Describe your Rogue's appearance

[EZ_Kilfara]

This is a slight departure from the normal "What is your character's history?" type question. I'd like to see everyone describe what their rogue looks like... from the scar on the left shoulderblade to the inscription on the handle of your Stiletto. Describe the things the games graphics can't cover. I'm not going to start us off because I really haven't thought about my character much, but I'll post mine soon. Anyone...?

Kilfara
14th Shadow
Solusek Ro

[EZ_sindel]

1 word, sexy. My charecter is right damn sexy!
-Sindel Daggerheart- Member of the Seekers Of Lore, on The Rathe

[EZ_Kilfara]

I bet you're about as sexy as Fat Bastard.
Something along these lines was more what I was thinking:

Kilfara is a half-elf, of average height and build. His eyes produce a stare with no emotion. Hidden beneath a selectively worn black cloak, Kilfara is clad in full banded armor. When wandering around Kelethin, he pulls the banded helm off his head revealing black hair, including facial hair, with beginning hints of grey. A patched together bead necklace hangs around his neck and upon a bloodstained mantle, a memory of younger days' fighting. A scabbard, accompanied by a fine steel long sword, hangs on Kilfara's back, easily reachable with his off-hand and able to unsheeth and strike a blow in one swift motion. Kilfara's primary weapon, a Dragoon Dirk, is located attached to his Purity Belt (wink). When approaching an enemy, the Dirk is silently drawn and readied for combat. After the suprise backstab and during the initial confusion, Kilfara takes the opportunity to unsheeth his long sword, often striking another blow immediately. Throwing daggers are located on the side of the torso, underneath the armpits, ready to strike a deadly blow to any fleeing opponent.

I'm not much of a story teller, but you guys get the idea. Come on! Get creative! Mine isn't even very detailed.

Kilfara
14th Shadow
Solusek Ro

[EZ_Ozaak]

Heh, how do you describe a rogue with 6 backpacks on and carrying a rather large mortar and pestel (I store 2 handers in there, it has to be HUGE). He probably looks a bit like a flamer too, having those nicely jeweled rings and earrings and necklace on. <u>Ozaak Kaazo******** *******************************</u>
Not all Dwarves are bitter old men... some are dirty too.
Bitter, dirty, old Dwarf. Humble follower of Bristlebane

[EZ_Bedrenken Pigsticker]

I look like a walking fire hydrant with my Rubicite :)

Does that help? At least black wolves don't pee on me. Bedrenken Pigsticker
47th level half-man bastard of Povar

[EZ_Grimjaw Badflagon]

Seven foot two-inches and 315 pounds of refined steel, cooled in the harsh winters of everfrost and molded in the diabolic cauldron that IS Blackburrow.

He bears a scar on his right eye that he got when he took on 4...no 7...no 17 YES! thats right 17 wooly mammoths as a lad. He wears a polar bear skin cap, the polar bear eyes replaced by the eyes of Trannix Darkpaw, forever glaring a silent warning to gnolls who dare oppose him.

Dressed top to bottom in the finest handmade banded, Grim wears the colors of his family, a cracked, bloody flagon, close to his heart.

An outcast both from the Halas barbarians that cast him out into the white death, and the Erudite society that took him in and plucked him from the everfrost.

Today...Grim wanders ...hungering for the day when he gets revenge on the splitpaw scum that took his Erudite warden-mother....

Hence I am...Grimjaw Grimjaw Badflagon “Cosmopolitain” BarbarianEdited by Grimjaw Badflagon at: 2/29/00 2:45:02 pm

[EZ_sloren]

Ok you asked for it,, he he he

Sloren Knavery, the only child of Kurn and Venery Knavery, was orphaned at young age when the Deathfist Orcs raided her farm in Mistythicket. Raised by an aunt, studding to be a cleric in Rivervale, she was ignored most of the time. Lack of supervision led to her constant run-ins with guards for pilfering from the merchants. She avoided official punishment, through the use of quick feet, quick talk, obedient tear ducts, and the mastery at making innocent faces. While technically a member of the thieves’ guild she is not well liked in her local guild. This is do to the fact that the guild leaders son Terak, became a rival, after being insulted publicly for a crude advance. While this has hurt her standing in the guild, and made life tough, it has had beneficial side affects. First, it makes the lie, “Terak is just trying to set me up” much more believable to the city guard, and the merchant a little more trusting. It also got her introduced to Rolf Emda, a retired city watchman who taught her many of the finer points of fishing, knife handling, and strategy, before his death. Having little to tie her to rivervale Sloren has ventured into the world with dreams of glory and retribution. She always finds her way back to rivervale, there may be no ties holding her there, but it always makes her feel safe.

(The names in the bio you have just read have been changed to protect the inocent,,(he he eh that should cover for the fact i made em up,,doh did I say that out loud)

OK that was not quite what you asked for, but I would rather let ya form your owen image,,,(have not thought about it enough to put a disciption into words,, will work on it if I every have the time and dont play instead,, he he he) Sloren Knavery, Humble Hafling Rogue of Tunare()
Ok, Humble may not fit, allow me mydelusions, an I will allow you yours.Valre Knavery, Dark Elf Enchanter of Tunare()
The optimist proclaims we live in the best of all possible worlds,,The pessimist fears this to be true.Edited by sloren at: 3/1/00 6:36:45 pm

[EZ_Kilfara]

That's my problem too. When I have free time, I just want to play!

Kilfara
14th Shadow
Solusek Ro

[Dragynphyre]

Walking into the tavern, Delissandra drops her travelling bags, takes off her hat and runs her fingers through short cropped hair that has turned white, not from age, but from the stressful lifestyle she lives. She glances about the taproom apprehensively, violet eyes darting to and fro, with slightly pointed ears perked, listening for anything out of place.

Satisfied that there is no danger, she relaxes visibly and asks the barkeep for a honeymead. "One silver, nine copper", the barman says. Delissandra nods, and reaches down into her boot for the necessary change.

She sits down crosslegged on a barstool, and drinks her mead in one swig, then scratches at a long forgotten scar in the middle of her back, a result of an overeager apprentice. She asks the bartender if there is an inn she can stay at for the night, and he points to a hallway off to the right and says, "The Inn'll be through there, miss." She thanks him, as she picks up her bags and trudges wearily towards the inn entrance, looking for some rest at last.

[EZ_Naeolin]

Naeolin is a woodelf with glowing yellow eyes. When he pulls back his sleek scouts cape he is seen wearing a dwarven ringmail tunic that is melded with unsightly leather. On his back he wears a long bow which he uses to shoot the evil orcs that plage his homeland. To his left side he has a Dragoon dirk which he uses to swiftly dispatch his enemies and fades into the shadows . THis is the power of the Rogue .
p.s. hi Kilfara .

