Rawr.

[Vivosaurus]

Name: Rosewater “Rosie” Whitefoot
Age: 17 seasons
Gender: Female
Species: River otter
Residence: She’s part of her family’s “traveling” circus, though they’ve more or less settled down in Mossflower Wood.
Fur Color: Rusty brown, lighter on her belly
Eye Color: Dark brown
Distinguishing Marks: Her left paw is almost completely white, a hereditary trait – most of her relatives have one part of their extremities colored white. Also, being a circus otter, she often paints colorful patterns around her back and face, and wears odd accessories, like a bandana and cheap but shiny bracelets.
Weapons: A sling and a rapier, usually tucked away somewhere in her clothes

Personality: Rosie is, as most beasts are, a product of her upbringing. And she grew up in a traveling circus, so that says a lot, doesn’t it? Fiery and stubborn, Rosie follows through with whatever she sets her mind to do. She doesn’t have very many “limits” – Rosie does what she wants to do, and is willing and able to climb over any obstacles to do it. That’s in terms of both physical – she is an acrobat, after all, and skilled with a couple of weapons – and personal obstacles. She doesn’t let anyone tell her what to do or stand in her way. Predictably, Rosie gets herself into trouble constantly – and her twin brother is often dragged into it alongside her – though she isn’t one to admit when a “plan” (or lack thereof) has gone awry.

Rosie is a good-looking otter. Beautiful, even. And the clothes she wears, the way she paints herself for a show, the stunts she can do, they all make her all the more alluring and mysterious. Rosie isn't above using those charms to her advantage. She's flirtatious to just about everyone, whether it's to convince them to come to her family's show, to get something from them, or... just because. Rosie doesn't find it shameful - in fact, she enjoys the power she can have over someone. It's become second nature - the winking, the swishing of her tail and her skirts, the jingling of her bracelets. Obviously, it doesn't work on everyone, but it has gotten her out of some close scrapes. And she can play the cute, innocent act, too, but it's all very misleading. There are weapons hidden in her skirts and her bandanna, and strength in her limbs from her years of circus training. Towards any perceived theat, Rosie turns immediately aggressive, rather impulsively. She isn't an otter that should be sneaked up on, whether you're friend or foe.

Though Rosie can be a little... intense, she really just loves to have fun. She's almost always playing around - in fact, that's how she gets herself into the most trouble. She still has her childish tendencies of wandering and getting into mischief, but she means well, and she's mostly friendly. As long as you can keep up with her, she'll let you join in, even if she acts a little closed off (just to be mysterious).

History: (WARNING: A very long-winded history is contained down there.)

The Whitefoot Flying Circus started with one otter and a dream. Thorny Whitefoot, the Magnificent, set off on his own, with his juggling and firebreathing act, making his way down the River of Moss until he met Poppy, a female otter. She had some of her own tricks in acrobatics, sleight of hand, and fortune telling, and Tipper not only recruited her but fell in love. They traveled together, and soon started a family: they had a son, Pipper, and, a few seasons later, a daughter they named Holly. The two started training to work in the circus as soon as they were old enough, and they lived the chaotic but closeknit life in a circus family. And then it got even crazier when the twins came along: Rosewater and Murk.

Despite being a boy and a girl, they are practically identical - the only difference is their white mark. Rosewater's is on her left paw, Murk's is on his right, and so they are mirror images. And right from the get-go, they were troublemakers. As soon as they could get around, everyone had to keep a constant eye on them, or else there would be broken furniture or things eaten that shouldn't be. But it was manageable, and Thorny and Poppy funneled their boundless energy into learning tricks - juggling, handstands, walking the tightrope. Though they were young, the two took to it like a fish (or, well, an otter) to water. They became the 'flying' part of the circus (not in a literal fashion, of course).

When Rosie and Murk were still small children, just a few seasons old, the family was taking shelter in an abandoned holt in the River Moss during a rainstorm. Out of nowhere, they were attacked by a gang of vermin. While their parents and older siblings were defending themselves, the twins were sleeping, but they were thrown out into the river in the chaos (or, if you here Murk's version of the story, Rosie woke him up so they could be part of the action too, and rat's tail swept them into the water). Though they knew how to swim well, the current was strong, and they just barely managed to stay above water while they were swept up and carried downstream. The river became less tumultuous, and they grabbed onto a very low, overhanging branch as they passed it, and managed to pull themselves out (being trained as acrobats possibly saved their lives that night). The small, young otters, drenched and utterly lost, somehow managed to navigate through the woods until a large wall loomed ahead: the eastern gate of Redwall Abbey.

The brothers and sisters of the abbey took them in, wrapping dry cloaks around their curious, circusfolk garments, as the two gulped down the food that was placed in front of them and struggled to tell their story. It was a 'struggle' because the two fought over who should tell it - Murk suggested sharing, but Rosie said she was a better storyteller and he would just mess it up - and then they both started saying it at the same time, as quick as they could. In the end, they only managed to convey that they were Rosie and Murk Whitefoot, and they were cold and wet and hungry.

