Kir the Silent
Until Your Flesh Is Consumed
Name: Kir Dayash known alias “The Scarred Strategist,” “Kinslayer”
Age: 28
Sex: Male
Race: Bosmer
Position: Chief Advisor and Strategist
Birthplace: Valenwood
Current Residence: A hovel hidden in the forests of Falkreath
Alliances or Affiliations: The Thalmor(Formerly one of their youngest prodigies and tacticians), Stormcloak Rebellion(Aided them during the civil war), Thieves’ Guild(Connected to an information network)
Occupation: Strategist(Before the Civil War), Saboteur and Advisor(During the Civil War), Hunter(Currently)
Appearance: Dawn-golden hair, black wood elf eyes, black tatoo around right eye(wood elven symbol), 5'7, 155 pounds, thin and athletic, slightly muscular, and a crescent shaped scar on his chin. Unique black leather lined with wolf fur with chainmail underneath. Fingerless black leather gauntlets, a hidden mechanism built into the left. Black hood with mask. Black leather boots, concealed blade in right. Wood elven markings adorn it.
Personality: Kir is an enigma. He is sometimes immature, sarcastic, and stubborn. But other times he is silent, cold, and calculating giving him an unsettling personality. Whether the immature Kir is his true self and the cold Kir his serious and tactical side, or if he may have multiple personalities is a mystery. He is a hard man to get close to and his trust is not easily gained. Once broken it can never be regained. He likes the outdoors and Stros M’kia Rum, now hard to acquire due to the Thalmor constraints. He hates ignorance and is saddened by the foolishness of his kinsmen, blinded by the Thalmor’s lies. He is seen to be merciless and ruthless in his tactics, but kind and caring to others. No matter what though, one thing can be said about Kir. He is loyal to the death.
History: Kir was born to minor nobility in Valenwood, however his early childhood was filled with tradegy. His entire family was dragged out of their house when he was only five years old. They had spoken out against some of the Dominions tactics and beliefs, there in the middle of the town they were brought before a crowd. It was mandatory that all citizens nearby watch the proceedings. They were summarily tried…and executed…all save Kir.
As the youngest they believed he could still be “saved.” They took him to a hidden fortress and there he was denied all forms of interaction with any his own age. Mainly he was a trophy, an example to the masses. However, at the age of eleven he started to show signs of heightened intellect and an uncanny ability to read people and situations. They decided to mold him. From then on he was tutored by some of the greatest minds the Thalmor could spare. From history to complex battle strategy, he was quickly becoming an expert.
During a mock battle Kir was able to beat and humiliate a top Thalmor tactician. They gave him a command to see what he could do in a real battle, making him the youngest officer in the Dominion at only seventeen.
But Kir had not forgotten the crime of the Dominion and vengeance still burned brightly in his heart and finally…he made his move. The officials that had executed his family so long ago were headed to Skyrim to watch the Imperials. Some kind of rebellion Kir had heard rumors of. On the way Kir ambushed the caravan, his soldiers under the impression it was a mock battle. His strategy was flawless and in minutes it was over. A woman named Elenwen had escaped, but he had captured the ones he wanted. Kir executed them, pretending that it was a simple paralytic spell, with cold brutality and made his escape.
Now branded as traitor by the Dominion, he headed for Skyrim to aid the nords in their fight. Making his way there was simple; convincing the Stormcloaks and Ulfric of his intentions was another matter entirely. After a trial on island facing an ice wraith, he had earned their trust. Or what little he could at least. While he wasn’t given a command, he advised on battle plans and supplied as much intel as he could. However, it was all for naught in the end as the rebellion was crushed. Kir was crestfallen. He was sure he could have turned the tides of quite a few battles. Not willing to leave these people to his fate and branded “Kinslayer” by his own people, he stayed in Skyrim.
He disappeared into the forests and hid himself from the world, becoming a solitary hunter for a decade. He still wanted to strike back against the ones that had turned him into this…to strike back against the tyranny of those that had betrayed him, his family, and his entire race. So deep in the forest he waits for his opportunity…
Roleplaying Sample: "Such pathetic creatures...ignorant and frail...they are naught but dust and dessipated just as easily..." The Dark Stranger stood high upon the mountain, his crimson eyes surveying the land called Skyrim. His pitch black robe stirred in the wind silently. To anyone looking on they would have just though him a simple traveler or hermit. And for now...that suited his needs. "They are a disease... a pestilence clinging desperately to the one true achievement of the gods...tainting it..."
