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[sneakthiief-blog]

thewolfcommander:

@sneakthiief!

        “—So, this might sound ignorant all t’hell, but ah…the tail. Gets in the way, doesn’t it? I mean, I don’t have one, obviously, so I can’t say fer’myself, but ah…I just feel like it’s difficult to fight with one.”

                   “It’s easy to think so, but it’s fairly useful even in those situations. A quick swipe trips up a surprise attack, and it aids in keeping my balance. It’s more of an inconvenience when I need t’hide it. Not the easiest thing to do, so I try not to.”

[sneakthiief-blog]

doveliest:

@sneakthiief!

        Attention was focused on left palm, blue eyes narrowed and brows drawn together. The pain was beginning to grow more noticeable as the days passed, Dove struggling to not wince or even scream out in agony at times. When the mark wasn’t sparking and glowing green, the ever-present gash on her palm was constantly inflamed, like an infection was coursing through her body.

         It was…distressing, to say the least. But without it, she and many others would have perished long ago. The mark, as painful as it was, brought hope and promise to many. It was a burden worth bearing, and so she would.

        At the sound of footsteps approaching where she sat hidden away on the battlements, the Inquisitor lifted her head to lay eyes upon her latest companion, Steorra. She was an excellent rogue, but Dove found herself more focused on the other’s unique appearance than anything else at times. She hated staring, it was rude, but she found herself fascinated with the Qunari’s tail. A smile was offered however, hands moving to rest in Dove’s lap.

                        “Good morning Steorra; are you fairing well today?”

                 “As well as one can be in our situation, Inquisitor.” The Qunari responds, proceeding further once greeted, though her eyes remain to the vast mountainsides coated in white snow. They were lucky, truly, to have taken refuge here. Most seem to agree that it was a miracle, or a stroke of luck---to the nonbelievers. 

            Paces halt shortly before the woman, now letting her gaze befall. She lingers, momentarily, on the faint green-glow of the Anchor (it is impossible not to, at times) before catching her eyes. A half-smile, slight and calm. Steorra is anywhere from serene in these trying times, but she knows when to stop and breathe. It seems many of here allies, on the other hand, do not.

                    “I see you’ve managed to hide from your duties, for a while.” She chuckles somewhat, arms crossing as her body leans against stone ledge. “Feel free to send me off if I’m intrudin’ on your alone time. Just thought you might enjoy the company.” Before maned commander or golden diplomat would drag her back to work. “How’s the hand today?”

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                  i find it amusing (and.....kind of ironic) that many of steorra’s romantic partners/interests have been people of rank and file. aka, guardsmen, knights, commanders, and even paladins---who she has had incredibly rough history with since childhood. steorra’s existence and career tend to go against such individuals, yet again, many of the ones she’s taken interest to have been those same individuals. of course it always depends on quality of the person/beliefs and such, but it’s still kind of amusing. i guess we could call it sleeping with the enemy, really. royalty on the other hand, she avoids like the plague unless spying, killing, or stealing from them. 

[sneakthiief-blog]

tiny smooch! she's on her toes and everything. whoever's in charge of her character development needs to get a grip.

                  Humans were so strange, at times—says the one with horns and a tail, yes, BUT IT’S TRUE. Any time she stepped out the door, she was met with all sorts of unwanted (but expected) attention, a mixture of positive and negative and everything in-between. Most just wanted to touch her horns or get a picture, not kiss her.            Steorra saw her approach, and paid little mind, still content to gaze at the moving traffic and bustling sidewalk. She was about to speak the closer this stranger got, though whatever she was going to say gets lost on her tongue when she feels the press of lips to scarred cheek. Head tilts to stare down at the shorter girl with cocked brow, slight grin forming. Clawed hand pats her cheek before returning to crossed arms, once again staring to the street,       “—You must be a fan of beauty and the beast.”

[sneakthiief-blog]

(Whether you jest or not!) The half elf gingerly takes the tiefling's hand and kisses it, bowing afterwards.

                            There is an instinct to pull away, most likely noted in the twitch of fingers and slight furrow of brows. She wonders what the motivation was behind the action–why now, and so suddenly? Perhaps there was no intention at all, a simple gesture out of kindness (but paranoia does not allow that thought, no.)         Steorra remains still all the while, withdrawing immediately once lips leave knuckles and brings her hands to interlock at her back. She plays it off casually, a short chortle and calm smile lightening the blow; that she was a bit unsettled–and surprised–from the contact, and did not want to come off as out-right offending. It was a kiss, meant in no harm, so she feels no need to chide.                         “Fond of me already, are we? I thought kisses like that were for royalty–and m’far from that.”

[sneakthiief-blog]

             happy national kissing day so um who’s gonna kiss this beautiful tiefling ??

[gonnadeletesoonbye-deactivated2]

Riverwood Forest.

[sneakthiief-blog]

firewielded:

     “  hey, hey, hey — stop trying to extinguish my flame. literally.  “ his effort of a joke got the slightest bit of a smile from her, and that made him grin excitedly. he just started his flame again, letting the pyromania surge in his veins and take life on his arms. he offers her arms forth to the woman, bobbing his head. “  you’re really cold to me, you know that ?  “

                          Eyes roll behind shaded glasses, hand already waving him off. Such a child, such a boy---she felt like a babysitter, at times. “Yes, ‘n not even your fire s’gonna warm me up, kid.” They drew enough attention as is; odd pair of demonic halfling and pyromancing teenager. They did not need any more. “Now put it out before someone starts gettin’ nervous.”

