Hail all those who are able,
any mouse can
any mouse will
But the Guard prevail!
Post your guardmouse here. Use this sheet or this one.
In addition to what was in your original app, please put one paragraph each about your mouse's best friend, parents, mentor, and senior artisan.
Apart from that, make sure your post includes your mouse's name, belief, instinct, goal, and traits.
Last edited by TheDarkFuzz; 07-07-2012 at 05:56 PM.
Guard Rank: Guardmouse
Cloak Color: Grey
Weapon of Choice: Shield
Belief: There's always a storm brewing somewhere.
Goal: To discover what happened to his sister who disappeared on a mail delivery mission.
Instinct: Prepare for the worst.
Micah gives a last look aroud his small quarters to make sure he's forgotten nothing. Not that he ever kept much in the first place. His trusty shield. A small pack. A length of rope. Flint and tinder. Bedroll. A few letters from friends and family. And, neatly folded on one corner of his bed, his new guard cloak. Stormcloud grey matching his fur almost exactly. He hears a knock at the door. It opens before he can respond and his mentor, Willas the Wanderer walks in, still somehow dashing in his old age with his cloak of sky blue and sword swinging at his hip.
"Well, my boy, I've taught you all I can about being a mouse of the Guard. I'm guessing by the state of things that you got your first marching orders. You might smile a little at least. Make folks think you're a little happy at least. I'm told it takes you back home to Port Sumac."
A hint of a smile touches the corners of Micah's mouth, a banner show of positive emotion. "You know better than anyone how excited I am to see my family but something is making my whiskers twitch. There's a storm brewing somewhere. I hope it doesn't hit us on the road."
Willas gives his protege an indulgent grin. "If it rained every time your whiskers twitched we'd all have been drowned after your first month. You earned that cloak little stormcloud. Do you have any last questions for me before you leave? Anything you need?" Micah fidgets nervously and stammers something unintelligble. "Come on boy, out with it. I can think of three things that make you act that way: rain coming, being late for dinner and that pretty young mousemaid you can't quite look at in the eyes. As it's a bright sunny morning I'm eliminating the first two."
Micah blinks, swallows hard, and stares resolutely at his paws for a moment before slowly pulling two sealed letters from his pack. "Always so clever. And her name is Sarah. She works in the kitchens. She's beautiful and sweet and funny and she makes the best jam tarts and..."
"Whoa! That's more than I needed to hear. You want me to give her those?" He points at the letters.
Micah shakes his head and holds out one of the letters. "This one is for her. I wrote her a poem. I hope she likes it. The other one is... for my family. Don't send it to them or give it to my sister. That one is for after, I mean if, well if the worst happens..."
Willas roars with laughter before Micah can finish. He takes the letters anyway and tucks them under his arm, wiping tears from his eyes with a swipe of his tail. "You, my little stormcloud, are the funniest recruit I've ever had the pleasure of training. It wouldn't even elicit a chuckle if you weren't so serious all the time. A love note for your lass in one hand and a last goodbye to the world in the other? The irony is wasted on you I know. I will see too them, no fear. Maybe you should go see her one last time if you're this prepared for the grave already. Something to think about when you're crawling down a snake's gullet, eh?" Without further ado Willas turns on his heel and strides out of the room, cloak flowing behind him.
'Call ME little stormcloud! I'll show him! I'll get a kiss from Sarah before I leave, you just watch. THEN who'll be smiling old mouse?!' In an attempt to vent some of his annoyance he aims a kick at his bedpost. His yelp carries almost to the kitchen. Hobbling a bit down the stairs, he stops before a vase of fresh flowers. Unable to even guess what Sarah might like he grabs as many as he can carry and sets off to see the mouse of his dreams. He hopes not for the last time.
Name: Spencer (Also "Lil Spenny." -A crack about his hight by those who grew up with him.)
Guard Rank: Tenderpaw
Cloak color: A dull, greenish brown.
