*Shakes head* Tsk tsk, Reindeer.

Valera - that's pretty much awesome. LOL.

Here's mine:

Name: Orithon
Gender: MALE (see? I can do it )
Race: elf
Age: unknown
Alignment: Evil. Out to serve himself, and only himself.
Profession: Varied things, generally involving breaking the law in some (almost always violent) manner. Has made money in the profession of hired assassin.
Weapons: Favors a rapier and vaious concealed daggers but can use almost anything.
Appearance: Tall, thin, pale. Black hair, black eyes, wears black. Think emo.

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Well, the opposite of my norm is simple. I always play a hot tempered male dwarf. Now, I guess I play *gulp* a cool quiet female elf... that uses ranged weapons since my dwarves usually use melee such as axes...

Name: Celebwing
Gender: female
Race: elf
Age: thousands...
Profession: lowely hunter (since my norm chars are usually a mercinary or knight)
Weapons: throwing daggers, bow
Appearance: long golden hair, blue eyes, tall, thin. Wheres light riding boots, brown trousers, thin brown leather gloves, white blouse with blue vest. And grey cloak.

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^*Falls over laughing at Vjynjor's bio* Oh, gosh, that's great! I mean... very, very depressing.

Let's see...what is my norm? Vampiric arrogant characters who use stealth or strength to get what he or she wants? Is often powerful and diabolic and evil? I think this is slightly different...

Name: Osnaian
Gender: Male (though I spend a good amount of time as both)
Race: Elf (never been an elf, I think)
Age: 25 (Never been THIS young unless I have to be a human)
Profession: Not really a profession, in and out of work
Weapons: A small dagger
Appearance: Light rugged brown hair, rather young, travels a lot, wears plain clothes, nothing fancy.

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I was cured all right.

I may join.

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Where do you go when your running away,
The cost of stopping is too great to pay.
~Amanda (saw this written in a washroom stall at a movie theater)

Name: Dyriazyx Zrystialyna Zahradnik Calanon
Nickname: Jade
Gender: Female
Race: Half Drow (father), Half High Elf (mother)
Age: Unknown; looks about 17
Allignment: Somewhere between Lawful Good and Chaotic Neutral
Profession: Moves from job to job, usually works in a military capacity; whatever lets her slay evil; in essence, a hero-for-hire
Weapons: Scimitar, hunting knife, assorted daggers tucked away in every place imaginable, crossbow; quite proficient with all of them
Appearance: tall, slender frame (but strong); very tan skin (result of the mixed heritage); long, fiery red hair braided down her back; lavender eyes; very pretty, in a bizarre way
Attire: Dark, flowing robes combined with somewhat form-fitting black leather armor; black leather belt from which her weapons hang
Personality: Very sweet-natured and friendly, but a bit slow to trust deeply due to the treatment her heritage has earned her; loyal and consistent, with very strong convictions about what is right and wrong

*debates with himself* I think I'll join.

Bio up later.

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Four Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where once eight Gods did war and will,
And if the Gods themselves may die,
What does that say for you and I?

Now, three Gods wait on the windowsill
Where one God's blood was lately spilled
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool
And build the strength they need to rule.

This will be fun Very nice bios everyone

Name: Unknown, but he goes by Phileas
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Age: Old, 80, perhaps even older
Profession: He's a quack and a charlatan
Weapons: His walking stick.. but who knows which weapons are covered by his dark cloak.
Appearance: Wrinkled face, grey hair and beard. Very thin but tall. Often wearing his old travelling cloak.
http://i16.photobucket.com/albums/b9/williemijnie/gladiator.jpg
Personality: Not to be trusted. He probably doesn't even trust himself. He can talk like a madmen the one instant but the other being very rational.

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O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice,
Children, rejoice, rejoice..



It doesn't matter you don't believe in God, He believes in you.

Wow, this should be good. Are we waiting on anymore profiles?

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<center>
Thanks to Revenge for the lovely set!
~Married Legolas of Gondolin April 6, 2006~<center>

Yep, mine.

***

Name: Arete (no last name)
Gender: Male
Race: Elan (a race from D&D. Trying to find link...couldn't find one. They are humans who have been 'remade' into beings that can survive off of psionic energy alone for short periods of time.) ((If you don't want me to be this race, I'll just be a human))
Age: 76 (not all that old as Elan can live for over 1000 years)
Profession: Psion
Alignment: Neutral - Evil
Weapons: No physical weapons as he is a useless physical fighter (ugh...very different for me)
Appearance: Arete has red hair, pale skin, and jade green eyes, so he is sometimes just refered to as Jade. His cloths' look normal enough, white shirt, leather breaches, and a leather coat. You can sometimes see some psionic tattoos on Arete's wrists, but they seem to vanish a you focus on them.
Other: He does not know the extent of his abilities.

