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<div class="SpoilerTarget bbCodeSpoilerText"><b>Name:</b> Sedra Sunharp<br/>
<b>Age:</b> You wouldn't ask a lady her age, would you?<br/>
<b>Sex:</b> Female<br/>
<b>Race:</b> Blood elf, though a strong trace of human is evident; the fallout from a centuries-old fling by one of her ancestors<br/>
<b>Occupation:</b> Lightning rod salesman<br/>
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<b>Description:</b> Sedra gives off the eternal look of having just recently seen better days. Her hair would be white-blonde if it wasn't streaked with ash that turned it gray; her skin would be pale and fair if the exposed parts weren't always dirty. Her clothes are tough, much-mended and long since scorched brown and black - especially the leather gloves, which frankly are sad and desolate things that are more scorch mark than material any more. And then...<br/>
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Well, then there's the bag. The thing's huge, and it's a wonder she can lift it at all. Metal rods and wires and antennae jut from it and it dangles with tools, charms, and talismans from every culture on Azeroth. Her lightning rods bear inscriptions - nursery rhymes, blessings, charms and doggerel - from languages across both the Alliance and the Horde, and she smiles eagerly whenever she looks at them. It's Sedra's smile, her verve, that gives her an attraction - the elf seems eager, interested, even <i>excited</i> about everything, practically vibrating with energy that her lithe, petite form just cannot contain. Her voice is clear and bright, and her eyes glow green with the telltale sign of her people's addiction to mana.</div>
</div><br/>The front door opens just a tiny bit - and then swings back shut again.<br/><br/>"Fuck. Don't worry, I've got this! I promise!" The door rattles with a muffled curse ("Fucknuts..."), the handle jiggles up and down, and then, triumphantly, an elf manages to walk in by dint of holding the handle down with her slim, shapely ass. Behind her, needing two hands, the elf woman (grinning like a<i>fool</i>the whole way) drags a<i>monstrous</i>leather bag out of which sticks all manner of metal rods from the simple and pointy to the dizzyingly ornate. Heedless - or else uncaring - of the scene she's making, the elf drags her bag to the bar, right up next to a stool, and then sits down heavily with a relieved sigh.<br/><br/>"Fuck me sideways," she breathes in relief. "Professional tip, folks: never run your horse to death while carrying hundreds of pounds of non-liquid assets. It'll be the death of you, lemme tell ya. Might I see a glass of wine in my general vicinity in exchange for money?"<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>