<div style="text-align: center"><img alt="[​IMG]" class="bbCodeImage LbImage" data-url="http://i.imgur.com/OBYSo.gif" src="http://i.imgur.com/OBYSo.gif" style=""/><br/>
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<span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #9D612B">AND MY GOOD INTENTIONS NEVER END<br/>
THE WAY I MEANT</span></span></span>​</div><br/><span style="font-size: 9px"><span style="color: #544A41"><span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><span style="font-size: 15px"><span style="color: #9D612B">Sbatarra liked it here.</span></span></span>  Although it was terribly violent, and the dense smoke could probably choke those with a frailer constitution than hers, this place seemed like her kind of territory.  Dangerous, dark, seedy, and full of possibilities.  Of course, the drow kept her hood and bandanna up for a good while, until she decided to stoke her pipe, in which case she lowered both hood and bandanna to allow the long shaft of the pipe to reach her lips.  She didn't feel like she had to hide here, as there were probably true criminals and wanted men here, people more worth a bounty hunter's or guardsman's time than a black haired drow.<br/>
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With her pipe flaring at the end, and smoke puffing out of both her mouth and nostrils, Sbatarra passed the time by kicking her feet on top of the table, lifting them to avoid stray thrown objects or people, and puffing out smoke rings and more exotic shapes learned from years of practice with the pipe.  As it stood right now, she had nowhere better to be, and opportunity wasn't presenting itself, unless she wanted to get into a fight.  She was feeling terribly un-fighty right now, however.</span></span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: right"><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><span style="font-size: 22px"><a class="externalLink" href="http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=454315" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">*</a></span></span>​</div><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>