Albain

Albain Potlash is a character from the non-canon The Grand Clusterfuck.

Weapons/Abilities
Albain carries no weapons though his tail could be considered deadly enough. Breaking necks isn't his thing though. His tongue isn't long and sticky, which may surprise some people, but he does hold some amount of air sacs that can hold him aloft for a short time if he inflates them. This makes him look rather silly. His eyes can also move in different directions, though this tends to make him dizzy and confused, at least more so than he is already. He's a pretty good climber and surprisingly fast. But he can also stand so still he could be dead. By mindlessly writing or painting or whatever, he can somehow put down onto canvas or paper or something some sort of knowledge. Sometimes it's a scientific theorem. Mostly it's how the local supermarket has a sale on cake mix. Unfortunately, he's usually not aware of this because whatever information he gets from the cosmos or whatever is usually hidden in some way, in a cipher or in imagery or blah blah blah.

Description
Zorts are like gliding frogs but with sharp teeth and also big and portly with a smooth, thick tail for clubbing. They always look blue. They don't actually have bones. The gender for Zorts can actually change. Their bodies rearrange depending on placement on social ladder, the environment, the saturation of pheromones in the air, and whether said Zort currently has a headache or not. Albain's gender is no. Albain is rather sickly looking, though all Zorts tend to be of the sickly sort. He's a little more shivery than most Zorts though, and more slimy and his eyes more vacant than the usual Zort's, as well as more puffy and wet. He's also smarter than the usual Zort, at least, and somehow is able to leap higher than a usual Zort. That may have to do with his long, scrawny legs. Albain wears a scraggly, damp suit that has seen some better days. He blabbers nervously a lot and is obsessed with windmills as well as the number eight. He compulsively folds up any piece of cloth and tucks them in his pockets for later and he gets distracted easily and sometimes starts improvising a random song in a weedy, tremolo voice. All of them are very horrible and nonsensical. He's fairly cowardly and when he feels threatened, he starts sweating and stammering and can get so anxious that he blows an air sac. He also often complains about a headache to friends, especially those who are yes. Strangely enough, sometimes he pretends he's masochistic. Probably because it makes him feel interesting. He's fairly smart, at least and is happiest when doing something creative.

Biography
Albain's the runt of the litter and sickly to boot. Everybody was sure he would amount to nothing because he really couldn't do much of anything. And he really didn't amount to anything. Lack of confidence in him probably didn't help. Insecure for all his life, Albain became a mailzort and pursued creative activities in his spare time. His room is often filled with weird wirework or scraps of paper for a collage or whatever. He has a fear stemming from childhood about drowning.