"I was a fool.. Too weak, too scared. I was lost. They told me not to blame myself, but what more can someone do when they know it's their fault? His suffering lasted mere moments, but mine is eternal."
At a young age, the young girl had moved with her family into the forest of Elwynn, settling on its fertile banks. The Ryan family was nothing out of the ordinary. Adalina, Abigail's mother, was an enchanter whom offered her services to passing townfolk and her father, George, was a farmer. It was a simple life and quite dull at times. Because of this, Abigail and her brother, Johnathan, would often times wander unaccompanied throughout the forest, unaware of the dangers that lie dormant in the trees and amongst the rattling leaves that besmirched the natural beauty of the rivers and ponds. When a child wanders, we do not fear of what they will find, but of which will find them. It was a silent evening, Abigail's mother had called out into the mill for her children but was answered only with a haunting mockery of her voice echoing through the dimlit woodwork. It didn't phase her so suddenly as it was common for her children to have gone moments before dashing through the trees as if they were two enemies rushing to strike one another. But tonight was different, the sun grew even darker as it slowly crept across the horizon, fading into the shadowy blanet of night. Again her voice called out, this time distraught, echoing again like the words of a poet across the mind of a blind man. Answering her again, only silence, not even her own sounds dare to return to her. She became timorous, the very thought of her children gone missing was perplexing. She quickly raced to the mill, where he husband had been sipping a mug of ale and biding his time with songs of a drunken Bard with a random assortment of men. She had given word to the men of their children's assumed disappearance, and with the added fear drawn from Adalina's abashed behaviour, the group quickly took up small sticks with hay tied to the tip and catching them ablaze for light. A search party, some would call it, began to wander aimlessly in the only growing darkness that surrounded them. Lost in their own fears and insecurities, they had nearly given up hope. The temptation to head back to safety was much too strong for a mere farmer to resist. But it was as they had begun to trek back they stumbled upon a small figure lurking beneath a tree. A foul stench lingered from the enigmatic assortment of collected fears, adding only to their solicitous thoughts. A light quickly shone on the figure revealing it to be a small child; Abigail. She lie terrified, shaking as though a Titan had let forth a laugh that stirred even the Great Sea with ease. The anxiety was matched only by the horrific sight when one so carelessly looked upon the shrouded girl. George began to slowly step forward, as to claim his daughter. What comes next only the maddened numbers of the Twilight's Hammer could invision; a girl covered in blood, as if though countless lives had been taken directly overtop of her body. It was like a second skin, it painted every aspect of her physical form, her mentality covered just as much, if not more with the stains of death. Only feet away from the already unsettling view was but another mere picture only one so blindly scarred could have imagined; the body of a child torn to shreds, only recognized by what little remained of the flesh painted skull. Unmatched silence drawn through the men, most of which simply dropped to their knees at the two gut-wrenching sights. It was almost as though time itself began to move in a way that the largest of thing made no impact to the deafening screeches emitting from Abigail. There was nothing left to hear, nothing left to see, no air left to breathe, no tears left to shed. It was only a void in this moment. It was an endless gaping maw that devoured all that stood in it's midst. It appeared as if hours passed, days even, simply screaming in agony. But just like the tides of war shifted, so to did the sound of the incomprehensible pain emanating from the girl. Like one would scoop up a satchel filled with gold, the men finally put together the remainder of their might to take George and Abigail home.
Word quickly spread of the incident, whispered and inaudibly mumbled from beggar to poet to guard to criminal. It was like they had all been there - They had all witnessed the very event that so sloppily was handed to one another without hesitance. Time flew like leaves fell from the trees, without warning and without much awareness. Soon the townfolk began to look strangely toward Abigail, as some even approached her. "It's not your fault, child. You did all you could, no less", they mumbled at her without much care. It began to die down as Abigail reached her adulthood, the stories of a boy slain and a girl doused in blood became myths. Stories parents told their children who wandered too far into the forest. Nobody even really knew what happened, that is except for Abigail. The rest pieced together their own stories, their own logic, their own thoughts, and their own fears. "Gnolls!", cried some. "The Defias did this!", told by others. The feeble minded even had such steel tongues as to spew rumors that Abigail herself had done it in the midst of a violent outburst.
As days, months, even years passed, Abigail began to age and age. Becoming more of a woman of quiet composure, but easily angered by those around her. Her quiet nature had drawn attention to her, not to mention the fact she kept to herself even during training was quite the oddity. Was she a loner? Perhaps a shunned Mage wishing to take up arms against those who would see her hang rather than obtain happiness? Rumors are best left as such and speculation best left to the spectators. The fact was, she had picked up a sword since the death of her brother. Some would call the path Abigail walks one of blind sorrow. Others, the path of atonement. A Holy Man might even call it repetence. Whatever you may call it, it's the path she began to tread. A path with numerous twists and turns, ups and downs, but most of all a path of pain. To ease the past pain, one must suffer even further. To remove infection from a wound, it must first become infected.
Veteran of the Third WarEdit
As the dawning of the Burning Legion crept across the shadowy pane of Azeroth, Abigail found herself mixed amongst the Strom warriors. At the time, she was acting of a bodyguard of sorts as to put to rest the spirits of those taken by her unnamed mentor whom had saved her life, but only by taking others. Naturally, she developed a finesse with a sword, granting her the nickname "Abigail the Sword". She displayed her skills to that of the Stromgarde people, which caused her to be approached by that of their militant forces. She was offered a position in the war as to help defend the world from the invading masses of Demons. It was much too much for her to refuse. A chance at saving thousands of people while banishing the unholy dementors from her home. Accepting the offer, she took up arms against the Legion in Mount Hyjal, fighting side by side with her comrades, and soon to be friend Marcie Strong. (I'll update this later)
Abigail has a common appearance, little of her is much less intriguing as perhaps her personality. She is muscular, clearly in very good health, even for a war veteran. She is slightly taller than the average female Human, but it's not directly noticable unless you attempt a comparison. Her facial features are very smooth and very soft, what some might call natural beauty. A thin stripe of red warpaint is seen along her face, stretching from cheek to cheek and going across the bridge of the nose. As for her hair, it is typically seen as a black colour and very short in length.
Abigail's personality is very much a quiet one. She is very stoic, and often shows no emotion. This doesn't meant she is a jaded hag, however. She laughs and smiles, but naturally, she is of a silent person. She is easily angered and may very well fly off the handles if you get her riled up enough. Other than that, she is a kind-hearted person and very gentle. Her sympathy is quite large, and she's also very empathetic. (ALSO NEED TO UPDATE)
- Abigail is often called "Abi" or "Abbi" by those who are close to her.
- It appears people also call her by her last name, Ryan, as a nickname.
- Her brothers status is unknown to her, she believes he is dead.
- She is a Paladin, and a faithful one at that.
- She has a warped sense of judgement.