Re: The $300,000 Fight-A-Thon! [Open Signups!]
08-13-2012, 11:14 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
Username: Sqazer
Name: Evan Errata
Species: Her great-great-grandfather on her dad's dad's dad's side was a god, but she's otherwise human.
Gender: Female
Color: Afterparty-Afterthoughty Ash-Azure Du Jour
Description: Madame Errata is five-and-quarter feet of robustly built and gracefully weathered low-fantasy-world Romani equivalent. Her face doesn't reveal anything specific in her mongrel heritage, having a complexion closer to old leather boots than any of the races of Erph specific. Wispy white hair, most of which stays tucked under a swarthe of headscarves, regularscarves, and blankets. Having lived to see through several generations of commoners, she's commonly regarded as a folk figure - essentially ageless. In reality, she's somewhere in her seventies - which is basically the same thing, to someone who can't read and half their siblings died of diseases before they could walk. She dodders along on a cane when she's not sitting at the reins of her wagon, though it's questionable whether that's for need or for image. She can smoke out a cathedral, drink you under the table, and remembers so many stories about the days of yore in the places of yonder, that they could've walked from yonder to here since the yore before she's done telling them all. Madame Errata's got as much patience as a businesswoman needs for idiots and overtly personable strangers. She likes animals and children though, and has often looked after one for a stint when they turn up for no good reason.
Equipment/Abilities: Madame Errata has a wagon, hitched to a big hairy lunk of a quadruped with whiskers where its eyes should be and a beak like a turtle. The lunk is called Planchet, resembles a cow-sized bear in shape and size, and is deaf to anything but Madame Errata's voice. He eats garbage, gains extra energy through photosynthesis, and has a saddle on his head. The wagon has "Evan Errata's Travelling Wares" written on the side in deft, cursive brush-strokes; the "Evan" has a piece of paper pinned neatly over it with "Mdme." written on it. The wagon's contents vary from season to season, depending on where Madame Errata is travelling to and from, but are invariably well-stocked with tea, tobacco, dried meat, pots, pans, rope, cloth, spices, non-perishable foods, semi-perishable foods, some sort of live animal or three, and all sorts of other things you can sell to people.
The wagon also carries a large trunk, usually hidden under some sacking. The trunk is a conduit for the last vestiges of her great-great-grandfather's divine abilities - put simply, things turn up in it.
The trunk's contents are the bulk of what keeps her in business, but she's also a rather good storyteller. She doesn't actually need her cane to walk on; it's just useful to have on hand as a very nasty blunt weapon.
Backstory: Once upon a five generations ago, the schemes of a god called Canis Days finally came to fruition. The specifics aren't important; the crux of it was that all the gods fell to earth in the guise of mortal men. (Except for Canis, god of Atrophy, who had been banished from the home of the gods to Erph around the time he'd first crafted his plans for revenge.) The gods, still able to access much of their divine power, tried to maintain normality - they found a mountain, got Lux Brumalis to level it, and all climbed to the top and decided who would lead the pantheon into this new dark age.
A formerly-inoffensive, affable and retiring god called Errata took the position. As the God of Things Which Are Lost and The Odd Places In Which Such Things Turn Up, he was oddly suited to lead the directionless gaggle of super-powered beings. He wasn't a very good leader, and he was an even worse leader of a research group, so the pantheon was forced to concede they'd be stuck this way until the end of their now-natural lifespans. Some of the gods refused to integrate into human society, and died alone up in mountainside caves. Others (like Lux) took it in the completely wrong direction, charged off raging and rampaging, and were cut down a fair amount sooner. Others (like Errata) insinuated themselves all right, but despite the constant sleeping around that came with vagrant lifestyles, all of them only had one child each.
Errata's son, like most everything else in Errata's life, just turned up one day. His mother had named him Evan, and Errata figured it a good a name as any. Evan Errata (The above Evan Errata's great-grandfather on her father's father's side) had been a vagrant much like Errata the god, making good money from people who wanted missing things un-missed. He didn't have his father's ability to find lost love, but Errata (the god) was nonetheless impressed. Still, he was head of the pantheon (if only in name), and Errata taught his only son the man called Evan the story of how he'd fallen to earth, with all the other gods. The two parted, and Evan Errata married far away from his homeland and had a single son. Errata the god set off on a journey that took the rest of his life, looking for the missing gods and their demigod progeny.
