[Eight-Bit]

Full Name: Keille'leugh (Pronounced "Key-Lay Loo")
Age: Over 120ish, but she doesn't know exactly
Class(es): Rogue 15/ Fighter 5
Race: Human
Subrace: Tiefling
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Deity: None, was not raise on Layonara.
Domains (if cleric):
Short Bio / Description:
What? Ya want to know about me? Hah, well whatever... not much else to do in this place. Makes me wonder how ya berks don't just pass out. Everythin' is so... gah, yer a rube - what does it matter. Well, park yer ears o'er here. It's goin' to be a while. Ya know 'bout The Cage, berk? What! How can ya not! Its the center of the... right, yer a Prime. Forget yer so clueless. Well, it don't take a blood to live in the place, but I don't think all the powers in the multiuniverse got the chant on it. So, the whole point of this place is that most places don't really have a point. Ya follow? And sometimes a spiv, like myself, can nick a bit'er jink out of the pocket of one of ya leatherheaded sods. Uh, right. Here. Have yer... whatever these are back. Ehehe... sorry. Bitter habit. So thats what most of us Plane-Touched cutters gotta do to get buy. Nick a bit of jink from a gully, and ya got yerself a kip fer the anti-peak. It ain't an easy place to spend yer pup years, I tell ya that. Gotta keep yer feet awake or you'll go 'round the wrong corner an' end up in the Dead-Book, gettin' picked up by some bloody bobbin' sod who'll be after yer body for a few jink the Dustmen'll give 'em. What? Right, the Dead-Book. Just.. call it a place ya don't want to end up, 'kay berk? Good work is 'bout as rare as a good heart in Sigil, ya know. But stickin' yer chiv to some bob's neck be easier than liftin' boxes or cuttin' down the razorvines any day. But I got me a good job, well... ain't a good job - but any jink ya can get without the Guvners sendin' the Hardheads after ya for is good jink to me. I spent my pup years as a Bubcarter at the best Bubhouse this side of the Lady's Ward - Twisting Stone's Kip. Best lookin' place in the Lower Ward atleast, the rocks jumped 'round like a lost Box flyin' 'round on the Lady's Dust. Now if ya know razorvine good, berk, an' I know ya don't... that stuff takes kindly to anythin' that sits still for more than twist of the peaks. Er. A day, bloody primes. So atleast they bashers comin' in to walk out bubberin' could see somethin' better than black twistin' vines all day. An' the minder at the door be keepin' the Dusties out an' everyone happy. Happy sods makes for empty kegs, an' empty kegs means lots of jink for me. An' then everyone is happy! How I got hipped ya mean? Ya, might as well tell that part. Makes me look like a barmy sod, but whate'er. Might as well get ya lanned on the workin's of the Gates. Ya see, just about everythin' that has four sides an' be connected can be a gate. Gotta find the right key - an' a key can be bloody anythin' out there. Right, anyway... back to how I got in the gate in the first place. So... I saw this bob walkin' along - looked like a real clueless prime - with a jink bag that would break a Bhinaur's back. So I nicked him good, an' ran off to an alley so I didn't get scragged by the Reds. An' heres the dark of it, berk... the bag be full of bloody Sparkles. Yah! Wasn't jink, but about five stones worth of sparkles. So I figured any bob that packs this much loot must be sleepin' on piles of it back at his kip... an' to tell ya the dark of it again, he was. So I followed him. Slipped him the sly, and watched his gully arse from alley to alley till he got to his kip. What looked like it anyway. So I jumped an' climbed up to a window, made me magic on the bars. Turns out, he was a Hardhead after all. Five cutters strapped up in the hardhead jive pointin' their chiv-on-a-stick at my neck. Well, I paied the music alright. Didn't have a choice, can get out of a Fisher's mouth faster than ye can say "barmy sod", but there ain't no chance I'm giving five hardheads the laugh when they got their chivs at my throat. Gotta know yer limits. An' I figured I had a better chance gettin' out of the gatehouse before they took me out to the leafless tree to bang around 'till the Dead-Book made room for me. I was kinda right. Well, mostly right actually. Just not right on bein' right. And you know - right bloody prime. So anyway, they bagged me and dragged me back to get the chant on what I was doin'. Not spillin' the dark to no hardheads, thats for sure. Told 'em it was to feed my seven pups, didn't buy it. Never do. Hah. Could take it as a compliment, if they weren't such leatherheads. So ya remember what I was tellin' you about the gates, right? Well, when ya get into a tight space like that, you start namin' off yer list of powers till ya find one that fits. Well, whate'er I found got me out good and plenty. Turns out, when yer dragged through the three hundred an' thirty third cell of the Hardhead Gatehouse picturin' yerself hangin' near the Leafless Tree, ya end up right over there. So I guess thats the chant on it, berk. Ya a tout or somethin'? Could use a place to set up kip fer the night. // Updated to fit with post CDQ Key, and with the new class choice.