Caibre

Information

Character Full Name: Miss Caibre Danadel

Character In-Game Name: Caibre

Nickname(s): Caibre? (Caibre's name is originally ponounced Ky-bree. But somehow over the years, maybe because it sounds more fitting to her personality, people began reading the name as 'Kay-ber' or 'caber'. She's never bothered to correct them, so long as the 'Miss' is before it. And has for some time then gone by the second pronunciation.)

Association(s): Kul Tiras Special Forces, Alliance

Race: Human

Class: Warlock

Age: 32

Sex: Female

Hair: Red (Dark)

Eyes: Brown (Reddish?)

Weight: 138

Height: 5'7

Alignment: Lawful Evil

Appearance

Usually clad in dark robes, though dons more mobile clothing (pants etc) for combat operations.

Personality

Sadistic in dozens of applicable senses of the word. Masochistic in the only one that really applies. There seems to be nothing that gives her more joy than to watch a member of the Horde (or an anti-alliance alliance race member) suffer. Nothing other than inflicting that suffering herself---or tearing apart and devouring the soul of the afformentioned sufferer once they are too weak to scream or beg. She is Masochistic because, apparently, the more pain that is inflicted upon her the more she feels this honors her mother and the more she will strive to cause greater deals of suffering to those in her path.

Aside from battle-applicable things... she demands to be called 'Miss' or some other line of respect before her name. Miss Danadel is great. Miss Caibre (whichever pronunciation) is fine. Cabire is not fine. She tends to be a cynic, full of sharp comments and scathing words---however, few of these aspects limit the shining capacity which brought her to where she is.

She is very calculating. Many who enjoy delivering pain simply for its sake will lose themselves to anger, or lose themselves in the pursuit---not Miss Danadel. She is the one desired on the side of planning, of tactics. A clear-minded woman, she often sees nothing otherwise from driving down the crippling blow. A high intellect, though used often for the worst of things...

History

Caibre has the tragic sort of tale that often goes so many different ways. Sickeningly common in a land torn by war so many times the pieces no longer lie together---she was a child of a broken family and dead parents. Her father, she never knew. Her father, she always hated because she never knew him. She never heard his name, her mother would not speak it. She never saw his face, her mother would not show it. She hated him because she had no one to hate.

And this started the flames within her. She learned from a young age to use the ways of arcane, because of her mother---who she did not hate, but envied. Her mother was a mage, and one of moderate power. It was not so much raw capacity that caught the eye when her mother wielded the flames, it was her grace. Her ability to scorch her targets in crippling manners, to bring them low with minimal force.

As such, she was not an important name among the arcane community, or any community at all. One needed to know her personally to know she was worth knowing. Azeroth as a whole, did not know her and did not care to. Her students, however... they did both.

She taught. She taught, and though refusing to fight...when there was conflict, her mother went. To tutor mage going into battle for the Alliance, as her powers were weak but her knowledge was vast. She fought through empowering younger students of arcane with thought---Caibre envied her. Envied the precision, the depth of thought. Envied that before her she was certain so many would have burned... but she chose not to. Why would one want to use this knowledge in such a way?

Caibre almost took a very different path.

But then, war reaches a climax. Many begin to die. Father, brothers, sons. Daughters, sisters...mothers. Caibre's mother was killed, and in perhaps a justified manner. Justice is too fickle, Caibre has always thought. Justice should show favor---her side is right. What happeend to her mother was not justice.

So many who grind on these cogs of war would see it as such, and Caibre does not distance herself. She is one of the many in the grinders of souls, she only claims to be one of the sharpest teeth.

Her mother died in flames. They were sent away as battle raged---too late. Caught, the remaining students slaughtered. Caibre watched. Watched as they fell---loathed, but knew not what to loath. She almost took a very different path. She almost loathed war itself, she almost decided to use her discipline for something different. To end war, end the suffering.

Almost.

But her mother burned. She heard the shrieking, she saw the flesh peel, she heard the crackling of doomed and smoldering flesh. She heard the begging. She head her own name. She heard the laughter. They said she knew nothing of the arcane... that she sent her students to battle as a cowardly wench, ill-equipped to ever wholeheartedly do any harm. Caibre did not understand.

But then she watched her mother burn. She watched her body twisted by fantastic spells, she watched the soul dragged from her body. This was true power. Not the silly candle flame her mother had toyed with. No, that was only to show her the door. To give the first glimpse as true power.

She was fourteen years old, when the shining paladins rode in to save her, too late for her mother. Whatever was left of her. She was fourteen years old when she looked up upon the glistening plates of light. Of their justice. Justice which could not saver her mother.

She almost took a very different path.

But she did not.

From then on she studied. She sunk herself to the worst of things, and found the most joy in it---to burn, to cause to toil and writhe and suffer...this made her burst with glee. Evermore on every occasion she could cause it. She found the war---the same vehicle that had taken her mother---was the perfect medium for her to test and to learn and to exact her revenge.

To torture is to torture. It is a crime. To kill an enemy is an act of war. How it is done is overlooked most times---it is war. There are few rules. She learned to love war, she learned to love her hate for the Horde. The Horde had done this, yes... especially the Orcish warlocks who murdered her mother. Was it murder? Yes. But it was in war? So? They are at fault. They are evil.

They are murderers, and she brings justice.

Oh how she enjoys bringing justice.

To avoid getting herself in trouble, or being persecuted for unsavory acts, she enlists herself as often as possible with armed forces. Often acruing absurd death tolls, willingly stepping first into battle---her body never seeming to wither from danger or punishment. They do not eat, says the mantra of warlocks... they do not breath. They are sustained only by the suffering of their enemies.

Her body has remained devilishly flawless, while one can hardly for some reason call her beautiful. An unconcious knowledge, maybe, at the price she has paid on her sould to become what she is. For the time being, she is kept in check by an ample source of bodies on the other side of war's dividing line. For a bit, she has been enlisted with the Kul Tiras Special Forces, much in the lieu of a tactics officer and...general infantry (she and her demon(s) ).

Causing little to no harm to those on the Alliance (good) side, she lies under the radar aside from 'roguish' or 'loose cannon' tendancies. The very wise wonder... what would one such as she do if the warring stopped?