The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 29: UNINTELLIGIBLE!

The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 29: UNINTELLIGIBLE!
RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 11: HARSH!
Name: Muske Brackwater

Species: Human

Gender: Female

Color:
swimp swamp

Description:
Muske would rather be left alone but finds it too rude to say it out loud. So she makes it up with her appearance. She is of average height, but gives an illusion of being even shorter due to her vulture-like posture. This is all complemented by her stringy-black hair and eerie-green eyes. She wears an itchy hair-shirt, obscured by a ratty cloak she found on the way-side. She takes great pains to obscure her hands beneath her cloak for a multitude of reasons; she gets pretty cold easily, and because her hands are completely devoid of skin and covered in sickly-green mushrooms.

The horrid state of her hands is the indicator of the fell forces she constantly interacts with and her subsequent exile by those who feared them. So it is quite understandable that Muske has a bit of contempt for society – or really any institution with a set of rules that people are obligated to follow. As such, she is brusque and curt with words, and preferring to talk to frogs instead of untrustworthy humans.

Weapons/Abilities: Muske is the caretaker of Slaugh the Sickle-Clawed, a wetlands nature spirit who has potent powers over life and death. In return for her service, Muske receives a fraction of her patron powers – which allows her to do things like befouling water to the point of sheer acidity and rapidly decompose organic detritus. Theoretically, she could do freaky shit with these divine-granted powers but the concept of skeletonizing a live person - even a person she hated - never really sat well with her.

Biography: Slaugh the Sickle-Clawed sat down – the immense astral sea barely even covering one-fourth of her crocodilian body. This, unfortunately, blatantly displayed the bad news for everyone. Bits of scales had been falling out. Gaping holes, like the reverse of stars, pock-marked her once shining body, eliciting an instinctual shudder of revulsion from the horrified Muske. Slaugh noticed her reaction and gave her a humorous glance with her slitted eye to levitate the mood, an immense effort considering the horrific state of her spiritual health.

But of course, the air of the conversation was as aerodynamic as a turtle glued onto a brick. The news was bad and clear as spring ring. The chemicals from the factories wore away at her. Her mangroves had been tore down. The water drained and made into more aesthetically pleasing lawns. The number of her followers slowly whittled down, the survivors retiring or, more horrifyingly going into religions that was more accepted by the ruling state. Slaugh was slowly starved of her divinity. Without material relics, there was no respect. Without followers, there was no memory. Slaugh the Sickle-Clawed, First Daughter of the Forest, was going to die. She knew it. But Muske didn’t.

“My Lady!” Muske prostrated herself, tears rolling down her eyes. “What shall we do to cure your woes?”

Slaugh thought long and hard. She was not stupid, being one of last surviving demigods from the Age of Folly granted her plenty of time and so plenty of wisdom. She knew she was going to die – and while she didn’t really want to die, she readily accept there was no other option. There was no way to cure a nature spirit, especially one at her age, but Muske was one of her favorite followers. Slaugh couldn’t really say the truth of her inevitable demise...

“MUSKE,” Slaugh boomed. “IN ORDER TO CURE MY WOES…”

And so Slaugh spun a story about how Muske needs to get the Tears of the Mist-Queens – although she highly doubted that the veracity of the Mist-Queens. As Muske steered herself, gather her equipment, and set on a quest for a thing that likely never existed in the first place, Slaugh chastised herself for doing such a grandiose lie, but she couldn’t really bring herself to tell the entire truth. Muske for her entire life, since she arrived at the doorstesps of Slaugh’s Head Priestess, utterly devoted herself to the religious sect to the point of near-fanaticism. She was still fiery and full of exuberance. To shatter such hopeful determination, that would be incredibly…harsh.
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RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 11: HARSH! - by Pharmacy - 05-02-2016, 07:48 AM