He drew the weapon from within his robes and studied for the hundreth time. Such a small thing, yet it contained incredible power. Incredible and terrible. His eyes surveyed the land once more. As they had for years, but what he searched for was still hidden from even his unrelenting gaze. "Very clever old friend...but you won't prolong the inevitable...not forever..." He was getting closer. Soon the prize would be his and the infernal fires would rain upon these unsuspecting insects. Of course there was that one...annoyance to deal with. He didn't fear him, but it's better to err on the side of caution.He turned to the mortal worm that had stood silently in fear of his master. "When he leaves the city...I don't want to be able to recognize his corpse...
An older redguard sat in a dark corner slowly examining the patrons. His black-brown hair was peppered with grey. The old scimitar on his hip had lost its shine, but not its edge. Much like its weilder. Daran Dyash sat back and muttered to himself, "I know he can't do it alone, but gods did we really have to look all the way in Solitude?" He ordered venison chop and water, none of that nord swill would pass his lips. He opened the knapsack on the ground next to him and pulled out a bottle, "I wish I had brought more Stros M'kai Rum. If he doesn't hurry back I'll drink it all myself." He sighed thinking about the future and past, he loved the boy as his own but he missed Hammerfell. Hard to believe he had been back there less than two years ago. It felt like an era. His eyes wandered back to the crowd. Yet no one looked promising, and this was a delicate situation after all. They couldn't just hire anyone. "A few more hours," he muttered. "Then we may have to try elsewhere, take a carriage Whiterun maybe." His food arrived and he ate slowly, praying for a sign. "We need reliable assistance, after all. I'm too old to help as much as I'd wish."
He sat back in his seat and once more surveyed the tavern. For an hour he listened to the bard and the patrons. As with all the inns and taverns they had stopped at he listen especially for information about...him...the dark one. He could almost feel the evil...and the laugh...gods, the laugh! Now heard the bard singing "The Dovahkiin's Saga" and people still talked about what had to be the most boring gossip in all of Tamriel. When one conversation caught his ear. "Did you hear?" one patron said to another. "Someone actually robbed the Dragonborn's home in Whiterun!" The other leaned forward, "Really!?" The first nodded, "But they only stole some old dwarven dagger or some such. Whoever they were, they're lucky the Dovahkiin retired to High Hrothgar." The old redguard raised an eyebrow, but after that the conversation grew rather dull. He had heard the door open several times during it and turn to observe several new faces. "Hmm, interesting..."
Age: 28
Sex: Male
Race: Bosmer
Position: Chief Advisor and Strategist
Birthplace: Valenwood
Current Residence: A hovel hidden in the forests of Falkreath
Alliances or Affiliations: The Thalmor(Formerly one of their youngest prodigies and tacticians), Stormcloak Rebellion(Aided them during the civil war), Thieves’ Guild(Connected to an information network)
Occupation: Strategist(Before the Civil War), Saboteur and Advisor(During the Civil War), Hunter(Currently)
Appearance: Dawn-golden hair, black wood elf eyes, black tatoo around right eye(wood elven symbol), 5'7, 155 pounds, thin and athletic, slightly muscular, and a crescent shaped scar on his chin. Unique black leather lined with wolf fur with chainmail underneath. Fingerless black leather gauntlets, a hidden mechanism built into the left. Black hood with mask. Black leather boots, concealed blade in right. Wood elven markings adorn it.
Personality: Kir is an enigma. He is sometimes immature, sarcastic, and stubborn. But other times he is silent, cold, and calculating giving him an unsettling personality. Whether the immature Kir is his true self and the cold Kir his serious and tactical side, or if he may have multiple personalities is a mystery. He is a hard man to get close to and his trust is not easily gained. Once broken it can never be regained. He likes the outdoors and Stros M’kia Rum, now hard to acquire due to the Thalmor constraints. He hates ignorance and is saddened by the foolishness of his kinsmen, blinded by the Thalmor’s lies. He is seen to be merciless and ruthless in his tactics, but kind and caring to others. No matter what though, one thing can be said about Kir. He is loyal to the death.
History: Kir was born to minor nobility in Valenwood, however his early childhood was filled with tradegy. His entire family was dragged out of their house when he was only five years old. They had spoken out against some of the Dominions tactics and beliefs, there in the middle of the town they were brought before a crowd. It was mandatory that all citizens nearby watch the proceedings. They were summarily tried…and executed…all save Kir.
As the youngest they believed he could still be “saved.” They took him to a hidden fortress and there he was denied all forms of interaction with any his own age. Mainly he was a trophy, an example to the masses. However, at the age of eleven he started to show signs of heightened intellect and an uncanny ability to read people and situations. They decided to mold him. From then on he was tutored by some of the greatest minds the Thalmor could spare. From history to complex battle strategy, he was quickly becoming an expert.
