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Another Description Marathon

Coulter stalks under an Ashen Moon ( based on his own desc.)

Something moves at the corner of your eye. Spinning to see who is there, you scan the area. Nothing. Perhaps it was simply a trick of the light or your imagination. Then a moment later, again, movement. A shadowy figure prowling nearby has allowed you this glimpse. He steps out of the shadows, uncomfortably, menacingly close, and smiles, exposing sharp ivory canines. Your first thought is vampire, but the clear golden of his slit-pupil eyes makes you revise your guess. A were of some sort? Those eyes are captivating, mysterious, and without doubt, those of a predator. His skin is a dark gold, just a few shades lighter than the rough, close cropped hair on his head. His slightly pointed ears twitch, picking up every sound. He makes a soft sound in his throat that is somewhere between a growl and a purr, and one hand moves faster than you can track, stops a hair's breadth from your face, and taps your nose. "Be faster next time," he advises. "Or be prey."

The human warrior before you returns your gaze with curiosity in his wide, hazel eyes. Then he glances over his shoulder cautiously, always aware of his surroundings. A thick mane of shoulder length, wavy black hair is kept back out of his face by a braided headband of leather, and it is roughened from being tucked up under his metal helm. He is a large fellow, with wide shoulders from many years of sword work and battle, and looks more suited to combat than a dance floor. He moves with strength more than grace, and with deadly efficiency, and gives the impression of one who speaks little, but observes much. The thin scar above his left eye looks old - a token from his first lesson in survival as a young boy. He bows in response to your continued stare, the movement of his body causing the sleeve of his shirt to shift slightly, revealing a small tattoo of a hawk. He smiles slightly, remembering the friendship with the bird that caused him to have its image placed there always. "The first hawk I ever trained. Friendships have to be built on trust. That's the only way... with birds or with people. You have to have a similar spirit for them to trust you." His eyes darken a little as he speaks of trust, causing you to wonder who might have broken faith with this bold warrior at some point in the past.

The minotaur before you is one of unusually rough-looking character. One horn has been snapped off near its tip, leaving a jagged edge where the flailing hoof of the Each-Uisge tried to take off his head. His dark brown fur flows unevenly over a patchwork of horrible scars, including several that look an aweful lot like acid burns. One seems very deliberate - a long scar down his left cheek, marking his long-ago days as a Nashite under Okk. He notices you looking at the many marks that crisscross his body and snickers softly, a mischievious twinkle in his dark brown, almost black eyes. "Yeah, well, the DracoLich didn't want company, but I knew better..." He cracks his massive knuckles with a smirk. "Had to set an example for Adso. Its so much fun to make his ex-goddess squawk in fear when she saw us running around getting into trouble..." He leans down and taps the rough, scaly patch that mends one of the leg-pieces of his mismatched, etched, scratched, scraped armor. "But that's okay... Life gives its little rewards in such moments." The grin turns to an outright smirk with somewhat nasty overtones. "I just love 'teaching' some folks those life-lessons.." he mutters something unpleasant that sounds like something a sailor might say, that ends in 'fricken newbiekillers...' He brightens, though, and says, "Hey, guess what Tynian said the other day?"
Quote:
Tynian tells you, 'I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to delete you.'.

There's something distinctly strange about the dwarf before you. For one thing, he's nearly six feet tall, and massively thick. He beams a warm, open, friendly smile at you, and the powerful, pleasant scent of fresh mushrooms wafts through the area. His body is unusually blocky, almost ... square? and his armor has several dents where it appears someone kicked him rather firmly. You cannot help but raise one hand and tentatively tap on his chest. The deep, hollow sound that echoes back makes you blink.... Hollow? Okay, this is getting VERY strange. He giggles and points at a sign on his right shoulder above his heart that reads, "Please do not tap, kick, or hit the vending machine!". He pokes a wide black spot on his chest that you thought was just an unsual armor design, and it opens to reveal... food! The variety is both amusing and horrific; every imaginable edible item from apricots to zebra roast... shrunken heads, elven stew, even worms for the aara! He grins at your confusion and says with another smile, "Please...take some, I can't carry this much weight!" Once you have taken your fill, this kindly soul trundles off to provide for another deserving adventurer.

The pureblood Drow elf woman who stands before you does not have the legendary beauty of someone like Lady Polnevdra Z'relendar or Jyslin T'sarran, but rather than their dangerous radiance, she has a quiet air of reserved confidence. With a demeanor that is more cautious than timid (as if life have taught her many lessons that unlike many of the wild spirits of the realm, she has actually heeded), she regards you intently, as if to discern your intentions. Sphinxlike eyes of an unusual milky jade color meet yours, and in them is just one question: "What do you want?" One silvery brow arches, and her calm expression shifts slightly to one of hostility at your continued stare. She does not move, but the impression is suddenly clear - cross this woman and you may well find a knife at your throat...

While many people have long, thick, silky, dark hair and gentle eyes the color of roasted hazelnuts and skin the color of perfectly tanned doeskin, and sweet smiles are a dime a dozen... there's something special about this lass.

Fine, if battered armor covers her whole body, encasing her in steel, and over it is a fine cloak of white emblazoned in blue with an outstretched hand. It gives her something of a noble, almost paladin-like appearance.

A large bag is slung over one shoulder, and out of it peeps a huge brass bound, leather covered tome. It's title is just barely visible above the edge of the bag: in huge golden letters it reads "SHARING THE WISDOM."

The dwarf that stands before you has a mischievious twinkle in his deep, chocolately brown eyes. They seem both kind and yet a touch wicked, as if this gentlemanly fellow kept himself on best behaviour... until such time as a lady asked him not to. His soft brown hair is neatly trimmed, and he is clean shaven, unlike most dwarves. His face looks like it was carved from rich teakwood, it is so evenly bronzed from being out in the sun. Garbed in matching trousers and tunic of deep blue bordered with a wide emerald green trim, he cuts a stylishly understated figure, but it is the look of kindness and compassion, humor and courage in his eyes that is, perhaps, his most endearing and attractive quality. He carefully withdraws a single crimson rose from its place of safety in a beltpouch, holding it lightly in his strong hands. Smiling, he murmurs softly, "Life is a joyful dance. The greatest risk is love, and being loved, not facing death. Only when you open your heart, do you truly live."

A soft glowing light surrounds the hands of the tall, slender elf before you. He plays with it, pouring it from one hand to the other, making it dance and sway in time to his heartbeat, moving like a living thing. He flashes you a quiet smile, enjoying the flow of energy and light. His eyes are soft, dark brown, and they flicker to your face. His eyes close for the briefest moment, and the power around his hands surges. You realize that it was a fireball, held in check by the will of his mind, and it is restrained yet, not burning into a conflagration to destroy his enemies, but rather amuse and entertain. You step closer to look, and he takes a swift step back, restablishing the distance between you. The light of the flame paints shadows upon his thin, angular face, making his ears seem even more pointed. "What is real? What is illusion? Only those who dare to truly live, ever know."

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