Squidi
12-14-06, 07:11 PM
Name: Zooga Agooz
Alias: Self-Proclaimed “Master Thief”
Age: Twenty-Something
Gender: Sexist, Heterosexual Male
Race: Incompetent, Arrogant Human
Appearance: Although he would describe himself as “beauty personified,” and capable of making “[the] ladies melt like chocolate on a hot summer day,” Zooga in all honesty is not very good looking. This is not to say he is agonizingly ugly, but simply average on the eyes and not very distinct—at least when it comes to his physical features. He isn’t very tall—probably just above five-and-a-half feet—and his body is rather slim, but not gaunt. Unsurprisingly, he isn’t very strong, and unfortunately for him neither is he very quick or dexterous. Depending on the lighting and scenery, his deep-set brown eyes can appear a honey color while sometimes appearing like chunks of coal. Lusterless locks of squalid raven hair linger just above his eyes, over his ears, and to his nape. His ebony complexion is as dark as a winter night, capable of making him blend well into the shadows if only his clothing weren’t so striking and ostentatious. Pink—realized by Zooga as “the ultimate camouflaging color”—is indeed the pigment he always dresses himself in. Inexorably, every garment of his is of the unorthodox color, often in varying shades yet always salient. The particulars of his attire depend on a variety of factors including the season and weather, but I often see him wearing a patched tunic, ripped breeches, and a tattered cloak. (Picture I (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v297/freshy/zooga.jpg), Picture II (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v297/freshy/zooga2.jpg))
Personality: Most people believe that this randy rouge deserves to be thrown into a mental institution, believing him to be clinically insane. Zooga would describe himself to be “charming, humble, intelligent, witty, wise… The perfect gentleman… [and] a sex god.” However, I believe he’s just a lying, arrogant scoundrel that beats up blind old men and steals candy and ice cream from six-year-old children. Either this rapscallion is easily the stupidest man alive, or he’s just so incomprehensibly intelligent that nobody else besides him can understand his doings. Purely for the dignity of all humanity, I should pray it be the latter.
Skills: Of course, he would say he was “the greatest thief to ever live and ever will live,” but anyone that has had the displeasure of catching a glimpse of him would know that to be complete rubbish. Truth be told, the only way I see reason this man is still alive is due to the absurd amount of luck he possesses. I wouldn’t be surprised in the least if while playing Poker he got five royal flushes in row, and yet he would still lose all his money to somebody with 7-High because he didn’t understand the rules of the game. Besides breathing, I believe him to be a complete failure at everything. Even walking gets the best of him nine times out of ten because he’ll either trip on his untied shoelaces or sometimes even on nothing but air itself.
Equipment: His general equipment is always changing, but the items I usually see on him are as follows: He has a rubber toy dagger that is held by his waist in a sheath. Rumor says that the weapon can turn into steel, so be careful. Also, slung around his back, he carries a long bow and a quiver filled with ten enchanted arrows. Interestingly, the arrows’ tips are blunt, but I’ve witnessed first hand that whoever is struck by one of these “Cupid” arrows will have a brief attraction towards the first thing he or she lays eyes upon—whether that be another person or a lamppost. He also possesses a brass saxophone, which has been magically enchanted so that it can turn to the size of a domino thereby it may fit into one of his many pouches. Those who have listened to Zooga play this devious instrument were unable to answer my questions because all of them were either dead or deaf. He also has a pretty white feather, which is certainly a strange weapon, but do not doubt its ticklish powers. Many forest fairies have been victimized and exploded because of their ignorance. Moving on, Zooga can bundle up the daily newspapers to beat a small infant while they can also update him on what’s going on in the world. As for his last piece of armaments, he calls it “My most dangerous weapon.” It is a banana peel “of doom,” and I’d rather not comment on it anymore. It would be too humiliating for those that have fallen victim to its treachery, including myself.
