Twiggy

[elven]

VITAL INFORMATION:

Name: Ánrothán Irial Taite, Twiggy
Age: Appears in his early-twenties, but it is more realistically somewhere in his thousands.
Gender: Male
Rank: Tracker/Mercenary for Hire
Kingdom: Neutral

DETAILS:

Appearance: He seems elvish in nature, high cheekbones, almond shaped eyes, all the characteristic traits, except the pointed ears. Also, uncharacteristic of an elf is the short hair he keeps, not too short; long enough to fall into his face, but not long enough to pass his shoulders. His hair is also black, not very common in elves. Perhaps a mix breed? Who knows.

He has a few tribal tattoos, from the tribes he’d run into when he was younger. He shared in their culture then, and they marked him with his story; at least what they and he knew. They, however, are more often than not covered by a black tunic, and black pants. He has enough money to pay for the stained fabric, due to the sensitive nature of his craft.

He also wears a long cloak, that brushes the ground when he walks, that one is more for effect though. Someone telling you he’s there to take you or kill you often seems more ominous when they leap from something and seem to be shrouded in a black cloud.

As far as accessories go he wears a few silver studs and cuffs on his right ear and a dangling, leather one on his left; and a beautiful hawk that seems to always be perched on his arm or circling in the sky above him.

Personality: He has some sass and sarcasm to him. Alright, he has a lot of sass and sarcasm to him. It is his defense mechanism most times, as well. Why start a fight and not be paid for it? Words tended to be a little more caustic after all. He can, however, be a sweetheart if you get close enough to him. He is very loyal to those he calls friends and will flip on anyone if it means it’ll be better for him.

History: The oldest memory he has is of a blonde woman, presumably his mother, it is warm and happy, though something happened because her face suddenly changed and in his memory everything went red almost as if something was attacking them. His second memory was in the forest and everyone since then. His skills developed there.

He was approached in the forest by some man that called himself Jezzibel. A name he figured to be female, but hey who was he to judge. Jezzibel told him he had a proposition for him. One that changed his life forever and put him on the track that he was on too.

Family: Unknown.

Other: Money is his number one motivator.

OUT OF CHARACTER:

Name: Elven
Roleplaying Experience: 5 or 6 years, I dunno.
How'd you find us?: Alli.

Roleplaying Example:
A large bird seemingly fell out of the sky at the pair’s feet. It however seemed unharmed when the soot settled around it. The bird was large, obviously some sort of hawk or falcon. Golden eyes stared up at the two as the bird titled its head back and forth. It let out a shrill noise and unfurled its wings and puffed itself up. Its sandy and gold coloring would suggest a falcon, its size however was more that of a hawk. It hopped forward and made the noise at them again.

The bird nipped at the fingers in front of it, still hopping forward towards the pair.

“Ziva,” a low voice called to the bird from atop the closest building. A man followed after it. He certainly looked the part he played. He smirked. “Well isn’t this touching, warms me heart,” he teased. He was clad in all black, his pants were tight against him so that the knives wrapped tethered around his thighs were more readily accessible. He made no noise upon landing, most likely due to the soft black boots he wore. His shirt was not as nicely tailored. The arms had been torn off the once nice tunic; his arms were left bare until his forearms, which were clad in stained leather. All very costly. The knives around his thighs were not his only weaponry, he had a pair of twin blades crossed on his back and held there by leather strips wrapping his shoulders.

He whistled softly and the bird, apparently named Ziva, took flight, circled once in the air and landed on it.

“Well if you two are done,” he chided. His amber colored eyes glistening some; they seemed less sinister and more sarcastic than anything. He tilted his head some, causing his chin length black hair to slide over his face. His hair was not one length, and had been self-cut, judging by the shorter lengths in the back and the varying lengths all around. It wasn’t a hack job, by any means, but it wasn’t professional either.

He was tan, and muscular; a life time of being outdoors and climbing and tracking would do that to a person. He however, bore no visible scars, and the really only telling factors of his origin was his accent, the blue scorpion etched into his shoulder, and his ear piercings, which were made of leather, not dyed black, but frayed and old, as though they’d been passed down.

The bird on his arm had become stoic, as though she no longer lived. The only telling factor that she was living was the slight rise and fall of her chest every so often. It was the man that seemed more animated.