Fallo has come home
Fallo Swordsferret last edited by
Name: Fallomous A. Staggertail, or just Fallo for short.
Age: 27 seasons
Weight: 123 Lb
Personality: Fallo is quite the obnoxious specimen, and he has the tendency to talk a tad too much for his own good. While it can be said that he is somewhat kinder than a normal ferret, he is known to kill just a cruelly and wantonly as his brethren, if not more so. He is drawn to female mustelids, regardless of race or creed, and loves to get drunk and have a good laugh.
He’ll be loyal to you if you are in possession of one of four things; his trust, his friendship, ample amounts of gold to fill his coffers, or a highly complementary recommendation from another beast. If none of the former criteria apply to you, then approach with extreme caution. While he throws on the veil of jolly ignorance and utter incompetence when in the stereotypical bar-room setting, you cross him once and his blades might just end up crossing your throat.
He has no qualms with tickling the intestines of another beast with his blades, even if he does feign squeamishness for the sake of his audience. He despises being called, or even being associated with the term vermin, as he believes there is no such thing as a certifiable classifiable taxonomic species known as vermin. He vehemently believes that every beast is comprised of all the same guts underneath it all. However, being an ex-corsair, he does tend to be an extremist, and this belief of equality doesn't stop him from staging raids and using a poor friar's guts for garters.
In the time he has spent amongst intellectual beasts in some of the most prestigious of bars the known world over, he has seen fit to abandon his coarse corsair accent. Thanks to the effort of a very patient linguist, he has chosen an educated, light British accent as a suitable replacement for his horrid cockney one prior. However, when he is drunk, he occasionally goes back into old corsair speech. Force of habit, y'know? He is fluent in old world gothic, and corsair speech. He is quite intelligent considering his background, and used to keep an expansive library in his ship, that is before his mutinous crew scuttled it in retaliation for his lowering allotted rations.
Strengths: Fallo’s strength relies in his uncanny speed; he can sprint quite fast for his species, and his stamina almost rivals that of a portly hedgehog baited by his favorite candied scone or whatnot. Another one of his positive features, that has also served to bail him out of some serious peril, is his impromptu charm. Yes, if Fallo was ever captured he would attempt to use his charm as leverage to get himself out of trouble. Either that or he would enact a clumsy plan and some ill-conceived subterfuge. Perhaps he would just offer them a drugged beer and flee, or trick them into cutting his binds and then flee. Who knows?
His strength can also be said to lie in his paranoia, which has led him to drug quite a large quantity of the beer he carries around with him. An unfortunate side-effect of that is that he occasionally confuses the spiked beverages with the normal ones. I'll leave the aftermath his confusion wreaks to your imagination, but let's just say that he still neglects to label the bottles properly.
With him being a 'seasoned' corsair-cum-privateer his fighting skills are exemplary. Or so he boasts, rather they are marginal and lack-luster, but in this part of the woods he truly has nothing to fear.
Weaknesses: His fixation on any alcohol in the vicinity. This includes, but is not limited to, the following examples: beer, liquor, wine, mead, brandy, scotch, whiskey, and finally grog. He is constantly getting himself into either a drunken frenzy or winds up so inebriated that he's left in a nigh irreversible stupor for the rest of the eve until ‘morning. If you are afforded the acute misfortune to be the one to offer him a drink, he really can’t resist obliging you. Be wary, for if you are not attentive, he may end up swiping your entire inventory; what starts off as a single goblet turns into two, then three, then the bottle, and so on and so forth until your entire cellar has been emptied and the few remaining kegs are being carted off by some mischievous ferret and his ne’er-do-well crew.
His more serious weakness is constant ogling and even pursuit of the opposite gender from his and his relative’s species. He just can’t stifle those urges really, and if allowed to he would lust over every female muestilid in the entire region. However, this could end up with him uttering the wrong collection of phrases to the wrong female, and may even leave him dead or dying over the stupidity dribbling out of his own mouth. He could flirt with, and subsequently offend the daughter of the skipper of otters by mistake, and end up full of javelins one day! I wouldn’t put it past him.