Evan Errata (the grandfather of Madame Errata), the hemidemigod whose father could find lost things, couldn't even do that - he could, however, look at an object and know if it was missing, and that was enough to make his way in the world as a reputable merchant (or at least one smart enough about stolen goods to not be considered disreputable). When his father died (a mere four months after his mother passed), Evan returned - two years later, as the migrations of his travelling salesman life allowed - to his father's house. He found the long-missing key to the demigod's chest, and found inside all manner of treasure from all over the globe thought lost forever. Evan Errata the Second should've died a rich man, but instead he died a made man, forgotten on a river's shore when he failed to cross a flood.
His wagon and the miraculous chest were found in time by another man - by divine fortune, by Evan Errata's estranged son. It's not as outlandish a chain of events as it sounds, for the descendants of a god of lost things. This Evan Errata hadn't known his father growing up, and clearly hadn't known his mother well enough either to miss her for too long when the wanderlust caught him. This man was Boris Boswell, a name he knew full well didn't suit a man of business like the likes of "Evan Errata". He took his father's name, his father's wagon, and the magical chest with the bones of his great-grandfather in a compartment at the base.
It wasn't until his daughter searched the depths of the chest he found out about that little shocker, though. The young Madame Errata, unlike the rest of her divine lineage, was born on the wagon and never showed any plans of leaving it. Things did grow strained between her and her father after her mother died, but she did (eventually) promise to have her father buried beside the only woman he needed.
Six years or so down the line, she did just that, then set off with the family wagon under her own tutelage. To keep the property-grubbing misogynist scoundrels of capital cities off her tail, she changed her name to something male enough on paper. Once she was old and wrinkly enough that everyone called her "Madame" anyway, it by and large became a moot point. Evan's been trotting around the continent since, making a very casual hobby of learning her great-great grandfather's deal. She's met a few divine grandchildren, with a range of rather diluted powers (the last she met was the great-grandson of Australis, God of the South - he could basically conjure a nice day wherever he went provided he didn't wander too far north), not that there's any interest beyond the academic - she's far too old to pass on whatever god-powers she's inherited to a hypothetical child.
Username: Sqazer
Name: Evan Errata
Species: Her great-great-grandfather on her dad's dad's dad's side was a god, but she's otherwise human.
Gender: Female
Color: Afterparty-Afterthoughty Ash-Azure Du Jour
Description: Madame Errata is five-and-quarter feet of robustly built and gracefully weathered low-fantasy-world Romani equivalent. Her face doesn't reveal anything specific in her mongrel heritage, having a complexion closer to old leather boots than any of the races of Erph specific. Wispy white hair, most of which stays tucked under a swarthe of headscarves, regularscarves, and blankets. Having lived to see through several generations of commoners, she's commonly regarded as a folk figure - essentially ageless. In reality, she's somewhere in her seventies - which is basically the same thing, to someone who can't read and half their siblings died of diseases before they could walk. She dodders along on a cane when she's not sitting at the reins of her wagon, though it's questionable whether that's for need or for image. She can smoke out a cathedral, drink you under the table, and remembers so many stories about the days of yore in the places of yonder, that they could've walked from yonder to here since the yore before she's done telling them all. Madame Errata's got as much patience as a businesswoman needs for idiots and overtly personable strangers. She likes animals and children though, and has often looked after one for a stint when they turn up for no good reason.
Equipment/Abilities: Madame Errata has a wagon, hitched to a big hairy lunk of a quadruped with whiskers where its eyes should be and a beak like a turtle. The lunk is called Planchet, resembles a cow-sized bear in shape and size, and is deaf to anything but Madame Errata's voice. He eats garbage, gains extra energy through photosynthesis, and has a saddle on his head. The wagon has "Evan Errata's Travelling Wares" written on the side in deft, cursive brush-strokes; the "Evan" has a piece of paper pinned neatly over it with "Mdme." written on it. The wagon's contents vary from season to season, depending on where Madame Errata is travelling to and from, but are invariably well-stocked with tea, tobacco, dried meat, pots, pans, rope, cloth, spices, non-perishable foods, semi-perishable foods, some sort of live animal or three, and all sorts of other things you can sell to people.