Though it was well past a reasonable bedtime, the inhabitants of Redwall soon learned it would be a struggle to get the twin otters to bed. Despite their long ordeal, they did not seem to be at all drained of energy - rather, the whole experience had woken them up, and they were much too excited to even lay down. They started showing off their tricks - handstands, juggling, somersaults, and various other acts - to the other youngsters, who also could not be persuaded to go to bed. Finally, they were all led to bed, even the twins, when the long night caught up with them. In the morning, the Abbeybeasts found that they'd only gotten a little taste of the twins' antics the night before - as soon as they were awake, the two were climbing over everything, getting into cabinets and rooms that they weren't allowed into, and shouldn't have even been able to get to, considering their size and young age. They didn't stop moving the whole time, and they were a complete distraction to those who were trying to focus on their studies or duties. Though the brothers and sisters had sworn to take in those who needed it and help them, they really did hope they wouldn't have to shelter these youngsters for much longer, or that they'd at least run out of energy at some point.

A search party looked for Rosie and Murk's family, after they were finally able to get better story and description out of the two, but to no avail. Fortunately, a couple days later, two otters showed up at Redwall's main gate: it was Holly and Poppy! They were a little weary and had sustained some injuries in the skirmish with the vermin, and the only place they could think of going was Redwall. There seemed to be something very very wrong, but Rosie and Murk didn't notice, and went running towards their mother and sister. Clambering over them and chittering about what a great place Redwall was - they mostly mentioned the food. Holly played with the twins while Poppy thanked the Abbeybeasts and explained what had happened. Thorny and Pipper had been killed in the attack, and she had been so worried that the vermin had gotten away with her babies. She was so grateful to the brothers and sisters for taking care of them, and for offering shelter to the family if they needed it. When they were all well enough, Poppy insisted on putting on a show for them.

Rosie and Murk didn't understand, for a long time, what had happened to their older brother and father. They were too young. But they did understand that their circus had become quite lackluster, now that they were missing firebreathers and their ringmaster. As the two became better acrobats, and their older sister and mother worked to fill the missing acts, it wasn't so bad. It was a hard life, it is a hard life, but they love it. And they all still feel indebted to the beasts of Redwall, and so return there often to put on shows. Since the attack, they've all learned some fighting skills and picked up some weapons, so they could defend themselves, and they'd always be there for Redwall if it needed defending.

[Vivosaurus]

I'll add a history to him later.

Name: Patches
Age: 36 seasons
Species: Searat
Rank: Scoundrel/protector
Weapon: He has a shortsword, but he prefers using the natural weapons he was born with (ya know, teeth and claws and all that).
Personality: Patches may have, once upon a time, been a normal rat (as normal as a rat can get, at least), and was probably dropped on his head one too many times. Or perhaps he's always been a deranged, drooling beast. Either way, he certainly enjoys the thrill of running blindly (which is becoming literal) into battle, swinging his powerful claws. He likes to feel his nails and teeth sinking into flesh, and he goes mad over the screams and yelps of terror. It's all he lives for. And all he's good for.

Patches doesn't have very many wits about him. A brute, he's never been much of a precision killer or mastermind. He has to be told what to do, but he's terrific at following directions exactly. Loyal as a dog - and he should be kept on a leash like one - Patches would follow Ryfar off a bridge. He doesn't think, he just acts, which is perfect for his position. Mostly, all he has to do is scare people and protect Ryfar - and he looks so diseased, there's a lot of vermin and kind creatures alike that wouldn't want to go near him in the first place. Though he's going blind, which causes some to underestimate him, Patches has an excellent sense of smell - he's often seen sniffing the air and the ground around him, like a bloodhound.

But Patches isn't all killing machine. He's actually very childish at heart - in a weird, creepy, deranged way, but all the same. It's like he hasn't grown up mentally - he is easily distracted, doesn't always think things through, often has to ask questions about the simplest of things, and he even collects the toys and dolls from the children of villages they have ransacked. And I bet you didn't know Patches is a poet! That's right. He writes poetry - well, he can't spell or read or anything, but he writes it in his head. It's not... very good poetry - it's awful, actually - but it's a little glimpse that he has somewhat of a soul.

Role Play Example: Growling and calling out unintelligibly, Patches paced back and forth on his three legs, jumping up and down excitedly. Something was happening, he could sense it in the air. Everyone was getting ready. He could hear the clinking of weapons around him, the stamping of feet, and the hurried whispering of the newer recruits. His one eyeball rolled madly as he scratched the ground. Patches didn't know the specifics - he didn't need to know the specifics. It didn't matter to him if they were attacking mice or otters or bats (well, perhaps it would matter if his targets could fly). He just had to swipe at anything that didn't smell like vermin and barrel through a path for his leader. As soon as he heard the signal. The signal....

"Now!"

Patches sprang forth, running on all of his paws - his front legs reached forward, pulling his one back leg, and its strong muscles propelled forth the front of his body. It wasn't a fast run, but it was powerful. Vaguely, he could see shifting shapes ahead of him, and they smelled like... hm, squirrel. He leaped, and missed, landing on the grass. Patches didn't pause, he just started swinging his paws until he hit a nearby beast - one sniff and he knew it was one of those bushy-tailed things. He took a moment to grin and then swiped at where he thought the face should be.

'Patches! Over here!"

His head swung in the direction of the voice and he smelled the air. The vermin called again and Patches ran towards it. Someone whispered to get the mouse, and he swung at the mouse-scented object nearby. He felt flesh tear in his claws, and he smiled his strange half smile, drool hanging from the torn part of his face. And then a rat-scent nudged him in the direction of another nicebeast, which he obligingly lunged his mouth at, gripping the furry tail in his jaws. He spat it out at the mere disgust of the hair inbetween his teeth, but it didn't matter, because he was already being pulled away from the scene, the smell of ash and burning wood drifting away. The village was scorched, creatures were dead, he had done his job, and he awaited his reward of dinner.