[EZ_Kilfara]

I must add something to my character's description. A scar, on the forehead, about the width of a Dragoon Dirk.

Thanks for your post, Naeolin. See ya in CB!

Kilfara
14th Shadow
Solusek Ro

[EZ_Tadyen Swifthand]

If you ever travel through Greater Faydark you may see a faint
shadow at your heels. If your lucky enough to get a good look you shall
see a young wood elf clad in chainmail and some of which is blackened
armed with a rapier of fine steel at one hand, a parrying dagger in his other.
Upon his shoulders you see a chain mantle stained crimson with blood.
Most are not aware of Tadyen until he strikes...when they kill thier orc
they find that it has no coin. They turn around only to see Tadyen
smile and disapear into the shadows. When he isn't sneaking to and fro
Tadyen can be found pawning his stolen goods in Kelethin, or dueling in
Crushbone.
Tadyen tends to run his mouth a bit. Especially when his good friend
Xaren Hithorn, Ranger of SureFall is with him. Tadyen has only been bested
in combat once, by a foul smelling ogre.


Tadyen of Kelethin
Level 9 Scout of Bristlebane
Fennin Ro


Tadyen of Kelethin
9th Level Rogue of

[EZ_Deluin]

Deluin:

Deluin is around 5'8", has black hair comed back into a ponytail and a vandyke beard, shaved close to his face. Well muscled, but not a powerhouse like a warrior, he relies more on his flexibility and speed to get himself out of sticky situations. He wears all black armor most of the time, with a pair of earrings and a golden necklace (doen this since UO). His complexion looks almost Arabian, but he speaks with no discernable accent. He wears a cloak across his back, two daggers at his waist, and a spear on his back [was a war fork in UO]. He was a single leather strap with a series of pockets diagonally across his chest, as well as a leather belt similarly lined with pockets. He wears gloves that come halfway up his forearm, and a long sleeved tunic, and dark grey boots.

He looks like a shady character, but can usually use his charm to talk his way out of a bad situation.
He is well educated, sarcastic, and deadly.

in the back off the side far away is a place where i hide where i stay tried to say tried to ask i needed to all alone by myself where were you?

[EZ_Drakule]

Butt ugly, bloody and/or bleeding, foul in every way. He's YOUR ticket to XP,
He's the blender w/o a safety lid,
He's Drakule of the Rathe:
"If it ain't peein' blood, ya missed the kidney"

[EZ_Dloc Thief]

Dloc could walk up to you today, introduce himself, and tommorrow you would be hard pressed to remember his name. Unimpressive in every way, for a half-elf. The epitome of boring. Short brown hair, light brown eyes, skin a little lighter than most half-breeds. Banded armor in need of a good cleaning, rust in spots. A rapier sits at his waist, along with a dirk. A strange dagger is fastened in the small of his back, it looks almost like a stinger from a bixie, but ten times the size. Nothing strikes the casual observer, most pay him not a second glance. Yet, look into his eyes and see deep pools of great thought. Look even closer and you notice he sees everything and everyone. And when the day is done, check your belongings, for assuredly a few coins are missing. Dloc, thief not rogue
Lead Operative
-Balance of Paradox-

[EZ_Kriegar]

Now Kriegar he is a dapper looking dwarf.

Even though his people came from the underground, Kriegar is a man of sunshine. His hair and beard as a bright as the gold he covets. Wearing brown armor, a motley assortment of banded, ringmail, and barbed, he is not one you can miss. At his side he carries two daggers, Dragoon Dirk (story on another thread as to how he got it) and Dagger of Dropping. Wrapped around one brawny shoulder is a barbed tentacle whip (he got that for a steal hehhe) that he occasionally uses to tame the more unruly of the mobs.

Yet once you take your eyes off him, then look back to make sure this strange looking dwarf is for real, he is gone. Was he real or a figment of your overactive imagination? Kriegar Deeppockets
Dwarven Shadow
Wealth Specialist
The Tribunal

Yes I have deep pockets -- yours

[EZ_Ciba]

Ciba sneaks between the shadows, small for even a Teir'Dal runt. His strength is well masked in his appearance though, deftly maneuvering to see an exposed back he let's his Dirk and Rapier fly.

Ciba is clad neck to toe in lightweight armor of the deepest black. Even in the least of shadows he seems to disappear.

He wields a serrated type of dirk that he once acquired in a trade with a halfling fool. On the other hand was a gift from Ortallius the orc received in his many years of long travels.

The most noticable feature, or lack thereof may be his head. He declines to wear a bulky helm while fighting. Once wearing the hood of the exocutioner, he realized the pleasure he gets by letting his victims see his face. They never survive anyways. He replaced the hood with an old tarnished crown acquired from the hands of a dead druid. The druid was an unwitting pawn in a scheme to eliminate an enemy of the Teir'Dal and make a profit all at once. That druid has become one with nature.

Ciba Spinaltap

[EZ_Savia]

Well, as the saying goes.. a picture is worth a thousand words..so here I am.. 'sides..gives me an excuse to test my IC picture..and my new sig:) Hope you like them:)

Lady Savia'nie
Teir'dal Ul'Veldriss
Realm of Valon'Zek

[EZ_DreaDie]

Grumpy looken,a kind of "you dun wan't some of me" look. Tarew MarrTanamin WulffyreWood ElfDruidLevel 26ShorttyGnomeNecromancerLevel 7EdgieDwarfRogueLevel 11Vallon ZekDreadie (Shanks)BarbarianShamanLevel 10

[EZ_Delph]

I just need that crucial Ravenscale piece, the CG, before I can join the ranks of the uber-sexy Dark Elf rogues!![b][b]
Delph F'Elon, Teir'Dal assassin Extraordinaire.Lanys T'VylEdited by Delph at: 3/19/00 11:59:35 am

[EZ_GreatSquash]

Hehe...sooo many folks go with the "my character Bob is the epitome of sexiness/rogueishness" stuff. I wanna be a little different:

Borlok is an overweight, sexist pig. He drinks far too many alcoholic beverages, and cares not to drool on himself. He had nice weapons once, but pawned them to support his whoring/drinking habits. His helm might be mistaken for a polar bear, but in actuality is a gnoll head spraypainted white to give the illusion. He can backstab without weapons, due to many seasons of not clipping his fingernails. He is married to an equally overweight bearded dwarven female. She has no problem with his whoring. They live together in a communal fishing village in West Karana, and he usually spends his days flirting with young half elven women as they pass by. Most folks call him "the vile one", or "he who stinketh badly".

