Master-Sergeant Triss de Lancrét 

Background

Triss de Lancrét was born to privilege, entering into life as the only daughter of a wealthy couple who wanted for nothing but nevertheless believed their blood to be bluer than it was. She was not old enough to miss the wealth when it disappeared, but doubtlessly cried for the familiar faces which used to look down on her with affection.

Her father had dared too much in his trade and boasts, coming to an end fitting (if not deserved) of a braggart; face down in the turgid waters of the port, found purple and bloated, serenely colliding with the legs of the pier.

Her mother, suddenly surrounded by scandal and shame, left her young son and baby daughter in the care of an elderly relative and fled to parts unknown.

Triss grew up as a dreamer, living a normal existence in a farming village, enamoured with the stories of the warriors and paladins who occasionally passed through on their way to bigger and brighter places.

Eventually she came of age, and instead of marrying as was expected of her, she set out to follow her romanticised dream of life outside the village. The harsh reality of the world was soon driven home to her, and out of the desire to survive to a reasonable age she took up the sword.

Taught by an eccentric ex-hero dwarf, she learned much about the art of the sword, as well as the more gritty aspects of life. Having to stop Master Bramden from explaining 'the birds an' the bees' to her was an education in itself.

Triss could once be found in the company of the clever North wind, off in strange and exotic places, fighting the fight of those who aren't able to fight it for themselves. Her heart always remained in Stormwind, however, ever since she first clapped eyes on the city - warts and all.

In the early months of this year - driven by a desperate need to not go completely insane by spending every moment in the company of the dead, or those she was about to kill - she threw in her lot with The Royal Templars, convinced that if anyone was looking to the greater good, it would be servants of the Light.  Soon after this, the news of Banyl Dolosen's death reached her as she returned from a campaign in the Plaguelands.  She'd always wanted to join the Watch, it was a strange kind of ambition to some, but it was hers and though she hadn't known Banyl well, she'd seen enough of him to know he was a bloody good Watchman, the kind she wanted to be.  His death hit her harder than perhaps she had right to be hit, but it also made her realise the savage brevity of life.  So she joined the Watch, finally.

Her first two weeks on-duty are still a haze to her.  She put herself on Night Watch for the whole time, figuring that's where it comes down to the bone, it's where you find out if you've got coppering in your blood, or if you'll fold under the pressure.  At some point during those near-sleepless weeks, Banyl Dolosen reappeared - alive.  His death had been a ruse to trap a criminal, and once they'd got their man he was free to return to work.  She greeted him like an old friend - probably to his confusion.  At the end of those two weeks she emerged tired but triumphant, and Master-Sergeant Dolosen promoted her to Constable.

Over the next month she was barely off-duty, quickly gaining the reputation of one of those Watchmen who's never out-of-uniform; she applied herself to the work at hand, wrote reports, cuffed criminals, and honed her cynicism to a silver-streak in her mind.  She was quickly promoted to Corporal, after a particularly nasty riot in the Office, to which she was required to lend her 'battle-field medicine' and stitch up several nasty wounds.

Through the boozy haze of Brewfest, she struck up a rapport with the infamous Master-Sergeant Shawn Keanan, and over that fortnight came to see him as a friend.  She admired his staunch devotion to the Watch, and his refusal to compromise on his beliefs - mainly that strong Lance-Constables make a strong Watch, and so going 'easy' on them in the beginning makes no sense at all. 

As the ranks of Lance-Constable swelled, she put herself forward to help with the training and was named Drill Corporal by Lieutenant Darsol Shadowstar; though that was on paper only, which left her somewhat confused as to her place.

Currently, she is settling into her role as Corporal, and can be found on duty pretty much any time.  She has made firm friends with Abidas Crusan, Daniel Brightwing and Erahn Fiennes.

Love blossoms around her in its stark and dangerous way, schooling her in the ways of life again – still painful, still thrilling.  She doesn’t know where this path will ultimately lead her, but hopefully it won’t take the course of the past – her, as a disappearing silhouette on a blood-soaked horizon.

In the weeks that stretched into months, Triss threw herself into the Watch with enthusiasm and devotion.  She wears her uniform like she was born into it, she is a Watchman through and through; when she says she'd crawl over broken glass for any of her Watch 'family', she bloody means it.  She does the job in front of her, she keeps the peace - she makes it peaceful as quickly as possible, as a wise man once said.  She met Thuy Nightingale, and soon came to admire and respect the quirky girl, spending as much time as possible in her presence.  As the months rolled by, they became firm friends and Triss adores her braided-haired friend.

In what surely has become known as the Plague Incident, Triss found herself thrown deep into the dark end of the war, murked with politics and blood, standing strong alongside Shawn Keanan, Erahn and Danny Brightwing most notably.  Their camaradarie formed into a strong bond, a bargain sealed with blood and it seemed for a few blissful weeks that they were riding high alongside each other, forging the ties that would bind them as friends for a lifetime and beyond.

However, such tales can not all end in sunsets, and sometimes when they do all that happens is you burst into flames.

And now she is cutting herself from those she loves for their own safety, retreating into a corner, pushed by whispers from Theramore.  Erahn and Danny have marks on their heads, warrents against their names - the only thing stopping the executioners axe is how well she dances on the quicksand put beneath her.

Renard is watching.