Notable Furres
These NPCs are occasionally played by staff members. Their purpose is to take care of things that need doing because players can't be at their computers 24/7. However it is our intention that players take over their roles and duties!
The Market is maintained by Gregori ‘Greg’ Romanov,
an old Rrussian mixed-breed canine who served his country as a Quartermaster for countless years. In love with his lists and ledgers he keeps track of major transactions and is in charge of making sure that some of the items that are needed for the city are purchased for such. Wearing parts of his old uniform from back in the day he’s a gruff, but fair individual. With an expert eye for appraising items he can tell in moments whether a furre was swindled, or if there are inferior products within the market. Greg’s in charge of which merchants go where, recording what is brought in, dealing with thieves (very rare), and collecting a tiny tithe to maintain the stalls and pay himself a wage that ensures he won’t starve or run out of vodka. From his military background he is not a furre you want to get into a pugilistic contest with.
Garrison Commander Theodore Ripley ‘Rip’ Bartlett the 2nd.
Rip is the Elk veteran of plenty of small-combat actions and defenses in his time. Having served both the Kingdom as well as the Rebels after his half-herbivore unit defected he’s the most qualified for the position in every way except for his age. Still stuffing his greying fur into his helmet every day and getting out into the thick of things his soldiers think him blessed by the Primes not to die in combat. His antlers are about as battered as his well-worn sword and bow, matching his combat-stressed armor perfectly. He’s known to treat his soldiers like each was a favored son or daughter making the furres under him intensely loyal.
Rip: “Strengthen that right flank boys. Move like you wanna fuckin’ live you bastards! I don’t give a Drak’s scaled nut that it’s a drill. Treat it like it’s real or I’ll kick your tail out myself!”
Head Servant: Jerimiah ‘Jeeves’ Caratolli.
A Catolian siamese who comes from a long line of butlers, head maids, and other hearthhome managers. He expects crisp and proper service from everyfurre under his ‘command,’ running them with almost military precision. Every napkin must be folded correctly, every meal right on time, and every servant looking their part. Those who do not comply as expected find themselves washing dishes, peeling potatoes, or doing something equally unpleasant.
Jeeves: “Sir I do believe if you have to expel your drinking humors there is a vase nearby for such an act.”
Cassiel ‘Cass’ Redleaf.
A skunk monk of the Primes dedicated first to Jujinka which is odd for a fighting monk. He is the goodiest of two-shoes that has ever walked the Urrth with the aid of his three-ringed lamp staff. Dressed in humble brown robes with a scratchy hemp vest underneath as his penance Cass is built like an expert staff-fighter. He has taken the Vows of Poverty, Humility, Pacifism, Diet, and Service though kept from the Vow of Chastity as he believes his father has shown one can reach enlightenment without that. He runs the Monastery within town as well as maintains a garden to feed the poor first and them himself.
Cass: “Good evening! Such a clear night that one may see the stars the Primes have blessed us with. Have you eaten? Do you have a warm place to sleep?”
Lowell Harvard Briggs.
This straw-hat sporting mule is the ‘unofficial’ spokesfurre for the Riverfolk. His jovial laughter can be heard for quite a distance when he gets going. Carrying a bit of a pot belly within his home-spun clothing he looks very approachable as a strand of grass projects from his muzzle. Very much of a lives in the sticks kind of furre he is the one that the Riverfolk go to for decisions and judgement as the patron of the group. He lives right out on the river in a house-raft that is known to move up and down the river.
Briggs: “Well now why don’tcha just sit down and have some vittles, tell us what all yah’ve got goin’ on there neighbor.”
William Robert Thorton.
A very sturdy dingo who looks the part of the river-dweller in his simple canvas clothing strained across the shoulders and upper arms. He’s always carrying a reverse-bladed curved knife about two paces long and thin. His eyes are permanently intense as if you are being considered for which meat cut might be the most tender. He doesn’t talk much, but when he does it’s a low series of noises that resemble a mumble. The ratty tail he sports never wags, and he sticks near Briggs all of the time with an ear perked for orders. Not much is known about him by anyfurre but Briggs.
Willy: “Ah reckon yer leg’d look purdy bent all backwards, mmhmm.”
Citizen: “What?!?!”
Willy: “Nuthin.”
Bartholomew ‘Hawkmaster’ McManus and his Scarhawk 'Lucky.'
