Sable

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Information

Player: Rigley

Character Full Name: Sable

Character In-Game Name: Sable

Nickname(s): -

Association(s): The Undercity, The Royal Apothecary Society

Race: Forsaken

Class: Rogue

Skills/Abilities: Sable has most skills typical to a rogue, and in particular has a good grasp upon poisons and many devices commonly utilized by the Royal Apothecary Society. Notably is a catalyst she employs which constantly feeds in through her mask, effectively used to aid her strength and reflexes.

Age: 26

Sex: Female

Hair: Faded brown, kept back inside her helm most of the time. Cut short.

Eyes: No glow.

Weight: 120 lbs

Height: 5'4"

Appearance

Sable always appears clad in black leather armor, fastened and bolted to her body in a rather ghoulish display. She can be a bit of an unsettling presence to have near due to her twitching and murmurs, often speaking below her breath to herself at random. Despite as disheveled as she seems she holds a very relaxed and calm stance when brought into conflict.

Not much of her body can be seen through the leathers, but beneath the armor is a amalgamation of different tones of flesh, crudely fixed together with metal stitching. That being said, there is a rather sickly green tint to her body in general as well. Her face is almost always masked behind a tight-fitting leather gas mask; the face beneath it is crossed with a pair of straps, and two gashes lead down from her eyes. Apart from that if one were to somehow repair the stitching and various blemishes she might look rather young.

Usual Garments/Armor: Sable wears a set of taut leather armor, padded and fastened to the body in multiple places to keep the attire from interfering with combat or movement in any way. There are a few large screw-like anchors on some of the heavier pieces of the armor, embedded into the body beneath to keep them steady. She also has a pair of bladed gauntlets usually present on her hands.

Other: Sable is an amalgamation of several people, all patched together prior to reanimation and then brought into undeath. She feels that she has memories from each of these people, but cannot discern which is her actual former self.

To note, although Sable believes herself to hear and feel the separate personas, I will state here that she is only one person in mind and soul. Body, not so much.

Personality

Very blunt and seemingly with little emotion, Sable seems to have lost most nuances of social interaction through her transition to undeath. She speaks sparsely, often quickly and in hushed tones if she does. She truly is an introvert, preferring to lurk in corners and out of sight of the public if ever in a town, even one of the Undercity's own.

Despite her brooding nature, Sable is very keen on seeking retribution when she feels she has been wronged. She hardly ever forgets a grudge, and will usually seek an eye for an eye should the opportunity ever arise. That being said, such instances are usually quite brutal.


History

Sarah Collier was born in Southshore, not long after the Second War. A daughter in a crowd of many sons, Sarah took after many of her brothers growing up, helping with work on the family farm and hunting and fishing with her three siblings. The youngest of her family, Sarah always tried to take after one brother or another, getting a mix of aspirations from their own ideas and plans-- even as unlikely as some might be, given where they were brought up.

Despite a lack of wealth Sarah did educate herself, both through the local schoolhouse and her own idle reading, something she found herself doing more and more as she matured. She grew to become a bit restless on the farm, and when she came of age she said her farewells and departed, bound north.

The unrest in the orcish internment camps gave a good deal of opportunity for the Lordaeron military-- though it wasn't the most appealing of choices, she found her self rather suited to the role of a scout (being not quite sturdy enough for plate armor.) She didn't expect much action-- only the orcs, as far as she expected, would give them any trouble. And for some time she was correct-- until the Third War began, and the plague of undeath was let loose upon the nation. Sarah wasn't one to normally run from a fight, but as her contingent first came upon the approaching Scourge she found herself frozen in shock at the sight of the undead horde.

She survived, but just barely. That seemed to be the case for many months-- she earned something of a reputation for her luck on the field, scarcely avoiding an enemy's blade or the fire of an scourge wagon. With her lighter armor she wasn't the most difficult to dispatch, but somehow she managed through most conflicts without a dire injury.

Unfortunately that luck didn't last forever. It was late into the war, not long before the outbreak following the fall of Stratholme-- The Scourge's onslaught was swift. A relentless force descended upon the town in which Sarah found herself stationed. Though she fought valiantly, in the end she found a wicked maul swinging down onto her head.