Habits: He has the habit of twiddling with and even furiously flicking the golden earring on his left ear as a sort of a compulsive comfort reaction when nervous, and he has developed an unhealthy taste for the lovely assortment of liquors and other alcoholic beverages that he has encountered in his travels. Typically he winds up consuming too much and on more than one occasion has he found himself half way down the river Moss in a bottle-ridden dingy with a headache the size and formidability of a typhoon.
His tail wags akin to a canines when he is happy or excited, so whenever you hear that tell-tale thump of his appendage against the thick wooden walls of a bar, that should be your cue to leave. Promiscuous and lecherous behavior has been made into his top priority when he is about maidens, and though he possesses the charm and wit of a gentle beast, he has the briny pit of a heart any one of his sea rat compatriots possesses.
He also has a profoundly annoying habit of whistling too much and at the inappropriate time, much to the chagrin of any serious crew he has been conscripted to. He also tends to spout quotes from the few tattered books he 'owns', or rather repossessed after they pillaged a few monasteries.
Physical Description: Let’s start with his body, shall we? He is exceedingly tall, about a head and a half more than his average kinsman. Coupled with his relative thinness, this gives him the appearance of a lithe willow or some other non-threatening tree. Yet despite his misleading appearance his is surprisingly muscular, and possesses a wiry strength.
His adventurous smile glitters faintly despite his slightly yellowed teeth, though they still show signs of previous barbarism. Many a sum of chips from this ferret's razor teeth have been lost in scuffles to disgruntled opponents.
His most notable feature being his silver-colored fur with a creamy white- grey speckled underbelly, though the ladies should consider themselves lucky to be allowed to privilege to see so much of him. If they are allowed that privilege, that is.
He has long legs, maybe a bit longer then a normal ferret, and has a silver tail with a black tip dangling limply betwixt them. Despite the coarse and inhospitable look on his fur, it is surprisingly soft, comparable to velveteen in its feel. When it is dirty, however, it is exactly how it looks, coarse, and grimy. He has a dark silver mask, and c-shaped ears, as nearly all ferrets do. A pinkish nose serves as the centerpiece of his elongated face, between two hazel eyes that display his untrustworthiness and list all of his sins from the last month or so. Expressive, yes, alluring, maybe, friendly? No.
He is clothed in his own personal articles that he himself crafted from the skin of a rival captain. The ragged squeals the poor beast emitted whilst he flayed him alive brought Fallo great pleasure indeed. Out of this one great rat's hide did he make the following: leather gloves, leather pants, and even a pair of leather boots with wooden soles as well. All tanned to a dark brown, and soft as a newborn's bottom, with plenty left over to be repurposed as binding and covering for many of his books.
In addition to his macabre apparel he wears a modest grey shirt of scratchy wool, and an olive green coat. In his pants, which sag a bit, he keeps a veritable store of wine bottles and beer bottles, in case he needs to quench his thirst. Another resident of his deep pockets is a hidden dirk, who isn't much of a talker, but is always concise and has this way of getting his point across.
He also wears a rat leather belt with a golden buckle, studded with sapphires. Why didn't I list this above? Because, the fashion statement was crafted from an entirely different rat, but that story is for another time. The buttons on Fallo’s fly and coat are made from the mother of pearl in an abalone shell he found discarded on a beach, though that story is a great bore at parties. So, instead he states that he swam down to the ocean floor to retrieve it himself.
A crude pair of spectacles reside in his coat pocket, largely due to his horrid farsightedness when reading, and also because they give him the appearance and air of a sophisticated gentle beast. In his other pant pocket he carries a book, a journal from another corsair witch he reads and even corrects on occasion. Adorning his left ear is a large, golden hoop earring, and bound tightly across his head is and a blood red silken headband. Strapped to his back are a beaten saber and a capricious rapier in hilts of tough oaken wood fixed together with sticky resin coated in worn leather. They both came from his late father, old Aloysius Staggertail, who too was a pirate of untold skill. By that, I mean literally, his skills were unknown except for whatever tales he spun at the bar.
