A quiet, small figure that blends into the darkness lurks about the streets. It's swift movements cannot be seen or heard by average creatures, but to those who can beware, Perg Vexx ye smells in the air. She crosses death row on many a level, carrying a mighty scythe over her shoulder like a 2 ton death sign from hell. The long blade hums and sings of a ghostly song, the markings drawn from ash and blood. She herself, a feminine beauty of small purportions(sp?), looks weak and frail to touch, for without the curse of the Scythe, it would be so. She lifts the blade like it weighed nothing, her fur light blue and clothing that was feathers and velvet to the touch.