A Eirish highlander missing his left eye and right arm, covered in scars, obviously tough as nails. His bird ‘Lucky’ is missing half of his left wing and all of his tail yet still somehow can still take to the skies. Bart’s right arm ends in a sharp bladed pair of hooks that he uses with practiced skill, he’s loud and a bit of a chatterbox. ‘Lucky’ is fairly churlish and aggressive with any furre except for his rider to which he is like a tame kiwi. Aside from being able to interact with any hawk Bart is a flight instructor for anyfurre that needs it. The pair can still barrel through the skies like a couple of hammers.
Bart: “Hahaha! Ye cannae bridle yer bird like tha ahn still expect her tah cut the wind onna pence. It’s tha same as bridlin’ ah ‘strix onna legs eh Lucky?”
Lucky: Skreeee!
Goodwife Amber Mercia.
A Frrench brown bear femme that dresses in a very ‘traditional’ sense which is now out of date. Ruffles pop out at her throat, wrists, and should her skirts ever lift high enough they’re down there too. She’s a by-the-book midwife and wetnurse, very skilled in first aid and general surgery practices. Aware of herbs and how they can assist with the healing process she maintains a small garden outside of the healer’s. Her advanced age makes house-calls problematic and it takes her awhile to walk back to the healer’s building. She has a limp in her right leg, and is starting to form cataracts on the corners of her eyes, though is still sharp enough to perform.
Amber: “Honey I’ve seen plenty worse than that, ain’t no need for whimpering and carryin’ on. Here, drink this.”
David Evanlel York AKA 'Yorkie.'
Who happens to be a Yorkie a little on the chubby side who works as a kiwi breeder as well as maintains the kiwi racetracks. Pretty much all that he does revolves around his little herd and those tracks. Fortunately he is enough of a realist to accept that his birds are also food sources. More than happy to talk all about his favorite critters, (hint: Kiwi) he’ll also readily show off his breeding and how quick some of his birds are. For the right price he’ll even part with some of the nicer specimens. He also happens to have training harness for the birds, tiny weights for their legs, racing vests, and countless other accessories one can think of. He’s a kiwi-nerd, and is able to eke out a living by it.
Yorkie: “Hey yeah, that’s like the woodland kiwi, who are much better swimmers than the common grassland kiwis who are swifter runners. Actually I’ve got some cross-breeds out in the pens if you wanna take a look. Howaboutit?”
Andrew Phenopolus.
An older coyote of a soldier’s build except it looks like he’s let himself go a little bit. He carries a thick leather-bound book in which he records debts, larger bets, coin transfers, changes in the odds. While he lives in a shack near the tracks and actually wears a mantle made of kiwi feathers he somehow always has coin to cover the spread if things go badly for him. Some think he found a buried treasure and has been dipping into the gold to cover times when he may have mis-calculated the odds.
Andy: "Good evenin' chum. Are you lookin' for some action wit' a bit of coin there? Got a few 5-1 payouts if you're interested mate."
Yun Sang Sun AKA 'Yunnie.'
Head bartender and owner of the Raptor’s Roost tavern, this possum is doing his best to fit into Kasurian lifestyles. Being still fresh off the boat he still ends up putting soy sauce into the roast ostrix, and pairing rice with almost everything. Fortunately he can’t mess up the booze, and since it’s the only tavern in the area it does enough business. He’s adopted loose breeches, blue tunic, tooled leather shoes, and a red apron to finish off the tavern keeper’s look. Friendly and always ready to take an order he’s eager to be good company as well as chatter about rumors. Proud of his establishment his wife and three kits live in the back of the building with him as well as help in the kitchen and with the dishes.
Yunnie: “Here’s your chicken and dumplings, with rice. So what’s the word around town?”
Yarburrow Gerald Conway.
A blind ferret slightly stooped over who carries a staff that doubles as a blind stick. Wearing the robes of a senior apprentice he appears to be somewhere in his sixties, far too old for the position. Yar’s usual spot is in front of the Mage tower sitting in a worn wooden chair in order to keep mundanes with no legitimate business out. The cream white orbs of his eyes still attempt to move and catch the sources of sounds in their empty gaze. While terrible as a fire mage he is excellent at detecting falsehoods and using his staff to deter furres. Most of the other mages ignore him for the most part, but do tell stories of how a magic missle to the knee ended poor Yar’s mage career.
Yar: "Hold on right there young'in. You ain't no mage, my sniffer tells me. If you was a mage I'd feel a tickle in mah nose and a tingle in my leg. Magic missile took mah leg and mah career from me. Lemme tell you young'in....."