The wagon also carries a large trunk, usually hidden under some sacking. The trunk is a conduit for the last vestiges of her great-great-grandfather's divine abilities - put simply, things turn up in it.
The trunk's contents are the bulk of what keeps her in business, but she's also a rather good storyteller. She doesn't actually need her cane to walk on; it's just useful to have on hand as a very nasty blunt weapon.
Backstory: Once upon a five generations ago, the schemes of a god called Canis Days finally came to fruition. The specifics aren't important; the crux of it was that all the gods fell to earth in the guise of mortal men. (Except for Canis, god of Atrophy, who had been banished from the home of the gods to Erph around the time he'd first crafted his plans for revenge.) The gods, still able to access much of their divine power, tried to maintain normality - they found a mountain, got Lux Brumalis to level it, and all climbed to the top and decided who would lead the pantheon into this new dark age.
A formerly-inoffensive, affable and retiring god called Errata took the position. As the God of Things Which Are Lost and The Odd Places In Which Such Things Turn Up, he was oddly suited to lead the directionless gaggle of super-powered beings. He wasn't a very good leader, and he was an even worse leader of a research group, so the pantheon was forced to concede they'd be stuck this way until the end of their now-natural lifespans. Some of the gods refused to integrate into human society, and died alone up in mountainside caves. Others (like Lux) took it in the completely wrong direction, charged off raging and rampaging, and were cut down a fair amount sooner. Others (like Errata) insinuated themselves all right, but despite the constant sleeping around that came with vagrant lifestyles, all of them only had one child each.
Errata's son, like most everything else in Errata's life, just turned up one day. His mother had named him Evan, and Errata figured it a good a name as any. Evan Errata (The above Evan Errata's great-grandfather on her father's father's side) had been a vagrant much like Errata the god, making good money from people who wanted missing things un-missed. He didn't have his father's ability to find lost love, but Errata (the god) was nonetheless impressed. Still, he was head of the pantheon (if only in name), and Errata taught his only son the man called Evan the story of how he'd fallen to earth, with all the other gods. The two parted, and Evan Errata married far away from his homeland and had a single son. Errata the god set off on a journey that took the rest of his life, looking for the missing gods and their demigod progeny.
Evan Errata (the grandfather of Madame Errata), the hemidemigod whose father could find lost things, couldn't even do that - he could, however, look at an object and know if it was missing, and that was enough to make his way in the world as a reputable merchant (or at least one smart enough about stolen goods to not be considered disreputable). When his father died (a mere four months after his mother passed), Evan returned - two years later, as the migrations of his travelling salesman life allowed - to his father's house. He found the long-missing key to the demigod's chest, and found inside all manner of treasure from all over the globe thought lost forever. Evan Errata the Second should've died a rich man, but instead he died a made man, forgotten on a river's shore when he failed to cross a flood.
His wagon and the miraculous chest were found in time by another man - by divine fortune, by Evan Errata's estranged son. It's not as outlandish a chain of events as it sounds, for the descendants of a god of lost things. This Evan Errata hadn't known his father growing up, and clearly hadn't known his mother well enough either to miss her for too long when the wanderlust caught him. This man was Boris Boswell, a name he knew full well didn't suit a man of business like the likes of "Evan Errata". He took his father's name, his father's wagon, and the magical chest with the bones of his great-grandfather in a compartment at the base.
It wasn't until his daughter searched the depths of the chest he found out about that little shocker, though. The young Madame Errata, unlike the rest of her divine lineage, was born on the wagon and never showed any plans of leaving it. Things did grow strained between her and her father after her mother died, but she did (eventually) promise to have her father buried beside the only woman he needed.
Six years or so down the line, she did just that, then set off with the family wagon under her own tutelage. To keep the property-grubbing misogynist scoundrels of capital cities off her tail, she changed her name to something male enough on paper. Once she was old and wrinkly enough that everyone called her "Madame" anyway, it by and large became a moot point. Evan's been trotting around the continent since, making a very casual hobby of learning her great-great grandfather's deal. She's met a few divine grandchildren, with a range of rather diluted powers (the last she met was the great-grandson of Australis, God of the South - he could basically conjure a nice day wherever he went provided he didn't wander too far north), not that there's any interest beyond the academic - she's far too old to pass on whatever god-powers she's inherited to a hypothetical child.
peace to the unsung peace to the martyrs | i'm johnny rotten appleseed
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow