app ❀
Out of Character Information
player name: Rue
player livejournal: vulvarise
playing here: N/A
where did you find us? Folks on Plurk, actually!
are you 16 years of age or older?: I am.
In Character Information
character name: Snufkin
fandom: The Moomins
timeline: Finn Family Moomintroll; book three, just as he's leaving in the autumn to go off on his travels.
character's age: Unknown. He's a small thing (half Mymble) with boyish features, but he's also incredibly wise, level-headed, and likes to smoke a pipe. I'm going to put him at about twenty-two.
powers, skills, pets and equipment:
ADDED FOR SCORCHED Snufkin's powers are heavily tied into the very fabric of nature itself. He's incredibly in touch with the natural world and has the ability to make green things grow healthily and rapidly, as well as the ability to communicate with plants and animals in the same way he would a living breathing person. While it's beyond his capability (as well as his desire) to use these powers in a situation that might call for combat, he can encourage roots to untangle, thickets to part, and can ask a passing sparrow where the best place to pick berries might be.
❀ Pipe
❀ Tobacco pouch
❀ Small knapsack
❀ One bedroll
❀ One small basic tent
❀ One harmonica
canon history:
Moomins @ Wikipedia
Snufkin @ Wikipedia
personality:
Snufkin is a sensitive little fellow with a tender heart and an adventurous soul. Physically, he may be small and relatively boyish, but there's a kind wisdom glittering behind those eyes that hints towards the person hiding beneath that pointed green hat of his. He's calm and good-hearted, mostly unflappable, and small creatures from far and wide often come to visit his camp for counsel. He's the kind of chap whose opinion and guidance is always listened to, always respected, quite possibly because he's one of the most well-travelled creatures to set foot in the Moominvalley. Naturally, he's picked up a sensible word or two on his journeys, and he's always happy to share what he's learned with anyone who fancies listening.
His nomadic roots have shaped his lifestyle into something lighthearted and pure: he doesn't believe in possessions, he doesn't believe in behaving unkindly, and he treasures his friends in the same way that many men might treasure gold, jewels, riches and power. The people he knows are the most precious things in his life, and he's unquestionably loyal to those who manage to find a special place in his heart. All he needs is a comfortable patch of ground to rest his head at night and a full pouch of tobacco-the simple life, that's more than good enough for him, and while he's unjudgemental towards those who think differently, he firmly believes that everyone would be happier if they didn't spend so much time and energy worrying about Things.
It wouldn't be too bold to say that it's these Things that he has the greatest problem with in life. He disapproves of figures of authority and doesn't like the use of labels-he became very upset when the kind old Hemulen tried to put up a sign that marked the 'beginning' of the Moominvalley, and responded quite childishly by planting a mass of Hattifatteners in his garden. Life, in Snufkin's opinion, is something that should have no boundaries and no written instructions: there's no point in living at all if you can't do with a free spirit and an open mind, which is one of the reasons he chooses not to keep any unnecessary possessions of his own. When one becomes too attached to inanimate objects one runs the risk of becoming selfish and stressed, of valuing items higher than valuing friends, which is when the problem of social status and class can begin to rear its large and ugly head.
Snufkin believes that all living creatures are equal, no matter how large or small. No one is undeserving of happiness: it's really quite unfair that some folks try to hoard as much of it up as they can-good things should always be shared, good feelings should always be celebrated, and good people should always be appreciated for the kindness they offer to others. More often than not Snufkin can be found putting others before himself simply because of his good nature and his desire to bring cheer to his friends: there's nothing he wouldn't do for them, come hell or highwater, and his reliability has earned him a great deal of love and respect over the years.
He always enjoys a good challenge and he's constantly looking for new ways to expand his horizons, be it literally or figuratively. Snufkin is a very physical person and he enjoys hands-on activities and pastimes: climbing, hiking, singing, swimming ... He loves the Great Outdoors as much as he loves life itself, and the prospect of undertaking an existence that didn't connect with nature in some way is something that he just can't understand. The world is full of unheard songs and unfound friends, of secret paths and secret spells, and he's made it his business to explore as much as possible in the hopes of discovering as much as he can.
Slightly less energetic hobbies include knitting, fishing and writing poetry as well as playing musical instruments. Snufkin has a taste for beautiful things-words and music in particular-and he likes to compose just as much as he likes to sit back and listen. Music can be found everywhere in nature and he draws on it a lot for his own little ditties-his songs are light, sweet to hear, and his poetry flows like water, and he loves to recite (or play his harmonica) as he wanders the woodland from place to place. There's nothing that doesn't fascinate him, nothing that he wouldn't like to learn about, and that never-ending quest for knowledge and beauty is ultimately what he lives for.
why do you feel this character would be appropriate to the setting?
