“No mouse here fears the harvester at the ole toll gate! They’d merrily stroll the road to oblivion if it wasn’t for a gnawin anxiety of being forgotten! And that’s where I come in! I’ll remember them for em. Leave em laughing, even in the end. If it only means this hell hole is a notch more bearable!~”
Name: Montary Jack, as in the Cheese. This was the name he ended up with during his days as a street performer. It involved some cheese, knives, and a volunteer. It didn't go as planned.
Rank: Watcher; Many wonder how the hell this dandy is even alive, and mostly in tact.
Appearance: Among the watch, Montary is one of the few whom could be claimed as a beacon of charisma. The white and mottled brown mouse, could still look dashing in the most rag-tag, moth shredded, mud soaked, incompetent outfit you could find. And it’s certainly not to the lack of other’s trying.
The little dandy stands shorter than most males – and sports a sleek build. His whiskers are somehow permanently twisted together drawing into four sharp points, two on either side of his snout. And the fur of his chin? Rather than being cut short, it was allowed to grow a little longer, and form into a fine point.
But as any story of a troubadour can tell you, the tides of battle leaves no mouse unscathed. For he does have a few scars. A notch of his ears missing, and also some signs of claws raking on his hide, but the fur is more than capable of hiding those.
Montary wears very little in his day to day activities. He’s a mouse proud to show himself off, even when he’s soaked in blood, and other filth. On his head he sports a fashionably gawdy lopsided poof of a hat. Purple in color with a large feather jutting out from the front and arcing to the back. And the watcher’s cloak he wears?
His mentor had chosen the color pink for him to wear. For the mouse’s lack of shame, flamboyant personality, and humor. And of course, the little dandy wears it with pride, and with absolutely not a single shred of shame.
Personality: Above all else, and as his appearance foretells, the mouse is a Minstrel first and a soldier second. His honed sense of humor, and love for the stage are true testiments to that. Many times, he can seem foolhardy, flippant, overconfident, and a flirt. Even worse, a drunkard and an idiot. And yet despite all of this, he can show the traits of a leader in well-timed fits. Perhaps not the same as a mouse of valor giving out orders to troops whom are paniced. Or someone who rallies another by the wind of her banner, to an army who’s disorganized. No, where he shines best is in an army that had already been broken.
Yes, the thespian is a master of reading the emotions in the room. The man who desires to reignite and kindle the flames in the hearts of many mice. He kills the time and slays boredom with songs belted out with the aid of his hurdy-gurdy. He chips away the aching fear of being forgotten after death by inscribing the Watch’s stories, exploits, and the individual members into an Annal. And most importantly, he gives the biggest insult to the face of grim-dark by ensuring the good times keep rolling.
He’s a charming mouse, who sees the world as his audience and like any good thespian, he strives to keep them entertained.
… When he’s not flirting with the mouse over younder.
