Chantel

Information

Player: Reigen

Character Full Name: Chantel

Character In-Game Name: Chantel Faeal

Nickname(s): Theater Child

Association(s): -

Race: Forsaken

Class: Rogue

Age: 42 [33 at death]

Sex: Female

Hair: A slimy green color from her once sandy blonde.

Eyes: Glowing yellow, the sockets however are empty.

Weight: 158 Lbs

Height: 5'5"

Appearance

She normally wears a covering leather robe of brown and green, with matching accessories. She carries two matching daggers in style, though one is green tinted and the other a rusted brown tint. When she knows she is going to going into combat, she wears a less restrictive set of pinkish-purple armor which frees up her legs for speed. The cloak she wears is also shorter in order to prevent herself from tripping.

Other: The forsaken woman has many stitches over her body from repairing her flesh. Most of her body is mismatched in colors, though the fact is normally covered up from public eye. Her face has clearly been taken the most care of, though there are ever-present bruises around her eyes and cheeks, stuck there due to being present before death. She also appears to have had a broken nose in life due to its crookedness.

Personality

Alignment: True Neutral

Once an outgoing girl, full of life and adventure, Chantel has fallen into despair for the last few years of her mortality and depression due to her undeath.

She is shy, often hiding away from people who are unknown to her. She trusts only other forsaken, though fears them due to their evil nature. Chantel wants contact with humans, due to once being one of them, though feels unworthy of them due to how she currently is. She avoids men if she can, though is willing to trust them if they go though great lengths to prove themselves as trustworthy. She dislikes unnecessary shows of violence and as a result is alienated away from a majority of her people.

Chantel enjoys the arts, theater, music, paints, poetry. If it is a form of art, she enjoys it.

History

The theater was large and run down, visited often by a young child, her parents and three siblings as they walked there from their lavish home in Lordaeron. It was old, but the young girl was always on stage singing and dancing and socializing with other children her age. Every day it seemed, when the bell rang for classes to end, the girl was running from her schoolhouse to the theater. She worked day by day to help fix it up so it wouldn't become unusable, even if she was dressed in the nice clothing she was not afraid of getting dirty. Her parents watched on amused, purchasing her new clothing as if it was nothing, even taking her to and from art classes with paint-stained clothing.

The sights would blur over each other as the girl grew, comforting dirty citizens wearing the colors of their fallen home. She and her friends were often seen entertaining those who slept outside of the theater, providing them with food and blankets. The freckle-faced blonde girl seemed to always smile, even when in a group of those who were grieving for lost ones. With their help, the theater started to improve in condition week by week, the Stormwind refugees willing to do anything to get their mind off what troubled them.

Seasons would come and go with the ever-growing girl trudging though snow, rain, sleet and heat in order to make it to the theater every day. There came a time where the refugees were gone and in their place worked green abominations. Every month or so the monsters would be forced to come and help out. The sandy-blonde girl never strayed to close to them and was held in place by the creatures owners, the men making wide motions in an imitation of what had happened.

A man entered the sights, the once young girl spending her time with him. As days went by, the girls presence at the theater became less and less. The theater almost seem to morn, the sides cracking and the floor creaking. One day the girl would come by again, bruises on her face, her arms and her head. Seasons came and went, the words "But he loves me" spoken over and over. Her happy presence was gone, seeming as gloomy as the lands when it rained.

Days turned into weeks turned into months. Her weight was less, her hair oiled and looking as if she had not bathed in days. Her family came to the theater, begged her to come home, but she refused. Any pleas were met with her repetition of his promises, how the things would be. They knew she was lost in her own world, the decaying theater also knew. The leaking faucets almost seemed to weep in tune with her own cries. It's decay matched her own decay.

Then came the days where even the skies wept for the world.

The rain was hard, the child of the theater running desperately to it's battered doors. She never made it, the man she was always seen with leaping upon her before she could reach the doors, her cries of help cut short as the hands around her neck found home. The theater died as she died, only, it did not raise back up as she did.

Her shambling corpse rose and shuffled along with the horde of undead that passed though the lands. The theater stood, alone and forgotten for years on end. Mold would grow, planks would fall off, and water would leak all over the floor, but no one came to save the building. That is, until one day a robed figure crawled it's way up the broken steps. It hugged the doors, crawled inside, muttering over and over again.

"I love you...I'll never leave again...I love you."

The theater now stands, boarded up with mismatched wood. It's 'alive' again, a mirror to the broken child that once graced it's halls when they both were young and growing. Now one stalks around in the other, muttering, promising never to leave, never to let any harm come to her one true love.

Chantel has yet to break a promise.

Skills and Abilities

Nothing special. She can stab people when she feels threatened, but normally she has her blades for show only.