During a mock battle Kir was able to beat and humiliate a top Thalmor tactician. They gave him a command to see what he could do in a real battle, making him the youngest officer in the Dominion at only seventeen.
But Kir had not forgotten the crime of the Dominion and vengeance still burned brightly in his heart and finally…he made his move. The officials that had executed his family so long ago were headed to Skyrim to watch the Imperials. Some kind of rebellion Kir had heard rumors of. On the way Kir ambushed the caravan, his soldiers under the impression it was a mock battle. His strategy was flawless and in minutes it was over. A woman named Elenwen had escaped, but he had captured the ones he wanted. Kir executed them, pretending that it was a simple paralytic spell, with cold brutality and made his escape.
Now branded as traitor by the Dominion, he headed for Skyrim to aid the nords in their fight. Making his way there was simple; convincing the Stormcloaks and Ulfric of his intentions was another matter entirely. After a trial on island facing an ice wraith, he had earned their trust. Or what little he could at least. While he wasn’t given a command, he advised on battle plans and supplied as much intel as he could. However, it was all for naught in the end as the rebellion was crushed. Kir was crestfallen. He was sure he could have turned the tides of quite a few battles. Not willing to leave these people to his fate and branded “Kinslayer” by his own people, he stayed in Skyrim.
He disappeared into the forests and hid himself from the world, becoming a solitary hunter for a decade. He still wanted to strike back against the ones that had turned him into this…to strike back against the tyranny of those that had betrayed him, his family, and his entire race. So deep in the forest he waits for his opportunity…
Roleplaying Sample: "Such pathetic creatures...ignorant and frail...they are naught but dust and dessipated just as easily..." The Dark Stranger stood high upon the mountain, his crimson eyes surveying the land called Skyrim. His pitch black robe stirred in the wind silently. To anyone looking on they would have just though him a simple traveler or hermit. And for now...that suited his needs. "They are a disease... a pestilence clinging desperately to the one true achievement of the gods...tainting it..."
He drew the weapon from within his robes and studied for the hundreth time. Such a small thing, yet it contained incredible power. Incredible and terrible. His eyes surveyed the land once more. As they had for years, but what he searched for was still hidden from even his unrelenting gaze. "Very clever old friend...but you won't prolong the inevitable...not forever..." He was getting closer. Soon the prize would be his and the infernal fires would rain upon these unsuspecting insects. Of course there was that one...annoyance to deal with. He didn't fear him, but it's better to err on the side of caution.He turned to the mortal worm that had stood silently in fear of his master. "When he leaves the city...I don't want to be able to recognize his corpse...
An older redguard sat in a dark corner slowly examining the patrons. His black-brown hair was peppered with grey. The old scimitar on his hip had lost its shine, but not its edge. Much like its weilder. Daran Dyash sat back and muttered to himself, "I know he can't do it alone, but gods did we really have to look all the way in Solitude?" He ordered venison chop and water, none of that nord swill would pass his lips. He opened the knapsack on the ground next to him and pulled out a bottle, "I wish I had brought more Stros M'kai Rum. If he doesn't hurry back I'll drink it all myself." He sighed thinking about the future and past, he loved the boy as his own but he missed Hammerfell. Hard to believe he had been back there less than two years ago. It felt like an era. His eyes wandered back to the crowd. Yet no one looked promising, and this was a delicate situation after all. They couldn't just hire anyone. "A few more hours," he muttered. "Then we may have to try elsewhere, take a carriage Whiterun maybe." His food arrived and he ate slowly, praying for a sign. "We need reliable assistance, after all. I'm too old to help as much as I'd wish."
He sat back in his seat and once more surveyed the tavern. For an hour he listened to the bard and the patrons. As with all the inns and taverns they had stopped at he listen especially for information about...him...the dark one. He could almost feel the evil...and the laugh...gods, the laugh! Now heard the bard singing "The Dovahkiin's Saga" and people still talked about what had to be the most boring gossip in all of Tamriel. When one conversation caught his ear. "Did you hear?" one patron said to another. "Someone actually robbed the Dragonborn's home in Whiterun!" The other leaned forward, "Really!?" The first nodded, "But they only stole some old dwarven dagger or some such. Whoever they were, they're lucky the Dovahkiin retired to High Hrothgar." The old redguard raised an eyebrow, but after that the conversation grew rather dull. He had heard the door open several times during it and turn to observe several new faces. "Hmm, interesting..."