re: "Suffer the little children and forbid them not...
by Mercy (wowstead) on Tue May 04, 2010 10:10 pm
...for of such is made the kingdom of Heaven."
Name: Mercy. It was it's favorite word when it was Scourge. When it heard it, it meant there would be meat soon.
Nickname: "Face". Sister Sinister Kindness - Gender: None. It has no sexuality, and has no real memory of what it is to be a woman, no matter if the bones that rose to rampage through Lordaeron in blissful servitude were female. It has long since given up trying to convince people that it is an "it", however, as it's feminine, lilting, gentle voice was largely unchanged by death, and now, post-Ascension, sounds truly angelic.
When taking a physical form, it is hideous, even for the dead, and painfully frail. An injury rent it messily in three pieces, leaving scars and the beginnings of rot traced over it's form, leading to eventual dessication. It's knees have been rebuilt multiple times, and are more clockwork than anything else, as are it's claws, which it had altered and refined several times to help it do delicate surgical work for healing - one for incisions, the other for detail mending. It's 'face' is a bare skull, no eyes, no expression.
An un-wrapped clock-work mummy, essentially.
Since it's Ascension, however, it is generally a shrouded skeletal silhouette, and these details are rarely manifest, letalone apparent.
Mentally, Mercy is a child. She has no memory of living, and has only been undead and aware for about 6 years, total.
Like many dead, it sees the living as something lesser, something lost and not yet developed, but it's instinct has usually been to tend to them, and pity them. As it was too innocent to really comprehend the things it did as Scourge, it's child-like love remains largely intact, but is alien to the expressions of it that the living would have.
History: The woman whose bones would rise to become Mercy was a mental cripple, actually made significantly MORE functional by the transformations of Undeath. It took the utmost joy in the havoc it wreaked across the countryside, and as time went on, it's intellect grew. Cornered and isolated by the dwindling but increasingly organized remnants of the Silver Hand, Mercy valiantly leapt to bite the face off a paladin who was close to burying a sword in the back of one of it's fellow zombies. To it's mind, when it made contact, the paladin seemed suddenly to be made of fire, and it's face and eyes were burned cleanly away, the Light the last thing it saw. All it knew was that fire was not edible, and so the zombie ran away, blindly, uttering painfully what it would one day realize were prayers. The Shadow answered, deepest, purest Shadow, untainted by the scourge, and it was that that freed it from Arthas, dropped it into slumber and away from all eyes, until much of the conflict was over, and the Lich King was weakened and resting.
It rose then to wander blindly, remembered the Light as the last thing it saw, and as it wanted to help people, betrayed it's blessing and sought the Light.
It found the Forsaken of course, and the apothecaries. It wanted to learn, but they discovered quickly it's purposes for learning the ways of herbs were healing, and it wasn't long till the Light was mentioned. While it did win a few friends, and earn the nickname "Face" for it's visage, or complete lack-thereof, in the end it was firmly rejected by most of Undercity for it's passion for the Light.
It took it's leave of the place shortly after it's final favor, begged from the apothecaries - piecing it back together after a fall from Hellfire Citadel, healing for the Horde foray into Outlands. They made little effort, did a terrible job, and then sent it, barely clinging to existence, back to Shattrath, in two boxes. It told it's story eventually, and an Aldor, hearing it, still in two pieces, uttering praise to the Light, took pity on it, and it got the care it needed to get mobile again, and was invited to worship with the Aldor.
This was it's dream come true, but it found even as it grew closer to the Light, it could never manage the company of the living well. With even less common ground with the living than the average zombie, never having known their state of being, it could never understand what made the supplicants around it so uncomfortable. They never went so far as to ask it to leave, recognizing another devotee, but it did not make many friends, and it grew to miss the company of others like itself, which were not plentiful in Shattrath. In it's weakness, it beseeched a moment of Adal's time, who sadly told it the Light was not it's destiny, and that it would not find peace there. It refused to believe it, and remained in Shattrath. It found common ground with the Ethereals, and gave sermons occasionally, but it was an ill-suited life to the innocent monster. Either way, there must be wounds, if it were to go on healing.
When it found that Light could only do so much to maintain it's own withering form, it had itself dessicated to cease the beginnings of a rot that would have reduced it to a cripple. The passersby in Shattrath had absolutely no time for the dried-up mummy that it looked to be, then, and even it's own patients were terrified of it, rarely even having the presence of mind to thank it after it had helped them cling to their lesser existence. Bitterly crushed by these responses, it offered one last prayer of apology to Adal, and turned it's back on the Light forever, wandering and taking to smoking far too much felweed, and developing an appreciation for ogre beer. Meditate, and self-medicate.
Amidst drugs and distractions, it found peace again in the Shadow, making a manse in an abandoned village in the Ghostlands, and tending to it's brothers and sisters in undeath.
The Shadow had merely patiently waited to transfigure the creature it had chosen years ago. With a spot of coercion, the child has Ascended, and now takes a only a passive role in the affairs of those around it, guidance and healing when necessary.
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