Weapon of choice: The Hook and Line, is Spencer's favorite as the adaptiveness of his offsets his small stature, even for a mouse. As a side he also like the dagger, as it makes him look larger by comparison.
Belief: Failure means not trying hard enough. If giving it your all doesn't make it it's alright to ask for help.
Goal: Prove he, small as he is, can be a useful part of The Guard.
Instinct: Take the high ground, moral or physical and try to see whats going on from there.
Are you alright?! cried Spencer looking at his now crippled mentor. It was supposed to be just a simple outing to gather some herbs when the snake arrived.
Calm down! Old Eric commanded with a clear wince of pain in his voice. Damn scaly beast’ll hear you hollering like that. he said while laying down to get his weight off his wounded leg. The deep red gash in his thigh leaked blood and venom.
The thought of that thing coming back terrified Spencer, having seen the beast up close and being inches from its fangs stole any remaining self-assurance he had. While that weighed heavy on his mind, the effort of pulling his crippled mentor to safety had exhausted him physically.
Seeing his pupil in a half droned state of fatigue Eric began giving direct and clear instructions. He’d seen young mice freeze up before and was ready for it. Boy, get a pair of smooth rocks and the herbs we collected. Good. Now grind that top one and the brown leaf down with the rocks. Slowly boy, we need a pulp not to spread it everywhere. It didn’t take long for the mixture to be ready. The hard part was cleaning out the wound; with Eric’s slightly larger girth he couldn’t see it to give proper instruction. Kid, now remember to be gentle but to clean it all out. Understand?
With a shaky nod Spencer did as he was told cleaning the wound and applying the mixture. By the end of the treatment Spencer’s small paws were painted red with patches of a dirty green from where the pulp stuck to his fur. Wrapping the cut in grass he made sure it would stay clean before they headed back for home assured the snake would be gone by now.
Remember now. You just helped me after I fell and cut my leg on some thorns. We don’t need your dear mom dieing-o-fright when you tell her you fought a snake. Between the medicine and whatever he was drinking from his hollowed-out seed flask, he was in high spirits on the way home. Spencer asked if he could try some but by then Eric was all out and just grinned saying Spencer would get his fill when he gets a little older.
That night when he got home from his incident with the snake he still had no appetite, and was already half asleep by the time he got there.
Do you know wha… Momma Sierra asked before her own shriek cut her off. What happened?!
Everything… yawning deeply before continuing is alright. Eric just had a little spill…
”Little spill?!” You’re covered in blood! You got in a fight didn’t you? Just like your father always being reckless and not thinking anything through! Sierra always related Spencer to his father in every way except for height. Although the two had never met they, so everyone says, were exactly the same. Hard headed idiots always getting themselves into trouble.
No mom, I didn’t get into a fight. Eric fell down and cut his leg on a thorn. There had been many times ol’ Eric had told Spencer to lie (only to make people not worry) and he was steadily getting used to it. And it’s been a long day. Can I get cleaned up and go to bed?
Momma Sierra was stunned; her little boy always so full of energy and a thriving hunger was asking to go to bed early and with no question of dinner. Alright… but how about a bite to eat first?
’k. mumbled Spencer drifting back to sleep while stumbling off to get some water to wash up for dinner and bed.
She didn’t say it then but she was sure to have a good long talk with old Eric.
OOC: Spending check to remove the Tired condition.
The next morning Spencer was back at old Eric’s office and changing the grass bandages on his leg. By the look of things they had been changed last night once he got home because everything was cleaned up much better then Spencer remembered, a given considering how foggy that memory was.
Using a water mirror to help him watch, Eric gave pointers to Spencer who was working away. Meanwhile he was listening half-heartedly, at best, to Sierra’s complaints about him being a bad influence and about him bringing Spencer to such dangerous places that he could get hurt. Neither Spencer nor Eric wanted to know how she’d react if she knew the wound was from a snake and not a thorn.
