Verily, great self-righteousnous and great blindness are needed to call the gore pouring from the scaffold justice. Vehement beasts trudge the realm, and Maisy wears a cloak of envy-why should others have more then she has? Her fingers graze the gentle velvet silk of the passingby ladies-and promptly dive into their coinpurses in search for spoils. Too many times she stared through the grimey windows at lavish meals, felt the beast of hunger swell in her belly and sighed to release its roar. The magnificent chess peices of politics crawl around her; and she moves out of their way. Such games are for people who can afford the peices, or atleast most of them. She weaves and bobs out of their way; atleast for now; maybe at some point she gets to ride the crested Knight piece. She thinks ill of the ramifications of brute force, preffering sly and cunning in the absence of her own brawn to feed her evergrowing lust for the luxurious: gems, lavish food, fancy garments.
A weak frame; with little strewn over it. She preffers staying out of brawls, using her distase for fighting as her excuse-but truth be told the real root of that lies in her disability to lay a punch. However, a nimble frame with a somewhat nubile apperance has other upsides: agility, speed, and most importantly maneuverability. Her fingers are well preserved despite the worst of the conditions she found herself in; keeping their dexeterity intact for diving into coinpurses and picking locks. She stands approximately 5'8'' in height, with blonde locks of hair falling down her narrow shoulders, and an extremly pale complexion constrasting her starch blue eyes.
She owns little-but what she does own is rather lavish: a leather garb padded with velvet sporting a rather stylish hood, a double-bottomed coinpurse to keep her collegues in craft away from her misgained wealth, and a simple walking cane.