Family Overview: Fallo was a single child born to corsair Aloysius Staggertail and his mate Mira Staggertail, who was once an assassin. They lived in a secluded area of Mossflower with a kin of about sixty ferrets, some young, old, and middle aged. A community of three generations of thieves, mercinaries, common hoods and merchant folk, a paradise to all and a trading hub for most. Some of the other residents that came on their long pilgrimages across the country were retired corsairs, assassins, horde beasts, or just woodland dwelling relatives. When Fallo was about five seasons old his father left on a corsair journey with dire results, leaving only his red silken headband and signature weapons behind as memoirs for his son. He made way to Salamandastron and was killed, predictably, yet still his death is unbeknownst to Fallo to this very day.
When Fallo was eight, his village was attacked by an army of vengeful Salamandastron hares, squirrels, and hedgehogs who sought to quell the constant stream of raids coming from this location. The community was caught unawares, and without hesitation did the goodbeasts massacre them, burnt everything to the ground and killed every beast within arm's reach. They left not but glowing embers, darkening cinders, and corpses oozing life in their wake.
Fallo had fled when the attack commenced with only the clothes on his back and a few other important possessions, including his father’s personal effects. He wandered about aimlessly for another eight seasons, until a few traders stole him away and sold him into slavery. He was a slave on for about one and a half years, transferred from vessel to vessel as the captains saw fit.
Eventually, he became a cabin boy, then first mate, and finally captain of his own ship. The Pockmark, as he called it. He fell in love with one of the mercenaries that he employed, who hailed from the kingdom of Aragon in Spain, and 'twas a passionate affair. In a series of unfortunate events his ship was destroyed and she died. But before her sudden rendezvous with death, she had made it a point to give him the greatest gift of all; knowledge. In their time spent making love sporadically for a season or two she also saw fit to educate him, thus endowing him with a dibbun's meager education. This was his leaping off point for his lengthy, and somewhat lazy, pursuit of a higher intellect. He lived in another village known as Rugbark in relative comfort, and then came to this place here by chance once he returned to find his old Rugbark was reclaimed by the forest and by time.
Aloysius Staggertail: He was a light sable furred corsair at the age of twenty seven when he married Mira Staggertail. He was feared across the ocean as Al “the gutter” Staggertail. Only his wife called him by his full name. The reason he was called the gutter was because he would disembowel his enemies. He loved his wife very much, and treated her with utmost kindness and respect, and when she asked him to help her make a child, he couldn’t refuse her wishes. And that was how Fallo came to be. Al had to leave constantly in order to work, and to bring in food, and other imported goods to his kin. Unfortunately, the last raid he tried to pull off was at the mountain fortress, and cost him his life. He died at age thirty three. He had light brown eyes, and a beige speckled nose.
Mira Staggertail: Mira Staggertail was a twenty year old silver white mitt ferret and a trained, knife fighting assassin who was ordered to kill Al “the gutter” but when they met, she refused to. She was twenty one when she married Al, and she was totally in love with him. He would do nearly whatever she asked, just to please her. She had the traits Fallo inhabited, except for determination, and the corsair traits from his father. She had brown eyes, and a rosey pink nose, and died at the age of twenty four.
Guest last edited by
Welcome to Redwall's Legacy, Fallo! It's nice to have you join us! Your character's profile is very well written and thought out.
Kyrodo last edited by
I welcome you as well! Glad to have you here
Fallo Swordsferret last edited by
Thank you for the warm salutations, gentlemen, I am more appreciative of this than you know.
Thank you for that King Vikenti, however it is still in the rough stages of developement, as you can see by the abhorrent grammatical errors. Hopefully I will improve as time goes on. I can't wait to join or create a Roleplay thread. ^^