Anne is so thin as to appear fragile, and deathly pale, although her skin seems unbroken and shows no signs of trauma or decay. A heavy band of leather and steel is bound around her head, obscuring her eyes. Her movements are generally purposeful and quiet, and her manner toward other people is gentle and deferent, be they warlord or peon.
On the third finger of her left hand is an intricately worked gold ring. A weathered black string around her neck can occasionally be seen where it slips beneath the collar of her robe, while a heavier black cord suspends three purple-brown gemstones around her neck.
Born into a family of mild and hard-working peasants who lived and died with gladness, determination, and a great deal of propriety in the lands outside of Darrowshire, it was considered a great step up when Anne was taken into the church. While her stalwart father tilled the old fields and her taciturn uncle served in the great house, she traveled to Lordaeron and to Stormwind to study under the clerics of the Light.
Still young in years and in the ways of the Light, she returned on assignment to Darrowshire, finding it a staging ground for increasing battles with the Scourge. Anne served there to comfort and heal her people, places of worship becoming field hospitals as she and the other priests tended to patients that were once her friends and neighbors. She tried her hardest to do her duty and be of some help, soothing frightened children and grim old paladins alike who had fallen prey to vicious raids, nightmarish fevers, or, worst of all, the Plague.
As the news became more and more bleak, the clerics held their ground and continued to nurse the sick, injured, and dying, burying their fallen with full honors. Anne stood around the clock at hopeless bedsides, feeling more than physical weariness and never knowing why, until at last she collapsed on the steps of the infirmary and didn’t rise again. She was laid in a small grave beside her patients and never saw the most brutal blows fall.
She woke much later in a cold crypt in the far north, wearing the tattered livery of the Scourge and a heavy band of leather and steel bound across her eyes. Still very much herself, she found her new life frightening and disheartening, but she remained steadfast in her faith, searching for new ways to serve and hoping to discover the reason behind this existence.
After her awakening, Anne met many grim and bitter forsaken who frightened her and a few friendly souls who tried to ease her transition into the unlife. One of the first of her new brethren to make her feel welcome was an outgoing and, in her gentle estimation, rather wild young warlock. Vekkul de Shea became her friend, and despite the sage warnings of some of her more experienced companions, soon swept her off her feet. He asked her to become his wife in the early spring after their awakening, although the vagaries of war have prevented the star-crossed young lovers from yet marrying.
Wandering the lands of the Horde, Anne began to seek for a better way to serve the people she had been cast amidst and a place to put her talents to better use. Her dear friend Valimar, a mute warrior with a generous heart, a surprising sense of humor, and a deep devotion to duty, encouraged her to join the Night Vanguardin the service of the Horde. She feared that she would have nothing to offer to the fearsome Vanguard, but she eventually found a home there, and a greater purpose for her new unlife.
Although she has not spoken to them for some time, a few of her orcish friends gave her small treasures in her early days as a member of the Horde which she still carries with her. The blinded warlock Grashagul made for her a white blanket with an intricately woven border that she always carries in her pack and takes pains to keep clean and whole, despite using it to camp in unlikely places. The hunter Iodine made for her a necklace of the strange purplish-brown crystals of Silithus as a gift of thanks for her help in a quest to obtain a powerful weapon. The strange looking jewels are usually fastened around her pale throat.
Regret To Inform - A short vignette of Anne upon the disappearance of her betrothed some months ago