Roleplay

Name: Rashiel Lavellan Gender: Demiboy (he/him) Age: Early thirties Race: Dalish elf Class: Rogue Specializations: Shadow | Assassin Physical Appearance: [img]https://i.imgur.com/Bujaw1g.jpg[/img] Rashiel is extremely slight, only coming up to about 5'3 and 113 pounds. He is narrow through his chest and shoulders, with barely any difference between them and his hips. He has full lips and a roman nose and storm grey eyes that are often circled in tired purple. His legs are short, but well defined. He as dark red hair closely shaved at the sides, and often has intricate patterns shaved into the short hairs there. Around his left eye he has earned the Vallaslin of Sylaise, and across his right eye is a deep scar. He likes to wear a fair amount of eyeliner. Attire: Rashiel wears a soft leather coat that closes at the waist while the back trails to mid-thigh in an ashy blue. He wears breeches in brown and leather boots laced with intricate elven metalwork. The gloves were passed down by his mother – leather bracers that become light plate at the wrist, carved with leaves and flowers. They taper into claw-like points that extend over his fingers, designed as closer range weapons though he rarely uses them as so. He keeps two signature blades strapped to a belt at his hip, and several vials of a elixir that turns him invisible hidden under the back of his coat. Personality: Rashiel is generally chipper, with a penchant for humour, pranks and sarcasm. He's smarter than he lets on, even if he has a tendency to charge headlong into thinks without thinking them through too much. Luckily, his ability to think on his feet is unfounded. He deflects anything he doesn't like by ignoring it, and then making jokes about it. He hides a deep seated hurt about the likes of his clan, but he brushes everything about it off like it's no big deal. He thinks he can hide everything with a smile. History: Rashiel grew up deep seated in Clan Lavellan. He was a hunter first, and a fine one, providing the clan with food. It wasn't long before he was tasked with something else, something bigger. The First handed him a knife and told him to kill. No longer would the Dalish live in the shadows of a impartial human reign; Rashiel's blade would find a home in the Divine. He couldn't do it. Ashamed and alone, Rashiel fled, never returning home. What he didn't know what that he was being followed. When the Templars find him drunk out of his mind, they cut off the arm that he raises to defend himself. He embraced death, but the gods had a different story in mind for him. He was saved by a mage that could turn into a giant white wolf. She never told him her name, just healed him and gave him a prosthetic that looked more weapon than anything else. She turned him loose before long, and then he had to figure out how to get along in the world by himself. He became a thief. A good one with no morals. He stole for anyone, just for the money. He hears of the Inquisition and doesn't think much of it, considering they couldn't have much room for a elf like him. They probably didn't even take elves. He knew that at some point he'd have to go home, face the disappointment. So he did. He found nothing but a few burned carts. Halla bones. He needed to find out who did this. He followed a paper trail back to the Inquisition. They know who did it. He'll be there to take them down, and he'll be there after. When he finally met the Inquisitor, he was an elf. An elf from Clan Lavallan. A childhood friend. He'd need to be dragged from that camp kicking and screaming now. Extra: -missing left arm two inches past the elbow; doesn't bother him as long as his prosthetic is fully functional. -has a thick Dalish (Irish) accent.

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