Brookfill Streamdog profile (complete overhaul in progress)
Apr 4, 2012 11:30:01 GMT -5
Post by Burfle, Brookfill & Madrigal on Apr 4, 2012 11:30:01 GMT -5
Name:Brookfill Streamdog
Species:Otter
Gender:Female
Dibbun Weapon:Brookfill is quite adept with the pillow, it being her weapon of choice in most situations. That the lightness of the feather-stuffed linen bag means that she finds it easy to wield, plus the fact that pillows are often easy to paw most places in the abbey has lead to this mild proficiency in its use as an offensive object. Brooky also likes the defensive qualities of the pillow though, as in her view it’s never a bad thing to have a weapon that you can hide behind as well (not to mention cuddle when you’re going to sleep). Being an otter normally brings about the stereotype of being skilled with a sling, although this particular ottermaid is guaranteed to wipe that idea from anybeasts mind as soon as she steps within pawsreach of the weapon. If any long range attacks are required she much prefers to sling a few cc’s at the target, especially since that gives her an excuse to have the delicious treats on her at all times.
Adult Weapon: Having taken up the travelling lifestyle along with her squirrel friend Burfle, Brooky has forced herself into becoming skilful with the stave and also with the bow, since she has developed a severe dislike for the sling ever since her dibbun days. Due to having her keen sighted companion around with her most times, she has focused more on her direct melee combat, and has even tried taking a couple of boxing lessons on visits to the barracks at Salamandastron (Although this was short-lived when she found herself on the floor more often than on her paws).
Brooky does carry a souvenir weapon, a single pawed hammer gifted to her from a small mole community, although she is in no way gifted in its use.
After her fair share of travelling though, she has picked up the basic use of blades, which are a common weapon one can liberate from marauders and bandits which roam the country.
Appearance:As a dibbun, Brookfill is a skinny creature, often commented on as ‘wasting away’ by some of the more gastronomically advanced elders, although this is just down to her genetics as is seen in her father and mother who both share her thin build. As she grows up, she puts on a little weight, but only to bring her to an average appearance, similar to her mother.
Her eyes are a delicate light hazel colour, and are often pointed out as her most striking feature by others, leading to some light-hearted teasing from a couple of friends who coo mockingly about her ‘fantas-tick eyes’. Her fur is none too special however, being of a dark brown shade with creamy tones for her underbelly and hints of the same around her muzzle. The nature of her fur is a very different matter, quite often prone to sticking up and out in all manner of odd angles. This erratic manner eventually leads to her growing her headfur as long as possible in her young adult seasons and firmly fixing it in place with a few metal furclips.
Surprisingly enough, despite her adventures through life, Brooky never gains any noticeable scarring or permanent markings, a fact which Burfle would often lament, claming that she must have fashioned herself a new coat every few seasons as he counted his own imperfect marks.
In terms of her clothing Brooky tends to be quite simplistic, going for a simple rusty red-brown tunic or, if her tunic has become particularly stained and dirtied, a supposedly plain cream smock(see: white; permanently muddied and washed to irrecognition). In terms of her shoes, the ottermaid has always chosen to wear her humble sandals, or to go barepaw.
As a teenager to a young adult her fashions change little, and she still continues to wear plain tunics, generally reddish in colour. However she does dare to wear a slightly fancier getup for special celebratory occasions, opting for a light ice blue dress and a headfur decoration of a flower of matching or complimentary colour.
As an adult, Brookfill takes a much more practical approach to her dress code. She has a tendency to wear varying shades of green for forest wanderings, but also has a couple of sandy tunics for desert travelling and once again a smart dress for formal occasions, this time a long deep maroon item with a smattering of jewellery if she feels like showing herself off a little. If she has a bow with her then she will carry a bark quiver on her back on a shoulder strap, and she also sports a small sheath for the hammer, also gifted to her by the moles.
Personality:All through her life Brooky has been one who pines for adventure, longing to feel the open road underneath her paws as she strides along, perhaps humming a merry ditty she has composed herself. However, a tendency towards a lack of confidence has always been an impeding factor in achieving her dream, and she has often found herself wishing that she could sum up half the leadership, individuality and charisma of some. As such, she is a good follower and is willing to take orders and carry them out, but as soon as she is given some real responsibility she becomes so worried that she’s not handling the situation right that she ends up not really handling it at all. Also a desire to try to please and be nice to everybeast tends to lead her to shy away from leadership roles, but it is this nature which makes her easy to get along with.
As an adult Brooky is a little more confident of herself, and is even willing to take the head of a small group, but only provided it’s the last sensible option.
