Oh look, a quest!

[sleaze]

I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife Name and physical description of your character (color, age, gender, build, eye color, any important scars/markings, the usual): He’s his father’s son, but that’s not saying much, for the boy is born of two men. So, let’s try again: he is Garbage’s son, black all the way down and well-built. His body betrays little of the Arabian lineage, it prefers the thicker breeds, mustangs and god-knows what else. He is not particularly muscular; he has nothing to train for and no bloodlust (he prefers prostrations to battle, never understood the unique art of hoof and teeth to skin). His eyes do lack Garbage’s orange jack-lantern hue, instead they are his other father’s – a soft brown, a creature gentled, a creature who still remembers with a strange ache the way Garbage would lay his cheek across his back for just a moment too long. He bears few scars. There are a few unimportant lines across his legs, encounters with thorns and unforgiving underbrush. Most of his battles took place inside his head, and are not displayed for them to see. The only ones of note are on his knees – they are bare and hairless from spending so much time prostate on them, bent in ways horses are not meant to bend. All in all, he is an unremarkable boy. There is perhaps a bit of uniqueness in his becoming – a boy created by magic but ultimately ordinary, a boy whose father (Garbage, the one who remained, for Cancer had left by then, left both of them) taught him garbled prayers, who kept him on his knees. (Garbage left too. He does not know why. He was never a particularly perceptive boy, and he never realized the twist in Garbage’s heart when his orange eyes trailed over Sleaze’s growing body.) Where your character is and what she is doing when, as per quest-usual, she gets plucked out of her ordinary life by some magical being and thrown into adventure: Wandering. He is always wandering. There has been no place for him since that nameless meadow where Garbage raised him. He drifts in and out of Beqanna, feeling no real fidelity to any particular land (his blood holds promises of the old guard – the flavor of kings and queens from the deserts and valley and dale, but none of those lands appeal to him). When he comes, he mostly goes to the meadow (where he’d once met a mare, a mother figure, who had held him close and he still wonders about her, what they had been; and what, exactly, he had wanted from her). He is in the meadow now, when the magic wraps its shackles around his ankles. He feels it like a particular weight, a pressure around the fetlocks, a tightening, and for a moment he wonders if his legs are about to be severed, and he wonders if this is the end. He has never been a particularly strong boy, and he doubts he’d survive for long, amputated so. But instead the magic yanks him forth, all of him. His stomach drops as he travels, and he sees things from the corner of his eye as he goes and he thinks one of them looks like his father and then he thinks, I’m going mad, I’m finally going mad. (He’s wondered often enough when it would happen, it seemed inevitable: the religious zealot who sometimes battles queer feelings he cannot quite grasp or describe, the boy who spent hours on his knees mumbling prayers to half-formed gods.) But the spiraling world stills and he is now in a new land, one he does not quite recognize. He stands and makes no attempt to still his shaking knees. “I’m here,” he says, as much to himself as to the beings around him. Tell me a little bit about your character. A little about her personality, her history, significant influences, whatever you think is important. Or, if she’s active, feel free to include a link to a recent post or two. Or a picture that feels like her, or whatever you think will help convey who she is. Yes I know this is vague. Sorry about that. Roll with it. It’s going to be okay. This bit isn't life or death or anything. If you have any questions, feel free to ask on OOC board or in cbox or what have you: He is the child of lovers who were halfway out the door. Cancer, the gray magician who fell in love like the west was won, had magicked him, made Sleaze from himself and from his lover, Garbage. But before Sleaze finished gestating in Garbage’s magicked womb the gray magician had left them, chasing his macaw-winged androgen. (Garbage had no hard feelings. Even then, Garbage always expected them to leave him.) So Sleaze was raised with only one father. He was raised to believe in gods that Garbage could neither fully articulate nor fully believe in, but Sleaze believed in ways his father never could. He took to prayer like a fish to water, spent enough time on his knees to wear them bear. Sometimes Garbage would join him, and sometimes Garbage would lay his cheek across his back and Sleaze could hear the heartbeat. (He has never been a particularly bright boy, and he didn’t know the turmoil that raged inside Garbage, who never quite knew how to love him as he should a son, the edges were blurred for Garbage, washed away by the storms.) This is what Sleaze is: a strange religious zealot who is no longer quite sure who or what to pray to. This is what Sleaze is: a lost boy, an isolated boy, a boy who wants things he cannot quite decipher. This is what Sleaze is: never a particularly bright or strong or perceptive boy, who does not know why he is here or why his ankles still ache form the magic shackles that drew him forth. Your three favorite colors. You the player, not you the character. Be as specific or as general as you like, as long as you’re using words instead of numbers. No wait, feel free to use numbers too if you want, because for example, “puce” means very different things to different people…: 1. Purple. Dark purple, like #6A287E. 2. Pink. Bright/deep pink, like #F52887 3. Black. Just normal black, no hexcode. Go roll the baby stat generator and give me the first number: 28. sleaze cancer x garbage