"Death? Why this fuss about death? Use your imagination, try to visualize a world without death!
... Death is the essential condition of life, not an evil." [Charlotte Perkins Gilman]
|Class||Shadow Mage (Priest)|
|Eyes||Lacking; Otherworldly Light|
|Birthplace||Ambermill (small farm in the area)|
|Marital Status||Otherwise Occupied|
The corpse is fragile in appearance, parchment skin stretched fine and tinged faintly green with the remnants of too short a grave's rest. Her hair, once a lustrous gold, now hangs in thick hanks of faded flaxen dressed up as neatly as possible with a twine headband. Effort has been made to look presentable, fastidious care applied to the skin peeling away from her jaw as if a great hand had sunk thick fingers into her flesh and left ruined holes behind.
She once was no more than pretty, this corpse, a passable charm given to fine bone structure and the remains of clear, pale skin. She stares forthrightly from behind an otherworldly glow that spills from her eyes. If it is will alone that keeps the Forsaken standing, this one has it in spades; a determined gleam that contradicts the care with which she handles her own posture (lest she fall to pieces in a fit of decomposition.) There is something hauntingly familiar about this cadaver who, upon study, looks nothing like the Noelle Chaplain of history's annals. An aged quality that speaks of greater years than the body itself has seen lingers about her, like an aura of musty scents, the permeation of rotting leaves. Her clothing often leans towards a threadbare quality. Her voice is raspy, a femininely husky tone as if her vocal cords are as well-worn as the rest of her.
Many of Noelle's alliances are now reduced to memory; as a young apprentice in Dalaran, she had at her disposal more friends and resources than she ever held at the height of the Night Vanguard's power. Her closest and most dedicated bond is with Alexander Draconis, and even that friendship is an unusual and unique one; one that has apparently transcended the grave several times over.
She holds no truck with the Apothecary Society, and could care less about the Cenarion Circle. Her loyalties are her own, although she had earned a reputation for viciously and patiently working towards the betterment of the Night Vanguard. The loose alliance with various others were tolerated as long as they were both useful and respectful. She made no name for herself among the elite of the Horde, and seemed unconcerned by this small fact. This continued until her eventual death at her own hand and subsequent quasi-resurrection into two unwilling hosts: one right away, and the other only just recently.
Two years after the Noelle of old died, and such connections and allies have long since faded -- all but those with Alexander Draconis himself. Clearly not the same Noelle, physically, it is yet to be determined if the same ruthless spirit resides inside the cadaver bearing Noelle's name. To date, her strongest connection is with three members of the Vanguard: Ophaniel, Qaelin and Alexander.
Noelle Chaplain's history has been fraught with extremes. From farmer's daughter to apprentice mage; slaughtered human to risen Forsaken; mage to shadow-mage and, inexorably, to unadmitted priest; learning curiosity to learned resignation. And, perhaps the greatest of all, from bitterly willing pawn to fragile rekindled spirit. She has died at her own hand and forced a part of her spirit into the unwilling body of a Blood Elf who has, by all accounts, reclused herself into the wilds of the Outlands. When Alexander once more came out of his own hermitage, the portion of Noelle's ghost that had found some peace at Dalaran made the choice to rise again, and forced what was left of her essence into the newly dead corpse of a young host. Now she wanders Azeroth again, once more plotting and planning, and keeping a very close eye on the man she has always been bound to.
Whether she retains the cruelest edges of the old Noelle is yet to be discerned, but there is a cat -- a cornish rex -- that dogs her every step. Just like back then. Just like ever.
Her story is an unusual one, and it is a story in the making...