(http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y143/DancingDoggie/Androgynous/c504230b77c7b12c9c1211b82dcaafbf97b9b2ee.jpg)<br/><br/>Kurohime Oukoku (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=385048)<br/><br/>Description:<br/>Kurohime, out of disguise and out of garb, is a slender girl.  Not emaciated by any stretch, but there isn't a spare ounce of fat on her body, to a point that, when paired with her build, she could go topless and still be mistaken for a man.<br/><br/>She has utterly flawless ivory skin, a stark contrast to her flat gray eyes and brilliant red hair cut long enough to have something to work with, but short enough to stay out of the way.<br/><br/>One thing that shows through in almost any guise is that Kurohime is immaculately clean.  This is one part good hygiene, but more a product of the divine blood in her veins.  As signs go, it's one of the less obtrusive, but when a disguise calls for her to look filthy, it takes some concerted effort.<br/><br/>She goes through a great many costumes in her job, but she does own one main set of 'work' clothes.  Dark, loose, practical, form-concealing, with plenty of pockets and a plain black mask that leaves virtually nothing of her person exposed.<br/><br/>Background:<br/>Most have forgotten the old gods, but there are some who still remember.  Some who still show respect.  And some who still bear their blood, however diminished.<br/><br/>Kurohime hails from what was one of the few non-feral orc tribes not yet enslaved, even if it had been diluted by human blood for more than three parts to the one.  She was of the castrated line of shamans, sacred blood in her veins the strongest that had manifested in centuries.  Which is to say she could stitch minor wounds and glow a little every now and then.  It commanded respect, even if she did look completely human.<br/><br/>Unfortunately, her clan's not-quite-human status, peaceful ways, and large proportion of strong, healthy adults made them targets.  Many were killed.  More were enslaved.  Her family fled, but didn't get far until they were cornered and in a desperate gambit, her own father threatened her life, playing her off as a human child he'd taken hostage.  He died, but the slavers took her with them, to Sacrafel.<br/><br/>The third night after they got there was the first time the girl drew blood.  She slit the slavers' throats in their sleep.  She was too late to save her people, who had been sold already, most to distant lands.  Instead, she took the slavers' money and fled to the streets, finding ways to fight the system anywhere she could, and any allies she could manage, no matter how shady, gaining the skills to aid the fight as a thief, spy, and assassin.<br/><br/>Now grown, she's adopted a day-to-day guise among the peasantry as a scribe, as well as something of an apothecary, carefully skirting the line of what she's allowed to show that she knows.  She often gets nearer her victims by offering alchemically enhanced wines at severely discounted prices, bringing them to gatherings herself, though she's also gotten in by ingratiating herself as a personal assistant, as a courtesan (for those whose aesthetic sensibilities are so inclined), or through simple breaking and entering.  All under other names, of course.