Rook Scarbin

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Rook Scarbin; New character application
Topic Started: Sep 5 2008, 10:57 PM (87 Views)
Rook Scarbin	Sep 5 2008, 10:57 PM Post #1
Level One Poster Posts: 21 Group: Unassigned Member #65 Joined: September 3, 2008	Name: Rook Scarbin Age (we use years): Late thirties (approximate age unknown) Gender: Male Species: Otter Appearance: Rook Scarbin is a Southsward river otter of a deep mahogany color, stout of body and a little unkempt in places. His most distinctive features are a series of deep lash scars that extend in a lattice pattern from the base of his neck to the small of his back and out across his brawny shoulders. Three silvery scratch scars mark his right cheek, the unfortunate result of an encounter with a wildcat. His manner of dress has changed little over the years; preferring red or burgundy tunics to dressier colors, his trousers are tattered and tied at the knees with cuts of rigging rope. Around his waist is fastened a thick black belt curried from a corsair captain, it's burnished silver buckle almost obscenely garish. Personality: An tempestuous youth has done little to dampen Rook's enthusiasm for others; outgoing and friendly to a fault, his cerulean eyes are soft and kind, betraying a deep contrast to his grizzled outward appearance. Years have seen the otter turn inward with the demise of Fort Ruddler, the only true home he'd known. Still, his return after such a long absence will reawaken the charitable Rook, the prospect of new friendships and reconciliating old encounters like salve for his soul. History: Born on the outskirts of the Southsward sea, Rook's family, like his holt, was a small community, a tightly woven collection of otters who fished a vein of the Great South Stream. His father spent most days tending to nets and pitpans while his mother cared for him and his younger sister and kept the family functioning within this society. Harsh winters saw the holt move inland while the milder summers pushed the group closer to the shore. It was here, during the balmier months that Rook became infatuated with the sea and it's treasures, sometimes spending the majority of his day lounging in the sand, collecting stones and shells to show off and barter with, or simply playing near the surf. This always ensured a scolding from his father, an authoritarian figure who felt vehemently that his son should be learning the ways of the water that flowed towards the sea and not mucking about in the salty brine that comprised it. Life is not without irony, it seems, as it was ultimately the sea that turned Rook's life from nonchalant to tragic. Throughout the winter of his adolescence, whispers in the woods of corsair ships retreating from the Northlands would make their way to the holt. Those that knew best, however, scoffed at the idea of vermin slavers making their way so far inland to replenish what they'd lost in strong backs. So it was that with the first signs of spring, the holt began it's ceremonial return to the Southsward shore. The first month of that summer passed as they always had, the loose talk of corsair ships and slaver frigates fading from the collective mind of the holt. An early twilight of the second month, however, brought the unthinkable. The horizon, festooned with the naked dots of approaching ships that soon loomed large and sinister. Under the cover of darkness, scores of vermin took the forest and set the dry undergrowth ablaze to chase the holt out onto the sands. They were systematic in their cruelty, making short work of the undesirable and weeding out the adolescent population for slavery. It was the last night Rook saw his family. To this day, he presumes them dead. What followed was a succession of sleepless nights and agonizing days under the lash of a cruel captain. He'd poured his wrath into the newest of his wretched collection, Rook and the others who'd been selected. Time in the belly of that stinking beast was like a long piece of thread stretched far into the horizon; with little light to mark the passing of day into night, the weeks became months and moved well into seasons without consequence. Numb to the reality that he'd likely die in that pit, the accumulating wounds across his back, shoulders, and ribs didn't hurt as much anymore. It was through a twist of fate (and the laziness of the lookout) that he managed to escape. The slaver he'd been resigned to was a rickety old heap, rotten through and through. A moonless night saw it skim the rocky cliffs of the Northlands and smash against an outcropping of rock, well hidden in the pitching, restless black sea. It's belly was literally torn open, spilling slave and vermin alike into unforgiving tides. Hauling his chains unto a pile of broken driftwood, he never looked back to see the ship that had been his miserable tomb as it was swallowed by the waves that would push him to the shore come morning. Scavengers to the wreck found him and took him in, nursing him back to health and sanity. It was through them that the name Ruddler was first mentioned, a fort near the sea with the purpose of protecting the goodbeasts of that land from the same threats that had ensnared him and stolen so much good time. Very nearly an adult and revived by the sense of what he must do, Rook set out to enlist his services, driven by the ideals that his tragic experiences had instilled in him. Such horrible things must never happen, to anybeast, ever again. Skills and weaponry: Rook is a skilled sailor, having learned the trade from the best during his time at Ruddler. His preference is for the smaller, lighter boats, the larger craft of the fleet too unpredictable for his liking. His knowledge of the various currents and waterways around the continent, as well as skills in the art of cartography, are rudimentary at best. Still, he's never shied away from the challenges of the sea. As well a sailor, Rook is also a seasoned fighter, proficiant in the art of knives; his trademark weapons are a pair of honed fighting daggers approximetly eight inches in length from tip to pommelstone. Razor sharp and always at paw, their blades curve earthward near the tip, making them ideal weapons for short thrusts or slashes. Having taught himself to weild them through seasons of trial and error, age finds the otter deftly proficiant in their use. Current Story: After seasons in the Northlands, Rook found himself content with the idea of returning to Southsward after the demise of Fort Ruddler. Without a ship to sail, he set out along the coast on footpaw and avoided the forests as best he could, making use of himself along the way in exchange for food and shelter. These encounters led him further down the continent, each traveling party like a point on a map between his ultimate destination. This continued on for some time, leading Rook further and further inland; he'd camp for a week, wander into some traveling troupe or small woodlander community and drift on again with a full haversack and well-wishers in his wake. His aimless journey eventually brought him to where the weather became more favorable and the beasts more trustworthy. The further he went, the more he began to hear them tell stories of a great redstone abbey tucked away in the woods of Mossflower. These fantastic tales still appealed to the child in him and persuaded the otter to see the place for himself. With another winter on his heels, Rook arrived in Mossflower just as the leaves were starting to turn and made his way along the fabled path to Redwall, arriving a little after nameday that autumn. It was there he spent the following year in retirement, doing what was asked of him and enjoying a life he'd never known. Redwall was at peace and, for the time being, so was Rook. The following year, that familiar itch that had guided him until his arrival returned, stronger. The dappled sunny days and lazy winter interludes could no longer subsititute for the feeling of breathing in that cold, brackish Northland air. He left in the spring with the blessing of close friend Abbess Valerose, light of heart and sound of both mind and body. Even with the woods of Mossflower in his wake, he promised to return and stay for good once he'd gotten his last taste of adventure, the sea, and the old companions he intended to find. Edited by Rook Scarbin, Sep 7 2008, 07:29 PM.



Lady Admin	Sep 6 2008, 09:14 AM Post #2
Level One Writer Posts: 394 Group: Admin Member #1 Joined: December 7, 2007	Wonderful character. Always good to have another here from Ruddler. :} The only thing about your application that you may wish to change is the Abbot of Redwall. In our storyline we have named the leaders of Redwall, Salamandastron, and Southsward. You can find them here: http://s15.zetaboards.com/Black_Arch_Fort/topic/70597/1/ That's a small thing though, and the rest of your application is amazing. I'm sure Rook will fit in wonderfully. Welcome, accepted, and moved to the character listings.
	maybe it is them maybe it is me or maybe it's Maybeline


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