Rachel Abilene was a native of Stromgarde, living some distance from the main city on a family estate. She wasn't quite nobility, but was hardly a commoner. Raised under a merchant's trade, her family pressured her on towards the family line of work-- being the only child, she had great expectations to live up to. Though Rachel was a bit soft-spoken, she was well versed in the salesman's speech and eventually was taken aboard her father's caravan, bound for eastern Lordaeron on a delivery from Khaz Modan.

It was a bit of a rough journey. Security seemed tight, and guardsmen commonly stopped to rifle through their belongings. She never really understood the matter until they reached Brill, and began to hear of the outbreaks emerging recently. Her father was quite stoic, even when faced with word of the rising cult. He said that the military would be able to deal with it-- he was quite dismissive, loading up on provisions and hauling out of town on time despite the warnings of the townsfolk.

They stopped in Stratholme, and once more were quick about their business-- her father was growing a bit more anxious the more he heard talk of the oncoming threat, and was hoping to return home swiftly. They purchased their provisions of bread and other foodstuffs, and were on the home stretch. Rachel was honestly a bit disappointed; she had been hoping to have some time to sell their wares, but her father was insistent. One delivery, and then home. They left out with a fair sum of gold, and were making camp on the western side of the Thondroril before nightfall.

She awoke in the night in a terrible pain. Her stomach churned, and a cold sweat was coming down her brow When she rose up she found no sight of her father in their tent-- instead he was hunched against the wagon outside, broken bottles of medicine lying beside, dropped from his limp and swaying hand.

Rachel ran-- hoping to find a guardsman, or anyone to help. But instead she found a crowd of robed men and women, darkly dressed and led by a man in a cap fashioned from a skull. She began to run as they spotted her, but she found her legs locking up, the pain in her stomach becoming greater and greater until... she dropped, just as the necromancer strode up alongside her.

All went black.


Alison Parnell was a bandit. She had been a thief since she was young, coming from a lower class family of the city of Lordaeron. It seemed like every day was one she spent foraging. Every night, searching for shelter. She never found herself becoming too educated in the way of a magi or by any schoolteacher as many of the higher caste were, but she always felt she had the mastery of another kind of knowledge. Knowledge to deceive, persuade, and manipulate. Her parents were next to nonexistent, and as she became a teenager she gradually just left them out of her own foraging. Food was only her own, and any coin lined her pockets. She left the city all together, shortly after reaching maturity.

It was out in the wilds that Alison learned the craft of the blade. A wicked dagger found its way into her belongings after the ambushing of a trader's caravan-- and while at first she was hesitant to put the blade to use, she soon left nothing but bodies in her wake as she tore across the trails of the crumbling kingdom. Guards stretched thinner and thinner, it wasn't any surprise that she went untouched as she scavenged the failing nation's countrysides for buildings and travelers to plunder.

It was during her travels through the eastern forests of Tirisfal that she first spotted the Scourge. She had heard of the undead horde, but had never dreamed of them to be so vast. With little hesitation she turned and ran, intent on making her way out of Lordaeron and into the safety of Hillsbrad, or Arathi.

On her way she came across a band of brigands, and sunk into their ranks. Though they were skeptical of taking another aboard, they were rather quick to believe in strength in numbers after their first run in with some wayward undead. The trip was harrowing. One by one the numbers of the group dwindled, until they found themselves upon the banks of Lordamere Lake. It was the only thing that blocked their passage towards the Hinterlands, and hopefully safety. Under the cover of night, they made a dash for the mountains and the pass leading to the so far untouched forest beyond.

They almost made it. Almost. As they ran onwards the Scourge in the fortification of Caer Darrow caught sight of them. They heard a loud snap, and with a cry of fear two of the three bandits were sent flying aside in a blast of gore, the meat wagon striking down into the trio. Alison found the world spinning-- she attempted to right herself, only to discover her legs to be unresponsive. Whether one was missing or simply broken was hard to tell through the pain.

