Shale

Information

Player: MrCandlejack

Character Full Name: Shale Bridgewater

Character In-Game Name: Shale

Nickname(s): Rottah, Deader, Rock.

Association(s): None, at the moment.

Race: Forsaken

Class: Rogue

Age: 24 (Before death)

Sex: Male

Hair: Gray, spiked up in a crude mohawk.

Eyes: None.

Weight: 210

Height: 5'9

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Appearance

He is usually seen wearing his black leather armor, hidden pockets are found if examined closely, usually containing a vial and needle, or knife of some sort. To make up for his absence of eyes, he wears an engineered pair of red goggles. The gears and dials are constantly whirring and ticking.

Personality

After sharing the horrors countless others did during the Scourge, Shale disbanded himself from humanity. He attempted to be kind for the first few years of being a Forsaken, but finally cracked after experiencing the hatred shown towards his kind. He cut all ties he had with friends, or family, and lived alone, therefore becoming an emotionless bastard, feeling that love and friendship is nothing but an anchor. The only friendships he has are fake, due to the particular business he partakes in.

History

Before death, Shale was an alchemist living in Stratholme. He would jump from house to house, living with friends, never able to settle down with his alchemy. He ended up staying with his parents, who were at the time retired, his father a war veteran. After the plague broke out, Shale managed to stave off the sickness, heeding any warnings of the grain and the sick.

Of course, after a while, the plague got to him. He remembers traveling into his parents house, hungry...so very hungry. His parents fled from him. Fled? Why would they flee? "Momma? Dad?" His mother and father only flinched at his words. He walked closer. Why was he hungry? What was this feeling? His father yelled, "Get back, you monster! You are not of our kind anymore!" What? What does father mean? He looked at his hands, rotten and slowly...melting? Where is my skin? He was overcome with rage. How dare they fear him? He lashed out at them, tearing, biting, slashing at them. He remembers ripping his father's goggles off, as his vision was beginning to blur. "Oh, father! You are giving me your goggles? How kind of you!" He wailed as he scratched at his fathers corpse. He strapped the goggles onto his head, grinning madly. "They fit perfect, papa!" He began slowly tearing the flesh off his parents bodies, devouring it. Why am I eating this? But it fills the hunger ever so much...just a bit more won't hurt, right? After picking his mother and father clean of flesh, he ventured out into the streets. He saw a child wandering through the streets, lost. He walked up slowly to the child. "H-Hello, child. A-Are you lost?" He grabbed the boys arm, pulling him towards Shale. "H-Here, I will take you somewhere safe...we shall have dinner, yes?" He dragged the screaming boy into the house. Oh, the hunger. When will the hunger go away?

His memory, a blur. He rises, feeling utterly lost and alone. He rises from a tomb, feeling dirty...and weak. He looks at his hands, the flesh gone and his bones sharpened to a point. He reaches up to his eyes and feels the goggles, he sighs. "What have I done..."

Shale walked through the streets of Ratchet ignoring the sneering and looks of disgust on the peoples faces. He was used to them, of course. He doesn't care anymore. Human life is what? Nothing. Worthless. That is why he took up the assassination business. He was the perfect man for it. People hated him, what was the point in trying to be their friend? He needed no friends, no love. They were anchors, only holding him back. He had grown to hate all races, all types of people. He didn't care if they were orcs or humans, blood elves or night elves, they all looked at him in disgust. So he disbanded himself from sanity, and resumed his life as a hitman, taking lives as his own life was taken.