D&D: Female Drow Ranger
From Create Your Own Story
You walk down the streets, enjoying the night's cool air caressing your thighs and your shoulders. Your skin melds great against the night and you can feel the moon shine against you. It has been years since you've left your brethren in the Underdark and you always regret it (especially during the day) but in the night, all this fades away.
Your profession has made your shape even more pronounced. Your waist is slim from a careful diet and a fast metabolism. Your body has been toned by years of training and regimented exercise. Your hourglass shape helped even more with your toned thighs and bottom bringing your curves into plain view and making them quite hard to hide.
You're an excellent marksman, a skilled knife and sword fighter and your natural agility is only enhanced and when all this fails, you always have your wits and your charms. Having cut your teeth in the backstabbing world of the Underdark, stealthily moving your way up the ranks. For your relatively young age, you've been on dozens of sorties, and combat is no stranger to you. You've even begun to dabble in the magic of the rangers. Though you'll never be able to reach the pinnacles of magic that the Drow wizards back home have, you have a repertoire of spells allowing you to perform feats that no mundane mortal could hope to achieve.
Your clothing ensemble consists of a black leather vest with many hidden pockets, from which any number of weapons or tools may be found. It seems you're never more than a heartbeat away from a dagger, produced from any number of hidden pockets on your person.
A black hardened leather corset hugs you snugly but not tightly and provides support for your endowed chest, while providing a distracting amount of cleavage. After all, you're quite used to using your sexuality as a tool as a builder would use a saw or hammer. The corset also serves as an anchor point for your black leather pauldrons, which are reinforced by mithril strips between the layers of leather.
Underneath that you are wearing a black elven chainmail hauberk which drapes down low on your hips, the rings made of fine mithril links which do not impede your movement, padding underneath the chainmail and a hidden enchantment placed upon them so that they make no excess noise with your movements ensure your stealth is preserved.
A soft, dark grey wool cloak conceals your movements, keeps you warm, and can conceal your face in its deep hood if you need to go unnoticed, its nondescript appearance allowing you to fade into crowds. Sometimes anonymity can shield you better than the best set of adamantine armor.
Your black miniskirt is loose enough to allow you to run, unlike the long stuffy dresses of the highborn snobs. It is fairly short, ending about three quarters of the way down your thighs and complements your posterior quite well.
Underneath your clothes you are wearing a lacy number (black, of course) which would be quite scandalous were anyone from your noble house to see.
You complete your outfit with tights high brown and black leather boots that have just enough heel to make your hips sway, and a pin holding your snow-white hair in a pony-tail. Although very comfortable, your outfit does allow the breeze of the cool night wind swoop in under your skirt and caress your thighs, giving you gooseflesh and a desire to find a warm place to rest.
Carried with you is your most prized possessions, your enchanted composite reflex/deflex longbow and quiver. Your longbow was given to you by one of your few friends growing up in the Underdark, crafted with the utmost precision and craftsmanship. Its limbs and body disassemble for storage and concealment, appearing to be no more than tent poles by way of a magical glamor, but assemble at a moments notice upon speaking the command word. Your quiver is also enchanted, granted extradimensional space to hold many much longer items than would appear possible, all while being no longer than your cubit, allowing you to integrate it onto the outside or inside of your pack depending on the situation.
A pair of mithril short swords adorn your hips. The double edged, lightly curved blades taper to a needle point at no longer than 2/3rds of your arm length, but you know from many fights that it is plenty long enough. They are enchanted against corrosion and proof against extreme heat and the brittleness of extreme cold, they are kept magically sharp and durable and would bear punishment that would put most swords permanently out of commission. The familiar black leather grips fit perfectly in your hands, and the expert balance allows them to flow freely as if they were an extension of yourself.
You are making your way towards a tavern. Work has been relatively slow lately and you need to find something to do. You always seem to find your way to this tavern during slow moments in your life and while the surface dwellers still don't trust Drow, you have earned a begrudging respect among the patrons of this establishment. Being one of the few places in the city in which you've truly made your bones, it's a truly invaluable source of information, rumors, and, of course, booze.
You enter the door and and salute the barkeep. The familiar smell of spilt drinks and food cooking in the oven brings a slight smile to your face as you make your way to the bar. Several wandering eyes follow you on your short journey to the bar, some familiar, some not. Walking to the barkeep, you ask for a glass of Elven wine while putting a few coins of silver on the tab.
D&D: You ask the barkeep what is the word around
D&D: You go look at the group of guards wearing the city's milita's color and ask them for work
D&D: You ask the barmaids for information
D&D: You go look at the bounty's billboard and see if there is work for you
