Name: Cyrendil Grayfhar
Race: Altmer
Family Origins: Cyrendil grew up in the Province of Cyrodiil in the Imperial City, at it's height during the twilight of the third era to two Altmer parents, both of which were from the Summerset Isles. Not overly wealthy, but not at all like the poor down at the docks.
Appearance: Typical for his race Cyrendil stands at a solid seven feet tall. His body when not in his steel plate armor is toned and lithe, his height balancing himself out making him lean. But it simply hides the strength. His skin is a dark gold, fair in all places except for his face. Which he sports a beard and it is shaved in intricate swirls along his cheeks, a terrible hold-over from his youth, along his right eye lies a cut from the top of his eyebrow down to his cheek bone. His eyes bright green and sharp and his long ears can be seen easily with his golden hair pulled back behind them, lingering strands down the sides of his face but the bulk tied back to keep it free of his face.
When not wearing his travelers hood, he wears heavy steel plate armor that can easily be seen once held great beauty and designs long since worn from it. The armor rises high on the neck where a gap is seen usually in place for the helmet instead Cyrendil wears an amulet of Stendarr, the goblet pouring. The only remaining imagery of his armor lies in the heavy steel buckler, which has the symbol of Auri-El what the men of Tamriel call Akatosh. The sun was one could see at one point polished bronze, that must have shined bright, but once again has been long since worn down to a dull sheen. Along the belt, he had a leather waterskin and a dark leather scabbard, within it lie his longsword. It was not steel or Iron. But Silver. A gift from the Vigil, as it was the bane of evil creatures. Undead, Werewolves, Vampires. Burned at the touch of true silver.
It was the only thing left on him not tarnished, it was firmly kept the elaborate hilt still showed it's symbols of Auri-El crafted into it's pommel before rising up into the shining silver blade. And with it he had a shield Steel just like his plate, the Heater Shield was worn showing plenty of scratches and some slight dents but the symbol that was once blazoned on the steel could still be seen if peered at carefully in daylight. The Familiar sun design of Auri-El, worn and haggard but there.
Age: 244
Equipment: Travelers cloth hood, his silver longsword, Steel Plate Shield and armor. And a small travel pack which included Dried Rations, set of extra underclothes, and a whetstone and cloth for keeping his sword in good order.
Miscellaneous: Whetstone, cleaning cloth for his blade, underclothes in the travel pack, and Dried Rations.
Favored Skills:
Highly Proficient (Block, Long Blade)
Moderately Proficient (Heavy Armor, Restoration)
Somewhat Proficient (Athletics)
Crime Committed: Destroying a suspected daedric worshiper in the hold.
Character Background: Born into a time when the Empire was at it's height, the twilight came swiftly on the third era in a reign of blood and terror. Growing up as an only child for most of his youth, he was showered in affection by his two loving parents. But eventually they wished for another, and because the lives of the Altmer are so long they waited until Cyrendil was nearing age. His younger brother Tunaril was born 3E 431 two years before the Oblivion Crisis; Before the empire would be thrown into chaos and the maw of Oblivion would open wide.
His father a prominent shipwright down at the Imperial City docks, and his mother was a jeweler capable of bringing out the shine in even the dullest of gemstones. He always kept the necklace she had given him, a make she had only replicated one other time; the twin amulet his brother wore. The two year old had finally learned to explore, and was becoming more than a handful even for his parents let alone the young Mer of Seventeen. Cyrendil loved his baby brother, but he was also just a young man. And they make mistakes.
It was an unusually hot day in Cyrodiil the climate was usually very mild and cool, it was the breadbasket of the Empire for a reason. Cyrendil had been asked to watch his brother that day, as he did most when his parents were off having to work the day. It was nearing the time of day when he'd usually be out strolling through the Elven Gardens District, trying to catch the eye of an Imperial smiths daughter. But he was there, watching his brother. Usually he would not have minded, but he had finally got her to agree to take a walk with him around the Arboretum near the entrance to the Arcane University. Taking a quick glance at the window and back to his brother, he lifted him up and put him in his crib. He'd be back, he promised. Just a quick walk with her, would not hurt.
