Syrillian Blackart grew up traveling on the frontier. Adopted and raised by nomadic merchants. He learned that the only home worth having was family. Rarely did they ever stay in one spot for more than three days. Always looking for the next place to set up shop. Syrillian had never met his real parents as he was given away at birth along with his 3 year old brother. The most they knew about their parents was that they were peasants. He was taught at a young age how to live off of the land and defend himself. When Syrillian was becoming a young man, he had become a guardian of sorts for his family. He tasked himself with protecting his caravan. Tirelessly he practiced to hone his skills.
Late one evening as the sun had begun to set on the road somewhere between Grymdir and Krassyr. Syrillian and his family were heading to the town of Valstead. Usually they would have stopped and made camp but due to the winter weather and their lack of supplies. They couldn't afford to stop or risk dying to the cold. Syrillian had been sitting in the back with his mother and brother to shelter from the frozen winds, when the caravan had come to a groaning stop. Curiously he peaked out from the back of the cart, and saw only the imprints from the cart wheels and the horse that was pulling it in the snow.
Syrillian turned as his mother asked him if they had made it to valstead. As he was about to answer he heard the distant sound of what seemed to be arguing above the raging wind. This followed by a loud crash caused his adrenaline to kick in. Carelessly he brandished his dagger and leaped from the back of the cart. Pushing his way through the thick layer of snow he moved as fast as he could around to the front. Once there he found that his father was fighting with a much larger man. Red patches of snow indicated to him that somebody was bleeding. The thief had gained advantage straddling Syrillian's father and laying into him. "You'a gonna give me whatever's in the back of tha cart old man." He said in between punches. Forcefully he gripped his hands around his neck beginning to choke him to death. Syrillians father tried his best to stop him but was quickly losing consciousness.
"You should ha given it up ol-" his words were cut short to the sounds of choking. His grip had loosened as he slowly reached to his neck. Syrillians father gasped for air and revolted at the sight. Syrillian withdrew his dagger from the brigands throat with a sickly "Shltt" and blood began to coat the snow around them in a dark crimson. Syrillian stood there unmoving dagger in his trembling hand.
He was 14 when he had taken his first life and it certainly wouldn't be his last. He found that the fighting life suited him. Whenever his family had stopped he would seek out whoever he could to train him, to learn new techniques, and easier ways to get the job done. However his father urged him to seek out a more permanent teacher. Syrillian found himself doing mercenary work. There were good causes and bad causes, but at the end of the day, it all came down to money. Sometimes he got easy jobs, like guarding merchant caravans; other times the jobs were rough.
Throughout his journey he had become accustomed to the flow of women in his life. None of them came across him as different or unique. As so, they never asked for his name and he never asked for theirs. He thought himself cursed to never settle down. The road is all he ever knew, never staying in one place for long. Till he met her. Syrillian had managed to make it to the port side kingdom of Renclimb. Where he had signed as apart of the lords hired army. Within those crumbling walls he had not expected to meet a pretty face. However in that militia he met her. Tayiel. Never had he met someone he had so connected with since he left his family.
As weeks passed Syrillian and Tayiel grew closer their friendship had blossomed into a much more serious relationship. On the battle field they were inseparable and off even more so. Together they pooled their wares and had made enough to buy a small abode. Syrillian wakes in the night to the feel of steel pressed against his neck. A hand covers his mouth to stifle any noises he would make. Syrillian looked over and sighed to see that Tayiel hadn't made it back yet. The man explained that Tayiel's father had stolen something from them and that they wanted either him or Tayiel dead.
Wether it was confusion or fear Syrillian had agreed to do whatever they ask as long as they didn't hurt Tayiel. Syrillian had never assissinated someone but he knew where her father lay. After a few weeks of finding a way to turn this around he found there was none. With a mind full of regret and a heavy heart he set out at midnight to Tayiel's fathers. To him it was him or her so it had to be him. In an instant of slicing steel it was done, the old man had never even opened his eyes. He knew he couldn't look at Tayiel the same his pride wouldn't let him. He found the closest trade ship and bought passage. He wished the note he wrote for her was enough, but he knew it wouldn't be. He only hoped that she could forgive him, because he'd never forgive himself. He seeked to redeem whatever honor he had left, wherever he found himself.
"Goodnight my love." He whispered into the ocean wind.
Subject: Syrillian Blackart 
Fri Dec 23, 2016 10:06 pm