[sneakthiief-blog]

                    “M’curious,” the tiefling begins, arms crossed over leather-bound chest; a genuine spark of intrigue in yellow eyes, but not focused on the dwarf---instead, to the shuffling marketplace of coastal desert town. It was like home, all over again, combination sand and warm hot sun ever so familiar. It was a nice change, in comparison to where she had been previously wandering---Baldur’s Gate.           “I know plenty of nomadic dwarfs---many a companion has been found in them during my travels---but it’s still interestin’ to find one so far from the mountains.” Not that it was an issue, as again, they were just as nomadic as she was. 

                         & @treecleric

[sneakthiief-blog]

                      “So---,” The thief saunters, gaze once cast to the minstrel of Skyhold now settled on Inquisition ally. With each day it grew, more and more people flocked to the banners; rallied by the Herald themself, or drawn of their own accords. It was always so intriguing to her, observing the faces of the Inquisition---perhaps the most unique and diverse gathering she’s seen of such things. Steorra takes no seat and instead situates with a lean against sturdy beam, claws idly cleaned with small blade, a sign of slight boredom. There was much to do, yet little at the same time.                “What brings you to the Inquisition? If y’don’t mind me askin’, that is.”

                        & @strikeforth

[sneakthiief-blog]

vagabondtxles:

“Here on a bounty. Certainly you’ve heard talk of the grizzled giant owlbear called Barkmaw that’s been living in the woods.”

‘Who wouldn’t have’ the ranger thought 'dumb best destroying caravans.’

The half elf kept the hood of her cloak up, hiding the long scar that a kobold had given her back in Waterdeep. Entering the small village was of little notice to most, as she had spent several days camping around to keep the owlbears away and shooing off the occasional wolf.

“They’d be wary either way. I’m the only hunter with the guts to actually bother with that owlbear too. Been around for a few weeks.” She admitted, smoothing the back feathers of the crow perched on her shoulder. “But what brings a tiefling out this far? Last I saw of your kind was a lute playing priest in the Mystra temple in Neverwinter.”

                             “I’ve heard whispers.” But did she pay them much mind? Considering she was only staying for a day or two at most, the tiefling was keeping mostly to herself; the locals rarely attempt to approach her, so she figured her aid would not be needed--they weren’t desperate enough, which meant they already had help.

              “Then at least someone is takin’ care of it. I’ve had enough encounters with their sort for a lifetime.” Gaze falls to winged familiar before returning to cloaked hunter, giving a slight chortle at the inquiry. “Tieflings go anywhere and everywhere--just in small numbers.” Larger numbers scare people, demonic aura triggering violence if there was enough in one place, at one time, and with someone easily influenced.

                        “Merely passin’ through. Convenient to restock on supplies, though m’tryin’ not to overstay my welcome.” The townsfolk already had enough to stress them, and Steorra never liked settling in one spot for too long. “How long ago were you in Neverwinter?”

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                          “I don’t expect special treatment, but a drink would be NICE.” Coin pouch is set with some force upon wooden bar-top, lightly bloodied due to hands previously holding the wound at her side. She would apologize for the trail of red from the door to the chair later---the fight was left at the doorstep, and that’s probably all that matters. Being a tavern, she imagines they’ve had STRANGER waltz through the doors (though, the fellow patrons certainly don’t take kindly to her with how they scatter like leaves to the breeze.)              “Interestin’ name for a bar---BOAR’S HAT. What’s it mean?” Idle conversation to distract herself from the discomfort of open slash, to which she would begin cleaning and stitching once alcohol arrives.

                         & @wrathsinned

[sneakthiief-blog]

     new icons at l a s t. gonna wrap up the rest of those starters i owe and play more da:i

[sneakthiief-blog]

fluffmiester:

sneakthiief

boops the snoot.

……gross, fluff……gross.

“ My apologies!”

                 holds her cootie-covered hand out in pure disgust. well, she’s touched worse, she guesses....  “S’this what happens when I try?”

[sneakthiief-blog]

                      “---passin’ through, I’m assumin’?” She inquires of the stranger, not entirely expecting an answer given the secrecy of most wanderers---which is what she pegs her to be. One could usually tell who belongs and who did not, in a small town such as this; a tight-knit community where everyone’s names were known. Their eyes settled quite uncomfortably to imposing tiefling, perhaps unaccustomed, and therefore, fearful. It seems not much touches this town even if it was known to get travelers.               “I’d stay away from the tavern, if I were you. The locals didn’t take too well to foreigners.”

                    & @vagabondtxles

[sneakthiief-blog]

                        “Hey, take it easy, matchstick.” A hand extends to follow her statement, two fingers extinguishing the burning light flickering naturally from the other like a candle. She has no issue with pyromancy--mages and the like, or even those simply gifted--just not around gasoline and other flammable liquids. “Set yourself on fire on y’own time.”

                & @firewielded go away jaxon

[sneakthiief-blog]

                   like for a starter punks.