<div class="floatright">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/thumb/8/8a/JinxTiefling.png/436px-JinxTiefling.png)</div>Rumor had it that The Rusty Shield was an adventurer's tavern, but that could be good or bad, depending. Jinx leaned back in the shadowed niche provided by the poorly junctured interstice of two shops and a stable, watching the place and debating with herself until she saw another tiefling walk casually in.<br/><br/>Well, then.<br/><br/>He didn't come out immediately on his ass, either. Things were looking up.<br/><br/>A few minutes after Enoch's arrival, the door bangs open to its stops, admitting yet another tiefling. She pauses fractionally, gauging the room's reaction before moving further in with a deliberately aggressive swagger. In that moment, most gazes turn to her, and then turn to look at Enoch at the bar before looking back at her.<br/><br/><em>Of course we know each other, you idiots.</em>Jinx thinks.<em>Just like every single elf knows every other elf. No. Even less than that.</em><br/><br/>There are other reasons to look at her than the massive, curling horns that jut back from the sides of her forehead. A brazenly broad-hipped and womanly figure, heavy with muscle and just enough fat to keep her curvy, full lips with just a hint of sharp teeth pressing them...and she doesn't make any effort to hide what she is at all. Her spiraling horns would make a mockery out of any cloak's hood, and the quilt-and-stud of her trousers wrap tightly around caprine, cloven-hooved legs. A short tuft-tipped tail completes the picture. Odds are that someone in the room is checking right now to see if she radiates evil.<br/><br/>If they are, they'll find that she doesn't. Surliness, yes. Evil, not so much.<br/><br/>But then, not much Good either.<br/><br/>The new tiefling wears a patchwork ensemble: bits of clothing and leather from a dozen different eastern cultures, but polished mail gleams beneath it, and her arms and the sides of her throat show intricate tattoos that some far-travellers might identify as Thayan. She isn't waving a polearm around, but the experienced eye will note that among the couple of dozen or so pounds of chain draped in coils to either side of her hips (heavy loops of metal framing and accenting those rounded swells, not that they needed it), there are spiked weights and bladed tips in plenty. Reason enough to discourage idle hands from trying to trace those curves. Like her clothing, the chains show a peculiarly mixed origin, obviously not the work of one smith or even one school of smithing: the spiked fighting chain is decidedly Theskan in origin, the peculiar flail most assuredly from farther East up the Golden Way even than that - possibly forged in Kara Tur. The real ringer, however, are the strangely delicate black-metal links and blades of a scorpion chain. Elf-work, that. Drow-work, to the cognoscenti...No other elves make such things.<br/><br/>A light jingling accompanies the muffled clip-clop of her hooves on the sawdust-scattered floor; not simply her mail or the fighting chains draped from her waist. Glittering alongside the more banal sparkle of raindroplets, myriad small coins and a couple of brass Gond bells have been braided into her dreadlocks - further indicators of her travels. The brass and pale silver stand out against her white hair: Cormant bedoars, Silver March moons, Cormyrese falcons, Symbian ravens, and silver circles, octagons and triangles of dubious origin. The strand of pierced shell-disks around her throat might be coinage from somewhere even further east than that, a possibility reinforced by the handful of branded and graved leather tags on her right shoulder: markers from several different caravan companies showing employment in completed transits.<br/><br/>If the tags are hers, and she didn't inherit them, she's come from the far side of Faerun, where the Golden Way opens onto the mythical East.<br/><br/>Jinx crosses the room with a faintly hostile sneer on her lips and perches one thick haunch on the barstool next to Enoch.<strong>"Cousin."</strong>Her accent is exactly that delicate precision of the red-robed Thayan wizards from the East.<br/><br/><strong>"This lot will be assuming you know me and asking you who I am whether I talk to you or not."</strong>She digs a few coins out of a pouch, frowns and sorts them, choosing carefully before slapping copper and iron from not too far abroad down onto the counter and nodding to the bartender for a drink.<strong>"You may as well have something to tell them."</strong><br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">Pic is a quick, temporary shop of an Osmoz image (http://afrogothic.tumblr.com/tagged/Osmoz) until I can draw up something more accurate. For now, well, her hair is gleaming white, she's got big, broad-spreading ram's horn, wider hips than Osmoz and a bit more muscle, and she's caprine from the tops of her thighs down (white wool shaven down to a fuzz, white fetlocks and bone-white hooves).</div></div>