The Golden Leaf Inn

Quest for the Name of Martin

A Weekly Chat RPG

Vaniar

"Well, hello there. I be Vaniar, and I be a stoat. I be proud of that. It be a good heritage, filled with ambitious and right-minded people. Like any heritage, it be soiled by a few, but I be not one to let that get in my way. I be of middling height and average build.

"If I have but one vanity I like to keep for myself, it be my boots. It be rather hard to get decent boots nowadays, especially with all the anti-warlander feelings around. I keep mine shiny, and looking new." Vaniar smiled.

"I be the leader of the warlanders, us kindly vermin shunned and outcast by the elitist creatures of the woods. And, not to brag, I do feel as if I be doing a good job of it. We have been winning many victories, and I do believe the end be in sight!"

Abbess Rosefur

"Good morn', dears. I'm Abbess Rosefur now...such an amazing thing, to be chosen Abbess...Though, I have always strived to be fair, and just, and not to hurt anyone. Good attributes for a leader, I guess."

Eroket Nightblade

No Biography Written Yet

Akilya Wisebrook

"Greetings." A young ottermaid nods her head to you with polite formality, but there's an air about her that speaks of superiority. "I am Akilya Wisebrook, apprentice to the Recorder of Redwall Abbey." Inkstained paws tell the truth of that statement, and the intelligence in the dark eyes shows her aptitude. "Nay, I have no accent--I am not as ignorant as most of my kind, and I have never been on a water vessel." She lets out a sniff of disdain at the mention of other otters, shifting the bulky pack on her powerful shoulders to a more comfortable position. She may be a scholar, but she's still an otter, and retains the muscular build of one.

Akilya blinks as you ask her a question. "Why am I going on the quest?" Glory dreams and bard's tales lighten her dark eyes to glimmering brown, sable ears pricking forward with eagerness, and she barely manages to remember the image she tries to hold before the world--that of a mature scholarly ottermaid. "I {am} the Recorder's apprentice, after all. Somebeast must go along to record the events of this journey." But then the excitement flares in her gaze and she can't hold back a grin, reminding you of just how young she really is. "And of course there will be adventure and battle and all the elements of the old tales! And I shall be a part of it!"

Kenlock

"Err... You want something?" The tall otter looks at you sternly, with a slightly annoyed expression. He wears thick, knee-high boots, dark pants, several layers of cloth over his top half, which is covered over with a long sleeved shirt of chain mail, and a vest made of a strange looking material. Over all this, a long, black cloak is tied over his left shoulder. "Heh... You want to know about me? I would normally disregard your very existance, let alone tell you anything about myself. But... since I am in a good mood, and you seem so eager to know, I shall tell you what you want to know." He smirks and continues holding his spear tightly at his side. "Now... what is there about me to tell? Well, my name is Kenlock, and um... I'm an otter as you can tell." He lets out a quiet chuckle at his description of himself. "Hmm? My spear? Yes, I always carry it with me. This is the spear of Genagluck, a great vermin warlord who resided far too the east." Kenlock's eyes wander for a moment. "How did I come to get this noble weapon you ask? That, I will not explain to a stranger such as yourself, no matter what mood I be in." The otter leans the spear against a tree and draws his war hammer from the buckle on his belt. "This, is the hammer of Fenairelen, who's part in my life I will also not speak of. But I will say this... neither Fenairelen nor Genagluck will be needing their weapons anymore." He replaces the hammer and picks up the spear. "I have had much training, and I am an able fighter. I can move quickly across great areas of land, and I am a decent tracker. And I have also been educated, I can read, and write some too." Kenlock stares at you curiously for a moment. "Yes, I can tell you are suprised... But no matter how clever a creature, or how great with a spear, that can't save you from an arrow in your back."