He was halfway towards the Arboretum, making his way along the main street of the Talos district when it happened. The booming of horns, the sky above quickly darkening and turning the sky a blood red. The Oblivion Gates had opened in the city. The crowd started to panic, when a gate at the very end of the main road pulled itself from the ground, ripping a hole into oblivion and the Dremora poured through terrible smiles on their cruel faces as they started to cut down the innocent that were too stunned to start fleeing and started to chase the rest down.
He ran, Divines know how fast he ran but he ran. The screams were coming from everywhere, huge plumes of smoke rose above the walls that divided the districts showing that the gates had opened everywhere. They were inside. Cyrendil's thoughts flashed to his mother, and his father. And terror struck him, his brother. He was not with his brother. Cyrendil rushed back towards home, trying his best to avoid the many Daedra who were already ransacking house by house. Killing the inhabitants and setting the insides of the stone homes ablaze. Turning the far corner he saw his home, the door had been clawed open. The wood frame still struggling to hang on by the hinges and without thinking he rushed inside.
There it was, his brothers crib. Turned over, and nearby the sound of gnawing and gnashing teeth. The twin scamps surrounded his brother coated in the little boys blood and were gnawing at him through his tattered cloth clothes. Cyrendil tried not to vomit, and hardly realized he had already stepped into his own brothers blood until it started to soak through his cloth shoes. He stepped back horrified and frozen glancing around and finding the short blade his father kept above the fire. He ran for it and grasped it, the sound of shouting came from outside and it drew the attention of the feasting scamps. And they spotted him, it rose up on tiny hind legs about to his waist and hissed.
Cyrendil had kill them, the scamps were dead. The blood from the scamps and from the claw at his waist mingled in the royal green robes he wore; His gaze went to his brother, his lower half devoured and his green eyes wide stared back at him. Lifeless. Dropping the blade he went to his brother and cradled his head sobbing over him. That's how the Imperial Guard found him, it did not take long after the surprise attack for the guard to get organized and stable enough to start pushing back to somewhat of a defense of the city. And they dragged Cyrendil away from the young altmers body, who simply stared back to him with lifeless green eyes.
A month, he did not speak for a month. The city had recovered mostly, there were still many dead but the Empire was saved. His parents were distraught with grief at losing their youngest. Cyrendil bore his guilt alone, it was his fault his brother was dead. His fault that his parents were stricken with the loss of their youngest. The next year of his life was listless, grey, and devoid of life for not just him but his family, and part of him wondered if he should jump from the city walls. Leap to an end of this grey pain, the shame, the guilt.
But then murmurs of a new order. The Vigilants of Stendarr was forming, men and women who had lost everything in the terrible Oblivion Crisis. Paladins and warriors who were looking for the righteous to join up and drag the darkness into the light and smite it for all to see. Cyrendil gave it no thought, this was his chance... for revenge, redemption, For his brother. He left his home in the night, a simple note saying goodbye on the table with the twin amulets his mother made for him and his brother holding down the note.
The Vigil would train him, bore him, forge him into a weapon of holy retribution. The Vigil spread out through Tamriel with a harsh promise that he had now helped keep for over two hundred years. The promise that brought him to Highrock. The promise that bore him through the gates of Meir Thorvale. And the promise he whispered to the worshiper of the Daedra as he sank his blade into his black heart.
"None escape the Vigil. All come into the light."Fighting Style: A front line fighter Cyrendil is committed to bring the fight to whatever evil creature and send it straight back to oblivion, his athletics makes him able to attempt to close the distance between him and his target. While he is fluent in Restoration Magic, it is used not to heal but to burn and turn the undead. Basking them in the light of Auri-El and Stendarr. At range he is at a disadvantage until he is able to close the gap.
Personality: Strong willed, proud, and determined are the traits that run deep within Cyrendil, his need to destroy the Daedra and all who worship them is paramount and his hunt for hidden worshipers, vampires, necromancers, and lycanthropes borders on obsession. On those afflicted and those who decided to deal with the dark powers of the Daedra. He will only wish Stendarr's mercy be upon them, for he has none to spare.
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