Snufkin is an adventurer at heart. He's used to the wild unknown and he's definitely used to fending for himself: while combat isn't a strong point for him he's a survivalist first and foremost, which means he'll be more than adept at making the best of all the bad situations that are likely to fall upon him at Anatole. While his canon is aimed at children their adventures can be quite grim. I think that, as a character, he'll be able to handle the horror aspect of the game very well, and I'm looking forward to developing this part of his personality at Scorched!
Writing Samples
network post sample:
Hallo!
[ ... Well, would you look at that! The video feed flickers on at last, after no small amount of time spent trying to figure out the mechanics of this peculiar little thing that catches voices, faces, even little slivers of the recorder's surroundings. True, this isn't Snufkin's first attempt at a video message but it's certainly his most successful, and he's looking rather pleased with himself despite the less than ideal circumstances.
If the tent in the background is anything to go by he appears to have made camp somewhere outside. Listen hard enough and you might be able to hear the tell tale suck and swish of waves lapping against cold sand: Snufkin doesn't seem unduly perturbed by the spooky shore-in fact, those tea-coloured eyes are glittering from beneath the wide brim of his green hat-and the warmth in the smile upturning the corners of his lips could put even the likes of Sniff at ease. ]
It's getting rather chilly out so I'll try to make this quick. I am looking for a dear friend of mine-he goes by the name of Moomintroll and he's a very sweet fellow: small ears, a round tummy, and possibly the finest tail you ever will see.
I'd be awfully upset if anything untoward had happened to him. It's true that I haven't seen him since I left the Moominvalley, back when the leaves began turning orange and gold, but I'm terribly concerned that he's ended up here as well. I couldn't bear it if he was alone and scared when he could be here sharing my tent.
[ A fluttering breeze whips up the soft brown curls resting against Snufkin's cheek, and he looks up for a moment, listening intently. ]
Ah ... Time for me to go, I think. Please do get in touch if you think that you've seen him-and do remember the tail! It's quite difficult to miss, and I'm certain that you'll be suitably impressed when you see it.
[ And the feed cuts. ]
third person sample:
The rain was welcome. Fat little droplets danced over the deep reds and golds of the remaining autumnal leaf, sometimes shaking the branches, other times encouraging the dying foliage to let go its weak hold and flutter to the ground beneath. Snufkin pulled the folds of his moss-green robe closer to his body as he sat beneath the tree's protective canopy-in a few weeks he would no longer have the option of taking such easy shelter from the rain, although it had been a long, long time since such thoughts had caused him any kind of concern. He prided himself in knowing Moominvalley like the back of his hand, after all, and Moomin would have given him quite a talking before he left had he not known where to find the small nooks, cramped crannies, and cozy little caves that had kept them warm and dry so many times before.
Snufkin smiled at the thought. He filled his lungs with a breath of fresh wet air, unfolding his legs and stretching them out in front of him with a sigh that spoke of comfort and contentment. Yes, he thought, ankles crossed to better admire the scuff marks decorating his little brown boots, Today is a good day to rest. He reached into his knapsack and pulled his pouch and pipe from one of the inner pockets; small and polished-a lovely old friend; and packed the bowl with tea-coloured tobacco from the fold of soft weave. The match burned and crackled brightly when he struck it against the rough paper packet-within seconds he was enjoying his first mouthful of fragrant blue smoke, the embers glowing a warm orange with every leisurely suck.
When the rain lifts I shall pitch my tent beneath this very tree, he mused, tilting his head back a little way so that he was resting comfortably against the thick bark. And I shall sup on bread and cold spring water before I turn in for the night. Not for the first time he allowed himself a moment to wish all sorts of kind thoughts to Moomin Mama, who had insisted on sending him off with several neatly wrapped paper packages of dried fruit, cured fish, bread and cheese. Snufkin was certain he had spotted a few pickled eggs in there, too, which he was looking forward to having for his breakfast, and he closed his eyes with a pleased smile before lifting the pipe to his lips again.
He wasn't entirely sure how long he'd spent dozing under the tree-one could get awfully absorbed in listening to the gentle song of rainfall-but when he opened his eyes again the downpour had lifted to a fine drizzle. It was quiet, different, and the pitter-patter of droplets seemed almost tentative, as though the weather was experiencing some kind of shy unease. His empty pipe lay cradled against his lap and his pack was as he'd left it ...
But that. That certainly hadn't been there before.
Snufkin blinked incredulously as he eyed the huge stone arch that appeared to have materialized out of the rain-it was strange and ominous, seemed to ward away as much as it beckoned, and for half a moment he fancied that it was the work of the Hobgoblin himself. Surely not! Wide eyed and curious, Snufkin rose to his feet (and shouldered his knapsack for good measure) before approaching the strange piece of masonry, inspecting it from as many angles as possible before finally stepping beneath the arch itself.
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anything else?
❀ He's about 5ft tall.
❀ He's not a vegetarian, but he doesn't believe in wearing animal hides.
