|Shey "Alley Cat" Bordon|
|Hometown||Rat-spit little village, Ferelden|
|Gear||Leather chestpiece, thigh high boots, gloves up to the forearms, Linen black cloak - tunic, pants, Two twin daggers on her thighs,Poisons and miasmic flasks on her belt|
|Behind the Mask|
Shey is a sleekly proportioned woman, just shy of medium height (5’4). She keeps her raven hair short, longer in the front and tapering to the back, with straight bangs framing her feral-green eyes. Her skin is pale, which is normal for one who spends most of her time in Darktown and Lowtown, and her face is set in an almost perpetual calculating stare.
She carries herself poised and balanced, as one with a great deal of muscle control and self-awareness would. Her gear is well-cared for, if worn-in and utilitarian. Her daggers lie within easy reach on her thighs, and miasmic flasks hang between the large pouches around her belt. Each step, slow or fast, is measured and paced and eerily silent.
Shey’s voice is smooth, with an even tone and cadence that lends itself easily to both dry wit and nonchalantly cutting remarks. One could imagine that if she did become ruffled, the voice would still never rise in volume.
Shey is ruthless, practical, pragmatic, and has possibly the most flexible morals possible while still having morals. Maybe.
Want to know more? Too bad. This woman plays her cards close to the vest.
Shey Bordon was born to a class-act thief who moved from Nowhere Really, Ferelden straight to the capital. There, the little girl thrived on lookout duty and sticking her grubby little fingers into pockets they didn’t belong in (and often left horrendously sticky). But her father was careless and the law caught up with him. Obviously, the only choice was to head across the sea to the Free Marches, where one could start over.
There, the pair met up with a ‘friend’ of her father’s, who put them up in exchange for their work in his mercenary group. Shey, fascinated by the Flint Company, pushed herself to impress. After her father developed an impressively dire case of lungrot, the girl stepped up to fulfill both his old duties and her current ones. On the side, she and her mabari, named ‘Uncle’, became the major component in banning mabari from all illegal dog fights in Kirkwall.
But, the fact was, she was a Fereldan, and everywhere but their home, they are second class citizens. Her constant advice and logic were often censored as ‘mad barking’, until Flint started to realize she was right. Rather than lose face and admit it, however, he kept her in the grunts and ‘condescended’ for her opinion.
Shey, by then dubbed “Alley Cat,” took it in stride, working diligently to ensure she kept her father in medicines. The shadow rogue excelled at information gathering, ambush and manipulation, and Flint put her to good use. The best kind of criminal, one with no record, Shey excelled at the major law of subterfuge: never get caught. After her father died, tension inceased as members of the company assumed she would leave and go somewhere her skills would be more appreciated. She didn’t.
No fool her, she knew she needed the company still. Flint abused this, assuming her resignation to her role signified a void of ambition. That is, until the day he accepted the Starkhaven job.
Shey refused to take part of the job, splintering an obstinate quarter of the Company's finest firmly to her side of the argument. While she didn't leave, she severely affected the outcome of the mission. Flint maintains that if she had been involved, there wouldn't be any problems like the missive on the Chanter's board.