Riankel Ebonstone

Tall, athletically lean, and graced with a sun-kissed tan, Riankel Ebonstone looks...just like any other pretty elf on Azeroth. There's nothing special in being good-looking when the ugliest of your race can generally outshine any human. His scruffy chin tells of a low priority placed on shaving and his loose, sandy blond hair is kept to the bottom of his shoulder blades with practiced carelessness. Smile lines and dimples bracket his boy-next-door grin and his blue-green eyes are ever active and bright. If spotted shirtless he sports an assortment of little scars on his chest and arms: neat round burns, jagged wiggly slices, and even a tiny divot of gouged flesh on the outside of his right forearm.

Rian – as he prefers to be called – employs a certain devil-may-care flair, mostly dressing in styles which manage to be both dapper and cavalier. Hunter green, copper, and warm sandstone hues tend to suit him best. When he speaks, his voice is a vaguely melodic and easy to listen to baritone. He isn't lordly, but he moves with a bit of that casual confidence that seems to come so easily to nobility; not that he'd admit it, but it's an imitated behavior.

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Pronunciation: "Ree-ahn-kel"
Nicknames: Rian, Reb
Piercings: Two sapphire studs in each ear.
Scars: Many.
Languages: Thalassian, Common, Orcish, Dwarven

At a Glance:
Smells like... Those who get close catch a whiff of cinnamon and unbrewed tea leaf, clove and sandalwood, dried tobacco leaf and peppercorn. In short, he smells pleasantly like a spice stall at market. 
Casually dapper. Riankel has a way of making the tousled and unshaven look oddly dapper. It's a nonchalant and unassuming style, without the usual affectation of most charming rogues.

A regular in gambling dens and houses of mediocre repute, he has a reputation for being smooth, friendly, and not winning too often. He's almost never seen with another on his arm though - male or female.

Rock-climbers, base jumpers, extreme skiers, and other thrill-seekers probably know him. He's firmly in the middle of all that crazy, laughing like a madman as he undertakes ever more dangerous stunts.

Those who trained as spellblades in Dalaran many years before the First War might recognize him as a fairly proficient duelist who disappeared without a word.

A rare few who grew up in Augur's (now Murder) Row might know the Ebonstone family as dirt poor and prone to loud screaming matches from their tiny alley apartment. It's been a decade or two since they were last heard shouting at one another.