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 Posted: Sun Oct 20, 2013 11:04 am
BROAD STROKES
1. Grimm
2. Plague
3. ???
A plague is born:
The satchel was constructed by a sheepherder with leather that was once his favorite sheep. The sheep had died of old age rather than a butcher’s knife as it was the first sheep the herder had raised himself, from a lamb. The satchel was built with care and love, and the herder tied it on his sash, and usually filled with lunch. Months later, he was walking back up to the meadow after selling his wool, and feeling generous. He dropped a coin into a beggar’s cup. The beggar thrust a peach into his hand, and without thinking he dropped it into his satchel. Out of the village and far down the road hunger piqued. He went to open his beloved sack, and saw immediately the blackness just starting to ooze from its seams. Without a second thought he cut the strings and kicked it to the side of the road.
Christof came along shortly after. He had been dismissed from his father’s cart for getting in the way, and was dawdling, not looking forward to the lick he’d surely be given by his mother for being so useless. It was then that he came across the satchel. He didn’t recognize the blackness, which was just beginning, as plague. All he saw was soft supple leather, the likes of which he would never even be allowed to touch. He opened the satchel, dumped out a spoiled peach, and thrust the bag inside his tunic.
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Posted: Sun Oct 20, 2013 11:12 am
A Grimm emerges:
Name: Christof Delos
Appearance: Chubby, short. Unkempt blonde hair, sloppily cut. Blue eyes and ruddy skin. Stands about 4’10, short for his age.
Age: 13
Story: Christof is the third child of a junk peddler. He has two older brothers and a younger sister. As the third son, he stands to receive nothing of what little inheritance his father could even provide. This would have been made up for if he’d been clever or strong, or even obedient. Unfortunately Christof was none of these things. He isn’t stupid, but neither is he especially smart. Not especially anything, much to his parents’ consternation. He often had to be told multiple times to complete a task, and couldn’t carry goods that were too heavy or too fragile as he what he lacked in strength he made up for in clumsiness.
When he was born, his parents had been hoping for a girl. The shopkeeper in town, a wealthy widower by the name of Strake, was looking for someone to marry his very young son, whose betrothed had succumbed to the plague while still in her crib. Unfortunately, they got yet another son, another mouth to feed, with little to offer in return.
Christof grew up in the shadow of his older brothers. Matthew was smart and quick with numbers, Donnar was strapping and handsome. Christof was taught, alongside his brothers, reading and writing so his father could at least count on them to keep up the ledgers, and though Christof got bungled with the columns of figures, he could at least keep track of the coins as he sold.
The Delos’ did eventually get their daughter, a beautiful giggling girl with ringlet curls of deep brunette. Since Strake hadn’t yet found a girl for his son, Anna was immediately promised to him, and Christof’s chief occupation turned to caring for the girl. This kept him out of his father’s hair for the most part, and gave his mother a hand. While he still went to the market on busy days, he otherwise devoted himself to Anna and she returned his gusto with the selfish demands of a valued child.
When Christof saw the satchel sitting by the side of the road, he first felt only curious. Upon feeling how fine a leather it was, he then thought perhaps he could sell it. Maybe that would make his father proud, that he had made such a nice sum of money. That thought was the most fleeting. His father would think he’d stolen the bag or stolen the money. No, this bag could be just his. He would keep it hidden from Anna (she would surely want it, and if she wanted something he was under orders to just give it to her and keep her quiet). He would keep it hidden from his brothers, who would accuse him or keep it themselves. He put it under a rock behind the house, and daily he would lift the rock and look at it, pet its soft surface, put his hand inside, then place it back in its hiding spot.
One night there was a storm. Christof was holding Anna in his lap, keeping her calm while mother fixed the evening meal. The rain was heavy, heavier than he’d seen in his short life. Mother kept going to the window, watching for the return of her husband. Eventually Matthew burst through the door. The storm had flooded the bridge while they were crossing, the cart had slipped. Matthew and Donnar were pulling the cart out, with father pushing behind, but the current had been too swift. The cart made it up the bank, but father’s legs were swept from under him and they watched him be carried downstream. Though they’d followed, it was too fast, and eventually father stopped coming to the surface.
His father’s death caused events to move with what seemed a lightning speed to Christof. Matthew would inherit the business. Donnar would be kept on to help with the business and the household until Matthew got the hang of it, and then Donnar would apprentice with the blacksmith in the village. Seven year old Anna would be sent to the village and her future family. Unfortunately, this left little need for Christof.
Matthew did try to make use of him. But, after he managed to drop too many items, mismark too many supplies, and accidentally offend too many customers, there was nothing left to be done.
Christof, poor useless Christof, would be turned out. “Go seek your fortune!” Matthew told him, upbeat like it was a children’s story. Christof knew what it meant. He was homeless. His mother packed him some sandwiches, gave him a copper piece, and that was it. He did manage to get his precious bag from the hiding spot, and walked toward the village.
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Posted: Tue Nov 12, 2013 9:37 am
PLAGUE
Fensus remembers love. He remembers being treasured and valued. Thanks to the sheepherder, who had loved the sheep and the leather satchel, thanks to Christof, who had kept him safe and pet him often. Christof had never minded the seeping blackness or the horrible smell, Christof had loved and treasured him.
This causes Fensus to crave love and attention. This often makes Christof uncomfortable, as he’d much rather go about his work and fly under the radar. In Christof’s experience, being noticed means failing to meet expectations. In Fensus’s opinion, being noticed is the height of any personal experience and any attention is good, but he’d much rather receive adulation so he does what he can to make that happen. His need to please is often a source of annoyance, and makes him profoundly disloyal. He will say whatever he believes the other party wants to hear, even if it means switching sides sentence after sentence in other people’s arguments and holding none of his own opinions as sacred or even true. This does have the upside of those he knows taking precautions to never disagree in front of him. It wears them out watching him flip like a pancake, and he never seems to even notice he’s doing it.
Fensus has concluded, rather crudely, that if he is happy, others will be happy, and if he is pleasant, he will be more desired. This lead to an inexplicably sunny disposition, and when riled his smile never leaves his face. It just becomes more and more strained. When upset, his face seems stretched to the sides like a grotesque clown. “DO YOU LOVE ME YET??”
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Posted: Tue Nov 12, 2013 10:00 am
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