Brooky is generally hardworking as a dibbun, trying to once again please others by performing her task correctly, although as a dibbun she would obviously forgo her work to help out her friends in mischief making. She will find herself occasionally overladen with tasks though as she makes too many promises to her friends in desperate attempts to not let others down. As she matures, she realises that it is not necessary to cater to the every will of others, and gains much more freedom over herself as a result.
History: Brookfill was born in the abbey to two Mossflower otters, Celadine and Lucerne Streamdog. Being an abbey-born creature through and through she had little idea of the life outside of the abbey, save from the tales that older beasts would tell her. She grew up on the legends of different cultures from a very young age, spending time on her mother’s lap listening to legends of famous adventurers and warriors from the border squirrels to the Mossflower otter tribes of old. This exposure is undeniably what inspired her fantasies of adventure, and she would often beg to be taken up to the walltops to look out as far as she could out in all directions.
She had her chances to pretend to be living her dreams through playing with her friends, especially when she was taking part in the operations of DAB. Although stealing pies from the windowsills was not quite of the same heroic standard as defeating barbarian warlords, the ottermaid still had her share of fun. Through these days she forged her firm friendships, and one in particular with a certain mischievous squirrel.
Brookfill and Burfle were certainly the best of friends, and were largely inseparable through dibbunhood. Their natural personalities, despite being rather different, worked well together and they were a good team of troublemakers.
In her teenage seasons Brookfill remained at the Abbey with her friends, mostly being a helpful beast around the place, although she still longed to be an adventurer of sorts. She had found a kindred spirit in adventure in Burfle however, and the two frequently plotted their escape from the restrictive hold of the responsible adults that seemed to surround them, although nothing ever came of these wild schemes. That was until the two of them reached their young adult seasons, whereupon the Abbot, recognising their maturity and having been worn down by their pestering, sent them on their way into Mossflower with his blessing (and possibly a hint of relief).
The comrades ended up venturing all around the countryside, to places far south and to areas wildly north. Brookfill gained much experience during their travels, improving her survival skills and her general woodland knowledge. She and Burfle became as brother and sister as their bond of friendship grew ever closer, although of course there were moments of trouble and attrition between the two, as is invariable between anyone who lives in the company of another for such a long time.
Although her own travels were nowhere near as fantastical and exciting as the heroic stories she had heard, Brooky didn’t mind. She was always with friends wherever she went and she was able to enjoy the wonders that went with adventure, although there were also some harsh lessons to be learnt. The two companions would also continue to return to the abbey every few seasons or so, to catch up with those they had left behind and to meet newcomers to the abbey community.
Brooky was born to two Mossflower otters, Rockrose and Rush. Both of her parents were members of the Abbey community for all of their lives. Her mother was very active in the kitchen staff, working closely as a chief assistant to the friar. Her father was involved in various jobs in the Abbey, mostly in the realm of carpentry. Brooky's more adventurous side came from her auntie Holly, who was a member of the Mossflower ottercrew, and who acted like a big sister to the young ottermaid in her dibbunhood. Brooky would seek out Holly every time the ottercrew were visiting the Abbey, pestering her aunt to tell her about what the crew were getting up to. This fascination with adventure was exacerbated by the many times she spent on her mother's lap, listening to various legends of heroism told either by one of her parents, or at an abbey occasion. Brooky desperately sought her own adventures, and so she joined in with DAB, getting up to all sorts of mischief.
Roleplay Sample:
*Finding herself once more under the watchful eye of the Father Abbot and his ‘cronies’ as she had once heard a friend term them, Brookfill could not keep herself still. Her eyes flew about the place, never settling for long in one place, flitting from floor to ceiling, to wall, to window, to floor again, to the Abbot’s face (yet never quite meeting his eyes) and once more back to the floor.
She sniffed audibly as she recalled the mess that had led to the awkward situation now before her. She should have never agreed to that harebrained scheme! Trust a hare to come up with a harebrained scheme eh? Well for all the fun it may have seemed initially, covering the Abbot’s chair with the cellarhog’s notoriously sticky resin had turned out into a nightmare hearing for the small ottermaid. It was for this very reason that the meeting had to be held in the great hall, despite the face that the air was stuffy with the heat of the summer. The Abbot had sat attempted to lift himself out of his seat to say the grace before their meal, but upon finding himself stuck firm managed to divert the job to the nearby bellringer, then explaining the predicament to the infirmary sister, seated to his left.
Knowing the sister’s keen eye, Brooky and her fellow troublemakers had tried their best to busy themselves with their meal, doing their best to not give away their knowledge of the situation. However, one glance at the sight of the father, trying his best to remain dignified as he struggled with the glue brought a grin to the ottermaid’s face so quickly that she had soon found a firm paw on her shoulder and a warning to remain seated at the end of lunch.
She was brought out of her reminiscing by the husky tones of the Abbot*
Well, well, well. If it isn’t one of our favourite otters. How do you intend to justify yourself then little madam?
*Shifting guiltily from one paw to the other, the Clever Clanner gnawed on a pawnail, only to have her paw snatched out of her mouth by the badgermum.*
Stop that filthy habit at once and answer the father! Go on!
*Mumbling into her chest, a shamefaced Brookfill tried to convey that all time favourite of caught dibbuns; ‘It was only a bit of fun’. The stern glares from almost everybeast present proved that that particular excuse was just not going to cut the mustard this time, and she fell silent.*
However you may have seen this, what it really means is that I’m probably going to be due a new habit when I’m finally unstuck. Now I’m sure you will have realised by now that this is something that will not go unpunished...
*Brooky looked up with a trembling lip*
...and don’t give me that look missy. Your penance will be to help brother Sampsan in the abbey gardens. Perhaps being out in the fresh air will keep you out of mishchief, with supervision
*The Abbot added, seeing her small smile of impish rebellion.
Muttering phrases of mutiny and other such grievances, Brookfill trailed out of the hall towards the gardens. She supposed it could have gone worse; She could have been given a lifetime of baths. uuuughh, nobeast should suffer dat she thought, the very idea making her shudder.*
Species:Otter
Gender:Female
Dibbun Weapon:
Adult Weapon:
Brooky does carry a souvenir weapon, a single pawed hammer gifted to her from a small mole community, although she is in no way gifted in its use.
After her fair share of travelling though, she has picked up the basic use of blades, which are a common weapon one can liberate from marauders and bandits which roam the country.
Appearance:
Her eyes are a delicate light hazel colour, and are often pointed out as her most striking feature by others, leading to some light-hearted teasing from a couple of friends who coo mockingly about her ‘fantas-tick eyes’. Her fur is none too special however, being of a dark brown shade with creamy tones for her underbelly and hints of the same around her muzzle. The nature of her fur is a very different matter, quite often prone to sticking up and out in all manner of odd angles. This erratic manner eventually leads to her growing her headfur as long as possible in her young adult seasons and firmly fixing it in place with a few metal furclips.
Surprisingly enough, despite her adventures through life, Brooky never gains any noticeable scarring or permanent markings, a fact which Burfle would often lament, claming that she must have fashioned herself a new coat every few seasons as he counted his own imperfect marks.
In terms of her clothing Brooky tends to be quite simplistic, going for a simple rusty red-brown tunic or, if her tunic has become particularly stained and dirtied, a supposedly plain cream smock(see: white; permanently muddied and washed to irrecognition). In terms of her shoes, the ottermaid has always chosen to wear her humble sandals, or to go barepaw.
As a teenager to a young adult her fashions change little, and she still continues to wear plain tunics, generally reddish in colour. However she does dare to wear a slightly fancier getup for special celebratory occasions, opting for a light ice blue dress and a headfur decoration of a flower of matching or complimentary colour.
As an adult, Brookfill takes a much more practical approach to her dress code. She has a tendency to wear varying shades of green for forest wanderings, but also has a couple of sandy tunics for desert travelling and once again a smart dress for formal occasions, this time a long deep maroon item with a smattering of jewellery if she feels like showing herself off a little. If she has a bow with her then she will carry a bark quiver on her back on a shoulder strap, and she also sports a small sheath for the hammer, also gifted to her by the moles.
Personality:
As an adult Brooky is a little more confident of herself, and is even willing to take the head of a small group, but only provided it’s the last sensible option.
Brooky is generally hardworking as a dibbun, trying to once again please others by performing her task correctly, although as a dibbun she would obviously forgo her work to help out her friends in mischief making. She will find herself occasionally overladen with tasks though as she makes too many promises to her friends in desperate attempts to not let others down. As she matures, she realises that it is not necessary to cater to the every will of others, and gains much more freedom over herself as a result.
History:
She had her chances to pretend to be living her dreams through playing with her friends, especially when she was taking part in the operations of DAB. Although stealing pies from the windowsills was not quite of the same heroic standard as defeating barbarian warlords, the ottermaid still had her share of fun. Through these days she forged her firm friendships, and one in particular with a certain mischievous squirrel.
Brookfill and Burfle were certainly the best of friends, and were largely inseparable through dibbunhood. Their natural personalities, despite being rather different, worked well together and they were a good team of troublemakers.