Despite her complaints she made no attempt to drag Spencer home as he expected, choosing to let him make his own mistakes. If he was as much like his father as she claims that would be her only choice anyway.
Having cleaned out the wound again (despite Eric having cleaned it professionally earlier) Spencer began the least fun part of treating a wound, stitching it up when you’re done. With a slim thorn and spider’s thread he got to work closing the wound permanently.
The aid of Eric’s instruction made it a much easier task than first envisioned. And the sight of her boy aptly sewing up a wound was enough to make Sierra fall silent for a moment to the relief of both men’s ears.
OOC: Spending check to test for the Heal skill.
Sorry about the quality of the sheet. I can't make it save as a pdf, so the snipping tool was the best I could do for now.
Guard Rank: Patrol Guard
Cloak Color: Faint Peach
Weapon of Choice: Shield
Belief: Even an independent mouse is responsible for other mice.
Goal: To heal Thistle of her injuries.
Instinct: Improvise as necessary.
Parents: Remmington & Manhattan – Woodrow is the son of a simple but open-minded brewer from Shaleburrow named Remmington and Manhattan, who was the daughter of a Copperwood trader. Woody inherited his father's brown fur and his mother's independent nature. Remmy's brews were quite popular around Copperwood, but Manny had to watch out that her husband was not swindled by the locals. Naturally, Woodrow learned bits about both brewing and haggling from each of his parents as he grew up. When the time came, Remmy supported his son's decision to join the guard, but Manny was considerably less enthused. The two of them remain in Copperwood.
Senior Artisan: Retired Patrol Guard George the Brewer – Although he is now an aging gray mouse, George once set out from Barkstone as an energetic tenderpaw. He served in the guard for many seasons, but his health began to decline and so he retired from active duty. It was then he took up full time work as a brewer in Lockhaven. His steady paws, which once handled a sword with finesse, have now spent many years carefully adding ingredients, stirring pots, and adjusting temperatures. In fact, he often demonstrates this trait in what he calls “the perfect pour.” The popularity of his brews has earned him the rivalry of another local brewer named Ramsey. George remains loyal to the Guard - he even keeps his old pale amber cloak hung over his mantle - and continues to train apprentices. Furthermore, the quick-witted mouse has a particular fondness for Woodrow, because the younger mouse's independent nature drives him to act on instinct.
Guardmouse Mentor: Patrol Leader Eugene the Fighter – Eugene is a surly hardworking black mouse from Ivydale that earned a reputation as being a fierce fighter during the Weasel Wars, almost as famous for his pear yellow cloak as his deadly axe. Having trained many tenderpaws, Gene often wondered if gentle Woodrow was really cut out for the Mouse Guard. However, Woody gradually accepted that he would need the fighting skills his mentor stressed if he wanted to protect other mice. Under Gene's tutelage, Woodrow survived several clashes with weasels and an encounter with a troublesome ground squirrel, and his actions during those situations were a testament to his mentor's teachings. When the time came, Gene bestowed a faint peach cape to Woodrow to symbolize his gentle nature. Eugene remains active in the Guard, usually leading patrols along the borders of weasel territory.
Friend: Guardmouse Thistle the Weather Watcher – Thistle is a young blonde mouse from Port Sumac. From an early age, she demonstrated an exceptional sense of intuition regarding weather patterns, and when she came of the proper age she left to join the Guard to serve as a weather watcher for the patrols - after working as an apprentice to an insectrist for a couple seasons. Woody was a guardmouse on her first patrol as a tenderpaw, and ever since then the two of them have been close. In fact, he immediately became quite protective of her, and he still is as he continues to recall her as the youth she once was rather than the sea green cloak - which represents her bond with nature and her hometown - wearing guardmouse she has become. Although he respects her abilities, his attitude often hampers Thistle's own attempts to assert independence, which she hopes to achieve because she knows this will earn Woodrow's utmost respect. For this reason, Thistle has been trying to get assigned to patrols without Woodrow as of late, which Woody cannot understand.
