby and offered him a smile, "though they do believe I'm not to be trusted. You trust me, don't you Captain? Of course you do; you of all beasts are perfectly aware that I never, ever lie; why, if the one trying to threaten me with the bow asked, I would be most happy to let him know that I would have his throat ripped out if it were not for the assignment and that I would like him as a friend. I leave their evaluation to you."
Stepping past the fox for the door, Kerri offered the intimidating figure of the Iron Mask a cursory glance and in doing so promptly broke into a shrill giggle, making some comment about how ugly the fellow must be amidst the childish noise as he made for the door. He would lead them through the back alleys and streets of the Imperium for a good fifteen minuets before they came to a narrow, dark alley filled with junk and to where a small pile of uniforms would be waiting nestled inside a battered crate at the centre.