Hehe...just a breath of fresh air there, I feel better now : ) Actually, I like to think of Borlok as a pirate, covering the seven (actually, like 3) seas with blood. He also makes a damn good rum in his spare time.

Borlok, level 14 rogue of Luclin

[EZ_JoonLingShadowStryker]

Violet eyes seared into the back of the Shralok Orc. A mocking smile curved deceptively luscious lips as a fine boned hand readied a dagger. With silent movements, at odds with her bulky blackened iron armor, she crept behind him. Using complex hand signals, she motioned her partner to taunt him so he would be distracted. With a mighty roar, the barbarian warrior charged him, while the rogue waited in the shadows. Engaged, the orc had no time to watch his back, which she took full advantage of. Using her Dragoon Dirk, she slid it in til she hit bone. Yanking it out she tried to get a better angle. Within a few minutes several gaping wounds in his back showed the rogue's handiwork. Enraged, the orc spun around lashing out with a mailed fist, catching her in the side of the head. Her leather cap flew off, blood running through her short silvery blonde hair, as she fell to the ground stunned. Laughing, the orc leapt on to her, pummeling her, keeping her stunned. Berserk, the barbarian warrior used his axe with deadly force, nearly rending the orc in half. Gasping with pain, the rogue stumbled to her feet, and sank into the shadows to bandage her head wound. Seeing that her warrior was in trouble, for the Shralok was somehow still alive, she got back to her feet and waited for the most opportune time. Spotting it at last, the rogue sank her dagger to the hilt in his back, twisting it back and forth. Growling with disbelief, the orc collapsed dead. Taking a cloth from her backpack, she wiped her blade clean of blood and gore. Angered at the blood staining her once clean mantle, she kicked the body once for good measure. Playing rock, paper, scissors, the rogue won the rights to loot and bent down to claim her reward. Hefting a shiny brass idol she grinned in victory then turned and sat down to heal, waiting for the next victim to come.

[EZ_Rowenn]

Rowenn Swiftkiller an aging rouge pushing almost 40 and showing it his battle scars run seep from one to many gnolls orcs and whatever happenstance might throw his way. His raven black hair is showing his advancing age quite noticably. Mainly the grey and white hair higlights that seem to be slowly winning over his mane. He s has played the warrior one to many times in his journeys ith his brigandine tunic full of nicks and scratches. His once proud mantle is now dyed with blood mainly of his enemys but some of his own. His arms are sheer crafted peices of a vanquished foes bones. His hood that he wears gives him the appearance of the executioner after the grisly tasks he has performed in his services to the world. He wears upon his left arm the bracer of his goddess' love that he earned from a vile pirate still stained by the buccaneers own blood. He hides his visage behind the horribly groteque mask that matches his deameanor. Rowenns weapons are almost to numerous to count upon the man is a veritable aresenal of deadly weapons. Slung about his apron are a dagger of his grim prefession the stilletto of the bloodclaw its edge honed from scraping the backbones of his foes. Upon the other side hangs a finely carved peice of obsidian shard its tip sharp enough to peirce any heart. Upon his back he carrys a shaped ashwood bow with a quiver full of arrows. Upon his wrist lay secret pouchs for his many shurikens for those deadly long range strikes. Slung upon travelling sack is a ploshied granite tomahawk freshly wrapped in the gnolls scalp it was bested from. Rowenn is oft seen carrying a cracked darkwood sheild ,split from the mighty gnolls blows upon it, for those dark nights alone on the road.
Rowenn is the epitome of a rogue too young to lay down and die and to old to care to run. His foes best intrest lies in their quick feet to run from his whirling onslaughts.But they best be fast becuase with their backs turned he will hunt them and have to qualms about adding another knick to his blades. If you see me come as a freind or leave as a corpse Thats not a threst mind you children make threats. Nor is it a promise becuase only a fool would make a promise he cannot hope to win. That is a deal.

[EZ_Mordier]

I'm a bastard. The child of a loving mother and a rapist militia soldier. My mother's hair was long and flowing, like a golden, silken weave. Her eyes bluer than the Karana skies. Her skin as soft as a newborn high elf. Everything I have must be from my father's side. Dark brown eyes, a swarm of emptiness. My black hair hangs unkept from under my blackened helm. At 5'10 I fit into Freeport crowds without effort; I hate without remorse. With my rapier and assorted daggers I am something to avoid.

If I ever do find the soldier who fathered me, who left my mother to rot in the scum-filled tents of lower Freeport, he will know fear...and then he will die.

...well, you asked.

Mordier Morvran
Seekers of Lore
Lvl 29 Rogue of Bertoxxulous
The more you leave dead, the fewer blades will find your back.

[EZ_Vija Dakalvii]

I strut all sexy like [B] Vija DakalviLevel Thirty Rogue of Prexus
CRIMSON STILLETO
Ace Of Hearts
*Vija Struts*

[EZ_Benadas]

Mine wears all leather armor, mask, pants, the whole shi-bang. So I guess Benadas looks like The Gimp from Pulp Fiction. No wonder nobody talks to me, I look like an s+m freak.

[EZ_leroyce lefunq]

1977, Los Angeles California
Interzone Research Laboratories

A bizarre accident in the temporal metaphysics lab causes a massive rift in the fabric of spacetime, catapulting the hapless lab janitor Leroyce LeFunq beyond his known reality to Norrath!

In this new land, Leroyce LeFunq is the defender of the common man. To spread the funk is his personal crusade. He can't be stopped, he just keeps coming..

Leroyce LeFunq: He's your mothership connection!

[EZ_Jaida]

Jaida removes her Blackened Iron helm, tucking it casually under an arm and shaking out her mane of tousled auburn hair. Her lips, full and wet, her eyes pools of liquid emerald, her stature slight, she could easily be mistaken for harmless.

An ornate Dirk in one hand, a small stilletto in the other. They don't look so very deadly. Jaida diligently polishes a shuriken, surreptitiously glimpsing her surroundings in its mirror-bright finish.

Her armor is basic black, with the green Wood Elf tree emblazoned on her chest--what of it she covers--mostly because it matches her eyes. Her *ahem* attributes are displayed prominently through the sparkling silver mesh between her spiked collar and the neckline of her armor. It does tend to distract the occasional opponent. Her forearms flash silver, and you wouldn't know it, but the crass ringmail boots she wears are a mortifying fashion embarrassment to her. Over it all, usually slung back over her shoulders, is a pristine white Cloak of the Ice Bear.

This "Pocket Rogue", as friends have dubbed her, often disarms her enemies or amuses her team with an innocent wit, a joke, an impromptu song, a flirt if a handsome Barbarian is nearby. She could drink a Troll under the table. When the time comes for fighting, Jaida is fearless and fierce, often ordering her enemies to turn around, and in their surprise at the authority in her voice, they usually do. It is the last mistake they ever make.