"I come from far to the east. Since---" He stops suddenly and looks to the ground. "I have been heading ever away from that land since a bounty was placed on my head." Kenlock looks back up to your face. "And no, I will not say for what reason there is a bounty, I'll just let you assume the worst." A grin almost reaches his face, but it quickly dies and his face turns solemn and cold. "Why am I going on this quest with these Redwallers you ask? Simple--I am heading in the same direction as they are, so I am simply going to tag along with them for cover until our paths seperate. Yes, you may think I am putting them in danger by doing that, but to put it simple, they would be in more danger with out my company." Kenlock grins and begins to walk away. "And even if I was putting them in danger, It's not as if I care; I am simply using them to my own benefit. The only creatures I have ever cared about, or who have ever cared about me, are dead because of me." He spits, and strides off.

Cirofléta

"Hello there!" the maid waved cheerfully. "My name is Cirofléta. Make sure you say it correctly though; Sear-oh-flay-ta. 'Tis quite an annoying thing to be misaddressed." she chuckled.

"As you can see, I am a red squirrel of late adolescence, or as I like to think, early adulthood." she smiles. She points to her face suddenly.

"Oh, you've noticed my makeup. Yes, I tend to paint black around my eyes and mouth all the time. It's a long story..." the smile faded and she shuddered a little, before smiling once more, this time a little less sincere. "It's just a silly superstition of mine. Forget it.

"Where do I come from? Why, Mossflower, the northeast corner. I lived there with my family and close friends, until...." her lip wobbled, "...yes, I'm sure you've guessed. The classic vermin attack. Ended up with me wearing the makeup too."

"I've travelled a little, learned some of fighting and tracking, though I'm hardly the best in my field, not by a long shot, but I will do what I can to stop these vermin from plundering the land and terrorizing all the goodbeasts. Especially rats....brr..." she shivers at the mere word. "I cannot stand rats."

Weston

The medium-height squirrel greets you with a smile, the expression almost- but not quite- making his face look handsome for a moment. It's easy to see why his face could have been handsome- but the scar running from left ear down along his cheekbone and under his chin to the point of his jaw ensures that it is handsome no longer. Similar scars can be seen on his shoulders under the brown fur, running from his neck downwards until they are covered by the black tunic and cape he wears.

"I am Weston, former inhabitant of Redwall Abbey; greetings to you. May I be of service?"

The squirrel's brown eyes regard you curiously as you finish your examination, taking in the boots, breeches, and sword-belt- all black. He is only around 5'6, and he's not especially bulky- but he's solid and looks like he knows how to use the sword slung across his back. Mutely, you point to the scars. One of Weston's eyebrows curves upward in amusement. "These scars? They were given to me some months ago." He sheds his tunic, allowing you to see the full extent of the scars. They trace up and down all along his chest and back, a macabre, criss-cross memorial to pain. As he replaces the tunic, a gleam of silver from a ring on his finger catches the light.

"That ring? The Lady Ari has one to match it. We are to be married. If you shall excuse me, I have tasks to attend to."

Ari

No Biography Written Yet

Feverfew

"Hello, my name's Feverfew!" bubbles a little voice from nearby. You look all around before dropping your gaze and noticing the source, a petite hedgehog maid waving up at you. "I'm a Redwall abbeybeast, born and raised, though I'm told my mama came here just before I was born, after my father died. I never knew him, and I don't know what happened," she shrugs, wishing she could tell you more. "Mama works in the infirmery, and I help her a lot with plants and healing, even though all the sisters say my technique is less than perfect. Then they squeeze my hand and say, 'that's alright, you're only a little thing yet.' I'm not too little, am I?" You have to stifle a chuckle as you look down at the tiny ball of light brown spikes. She sniffles and continues. "I may not be big or strong, but I'm fast on my feet and in my head. That gets me in trouble sometimes, 'cos when I get it in my head to do something, I just go ahead. I guess that's why I'm going with Mister Weston and Tarran and the others. I know I'll be safe as long as they're around. Well, I think I will." She sounds uncertain, but quickly plasters on a grin and changes the subject. "Hmm, what else do you want to know? I don't like potatoes, ah, and I am not a dibbun!"

Tarran

No Biography Written Yet

Scuzbo

No Biography Written Yet