In her teenage seasons Brookfill remained at the Abbey with her friends, mostly being a helpful beast around the place, although she still longed to be an adventurer of sorts. She had found a kindred spirit in adventure in Burfle however, and the two frequently plotted their escape from the restrictive hold of the responsible adults that seemed to surround them, although nothing ever came of these wild schemes. That was until the two of them reached their young adult seasons, whereupon the Abbot, recognising their maturity and having been worn down by their pestering, sent them on their way into Mossflower with his blessing (and possibly a hint of relief).
The comrades ended up venturing all around the countryside, to places far south and to areas wildly north. Brookfill gained much experience during their travels, improving her survival skills and her general woodland knowledge. She and Burfle became as brother and sister as their bond of friendship grew ever closer, although of course there were moments of trouble and attrition between the two, as is invariable between anyone who lives in the company of another for such a long time.
Although her own travels were nowhere near as fantastical and exciting as the heroic stories she had heard, Brooky didn’t mind. She was always with friends wherever she went and she was able to enjoy the wonders that went with adventure, although there were also some harsh lessons to be learnt. The two companions would also continue to return to the abbey every few seasons or so, to catch up with those they had left behind and to meet newcomers to the abbey community.
Brooky was born to two Mossflower otters, Rockrose and Rush. Both of her parents were members of the Abbey community for all of their lives. Her mother was very active in the kitchen staff, working closely as a chief assistant to the friar. Her father was involved in various jobs in the Abbey, mostly in the realm of carpentry. Brooky's more adventurous side came from her auntie Holly, who was a member of the Mossflower ottercrew, and who acted like a big sister to the young ottermaid in her dibbunhood. Brooky would seek out Holly every time the ottercrew were visiting the Abbey, pestering her aunt to tell her about what the crew were getting up to. This fascination with adventure was exacerbated by the many times she spent on her mother's lap, listening to various legends of heroism told either by one of her parents, or at an abbey occasion. Brooky desperately sought her own adventures, and so she joined in with DAB, getting up to all sorts of mischief.
Roleplay Sample:
*Finding herself once more under the watchful eye of the Father Abbot and his ‘cronies’ as she had once heard a friend term them, Brookfill could not keep herself still. Her eyes flew about the place, never settling for long in one place, flitting from floor to ceiling, to wall, to window, to floor again, to the Abbot’s face (yet never quite meeting his eyes) and once more back to the floor.
She sniffed audibly as she recalled the mess that had led to the awkward situation now before her. She should have never agreed to that harebrained scheme! Trust a hare to come up with a harebrained scheme eh? Well for all the fun it may have seemed initially, covering the Abbot’s chair with the cellarhog’s notoriously sticky resin had turned out into a nightmare hearing for the small ottermaid. It was for this very reason that the meeting had to be held in the great hall, despite the face that the air was stuffy with the heat of the summer. The Abbot had sat attempted to lift himself out of his seat to say the grace before their meal, but upon finding himself stuck firm managed to divert the job to the nearby bellringer, then explaining the predicament to the infirmary sister, seated to his left.
Knowing the sister’s keen eye, Brooky and her fellow troublemakers had tried their best to busy themselves with their meal, doing their best to not give away their knowledge of the situation. However, one glance at the sight of the father, trying his best to remain dignified as he struggled with the glue brought a grin to the ottermaid’s face so quickly that she had soon found a firm paw on her shoulder and a warning to remain seated at the end of lunch.
She was brought out of her reminiscing by the husky tones of the Abbot*
Well, well, well. If it isn’t one of our favourite otters. How do you intend to justify yourself then little madam?
*Shifting guiltily from one paw to the other, the Clever Clanner gnawed on a pawnail, only to have her paw snatched out of her mouth by the badgermum.*
Stop that filthy habit at once and answer the father! Go on!
*Mumbling into her chest, a shamefaced Brookfill tried to convey that all time favourite of caught dibbuns; ‘It was only a bit of fun’. The stern glares from almost everybeast present proved that that particular excuse was just not going to cut the mustard this time, and she fell silent.*
However you may have seen this, what it really means is that I’m probably going to be due a new habit when I’m finally unstuck. Now I’m sure you will have realised by now that this is something that will not go unpunished...
*Brooky looked up with a trembling lip*
...and don’t give me that look missy. Your penance will be to help brother Sampsan in the abbey gardens. Perhaps being out in the fresh air will keep you out of mishchief, with supervision
*The Abbot added, seeing her small smile of impish rebellion.
Muttering phrases of mutiny and other such grievances, Brookfill trailed out of the hall towards the gardens. She supposed it could have gone worse; She could have been given a lifetime of baths. uuuughh, nobeast should suffer dat she thought, the very idea making her shudder.*
Well, they're in the kitchen now so if you want you can have him end up there maybe? Or near them?
2024 can be the year of your return 