- Jaida Shadowhand
Rogue of the 22nd Dagger
The Rathe

Her past in shadows, her future looks bright.

[EZ_Daklin]

It seems to be just another day in the Crow's Nest. However, the light suddenly dims in the tavern, and all of the patrons stop their varied activities. A Barbarian of average height - well, average for a Barbarian - fills the door. As he strides in, you note that he has the long-legged, flowing gait of an experienced swordsman. At his heels is a dimunitive figure, his Gnomish apprentice Dakke. They are a contrast of sorts - Daklin is about 7 feet tall, heavily muscled, scarred, and wearing a suit of worn banded armor. At his left hip is a razor sharp Dirk. Scabbarded at the other hip is a forged long sword, looking to be well-used. He seems to just be an average Barbarian, until you see his eyes. A scar runs directly next to his left eye, and you can tell just from seeing him look into the room that he misses nothing. They are like dark pools of knowledge.

Dakke is a different story. He is short, as all Gnomes are, but also lithe and muscular. He wears a short goatee, and as Daklin moves from the door and light fills the room, you can see that he sports a permanently amused expression. Light glints off of a 6 inch... insect leg tip? That is tied with a slipknot to his belt. He wears a mixture of banded armor and aged leather, except for his chestguard - it is ringmail so well-forged it could have been made by Dwarven smiths. They walk to the bar with Dakke stepping quickly to keep up, order a drink, and sit down at an empty table. They begin to speak in hushed tones, and gradually the eyes leave them. The next time someone looks to the table, they are gone...

Daklin - Hard Drinking, Bar Fighting Barbarian - Retired
Dakke - Thieving Gnomish Rogue Extrordinaire of Fennin

[EZ_Sustiana]

Sustiana is deceptively cute. People often ignore the fact she is a rogue simply for this reason, allowing her to be extra sneaky and cunning in the stealing or death of some enemy. She is small, quick and silent, few know she is there, til she places her daggar in thier back

Sustiana Slyfingers - Lvl 30 Woodelf Rogue Tarew Marr

[EZ_Bangor Blightstone]

Bangor Blightstone walked in to the nondiscript bar which could be anywhere on Norrath. Slamming home his pick, with 628 etched in the side of it, into a wall above the seat he has singled out. He removes his Blackend Iron Crown and hangs it on the end of the pick.

After brushing the road dust off the black sleek feather like armor and shaking the rest off the dwarven made tunic, he moves the black handled bone bladed dirk to one side and the companion parrying pick to the other sits down.

"Barkeep be fetchin' me a Dwaven Ale!"

Reaching down the dwarf pulls the snug Ravenscale Boots up a bit more. Even thought he had to pay for them he was happy that none of the amost complete set of ravenscale had cost him near as much as the upstart rogues had raised prices to.

"Hmmm 200 pieces o' platinum aint so bad fer boots..or is it."

The ale arrived and pulling off the iksar hide gloves and pulling back the black mask of deciving. the one eyed dwarf stood and raised his mug.

" I be Bangor Blightstone of the twice cursed house of Blightstone! Tough as nails and twice as tall. I dont be carin' what race or profession ye be monies are are the same color. Me fellow rogues I salute ye!"


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~


~B Bangor BlightstoneDwarven Rogue29 Kegs behind meVeiled AlianceRodcet Nife"Tough as nails and twice as tall! Can you dig my ditch!"

[EZ_Fredchook Ratgarb]

Fred, the elven equivalent of 17 human years old, shows many features from both sides of his parentage. He has the light build and even lighter weight of an elf, but human strength makes him move like a flicked rubber band. He has thick, silky shoulder-length hair. A major fall during his youth left a permanent crack in his skull, the hair only growing white along it. He has a short, similarly silky beard. Of course, he has pointed ears, a straight nose, a brown eye and a green eye. He wears a thin black mask, simply because it looks very stylish. From his ears dangle the teeth of an alligator, and a cap of rat fur hangs down his back, only worn when visiting the more hostile terrain as protection against snow or sandstorms. Around his neck, on a string of rat whiskers. is his Lucky Rat's Foot, with 100 enchantments. He wears simple, light chainmail. On his shoulders is a thick cape, dyed black, again for style, plus for fairly good protection. Under this is his rat pelt cape, again for warmth (This could be said to be a vital peice of armour, as Fred spends so much time running away). The rat theme continues with his gloves, giving anyone who shakes his hand a nasty complex for a few days. Worn over the gloves are his rings, both limestone. Comfortable wolf fur boots house his nimble feet. From his purity belt hang the tricks of his trades. A mandolin, food, water, bandages, cookie cutters, skewers, a pot, a stein and a mixing bowl. Strapped to his two backpacks is a spit, a bow and some arrows, and tied to their sides are a mixing bowl and a mortar and pestle. Like a true elf, he manages to be agile as hell and look great with all this encumberment. In his hands are his daggers, which are basically... sharp. Fredchook Ratgarb, laughing at Antonica and throwing rocks at Odus.

[EZ_Kooran Katshadow]

Kooran's dark silhouette appears on the horizon. He puts his hand to his dirk, then thinking twice to his cape. He grabs his cape and as he pulls it over him he disappears into the shadows. He walks to a carefully selected shady spot and sits on a rock.
His eyebrow peaks and a backhanded smirk forms on his face. He has course patch of small unshaved hairs on his chin. He takes his hand off his dirk and rubs his chin. Putting a hand under his tabard he takes out a small flask of whiskey. Gulping it down he turns around slowly.

[EZ_Kooran Katshadow]

Kooran's dark silhouette appears on the horizon. He puts his hand to his dirk, then thinking twice to his cape. He grabs his cape and as he pulls it over him he disappears into the shadows. He walks to a carefully selected shady spot and sits on a rock.
His eyebrow peaks and a backhanded smirk forms on his face. He has course patch of small unshaved hairs on his chin. He takes his hand off his dirk and rubs his chin. Putting a hand under his tabard he takes out a small flask of whiskey. Gulping it down he turns around slowly.
"I was expecting someone taller." The man was of some high rank, he wore a silken tabard, quite different from Kooran's Ravenscales.
Kooran arced a brow and smirked again. He chuckled and put his hands to his sides.
"Really? Well I was expecting you to have gaurds, but I suppose it's easier this way."
The man looked nervously at Kooran, seeing the small twitch in his arm. Quickly Kooran pulled out his dirk and grabbed the man by the shoulder forcing him toawrd the blade. The man tensed, then relaxed. Kooran threw him off the blade and looked at him with disgust. Kooran took the sack of money from the man, looking up at the sunset in the distance.
"Heh, money for nothing."