A Pathetically Brief History - As told by the Master Thief:
My magnificent birth was obviously the utmost significant event to happen in Corone since the discovering of it four thousand years ago. Even the vanquishing of the demon hoards pales in comparison to me having been brought into this world. As an only child, I was the apple of my parents’ eyes. I was never a rapscallion, never whined or complained. Envious parents wished that I were their child. My mother and father tried to integrate me into various out of school activities like joining a sports team or playing an instrument for the band. In both instances, I excelled. Eventually, I got tired of the sports and the playing because it winded up being me versus everybody else—including the coaches. So, I stuck with playing the saxophone, but soon I was dismayed when they kicked me out of the band. I later discovered the reason being that I was just too damn good. I fell into a brief depression, pondering as to why it was my fault. So what if I was making the other children look astonishingly bad, and that my mother and father were receiving death threats from other inimical parents. After that, nothing could stimulate me for more than a brief moment until one dark night while I was still a teenager.
I don’t recall why I was out so late. I didn’t know where I was going—other than wherever my feet took me—but eventually I found myself wandering through the intricate maze of the ghetto. Inebriated hobos lined the alley walls sleeping on their trash bags upon the squalid streets. As I strode through the narrow crosses, a gaunt hand sent shivers up my spine as it grabbed my wrist and pulled me to face a deformed, grey man with sparkling silver eyes. Those hypnotizing eyes chained my attention—binding me tighter than the grip of his hand. In that boring gaze of his, I felt that all the answers to the universe were imparted to me, and when I awoke the next morning in my bed at my home the only questions I wondered were: Who was that man? What happened next? And how did I get back home? Everything else was as clear as glass. So, I ran away from home that night and never turned back. My parents probably then went searching for me—after all, I was the greatest child a parent could ask for—but they fortunately never discovered my whereabouts. I wouldn’t let them. I lived on the heartless streets, and my reputation grew exponentially. I was unstoppable. I could make the roughest, toughest crooks cower with just a snap of my fingers. The Radasanth Criminal Syndicate must have asked me to join their ranks a thousand times. Each time I’ve refused because they weren’t worthy of my singular assistance.
Years and years passed, and now it is time to tell the true tales of myself.
The legendary stories you’ve all been yearning to hear…
Alias: Self-Proclaimed “Master Thief”
Age: Twenty-Something
Gender: Sexist, Heterosexual Male
Race: Incompetent, Arrogant Human
Appearance: Although he would describe himself as “beauty personified,” and capable of making “[the] ladies melt like chocolate on a hot summer day,” Zooga in all honesty is not very good looking. This is not to say he is agonizingly ugly, but simply average on the eyes and not very distinct—at least when it comes to his physical features. He isn’t very tall—probably just above five-and-a-half feet—and his body is rather slim, but not gaunt. Unsurprisingly, he isn’t very strong, and unfortunately for him neither is he very quick or dexterous. Depending on the lighting and scenery, his deep-set brown eyes can appear a honey color while sometimes appearing like chunks of coal. Lusterless locks of squalid raven hair linger just above his eyes, over his ears, and to his nape. His ebony complexion is as dark as a winter night, capable of making him blend well into the shadows if only his clothing weren’t so striking and ostentatious. Pink—realized by Zooga as “the ultimate camouflaging color”—is indeed the pigment he always dresses himself in. Inexorably, every garment of his is of the unorthodox color, often in varying shades yet always salient. The particulars of his attire depend on a variety of factors including the season and weather, but I often see him wearing a patched tunic, ripped breeches, and a tattered cloak. (Picture I (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v297/freshy/zooga.jpg), Picture II (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v297/freshy/zooga2.jpg))
Personality: Most people believe that this randy rouge deserves to be thrown into a mental institution, believing him to be clinically insane. Zooga would describe himself to be “charming, humble, intelligent, witty, wise… The perfect gentleman… [and] a sex god.” However, I believe he’s just a lying, arrogant scoundrel that beats up blind old men and steals candy and ice cream from six-year-old children. Either this rapscallion is easily the stupidest man alive, or he’s just so incomprehensibly intelligent that nobody else besides him can understand his doings. Purely for the dignity of all humanity, I should pray it be the latter.
