A tall woman, lean and muscular; fair skinned and with blue eyes that seem to blaze when riled. Her hair is long, hanging in waves of gold down her back between feathered wings of mottled black and red. Her ears are pointed somewhat like those of an elf and pierced with silver rings. She smiles often and laughs easily, but both are frequently hollow.
She favors dark colors, tending towards a deep blue, short sleeved tunic and a long, ankle-length skirt – black and edged with embroidered gold floral motifs, slit high in the sides to reveal riding boots and a sinister looking dagger strapped to one thigh. A long, slightly curved sword hangs from the back of her belt.
When armored, she wears a light metal cuirass, with panels of lamellar hanging down to cover her upper thighs, the metal blackened with azure silk lacing.
Huh? Me? Get piked, berk. I ain’t got time ta be no bleedin’ tout. I’m bus—oh, sod it, don’t gimme that look. Hey! I said..
You want’a know about me? Shite, why’d I pick you berks up again? No, nothin’, nothin’, I didn’t say nothin’! Yer hearin’ things! I love you sods! See? Berk.
Right. So, me. I was born out ‘ere, raised in my home plane. Long way away from ‘ere. No you piking dolt, not a Prime world. Don’t even think that I’m from the Prime. You’re the only Prime here! Piss-head.
What? Didn’t say nothin’. Right, where was I? Ah, right. Home plane. Ya, ya, you wanna know which one, fine. Arborea. Heard of it, basher? Didn’t think so.
Look, berk, are we talkin’ about me or your hearin’ problem? I. Didn’t. Say. Nothin’. And. Yer. Hearin’. Things.
I’m a paladin. Aye, that’s right basher, a paladin. What, ain’t’cha got any paladins where you come from? Knights-in-shining-armor? Upstandin’, morally admirable, pillars of society? What kind’ve barmy Clueless came up with that? If I were any of those things, I’d get pegged fer a do-gooder right then an’ there, and some Fiend would pen me inta the Dead-Book faster than a Fated could peel a Prime.
Like I was sayin’, I can’t stand out. If I stood out, I’d get croaked by a Fiend or scragged by the Harmonium or somethin’ fer bein’ a threat. An’ where’s that leave me, or my Goddess’s work? Not done. Aye, that’s right.
And where’s the Good in that, huh? Exactly, Prime. Nowhere. So no, I ain’t puttin’ one over on ya when I say I’m a paladin. I may not be some blasted Holy-rollin’ basher of Tyr or Pelor or some soddin’ scary piker like Moradin, but I am what I am. Bast knows I do her work, and I do it better this way than I would gettin’ piked by a Fiend. I know my goddess, you don’t, so bar yer bloody bone-box before I put a boot through it.
There. You can do it, Prime! We’ll get along just fine, I suspect. Just don’t do anythin’ too bloody barmy, and you’ll come out of this in one piece. Well, maybe.