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Four Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where once eight Gods did war and will,
And if the Gods themselves may die,
What does that say for you and I?

Now, three Gods wait on the windowsill
Where one God's blood was lately spilled
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool
And build the strength they need to rule.

w00t. Tur and I seem to be the only ones with stupid youngsters that'll just get in everyone's way.

Of course, not playing the comic relief will be kind of hard (<--personal goal, there).

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^Well, mine may not be that young, but I imagine she'll be quite bothersome. lol

Can I join?

Since my characters are usually guys and rather warrior-like... hmmm...

Name: Aina
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Age: 16
Alignment: Unsure. See, she's rather ditzy and doesn't really understand anything that's going on... so she's kinda neutral.
Profession: Ditz. She knows some about healing, though.
Weapons: what's a weapon anyway?
Appearance: big, blue eyes, blond hair. Thin and not very tall.
Other: Asks a lot of questions, is rather slow paced and very people-oriented. She hates quiet.

This should be fun. Aina is like the opposite side of my RL self... kinda like my older sister...

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<center>
Receiving So Much More.

PM me with prayer requests
www.therebelution.com
</center>

Well I often play youngsters, then I figured I'd almost never played the old, mad greybeard who can be mean yet also be very wise

This is going to be fun!

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O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice,
Children, rejoice, rejoice..



It doesn't matter you don't believe in God, He believes in you.

[starting...]

After an hour of twiddling her thumbs in The Gnome's Foot, the elfmaid Eyfene Nae'ri could with certainty conclude one fact: Humans smell like horse manure. And not just any horse manure. Try, perhaps, the horse manure the High Queen had sent Eyfene out to muck that morning because the impossibly foolish stable boy had been nowhere to be found. So who happened to have been on hand when the High Queen received the news? Stupid messenger girl. Smart stable boy.

"Oh, and by the way," Her Royal High and Haughtiness added, as Eyfene curtsied her way out the door. "The professional court runner has taken the flu. Someone unprofessional will have to stop by the infirmary to pick up his missive. Namely you, my dear."

The professional court runner looked fine. So fine, in fact, that he complained for ten minutes after Eyfene trod (accidentally) on his toe, and would have continued elaborating on the frangibility of said digit if she hadn't threatened (quite loudly) to break his other nine toes if he didn't shut up. Missive in hand, the unprofessional court runner had then charged out of the infirmary with one flustered healer on her heels. And flustered healers, once flustered, are also talented sprinters.

Two corridors and twenty-two imprecations later, Eyfene slowed down enough to read the address on the scroll. Eresdor. That was when she felt a light something drop into her pocket.

That light something dampened the rest of her morning. Eyfene Nae'ri did not appreciate people threatening her. Especially people in denial.

So what, you ask, does this have anything to do with our poor elfmaid twiddling her thumbs in a tavern reminiscent of horse manure?

Well, the High Queen had addressed the missive to a master lorekeeper with a name Eyfene didn't care to pronounce. It sounded like the Elven term for "brussel sprouts," so she mentally dubbed him as much to make dealings easier. Upon handing Master Brussel Sprouts the missive, the scrawny man read it through once, read it through twice, and collapsed in an overstuffed armchair that smelled like pears. "Oh no," he moaned. "Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no..."

Eyfene handed him a glass of water. "What is it?"

"She'll kill me. She'll kill me. Ye gods, whatever am I to do?" So pitiful did he look that the unprofessional but slightly compassionate runner sat down beside him and patted him on the back. He took a drink of water, blew his nose on a spotted kerchief, and handed her the kerchief. "It's an artifact," he sniffed. "A beautiful artifact of unimaginable power. I borrowed it from Her Royal Highness a year ago. A-And now... and n-now sh-she wants it b-back!"

Eyfene dropped the kerchief into his lap and crossed her arms. "You can't keep it forever, you know."

"I d-didn't keep it f-forever! I k-kept it for a m-month! And th-then... and then..."

Her heart sank. "So... who has it now?"

Unsurprisingly, Master Brussel Sprouts responded with three mono-syllable words that told Eyfene that Her Royal High and Haughtiness would not be happy. She'd probably be so unhappy that she'd forget all about the adage "don't kill the messenger." Eyfene had to find the artifact. And she had to find it soon. After all, how hard could finding a beautiful artifact of unimaginable power be?

Famous last words.

So she was doomed. Doomed to wander the world forever as a useless, unprofessional vagabond for the rest of her life. Perhaps she could earn her meals by being a shoe cleaner. Or, even better, a bathhouse operator. Gods know the humans need one of those. But even the prospect of helping society looked bleak...

That was when she remembered the other, anonymous missive in her pocket. The one that wasn't a threat.

Hence the thumb-twiddling in a shadowed corner of the tavern called The Gnome's Foot. Some things just never change. Luck being one of them.

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