[EZ_Houma]

He appears young, and quite handsome, though that is hidden beneath a veil and cap. He wears mismatched earings and around his neck is a collar with spikes. Over his frail seeming form is a thick layer of chainmail, blood soaked and battle worn, he still wears it with pride. On his back are two packs and two qivers all underneath a simple leather cloak. His arms appear muscular and used to weilding much heavier weapons than the two knives currently used. On on arm is a leather bracer and the other the shinniest and most silvery thing you've ever seen. Over his upper arms he wears barb wire. His trousers appear to be made out of mammoth hide and are held up by a belt that does not belong with it's bearer. Heavy clinking boots are his foot wear of choice and you can tell that if they slowed him down he would not have them much longer... His entire body is mismatched and appears to have grown like a thrieving weed. This Ter'dal may not look to formitable at first glance, but there is the lack of scars to worry about... and that killers stare.

Houma
15 season Rogue of the Prime Healer
Master Messenger of the Shadow Dwellers

[EZ_Ardemus Dracocide]

Ardemus....Ardemus prefers to wear the scales of ravens, like so many other rogues. The one thing that makes him stand out, and also the one thing that scares his enemies are the greaves of red, blood red. He is a sadeist, he likes to toy with his victims. Using his skills to hide in the shadows, all his enemies see is a blood red flash for a second, a mere second and then its too late. Unleashing the power of his dirk made of bone, the victim is engulfed in darkness. When this is done he lets loose the furies of hell with his famed tombcarver...hacking....hacking....hacking...until finally the enemy falls. This is Ardemus Dracocide. His surname fits him well as it means "Harsh Death"



Ardemus Dracocide
27th circle rogue
The Rathe

The Hand is faster then the Eye
A Rogue is faster then both Edited by Ardemus Dracocide at: 6/23/00 3:19:09 pm

[EZ_Nahj Ribsheather]

The door of the Heartwood Tavern swings open as you turn from your ale to see a yound wood elf. His Deep blue eyes seem to pull you in, He rests his hand on something in his belt, it appears to be the stinger of a giant wasp. He turns to the bartender, revealing a Fine Steel Rapier and numerous throwing knives. His cape flows beautifully, as it Represents his allegiance to the Scouts of tunare. Then you notice something even more amazing, a tunic crafted by dwarven smith covers his torso. Suddenly without warning he rockets over to you, Stinger in hand. You get up to protest when he whips out his knives with his other hand and flings them at you, you scream, to realise you aren't injured,but here a gurgling sound outside the window. It was a vile orc of the crushbones with an axe. Nahj Glares at you while saying, "Mebbe if ye payed attention to the bar instead 'o gapin at me ye would have heard him comin ye bloody fool" with that he strode out of the bar, the bartender too amazed to realise he never payed for his drink.

[EZ_Zalquix]

You catch a glimpse of a figure standing in the distance. It was a rather handsome looking Wood-Elf standing there. In a full suit of banded armor, with his Scout's Cape waving lightly in the breeze, the elf known as Zalquix draws his two Daggers of Dropping. Worried by this last action, you turn back to get a better look, only to find the figure has vanished. You continue on your way, slightly uneasy at the thought of that figure being around you somewhere. You seek the safe light of a tavern and the comfort of a drink. As you enter the pub, you think you see the figure again, sitting with a beautiful young elf at a table in the back, but when you look again, you see a dashing elf with dark brown hair and startling blue eyes sitting with the young lady. You do notice the full suit of banded and the daggers, but in the dark lighting, you cannot tell if the elf has a cape on or not. The elf glances over at you. You feel as though those piercing eyes are boring into your mind and implanting fear in you. Then, the two elf companions leave there table and walk out the door, leaving you to wonder. You order an ale, but when you reach for your coin pouch to dig out the silver for the ale, you discover that your money is missing. As the bartender tells you to leave, you realize that the handsome elf was indeed Zalquix, and that you are yet another victim of his thieving expertise.

[EZ_Evoll]

The Name says it all...

[EZ_Arc CK]

I'm not gonna describe my rogue but I did win a descriptive paragraph writing contest in my school with this paragraph about an ogre:


&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He stood a colossal ten feet tall. His immense shoulders supported the detestable head that lay atop of them. He was mostly bare on top with a few strings of hair sprouting over his thick skull. His eyes were bloodshot and his nose was large and runny. He had a crooked smile with serrated yellow teeth protruding from his mouth in no particular order. His skin was green with brown spots popping all over. He wore frazzled clothes, black with soot from living in a cave. He had abnormally large hands and feet which he used to crush the innocent he consumed as food. He was an ogre, a disgusting and cruel ogre.


I didn't think I should have one, but what the hell I needed the grade so gave it a shot. I thought it sucked.

[EZ_Donagal]

Enter the Maiden's fancy in the Third Gate of a Neriak and you are likley to find Donagall Macflurry at a back table, stein in one hand and coins for the exotic dancer in the other. Funny name for a dark-elf you might say, but if you would look close enough and long enough through the dark blue skin and stark white hair and listen close to the thundering of his heart and notice his large stature(as opposed to most of the dark race) you may suspect his true nature, that of a black wolf of the north, a White Rose shrouded by his uncanny knack for deception and lulled here by the only decent brothel in the realm.

Look closer still and notice the dagger shaped bulges from his wrists beneath his raven coloured clothing, assuredly for easy access to the dragoon dirk and stiletto he has concealed there.

At his waist, several pouches of varrying size and shape. A little food and water, for certain. A little something more deadly, guaranteed, but only his foes and their mortician know for sure.

[EZ_Gullwin]

Son of Eligha and Uliah Razzlefoot, Gullwin Razzlefoot's parents died young due to a horrible raid by the Runnyeye Goblins. Under the careful watch of the Rivervale rogue scept, the young Gullwin grew up to become a rogue and follow the ways of a dark, deserted life. After an enraged contest of yelling with his mentor, Gullwin left the Vale. He took up the name Gullwin Spinetickler and is now an assassin. He does what the client pays for. Ruthless, Dark, Nothingness describes his life.

The wheat was exeptionally high this year. Harvest season had just begun and the Rally Johnston was out with his boys getting ready to harvest. Carefully he walked about the feilds. He did not wish to be seen, so he wasn't. This had to be done. "Why him though? He is a simple farmer?" But the client replied, "Don't ask questions, I want him dead. Do you assassins always ask so many stupid questions!?" Supposedly, the farmer was some kind of leader of an uprising against Qeynos and the guards. He knew they were corrupt, but they paid well for this mans death. Sweaping his hands over the wheat one last time, he clenched his bone dirk and rapier in his other hand. As he snuck closer, he waited for the perfect time, when Rally was alone. He got his chance and he took it. He slid the rapier just below the middle of the spine and bringing his other hand around, he freed the farmer of his duty to breath. His job was done. He slinked off to collect his money.