Her vision blurred, just as the grind of the meat wagon's wheels could be heard coming out from the fortress gates.


Carolyn Strauss was a woman of the faith, hailing from Alterac. Leaving her nation as a child alongside her mother with the decline of the kingdom, the pair took up residence within an abbey not far from the city of Andorhal. Raised and educated within the church, Carolyn was heavily indoctrinated by the brothers and sisters of the abbey; she grew to aspire to do the work of the Light, and by her teens was eagerly trying to practice the healing arts alongside some of the older students.

While she was a fair singer, Carolyn never truly excelled as a healer. Her craft was a bit imprecise, but it was easy to see that she put all of her effort into what results she could muster. Grand or petty, she was intent to take up the mantle of the church. She just never knew how soon her aid would be needed. As the Scourge broke out across the countryside of Lordaeron she found herself called into aid amongst many units of soldiers, accompanied by other healers and warriors of the abbey. Though inwardly a bit terrified by the sight of the undead, she was stoic in the face of danger, pledging her life to aid the footmen and knights as they charged against them in battle. She held her own for some time-- long enough to watch the procession of the prince as he sped onwards towards Stratholme. Many of her contingent splintered to follow, leaving the rest to return to camp.

It was a long trek back, and by nightfall she found the shadows playing tricks upon her. They carried on despite the hour, crossing the bridge of the Thondroril as they made their way on towards Andorhal. As they marched though one suddenly fell down, struck by a bolt of unholy magic slung from the shade of the forest. The group spread and readied their weapons, but it was too late. With an unholy battle-cry a crowd of robed cultists and shambling undead charged upon them, tearing down priest and paladin as they swung blindly into the dark mass of robes and clattering bones. Carolyn found herself drawing away, trying to slip away from the carnage only to find herself drawn against a tree by a strong hand, her dagger seized from her side.

She fainted as she felt an impact on the side of her head.


One of these is Sable.

Rather, one is the mind of Sable. When she awoke it was to the screams of many, all wracking her mind as she stumbled out from the stupor of the Lich King's control. Strapped to her arms were crude metal blades, and ragged leathers covered her unsightly form. Twisting stitches ran up and down her body, made of crude metal and hastily stabbed into the flesh they held tight. She found only a blank as she searched for some kind of identity, silently stooped in the dying fields of the Tirisfal Glades as her mind swam with memories false or true from her past-- different cities, different people, different names... but none of them were her own. As far as she knew.

She pulled herself upright, taking stock of what she had become. Crude metal jutted into her skin, pinning down her armor. A mask was drawn tight over her face, and she seemed to be in some unknown farmstead of the glades. She found herself not mortified by what she had been turned into, but instead simply conflicted. Part of her was horrified; the other was urging her onward into hiding, and yet another screamed in the back of her mind, wishing to awaken from the nightmare she found herself immersed in. She listened to none of them, and took one shambling step forward... and continued on into the night.

Sable has served within the Forsaken since then. Occasionally she joins their ranks as a blade, but more often than not she simply stalks the forests, providing her aid as she sees the opportunity. Hardly ever is the work meant for any reward, but often in some kind of desperation to find more of her memories amongst the remnant of Lordaeron and the other northern kingdoms. Her travels have taken her all across the plaguelands and into Silverpine forest, ever searching for more knowledge as to her true identity. As such the passing of the wars against the Burning Legion and the recent fight against the Lich King in the northern lands have all just passed her by, as she continues to delve through the fallen ruins of Lordaeron. As of late her search has spread far and wide-- years of her foraging having provided nothing, she now mostly seeks to try and recollect more through travel or other actions. Anything to scrape out more of her past.

Her reckless pursuit of her history has led her to be a rather ruthless and cunning creature. Able to sneak about infested ruins with relative ease, and fight and flee when needed. Her work alongside the Royal Apothecary Society has led to her developing a use of many of their pieces of weaponry as well-- though she commonly stocks them few and far between in her journeys.

Since her awakening she has never ceased her search for her past-- though years of fruitless searching have taken their toll upon her morale.

She hasn't given up yet.