[@Andreyich]
If I may give my two cents, Runesmiths have an essentially endless potential for overpowered crap, so I would humbly suggest an engineer.

Work in Progress

[b]Name:[/b] Baltazar Engels

[b]Age:[/b] 33

[b]Race:[/b] Human

[b]Profession:[/b] Priest of Ranald

[b]Equipment:[/b] Bastard sword, crossbow, lockpicks, light armour, holy symbols of Ranald

[b]Personality:[/b]
Baltazar is a good-natured scoundrel, as one would expect from a priest of Ranald. He presents himself as a rough-and-tumble mercenary with a simple outlook on life and a crude sense of humour - a convenient excuse for someone of his profession, and not too far from the truth. Though he rarely confesses his true nature, Ranald's name features prominently in his curses and prayers, and he makes no particular effort to hide his worship. Ranald, of course, is not an entirely unusual patron of mercenaries. 

While typically upbeat and cheerful, Baltazar is no stranger to violence. As a staunch follower of Ranald, he finds it distasteful to harm thinking and feeling creatures for no reason, but he has seen enough of the world to consider vile races like greenskins and skaven exempt from mercy. Baltazar rarely loses his composure, even in battle, and though he is by no means fearless, he knows well enough to fake it. His apparent bravery, as well as his tendency to somehow always be in the right place at just the right time, tends to make him look like a much better warrior than he actually is.

Ranald grants his priests wondrous powers of stealth, and reprieve from the consequences of their actions. Baltazar, however, is reluctant to call on the fickle attention of his god without good reason - such as protecting his own life or playing a trick on someone who [i]really[/i] has it coming.

[b]Appearance:[/b]
Baltazar is of middling height, with decidedly average looks overall. Unassuming and unkempt, he has bland green eyes, messy, brown hair and blotchy skin. He shaves only when necessary, saving himself from razor burn but leaving him with a patchy stubble on most days. His calloused hands betray his commoner heritage, and in his role as a mercenary, he walks with the self-assured swagger of an invincible young warrior, even though he is not all that young anymore. He could produce the quiet dignity of a minister or the supplicant gait of a pauper if need be, but the jungles of Lustria hardly require further disguises. 

Unsurprisingly, Baltazar has the sinewy muscle of a professional fighter, and the scars to show for a lifetime of combat. Strangely few of them show up anywhere easily visible, but it usually only takes him rolling up his sleeves or lifting his tunic to convince anyone that he has seen plenty of battle.

[b]Bio:[/b]
Growing up on the streets of Marienburg, Baltazar quickly took to the culture of thievery surrounding the cult of Ranald. Induction into the priesthood was hardly even a conscious decision; he had never realized that the old beggar that used to teach him sleight of hand tricks was a priest, until the day he found himself praying to the Trickster God - and being answered. The cult of Ranald has no ranks to rise in, nor much prestige to gain, but Baltazar followed its unspoken creed as if by instinct (or careful manipulation, who knows), and quickly grew to become an adept wealth redistributor.

Like many Marienburgers, Baltazar spent his early years as a bedraggled orphan on the streets of the Suiddock, his father a teamster crushed by a falling crate, his mother killed when a journeyman fire mage lost his temper near the pub where she worked. The Guild of Stevedores and Teamsters, a protection racket by any account, saw to it that he didn't starve to death or get snatched off the street by some passing slaver, but anything beyond that was his own responsibility. Thus, Baltazar turned to stealing. As a nondescript street urchin of more than moderate talent, it was easy enough to pick the pockets of naive tourists and strutting burghers; as he grew bolder, even militia officers and young nobles became Baltazar's quarry. He gave most of his earnings away to the temple of Manaan - it kept him safe from robbers, and guaranteed him a bowl of soup those nights his skills failed him. By his mid-teens, he had already declared himself too good for Marienburg and set off for adventure on the high seas, hiring on as a deckhand on a trading ship.

Baltazar has spent the majority of his life on and around Marienburg trading vessels and caravans, "taking up collection" across the coasts and trade routes of the Old World. Posing as a bodyguard, he would help tradesmen get the upper hand on their business partners, taking a slightly-more-than-fair piece of the profits as compensation, and sampling local flavours while spending his somewhat ill-gotten gains. Baltazar has studied swordsmanship at Estalian fencing academies, lost drinking contests to Norse traders on the Sea of Claws, and even once found himself embroiled in a vendetta in the Tilean city-states. 

Baltazar counts himself as experienced, powerful and skilled, as far as priests of Ranald go, even though he has never built any kind of legend around himself. Of course, many would claim that as a sign he's been truly successful.

[b]Reason for joining:[/b] Making one (or more) last big score(s) before retiring from his career of active thievery.

[b]Terrible secret:[/b] PM'd