Gullwin Spinetickler
Level 30 Assassin
Druzzil Ro

[EZ_Zakna1027]

Zakna Ravenshadow is average height for a dark elf (drow), with handsome features, but has a sinister scowl on his face that still attracts peoples curiosity about. he dresses in all black chaine, with two daggers named Black razor (dragoon dirk) and Saberclaw (drachnid leg tip, soon to be a bloodclaw). he keeps his hair tied back in a ponytail, and has red eyes that gleam like his soul.

Zakna Ravenshadow
19 assassin of Mith Marr

[EZ_Rubin Quickcutter]

My rogue looks like Sting, you know from The Police, cept he's 3 feet tall and got hairy feet.

Rubin Quickcutter, 40th Halfling Rogue
Tunare server

[EZ_Chrysa Colesmith]

Chrysa is not exactly young (in her mid twenties), but her short height (5'2") and often childish mannerisms make her seem younger.. She has black hair to just below her shoulders. Currently, the short human is wearing a banded helm, sleeves, and chest, with leather bracers, gloves, and pants (kinky? ::purr:: especially with the whip she uses), completing the look with fur-lined boots, just in case she ever gets the urge to make a trip to Halas. A fine steel dagger is tucked securely into the purity belt she wears around her waist. A greater lightstone is clutched in one fist. Her ears, when visible, are adorned with a silver earring on the left, and a brass earring on the right. She wears two Dervish Cutthroat rings, neither obtained by herself.. both were gifts from friends. She does feel a slight kinship with the Dervs, as evil as they might be, since one is nearly her twin, or at least looked it when Chrysa was in full leather. Crystal clear blue eyes peeked out from under black bangs, those ice blue orbs often shifting from warm, to freezing, to firey, to jealous in the span of a few minutes.

~~
OOC-wise: They don't HAVE any human models with black hair and blue eyes. ;.; EQ Chrysa has brown eyes, bue I say they're blue, because that's the way a designed her. She's manic-depressive. She's got three shuriken, too, but I don't use them. (Read Clear and Present Danger, and you'll see why. "NINJA! We own the night!") Chrysa Veaumont Colesmith
Devout Follower of Fizzlethorp Bristlebane
10.2 Rank Rogue

[EZ_whycantIusedren]

You sit down at the hogcallers inn, feeling oddly watched. Suddenly, you see a glimmer of light and a halfling steps out from behind the merchant. He is clothed in ravenscale armor, except for his cape, which is made out of the feathers of a Pegasus. He is floating about an inch off the ground, you assume for this reason. Clutched in his hands, are an obsidian shard and a bloodclaw stiletto. He wears no jewelry, except for a silver ring with a ruby red stone set in the center. About his waist over the ***** spun belt, is a line of throwing knifes. Each one has a peculiar sign. As you look at his armor more you notice the symbol everywhere. It Must be his emblem. He sits down next to you and removes his Helm, gloves and puts away his weapons. He has blond hair and cold, piercing blue eyes. You notice his earlobe has a small nitch in it. His hair is tied back into a pony tail, Which he tucks into the back of his garment. A long white streak runs through it, on the right side on his head. On his hands, you notice a long scar. Almost looking like he tried to block a sword with his hand… As he drinks his ale, you continue to stare at him your drink forgotten. He finishes, and begins to walk out the door. When Hyrill Pon the drunk next to you looks at him. " hey halfling, that pouch looks pretty big and heavy, shall I Relieve you the task of carrying it?"

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The drunk grins, and reveals to rows of broken yellow teeth, without turning around, the halfling puts on his helm and gloves. Hyrill lunges for him, but grabs only air. You look around puzzeled until you see the Halflng behind Hyrill, He floats up and deals Hyrill a kick to the back, as he bends back, the halfling floats up extremely fast and Smashes the drunks Head against the celing and drops him to the floor. He floats down, and Says, " when he wakes up he’ll have a horrible headache, but better than not waking up at all" with that he float out of the bar, leaving you to stare.
Dren, Level 11 Halfling RogueBrother of Zanotose/tell Novawop well, your free to try to kill me...Novawop hits YOU for 1 point of Damage. You duck out of battleYou backstab Novawop for 48 points of damagge.You have Slain Novawop!

[EZ_Kaptin Grimm]

Coming from an odd line of punk gnomes (hey you explain purple and green hair) Tangaloor was struck by wanderlust at a young age. Unfortunately both his parents are still alive (hey not everyone's childhood sucked) and happily living in Ak'Anon as clockwork merchant mechanics. Only in his 13th season he has covered two continents and even checked out Grobb (ouch with a 175 hp headache from basher smeg). He is usually referred to as "Why you lippy little bast.. " or "Stop thief" and is decked out in splitpaw hide armor that was a gift from a high elf enchantress who has a thing for small men with big noses (when I'm nose to nose my toes is in it and when I'm toes to toes my nose is in it). He is in love with his scarab helm and even though he has a better helmet in the bank he refuses to wear it, preferring its look over the ringmail coifs. He wields a fine steel spear he got off a dead dwarf ( well he was just lying there) and a dagger of dropping. And has rings on his fingers and bells on his...no wait and an earring in his left ear. He has a wide assortment of friends ranging from the lechorous high elf enchantress to a troll shaman who worships Cazic Thule to a high elf priest of Tunare and as he is not overburdened with either morals or a god this doesn't bother him at all. He lives to see the sights of Norrath and uses his rogue skills to survive against the tyranny of the tall people. (Hey it only makes sense to stab em when they're not looking) and tall people never look down so hiding is a snap.

Tangaloor &lt;Outsiders of Norrath>
13th season rogue (not thief nor assassin)
Druzzil Ro

[EZ_Rahnaan]

Linage of Divar 29th Rogue of Brell....

Some time back, amist the tall slender trees of Greater Faydark. Lived a family of farmers. Vandrek and Silinia Von'Keldon mostly lived out their slow peaceful lives plowing a small field near the far reaches of Kelethin. Aside from the crop they had only themselves.

