Vivian

Information

Player: Armistad

Character Full Name: Vivian Carreen

Character In-Game Name: Carreen

Nickname(s): 'The Back Alley Butcher'

Association(s): Stormwind Inmate(s), The Vault

Race: Human

Class: Warlock

Age: 19

Sex: Female

Hair: Long unkempt brown to almost black.

Eyes: Hazel

Weight: 115 lbs.

Height: 5'5

Alignment: Neutral Evil

Appearance

Currently a red dingy prison issued robe.

Personality

Vivian comes off as a young lady lost in an unjust law system. She'll smile at a passing man one moment, while removing his coin purse the next, only to find out he has a dagger buried within his chest soon after. At the moment she is a bit of a shut in, living mostly in her own mind. This ailment comes from being held in solitary confinement on and off during her past five years in "The Vault". With her having been spent living in one of the harshest prisons, one can a test and imagine how out of place she will feel being released back into society. Growing up before her incarceration though she knew nothing much of the outside world. Never payed much attention to stories of far distant regions nor of the numerous amount of races that exists in the world. Although now some years later, she despises all walks of life secretly, as to have seen the worse of them all in prison with her.

History

Inmate # 32461 is believed to have been born Vivian Carreen some nineteen years ago if the records are correct. At eight years old news spoke of her father falling in the naval battles off the coasts of Kalimdor. Distraught and grief stricken Vivian fell into silence, hardly speaking to her mother or anyone. Her love for her father was great and she enclosed herself in a state of detrimental growth. Her mother, Anna Carreen remarried come four years later to a merchant gentleman named Gregory Thorvald. In the beginning Gregory was a stable father figure and provider a flair for the dramatics even, but with the over taxing done in the provinces for the war effort money and work became less attainable. By Vivians thirteenth birthday, she too took up a job, in the kitchen of the Slaughtered Lamb to be precise. Not only to help their poor family but to help pay her step-fathers debts, you see Gregory had a fondness for the drink and the Lamb was his favorite locale. One evening after closing of the Tavern just weeks before her fourteenth birthday, her contempt for this fatherly impostor grew to tremendous lengths. His drinking became increasingly heavy as her pay was barely covering his elaborate expensive bar tab. His drunken advances towards her began to come in a frequent and quite domineering as well. And on that very eve, he attempted to assault her.

Her virtue he did not claim, for in his deeply inebriated state she over powered his wills. She struck a blow to his groin allowing herself to be free of his clutches. The blow left him to writhed in agony, as she picked up a rock laying nearby and swung it down upon his skull. Not once did the rock makes it's indent, not twice did it, nor thrice. Her pelting upon his skull did not stop until all that remained of his head was blood and an ogrish crimson ooze.

But her contemptuous pinned up anger had not had its fill, she followed his post mortem torture by beginning to stab at his chest with a knife she had found in his pocket. She then delicately carved out his heart, like how a cook would do the same to a type of fowl or hog. Her catatonic expression seemingly lifeless was disdaining, as yet her eyes painted her vivified happiness. The last beats of her step-fathers heart caressed her hand, her tongue and lips longing to meet it's new succulent plaything. Her kisses embraced the still heart, her teeth ripping through it, her moan filled banter satisfied her sweet revenge. But even then it was short lived.

Vivian's merrymaking and midnight feast was stumbled upon by a few various citizens making their way through the park. She was immediately held and thus charged under the criminal act of murder.

At her trial even her own mother was afraid of her. Church clergy recited prayer after prayer attempting to exorcise any demon that perhaps was inside her. Physicians inspected her for various ailments including blood infections and even 'the plague'. When no merit was sided as to why she had done such a thing, it was decided for her to rot in the Bastille known as Stormwind's Vault. A once attractive young woman defending her honor was casted down into the prison depths and almost forgotten for five and a half years.

During her five years, she was prodded and made an example of by renegade clergy and vile guardsmen all wanting to break her of her silence and the tormented spirit they claimed she had, had. While in the cold dark recesses of the Vault, Vivian saw the atrocities committed by mankind. With her own eye's she came to see brigands, sneak thieves, adulterers, murderers of all races and walks of life. She even came to know of a demonic worshiper it seemed to reside within the deep recess's of their prison of stone and iron. Through a rat hole in her cell she would watch his shrouded person with intrigue. Almost a year had gone by and this was the first time the adjacent cell was occupied. She made note in her mind of the etches made upon the walls, the circles drawn on the ground with salt and earth.

These obscure actions would be the only thing Vivian experienced that kept her waning sanity hopeful. Each day she was interrogated and beaten for her crime, each day she was asked why she consumed the flesh of another person, yet her resolve did not waiver. The penance was delivered to her almost daily for nearly five years, and on the first day of her fifth year...

No movement was sighted in the neighboring cell, no etchings were seen in her view, and alas no sound was heard. Alone was she once again....

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, her confined friendship was no more. She looked forward to her beatings as a break from the solitude she resided in. But even they too had stopped, an empty lifeless existence is what she had now, empty and alone.

She was awoken one morning, a clean red robe was placed at the entrance of her cell, next to a basin. "Get changed, the fresh water is for you to bathe." Vivian glared at the guard with her contemptuous gaze, yet decided to play along for the time being. "You are summoned to the Court of Commons. It would seem they aim to decide the fate of your possible parole."

Eagerly and anxious she striped bare and began to cleanse herself, even under the watchful eyes of the guards. Yet she did not care, could she be freed? Is there some malicious intent laying ahead of her? Such questions begin to run rampant through her sanity stripped, fragile mind.

"Must play the game, must be free of this place." she whispered to herself.