Changeling Street Samurai


She is sitting on the edge of a table, in a grungy bar, with pool tables at the end of the room, a cocky smirk on her face and a whiskey close at hand. She oozes a sense of deadly, predatory danger. You can’t see any actual weapons on her, but you think you can see the glint of a sharp edge at several points along her arm-plated armor. Her wild asymmetrical orange hair hides part of the markings on her face, but not all of them: dark triangular stripes that start by her nose and over her eyebrows and get thicker as they run out to her hairline. Also, a smattering of freckles. An orange tinge along her pale skin matches her hair, and the ear you can see on the side of her head with the shorter hair comes to a point, which marks her clearly as an elf. She seems a little bulkier than your standard elf, and you think she must be well muscled since the only thick armor she wears is on her arms. The rest of her is covered in black form-fitting tactical garments, which look like they must conceal some very thin plating beneath the cloth. She has a number of different hip and thigh pouches and holsters strapped to her lower body and around her boots, all in shades of black and darker black. Perhaps a hint of olive green amongst the shades of black. The only thing on her that isn’t some version of black is a strange metal looking half glove, which wraps just below her lowest knuckles and ends just before the tips of her fingers. This is dark brushed grey. You can see more dark lines on her hands in between the armored parts.

She turns her eyes to you and catches you staring. Maintaining eye contact, with a fierceness that seems to burn from deep within, she raises one hand slowly to her face, and starts licking the side of it, slowly, staring at you the whole time. You notice her canines have a defined point to them, the slightest hint of a fang. For a split second, you think she could be pretty if she weren’t so terrifyingly fierce. She’s waiting to see if you look away…or if you have something of importance for her. Perhaps a job. You have heard she is one of the ones to go to for a combo of stealth assassination and furious, flurry-ous close-range combat. But you’ve also heard that she’s mischievous, sassy, and somewhat unpredictable. You take a huge gulp of your drink. Finding the glass empty, you snag two more from a cocktail waitress and cross the room to this dangerous woman. She’s still staring straight at you. You swallow past the lump in your throat, and hope to some god that you’ve ordered the brand she prefers…



Anarchy is Dead sirlarkins sage_morris_greene