Enemy: Patrol Guard Sherman the Pathfinder – Sherman is a scruffy gray rat from Elmoss that wears a ruddy brown cloak that reflects his prudent nature and love of the trail. Although he primarily works as a hunter and pathfinder for the guard, Sherman and Woody are also both brewers. Their rivalry dates back to their time working as apprentices for master brewers in Lockhaven, and actually even further because the two breweries they worked for were bitter rivals. However, more than that, Sherman and Woodrow have differing philosophies on what it means to be independent. While Woodrow believes that it is the duty of an independent thinker to care his fellow mice, Sherman believes that an independent mouse should look out for himself first and everyone else second. Despite this tension, the two have worked on several patrols together, due in part to their ability to function independently and their considerable skills.
“Just stay relaxed,” Woodrow said, not quite as calmly or as soothingly as he would have liked. He was kneeling over a blonde guard whose light fur was marked with the dark stain of her own blood. “I’m taking care of you,” he tried again while keeping focused on what his hands were doing as they worked to cover the wound with linen bandages.
“It hurts, Woody,” the little blonde mouse mumbled meekly. Her gaze was soft and set on some far off point in the distance.
“I know, Thistle, but you’ll be okay now,” Woodrow informed his friend as he tied up the last bandage. She didn’t respond though, having fallen unconscious.
“She seems pretty weak, Woodrow,” the gray mouse that was looking over the doctor’s shoulder commented in a skeptical tone. He then cast a glance over to the body of fallen weasel lying nearby to their location.
“That’s the medicine, Sherman,” Woody barked as he slung his shield across his back. He did not like to be questioned by mice who did not know about that of which they spoke. Sherman might have been a talented pathfinder, but he was certainly no doctor. Woodrow did not bother to explain that the wound was not all that deep. Thistle’s copious blood loss had been the result of the amount of time it had taken the other two mice to dispatch of the weasel after their friend had been injured.
Sherman would not have cared for the information anyway. Not that he did not care for his companion, but the mouse’s mind was preoccupied with other details pertinent to the patrol’s survival. “The smell of all this blood will attract predators. We can’t stay here much longer,” he said coolly. He likewise made no indication regarding his assessment that they would be fortunate that whatever scavenger arrived first would stuff its belly with weasel, which would likely buy them some time.
“Right,” Woodrow responded. He had enough sense to listen to other mice when they were the more knowledgeable ones. While still kneeling, Woody adjusted the shield across his back, and then he carefully scooped up Thistle in his arms. “The bandage will hold. I can carry her a ways,” he said as he carefully stood.
Without another word, the mice scurried off of the battlefield into cover and began making their way back towards Lockhaven.
A long still was suddenly shattered by the quiet rustling of a mouse tucked away beneath a warm blanket. Woodrow had gotten a good rest the night before, extending on into the morning, but the trek back to Lockhaven had taken a great deal out of him – a fact that was in no small part attributable to his independent streak. Fortunately, a lingering weariness was nothing he could not shake off with a good nap, in which he had just seen fit to Using 1 Check to Recover from Tired Conditionindulge. However, something had caused him to stir. The pleasant aroma of a boiling wort tempered with a signature blend of hops and honey had permeated the air in the little burrow, tickling Woodrow’s nose.
A bit reluctantly, the brown mouse tossed his blanket aside and sat up in his bed. He then slowly crawled out of bed and gave the little distillery rig he had set up in his burrow a look over, having done all the Using 1 Check to Brew Enough Good Beer for a Groupheavy lifting before retiring to his nap. Everything appeared to be in order, which meant the wort should be draining off to begin cooling and the longer process of fermenting. “Too bad,” Woodrow mused aloud as he wondered how it turned out, but there were more pressing matters. He needed to pay Thistle a visit to see how she was recovering, and then maybe he could stop off at a tavern for a drink.
Last edited by Grenadier; 07-15-2012 at 06:31 PM.