Sigil: City of Doors

Basic Information
Name: Trevor
Aliases: Not unless you want to be gutted
Gender: Male
Race: Human ? Has ratlike features, so perhaps not..
Age: 23
Profession: Thug. Every leaders short, wiry, smart mouthed second in command.
Languages: Common, Undercommon, ???
Accent: Peter Lorre

Physical Information
Height: About 4'11
Weight: About 110 lbs.
Body build: Short and wiry, but very muscular limbs. Virtually no fat, and not "body builder" style, just strong limbs.
Skin type: Ratty and dusky
Hair style: Also ratty and unkempt
Scars: None notable.
Tattoos: He has a tatoo of a jackal on his left thigh, not usually noticeable obviously.
Colouring:

[b]Hair:[/b] Brown [b]Eyes:[/b] Reddish brown [b]Skin:[/b] Dark tan [size=75][u][b]Mental Information[/b][/u][/size] [b]Alignment:[/b] Neutral evil [b]Philosophy:[/b] Live for yourself. Everyone else is a piece of filth just like you, and treat them like that - except for the boss. [b]Deity/Beliefs:[/b] Follows mask. [u][b]Personality:[/b][/u][ul](examples) [u] Cowed: [/u] [i] won't do anything that might arouse the wrath of an intimidating superior. [/i] [size=75][u][b]Additional Information[/b][/u][/size] [b]Gear:[/b] He wears tattered clothing, but his armor is well kept for. It is often worn under said tattered clothes. [b]Jewelry:[/b] No notable jewlery [b]Habbits/hobbies:[/b] Often seen drinking whiskey and smoking cigars, at eating raw meat. Often times all three. [b]General Health:[/b] He seems to be in good health despite his horrible living habits. [b]Favorite Drink:[/b] Whiskey, straight. [b]Weaknesses:[/b] He can't resist insulting what he perceives as stupid; and what he perceives as stupid is an awful, awful long list.

"You do that, darling!" Trevor snapped at the bawling woman. He took a hit of his whiskey with a satisfied sneer on his lips.
A man on his left just shook his head. "Tevor," he growled, his wolfish grin dying down in a somber frown "You really shouldn't have done that. The boss ain't gonna like you making his dame cry again."
"Ehhh, that fat cow's had it too good for too long. The boss'll get over it." Trevor puffed a cigar, complacent with his position.
--------------------------------------------


Not long after, however, the man that had been on his left approached Trevor with a sap in his hand. His wolf-like yellow eyes narrowed at Trevor. "Sorry, Trevs.. boss says 'e's 'ad enough, ya know?"

Trevor turned his rodent-like face to the man. "Can't you see that I'm busy?!" he said, motioning to the half conscious woman he had against the wall.

"I aint kidding, Trev! Boss wants yer body thrown in the Styx, yeh know?" The wolfish figures hands tightened on the sap, but he still seemed conflicted as to strike or not.

"Ehhhh.... looks like you don't really like the order much." Trevor began. The werewolf had always been a pretty exploitable and useful ally. His hand travelled to his weapon, but he stalled a moment - not out of care for the werewolf, but out of a small doubt at him winning against the brute - not to mention he could think of an easier way out. "Tell you what, stuff the broad in that sack and dump her in. I've finished with her anyways, and I won't come back."

The wolf's yellow eyes went to the obviously drugged woman. She WAS light and small, about Trevor's size, and the boss usually didn't check bodies, wanting to keep far away from incriminating things... he swiftly nodded and cracked his sap down on the back of her head. The least he could do is make the woman be dead before drowning her.

Trevor's reddened eyes narrowed as a grin formed over his face. He dropped his voice to a whisper, before departing into the night to find a new gang. "You old softie. Shoulda left her awake - she wasn't a good ride."