Orc's soon roamed from the caverns bellow the Faydark regions and plagued the lands with their Vile screams and haunting shadows lurking just beyound the underbrush of the trees. These times brough many new travelers into the land, offering a busy and profitable life for the homely couple, till a tragic untimely death befell Vandrek. He was coming home, pockets full of coin from the market venders. When he was struck from behind by a torent of Orcish bandits. They Strung him from a near by tree and left him to die. A traveler from the regions of Freeport had noticed this happening, waited for the danger to pass and cut Vandrek down to rest on the earth. Vandrek leaned up, clutched the traveler buy the arm and pleaded with him to deliver the coin to his wife. This traveler noticed a fine chance to make a claim here, agreed and left Vandrek to die.

Not much time passed and his death had just come when this traveler burst into his once peace loving home, and Made way with his wife. Striken and mortified she fled bleeding to the local patrols. The traveler never to be found again.

Some years pass.... Silinia, now growing very old has never told her son Divar of his past. She watched him grow from a young lad into a prime and daring young man. His eye match by only the deepest Emeralds of the lands. Hair loosly parted and clean cut. Strong yet slender body unmarked by the ways of the blade. Divar had become a very Popular citizen of Kelethin, often used for his swiftness and ability to seemingly slip threw even the tightest formations of orcish guards to deliver news to other lands. Until one day while being sent to Kaladim to deliver news of a coming Market feast, he caught wind of a raid. Orc's had laid siege to Kelethin, outlieing houses had be destroyed, forcing all citizens to fall back to the proud tree city for shelter. Silinia, Divar's own mother had fallen. This news tore at Divar's Soul. He slipped away to the far reaches of Halas to sulk in his loss and during this time he met a Sturdy yet sinicle old man. The man never mentioned his name, but set out to train Divar. He was taught the speed and Cunning of a Wolf, and the agility and strenth of a Lion. Divar soon found himself learning the dark was of Poisons, and the Silent ways of the dagger. Surounded by his hatred for the orc's, his skills advanced fast to the point of even deep pacts with mystics to which he learned the art of Altering his Form in Illusions within ones mind.

You'll find Divar now dressed within the darkest of reds and blacks. His tunic that of a blood ember gauntlets and braces of Rubicite as well as his Greaves. Boots and armguards draped in the Finest Ravenscales found, and a dagger befallen to him by his master, The Cryptrobber's Knife, know only as this cause of no name ever being found of his master. Divar is often seen as a Darkelf, wondering the reaches of Crushbone, looking for the one orc bold enough to lend tell to his mothers fate. Divar tho road weary and crued, still carries a since of peace and good tidings with him. Some say thats the soul of his mother, still hovering around him. Countless battles have been seen, and many times Divar is among them. For even in his trade as an Assassin, he still hold the heart of his mother's pride.

You'll never see Divar sneaking around, he wants his presence to be known. He knows others seeing him will prove to strike more fear, than a swift glance to a shadow.

Next time you glance through a crowded square, take note the Elf in blood red and black. It may just be Divar, but look fast. Cause in a momments notice, he'll have gone, slipped away to the shadows, to search out his hearts desire, his families Honor.....

Divar *Known only as Divar*
29th Rogue
Brell Serilis *Honor bound scout and information guide to guild "Circle of the Rings"*

"As true the leaves fall in the fall, and the rains bring life to the spring... So shall the shadows strike fear in the hearts of my Prey..." Divar Von'Keldon

[EZ_Wise Papa Smurf]

A Bard plays in the corner, a song called 'Ye ol' Brew woman.' The night is winding down. Thick black smoke clouds up the room as the fire runs down. Through the smoke you see the bartender and tell him to send you another ale. In the corner you watch a drunken couple fool around a bit, and a small cloaked man walks up to you.
He is stout, about 6 hands high, a small halfling or a tall gnome you asume. He takes off his cloak revealing his gnarled, ruddy skin, and his black leather armor. On his belt, 8 purity belts, all with slashes in them, hang limply. The gnome looks up to you and reveals his hand, 3 of his fingers are those of a clockworks.
"Hey, bud, up here! got the cash?"
You hold out a bag of Platinum and the gnomes eyes widen. "Ok then." The gnome says. He pulls out an aqualing filled with different tinkered items and jewlry. He graps the bag you held in your hand and makes off with your money, with you nothing to show for it but an astonsihed face.

[EZ_Chae Soulstone]

Darkness.
In the Embrace of the Shadows, purple eyes the shade of a King’s cloak peer out at you. From the black of night creeps a Barbarian women, clad in banded armor that has clearly seen it’s share of a battles – not a War of Kings, but a battle none the less. On her feet are the skins of a Kobold, waited at the toes, raised slightly at the heel, with straps of studded leather around the shaft of the boot. At the waist of her tunic is a belt enchanted with Purity – and on many a night it’s magic lay useless on the floor with the rest of her clothing. On her belt hangs assorted pouches, filled with coins and poisons and potions. From a large brass ring passed through a loop on her belt hangs her lock picks, and not a few stolen keys. Across her chest, worn like a sash, is a strip of tattered leather the deep blue of a winter’s sea. To her self she swears time and again to take off the silly piece of her first fighting tunic, to put it in the bank, but she can’t quit do it. Across her shoulders lays a mantle stained deeply with blood – both hers and her enemies’. Flowing back from the shoulders is a cloak made from the hide of a wolf, slain at the feet of Holly Windstalker. Indeed, given a few Ales she will gladly tell you of how she earned that piece of her equipment. Around her neck lay a golden amulet, studded with small gems of which the centerpiece is an enchanted opal. Her hair the color of a banked fire falls down her back, under her loosely fitting Hood, taking from the Executioner Him –or Its- self. Across her face is a veil of silver, studded with star cut rubies, with a spell placed upon it by an Enchanter friend. Beneath the hide of a Elf who had dared to cross her lay her skilled hands – agile enough to pick the finest of locks, strong enough to pry open the hands of her foes, making them drop their weapons. Tucked into her knee high boots is a Dirk won from the Dragoon’s Ambassador to Crushbone. Tied to her right thigh is the scabbard of her Fine Steel Rapier, blessed and Enchanted by the Gods themselves. She moves toward you, quicker than one of her height could seem to move, and a flash of dark metal is the last thing you see.
Darkness.
Chae Soulstone
Children of Tunare
Cazic-Thule Server `` Let the Shadows enfold me, I shall Embrace their Darkness ``

[EZ_ceescrit]

HEY! Sindel IS dead sexy... Its true, its true.

My rogue's apearance &lt;points to pic below> quite the flashy ladies man, if I may say so myself.















Ceescrit DaHustla
Assassin of the 24th season
Officer, Order of the Black Rose
... and I'm out like I stole somethin'.

