Age: 22
Gender: Male
Species: Shifter
Class: Rouge
Role: Other
Description: Ryoma has a medium build and a very long, very white scar running the length of his left arm, from wrist to sholder. He gennerally wears the outfit in the picture, though without the armor peices. He also has a broad long sword with him at all times.
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 134 lbs
Hair Color: White
Eye Color: Blue
Weapons: For the most part he uses his body. He also has a few throwing knives at his disposal.
Skill(s)/Ability(s): Ryoma is a shifter, and an excellent lock-picker, though he never steals. He has all of the skills of a rouge, but doesn't use them like a normal rouge, though his attitude needs an adjustment.
Personality: Ryoma comes off to most as cold and rude. He never tries to understand people, but won't hesitate to help someone in need, though he never acts kind towards anyone, even those he helps. He refuses help from everyone, even when he is wounded, saying that being attatched to someone would only slow him down. People often wonder about his man's dark past, and he has told no one what happened. He always works alone, and has done nothing against the law.
Bio: Ryoma's past is shrouded in mystery as well as misery, and for the most part, he refuses to talk about it at all. [Sorry guys, I know what I said in the rules, but I am the GM, and I want Ryoma's past revealed throughout the story, as he will be very important...just no one, not even he, knows it yet.]
Sample Post: Ryoma wandered through the decrepit town. What was once filled with glamour was now nothing more than a dung heap of run aways, drunks, vagabonds, and theives. He didn't want ot be here, amongst these low-lifes, but as a rouge, he followed the jobs. Where there was money, he would go, just to get it. Scratching out a life in this now-harsh enviorment was not easy, but as a shifter, it wasn't half-bad. If you needed to escape or hunt, you just shifted to the animal you needed. Shifters had it easy.
Contrary to popular belief, shifters could not change their appearance, just their form. He smirked to himself. Whoever had come up with that had been piss-drunk off their ass and had a hallucination. The wind blew, causing his nostrils to flare at a scent, snapping him out of his reviere.
He was close.