Click Here to Play "The Final Challenge"
A Description MarathonSince I was bored, I offered to do descriptions for anyone who wanted one. In the course of two hours, I wrote six.
At first glance, you see nothing but inky darkness, then a faint crimson glow can be seen outlining a woman a short distance away. Drawn closer, you are entranced. Her fiery red eyes flicker over you, assessing and weighing your being. Their soft glow holds a hunger and passion that sends chills up your spine. A cloak of long, raven-colored hair falls loosely about her shoulders, cascading down to her narrow waist, and giving her an element of sensual mystery. Her body is curvacious, ripe almost irresistable. She flashes you an audacious wink and a quick grin, her sharp ivory fangs catching the light.
The curve of her lips is sweet, almost innocent, and denies your prior impression of evil. The wicked promises in her eyes have faded as well, now more playful and warm than seducing. She toys with one lock of her hair, gazing at you from beneath her lashes. "First impressions, dear, are terribly important... but the full story is never grasped by merely reading the first page." Raising the hood of her cloak up, she shrouds her face and gives you a small, secretive smile.
Vex, Grim Warder of the Coven
You catch a glimpse of a distant fire, like wicked burning coals glinting in the light. It moves, comes closer, and you realize it is the powerful crimson aura of the unusually tall priest-warrior who now stands before you, the deep scarlet of his hair highlighted to pure flame by the magical fields around him. His locks are bound back from his tanned face by a blue headband but allowed to pour in a cascade down to mid-back. The narrow band matches the deep blue of his intense, piercing eyes. By the gods, those eyes have seen a lot. They are weary yet keen, sensuous but cruel, much like the gaze of the creature displayed on the the headband - an Ironwolf. His brows arch into pointed arcs that speak of a sense of humor and emotions that run deep below his icy calm exterior.
About his throat hangs a glowing medallion, its light nearly lost below the cloak of magical energy that swirls around him. It is hard to seperate the auras - the magics of his goddess, the artifact around his neck, and that bizarre cloak he wears. It shifts color and shade like the blue-black irridescence of a demon's wings, its mighty sorcery helping him blend into the background, unseen. Trying to focus on it makes your stomach churn uneasily. Breaking your eyes away from it you realize that he has been watching you as you have perused him. Amusement curves his lips into an odd, feral smile, and time seems to slow a touch... perhaps gawking at the Grim Warder wasn't such a good idea after all.
Keat of the Dawnbringers
The emaciated, skinny, scruffy bird that stands before you has bizarrely mottled feathers and looks like he's been half-plucked at some point in the not-terribly distant past. He staggers about as if partially ( or is it entirely?) drunk - or perhaps he's simply been bonked on the head too many times? Its hard to tell. With such slender legs and arms, he appears to be incredibly frail, and those scrawny knees knock together with the fear of a coward. Strange and faintly glowing talismans hang around his neck and various dead animal skulls in various stages of decay have been glued to his armor, giving him a faintly repulsive appearance. 'Silly bird, silly bird,' he mumbles, reaching over his own shoulder to pat his back. 'Dumbbird, dumbird', he sighs.
Skeeve the Invoker of the Tigers
A faint odor of dragon's breath permeates the air around the middle aged fellow who stands before you. Garbed in black robes with red and gold trim and auras that swirl and dance with power, it is obvious this is a mage of some ability. His brown hair and goatee are neatly trimmed, and only show the slightest hint of singeing (Really, it was an accident). His brown eyes ... oh wait... blue? Hrm. Well. His eyes, whatever color they are, hold a friendly, if discerning expression as he waits for you to speak.
A large green head peeps out from behind him - the horned head of a very young dragon.
You blink. Could it be? Oh dear. Now would be a good time to look for cover.
This must be Skeeve.
Darkangel of the Tigers
Something stirs in the shadows nearby. Something very, VERY tall and broad-shouldered. Glowing red eyes glare balefully at you from the darkness, and the figure of a minotaur steps forward. His black fur is matched by long black hair that flows to the top of his shoulders, and hidden beneath matching leather armor of inky black. Beneath the thick minotaur pelt, though, his skin is unusually pale, unlike his brothers of Mithas. Here and there, his powerful body is marked by long, wicked scars - reminders, lessons in survival, the calling card of mortal enemies that he will, some day, drag down and feast upon. He grins wickedly, baring fangs that are entirely un-minotaur-like in their length and sharpness, letting you know without a word that his memory is long, and his vengeance will taste sweet.
Paython of the Coven