[EZ_Royle]

Moxon, sitting, hunched over on a small cot, spit polished a pair of finely-crafted daggers while the warmth of a small, crackling fireplace melted the frost off of his boots. He was a quiet man, his famliy, before they died, had owned a small farm on the outskirts of Rivervale. He was short, dark, yet quite strong. His jet black hair fell around the sides of his ears and his side burns down his cheeks. He wore a black tunic, black pants and shoes, and a long, flowing black cape that draped over his shoulders and chest.
His father had taught him to use a throwing dagger when he was young, to ward off jackals and wolves that might come in and take their sheep. He loved those daggers, the ones his father had left him, the ones with the eagle with spread wings engraved so delicately down the sides of each blade. The grips were made of ivory, from a mammoths tusks.
Moxon stepped out of his hut, into the dark kithicor woods. he started down a path early in the morning because he knew he would have a long day ahead of him. He had to travel across the commanlands, where the Giants of the Hills roamed, and the Griffins flew. He looked down in his backpack at a glowing blue mask, a mask that would make an impossible mission, possible. His final destination, Neriak, home of Xatan D'Vinn, then man who was to die today...

[EZ_Salbik]

Illegitamate son of Brell Serillis and Clockwork Guide IV. A creature of strength and dedicated precision; Salbik was raised in the temple of Brell among the most devout of his followers.

As he grew he explored his cavernous home and all of its guilds until one day he found his calling. Within his humble temples walls he found those who not only praised his father but fought for him against all transgressors. As Salbik grew he began to feel his heritage. His hair grew in fine tufts of grass and algae his eyes could see in even the darkest lairs and his fingers were as slick as his mothers axel grease. As Salbik first began to travel into the hated world of light he saw his first surface dwellers, vile creatures who toyed with the brave guardians of Ak'anon they would revert to their animalistic natures and tear the flesh from my homes bravest. As I stared at the slaughter I develpoed a hatred for all of the surfeys and spat at them.knowing I stood no chance against them I stole what I could from my brothers to deny their murderers a few coins and clothed myself in what armor they couldn't hold. I swore that day that I would reclaim all the treasures of my father and return them to him.

[EZ_Sgean]

Those who think a big creature cannot be fast or agile, have not seen the bear charge them. Those who think a big creature cannot be stealthy, have not seen the moose vanish like a soundless ghost into the underbrush: a giant, magnificent beast, an overwhelming presence. Then suddenly it turns, and a slight blurr, some leaves move, and it's gone. Leaving you thinking "Was is really here?"

The grass moved aside, and the shades beneath the Faydark trees shifted, gently. The barbarian was clad in chain-mail, head to toe. His scarred face a mask of intense concentration and alertness. But fear, and hatred could also be seen, in the quick glances he continually cast over his shoulder. One eye dark, the other milky white, with a huge scar running down his face. One eye dark with fear and suspicion, the other a white globe of madness and hatred.

Up ahead, the sound of battle. A young woodelf testing herself against a few bandits, perhaps dreaming of a life of adventure and fortune. Her sword arm was strong, cutting the bandits down with powerful slashes.

Sgean's lips parted slighty, revealing clenched teeth, and fixed itself in an evil grin. His white eye glimmered with madness as he made a quick motion with his hand, and stepped into the shadows.

The woodelf examined her wounds briefly, and started going through the dead bandit's pockets. She could just fit the sword into her backpack -- it'd fetch a few coins, that weapon. Soon, she'd have enough for some better armor, perhaps a breastplate, even! She sat down and started tending to her wounds.

"SHANKS!" a crazed voice called

and the beast ripped into her with his daggers, landing a devestating blow. The elf screamed, and scrambled to get to her feet. Sgean landed two more blows, before she gathered her composure and started to fight back.

"Ye'll nae live past this day, ye mongrel!" he snarled, between clenched teeth. She swung her sword, but he dodged it, and landed his daggers once more.

The elf, turned and ran in panic, yelling for help. Sgean followed her, daggers swinging, a vile grin on his lips. Then, he stopped, and closed the trap. Two barbarian warriors boxed her in. Their enormous blades fell, stealing the last few ounces of life left in the elf.

Sgean strolled behind her as she tried to crawl away. "Please... don't," the elf whispered. Sgean looked down at the collapsed figure with a quiet hatred and contempt. "Ye filthy cur, Norrah's a better place t'night!" he snarled, and let his dagger draw the last breath of life away.

Looking over his shoulder with a nervous expression, he stepped away from the dead body. Some leaves moved. And he was gone.


Shanks Initiate, and Thug of Vallon Zek

[EZ_Digon Graves]

Err... WTH is shanks?

[EZ_Chrysa Colesmith]

(OOC: Doin' a new one, since it's all different now.)

The slightly older rogue sat cross-legged on the peak of one of the sloped sand dunes in the Northern Desert of Ro. She had made this her home for the time being, well, this and the Commons.. and Freeport when she absolutely had to go.

Her body looked a bit leaner, a bit more muscular, especially the forearms. (Have you heard? A master smithe!) The dagger was gone, the lightstone now tucked into the same purity belt. The pants were still leather, but all else had changed. In her right hand, she clutched a dragoon dirk, which she had fought hard for... a finely crafted sheer blade from the foriegn lands of Kunark laid in the sand near her left hand. A jet-black obsidian shard was sheathed securely in her belt as well, waiting for a time that she would not get a migrane when she used it... perhaps when she was more seasoned.

Her armour was now even more mismatched, but it served its purpose well. The banded helmet was still worn, along with the banded mail, but now she had one banded wristband as well.. the other was still leather. She wore a mesh neckguard. The armplates had sharp barbs on them, causing her to look a bit bigger, as hedgehogs do when they puff up their spikes. She now had a leather cape and shoulderpads. She wore silver Watchman's boots, a gift.. as were the jet-black RavenScale Gloves that adorned her small hands. The Dervish rings were still worn under the gloves, a constant reinder of where she may have come from.. or maybe not. A mithril erring glinted in the fire, contrasting greatly with the brass earring in the other ear. The three shuriken were still at hand, in a pocket in her cape that she had sewn in herself (and sewing! She dabbles in that as well.)

Her blue eyes were narrowed slightly as she concentrated on the spit rotating slowly over the fire... rabbit meat was fairly rare in these parts, seeing as she was not tuned with nature enough to find it on her own... and not succeeding in making stew tonight would cause her to dip into the edible goo that was piling up in her backpack.. (And a baker! What doesn't she do?)

And then her lips quirk into a faint smile as she notices you (or has she simply been ignoring you?) and waves you to sit next to her with a black gloved hand. "Take a seat," she says softly, her eyes twinkling. "There's always room for a brother or sister here with me.."


~~Chrysa Colesmith
14.6 rank rogue (ARG, stupid mummies..)
Mideon's Lackey D">
Master Smithe (102)
EMarr server
Member of the Assassin's Ring