Skills: Of course, he would say he was “the greatest thief to ever live and ever will live,” but anyone that has had the displeasure of catching a glimpse of him would know that to be complete rubbish. Truth be told, the only way I see reason this man is still alive is due to the absurd amount of luck he possesses. I wouldn’t be surprised in the least if while playing Poker he got five royal flushes in row, and yet he would still lose all his money to somebody with 7-High because he didn’t understand the rules of the game. Besides breathing, I believe him to be a complete failure at everything. Even walking gets the best of him nine times out of ten because he’ll either trip on his untied shoelaces or sometimes even on nothing but air itself.
Equipment: His general equipment is always changing, but the items I usually see on him are as follows: He has a rubber toy dagger that is held by his waist in a sheath. Rumor says that the weapon can turn into steel, so be careful. Also, slung around his back, he carries a long bow and a quiver filled with ten enchanted arrows. Interestingly, the arrows’ tips are blunt, but I’ve witnessed first hand that whoever is struck by one of these “Cupid” arrows will have a brief attraction towards the first thing he or she lays eyes upon—whether that be another person or a lamppost. He also possesses a brass saxophone, which has been magically enchanted so that it can turn to the size of a domino thereby it may fit into one of his many pouches. Those who have listened to Zooga play this devious instrument were unable to answer my questions because all of them were either dead or deaf. He also has a pretty white feather, which is certainly a strange weapon, but do not doubt its ticklish powers. Many forest fairies have been victimized and exploded because of their ignorance. Moving on, Zooga can bundle up the daily newspapers to beat a small infant while they can also update him on what’s going on in the world. As for his last piece of armaments, he calls it “My most dangerous weapon.” It is a banana peel “of doom,” and I’d rather not comment on it anymore. It would be too humiliating for those that have fallen victim to its treachery, including myself.
A Pathetically Brief History - As told by the Master Thief:
My magnificent birth was obviously the utmost significant event to happen in Corone since the discovering of it four thousand years ago. Even the vanquishing of the demon hoards pales in comparison to me having been brought into this world. As an only child, I was the apple of my parents’ eyes. I was never a rapscallion, never whined or complained. Envious parents wished that I were their child. My mother and father tried to integrate me into various out of school activities like joining a sports team or playing an instrument for the band. In both instances, I excelled. Eventually, I got tired of the sports and the playing because it winded up being me versus everybody else—including the coaches. So, I stuck with playing the saxophone, but soon I was dismayed when they kicked me out of the band. I later discovered the reason being that I was just too damn good. I fell into a brief depression, pondering as to why it was my fault. So what if I was making the other children look astonishingly bad, and that my mother and father were receiving death threats from other inimical parents. After that, nothing could stimulate me for more than a brief moment until one dark night while I was still a teenager.
I don’t recall why I was out so late. I didn’t know where I was going—other than wherever my feet took me—but eventually I found myself wandering through the intricate maze of the ghetto. Inebriated hobos lined the alley walls sleeping on their trash bags upon the squalid streets. As I strode through the narrow crosses, a gaunt hand sent shivers up my spine as it grabbed my wrist and pulled me to face a deformed, grey man with sparkling silver eyes. Those hypnotizing eyes chained my attention—binding me tighter than the grip of his hand. In that boring gaze of his, I felt that all the answers to the universe were imparted to me, and when I awoke the next morning in my bed at my home the only questions I wondered were: Who was that man? What happened next? And how did I get back home? Everything else was as clear as glass. So, I ran away from home that night and never turned back. My parents probably then went searching for me—after all, I was the greatest child a parent could ask for—but they fortunately never discovered my whereabouts. I wouldn’t let them. I lived on the heartless streets, and my reputation grew exponentially. I was unstoppable. I could make the roughest, toughest crooks cower with just a snap of my fingers. The Radasanth Criminal Syndicate must have asked me to join their ranks a thousand times. Each time I’ve refused because they weren’t worthy of my singular assistance.
Years and years passed, and now it is time to tell the true tales of myself.
The legendary stories you’ve all been yearning to hear…