Cathleen 'Cat' Sinclair
Appearance
A little unusual. Mostly human. Cat has long, inky black hair with prominent white streaks framing her face and scattered about. The white appears to be natural, non-dyed. Some unfortunate inherited anomaly or perhaps a curse from her mother. Her eyes, too, are unforgettable. A piercing teal is vivid against the pale complexion and dark hair. In dim light, her irises glow faintly. If she is in a foul mood, they are often much brighter. Thankfully, her clothing and a box of hair dye can temporarily hide her unusual look. Her outfits are muted, practical, and built for stealthy movement.
Skills and Abilities
Near-immunity to substances. Cat has tried everything from cheap moonshine to enchanted narcotics stolen from the markets. None of it works. Not even sleeping tonics or pain remedies. She once drank a lethal amount of nightshade infused wine as a dare. Nothing happened other than a slight buzz. She passed it off as a fluke.
Along with her peculiar near-immunity to substances, she hasn't really changed (appearance-wise) since she was eighteen years of age. Her body, her voice, her skin...all frozen in time. Her mother is a haggard disaster, so it must have been her father with the pretty genes, who passed on his penchant for never being sick a day in his life.
Along with her peculiar near-immunity to substances, she hasn't really changed (appearance-wise) since she was eighteen years of age. Her body, her voice, her skin...all frozen in time. Her mother is a haggard disaster, so it must have been her father with the pretty genes, who passed on his penchant for never being sick a day in his life.
Personality
Sneaky, witty, razor-tongued. She is always playing defense.
Biography & Lore
Cathleen 'Cat' Sinclair was born in the back room of a brothel-turned-boarding house. Her mother, Marella, never named the father- not to her friends, not to the clerics, certainly not to Cat. All she ever said was that she hoped someone had done the world a favor and banished him back to hell.
From the time Cat could walk and talk, she was told what she wasn't. Not a noble. Not normal. Not welcome. Children her age whispered that she was cursed, that something was wrong with her. The adults watched her too, with much suspicion. Or perhaps, too much interest.
By age ten, she had learned to pick locks. It wasn't because she wanted to steal, but because sometimes her Marella would lock her out in one of her drunken mishaps. Sometimes it was when she had male visitors. But it taught Cat her second useful skill. First, being that she was unwelcome. Second, that she could go anywhere. So she got used to breaking into places. She was always quiet, always unseen as her mother wished. But it was a necessity.
In her early teens, her mother managed to convince her own parents to allow her (and her daughter) to move in. It was in the gutters of Elbion's worst, most crime-riddled districts. From there, she could see the college and dream of the place that might have all her answers. But she would never have the funds or means to enter with a reputation of a crazy woman's daughter. Still, something called to her. She began sneaking in. At first it was only for warmth during the coldest nights, when her mother couldn't stand seeing her. But then it was curiosity. She sat behind marble columns in lecture halls, barely breathing as professors lectured on about magic, the cosmos, or history of the war of whatever. No one ever noticed her. Or if they did, they quickly forgot she was even there. Something seemed to nudge their minds away from her, but she never questioned it.
By seventeen, she was forging student identification (courtesy of some papers she had swiped one day) in exchange for coin. She stole potion ingredients from other student's satchels and resold them in a an underground market. She knew the lines in all of the obscure texts better than most of the noble brats who paid to be there. She became a wraith haunting the college.
From the time Cat could walk and talk, she was told what she wasn't. Not a noble. Not normal. Not welcome. Children her age whispered that she was cursed, that something was wrong with her. The adults watched her too, with much suspicion. Or perhaps, too much interest.
By age ten, she had learned to pick locks. It wasn't because she wanted to steal, but because sometimes her Marella would lock her out in one of her drunken mishaps. Sometimes it was when she had male visitors. But it taught Cat her second useful skill. First, being that she was unwelcome. Second, that she could go anywhere. So she got used to breaking into places. She was always quiet, always unseen as her mother wished. But it was a necessity.
In her early teens, her mother managed to convince her own parents to allow her (and her daughter) to move in. It was in the gutters of Elbion's worst, most crime-riddled districts. From there, she could see the college and dream of the place that might have all her answers. But she would never have the funds or means to enter with a reputation of a crazy woman's daughter. Still, something called to her. She began sneaking in. At first it was only for warmth during the coldest nights, when her mother couldn't stand seeing her. But then it was curiosity. She sat behind marble columns in lecture halls, barely breathing as professors lectured on about magic, the cosmos, or history of the war of whatever. No one ever noticed her. Or if they did, they quickly forgot she was even there. Something seemed to nudge their minds away from her, but she never questioned it.
By seventeen, she was forging student identification (courtesy of some papers she had swiped one day) in exchange for coin. She stole potion ingredients from other student's satchels and resold them in a an underground market. She knew the lines in all of the obscure texts better than most of the noble brats who paid to be there. She became a wraith haunting the college.
