Gwyn Gwrach y Llanerch,White Witch of the woods, real name Ilirien Ehelar, earned the nickname from the local peasants as a child, when she constantly skipped her very expensive conjuration lessons to walk in the woods and pick mushrooms instead. Her parents were not happy, neither with her wilful attitude, or her desire to be an alchemist and healer when she grew up. "Being an Altmer Sorceress is a position of great worth, deserving of respect. An Alchemist is a mere tradeswoman." She left Summerset under a cloud after many violent arguments with her Noble, and therefore arrogant, father. Drifting across Tamriel, she acquired a taste for the 'tavern lifestyle', and spent more time getting in trouble with the human law than she did helping people with her healing skills. In an effort to remedy this, she took an apprenticeship as a healer in the temple of Dibella. This was short lived however, as the secret drinking habit was made public after a drunken pass at her tutor. She resolved to head north. There was trouble in Skyrim. Civil war brewing. She still remembered her destruction and illusion lessons, she owned a sharp blade, and no one seemed to mind when any mercenaries got good and drunk. Surely in a situation like this, even the Mer hating Nords would have work for a healer, or anyone who knew the most basic fire spell? Apparently not, as the semi drunken encounter with the Nordic border guards was soon to prove.

Born to a mother and father, both members of the Dark Brotherhood, he was raised to be an elite assassin, the perfect killer. The dark faction honed his body and his mind into an instrument of death... But his heart was untouchable. An inner war between his morality and his existence came to a dramatic conclusion when he was given his first contract: The warranted death of a child. His heart held his blade. Knowing that his life as well as the child became forfeit by his decision to spare her life, he took the child and left Cyrodiil, to the land of Valenwood.
Days turned to months with no sign of pursuit. Eventually, he and the child found shelter in the town called Haven, on the second floor of a 'hole-in-the-wall' tavern. But the dark faction were unforgiving. In the brotherhood's poetic darkness, it was Fyrisi's mother and father that tracked him down. Thinking their lives safe, Fyrisi left the child alone in their upstairs room, for just a moment, to purchase some bread and salted pork. On his departure, he plucked a single hair from head and wedged it between the door and the frame. As he passed through the tavern, he could feel extra eyes on his crossing. Something was off. As he reached the threshold of his door, he stopped and searched for any sign of disturbance.

The hair strand was still intact.

Time slowed as he entered the room. The view of his mother standing before him, blade placed upon the crying child’s throat, left him frozen in place. Though his senses were numbed for just a moment, it was a moment that gave his father the chance he needed to slip his own blade under the throat of Fyrisi.

“Hair in the door?” his father whispered in his ear. “Who do you think trained you, boy?”

A grim smile crossed his father’s face as he glanced from Fyrisi to his wife. The infectious smile found its way to his mother’s face. In Stunning revelation, Fyrisi screamed his denial of the coming actions. Without a second thought, his mother’s blade cut deep into the child’s throat, ending her cries forever. Tears fled his eyes as Fyrisi watched the last of the child’s life blood flow away from her body. His mother gazed upon her son with a feigned expression of sadness.

“Oh my dear, dear child,” she said as she walked towards Fyrisi, “To watch this poor child lay before must pain you so.”

She stopped only inches away from his face and caressed his cheek softly. As she leaned forward to kiss his forehead, she wiped away the tears flowing from his eyes. She pulled back and gazed directly into his tear-filled eyes.

“Let me take this wretched sight from your eyes my son.”

A smile spread across her face as Fyrisi’s father tightened his grip on him. With the same blood stained blade she killed the child with, she dug dip into Fyrisi’s eye socket and twisted slowly. Waves of pain ran through his body, but he showed no expression beyond his body tensing in response. No. He would not submit to the pain he felt. His thought fell inward. Perhaps he deserved such a fate as this… But not the child.

A simmering rage burned within Fyrisi Llerayn, that has never been felt before. His father loosened his grip at the heat he felt seething from his son’s body. His mother stopped her blade’s approach to his other eye for the same reasoning. Both his parent’s stepped away from Fyrisi at the heat they now felt upon their own skin. They looked to each other once more, but no infectious smile could be found. Blood poured from the wound that was once his eye. With his remaining eye, he gazed upon the fallen child's body one last time before his vision faded into red. At that defining moment, Fyrisi roared out in furious defiance a word he knew not, sending his mother and father through the splintered walls of the second floor room, above the tavern. His parents' bodies fell dead before they hit the ground. Fyrisi, with the loss of blood and expulsion of energy, fell unconscious to the ground.
Fyrisi awoke to find himself in the company of an elderly Bosmer. Consciousness faded to and fro with scattered visions of the elderly Wood-elf performing healing rituals over his broken eye. He felt his missing eye tingle with new sensations of life. His blind eye held vision in a new ability. He could see out of it, but not in the sense of vision he was accustomed to. This old Wood elf had done something to him that he could not explain. Nor could he explain why this Bosmer had helped him in the first place. Confusion painted Fyrisi’s face, obvious enough for the Bosmer to reply.

“She was my granddaughter. The child. I heard what happened,” he sighed, “You tried Fyrisi, and for that much I cannot thank you enough.”

He peered into Fyrisi’s ‘new’ eye.

“Your vision was beyond repair, I’m afraid,” he continued, “At least the only form of vision you’ve ever known.”

He paused to let Fyrisi catch up with what his words.

“What you see, how you see the world, is through your mind’s eye,” he continued, “Everyone has a ‘mind’s eye,’ Fyrisi, but not everyone understands how to use it, or what the abilities are. This is the gift I’ve given you. The only gift I can give you.”

The days turned to weeks as Fyrisi learned to cope with his new eye and his new abilities. His elderly host granted him the time he needed and even taught him how to turn his ‘mind’s eye’ off if needed. Fyrisi came to learn that this old Bosmer was once a renowned Ranger, but as age took his body, he became an acclaimed Shaman.

Feeling stronger than he had before, Fyrisi understood that it was time to move on. He had one more end to tie up. His inherited vengeance was far from quenched. He returned to the place he once called home, he returned to the people that taught him everything he knew; the Dark Brotherhood. Death came to his native branch of the dark faction.

In his studies as a pupil, Fyrisi was taught that in all the regions of Tamriel, there was none more primative than the lands of Skyrim. It was there, Fyrisi would seek refuge from the shadow of the Dark Brotherhood. As he crossed into the freezing borders of Skyrim, Fyrisi felt something tingle inside him. A tingle that sparked the memory of his parents demise. He never fully understood what took place that day, but at that moment, something told him that he would find his answers soon.

Imprisoned!

In the dark of night, Fyrisi crossed into the frozen borders of Skyrim. Seeking shelter from the cold, he happened across a lit campfire. Unsure of the men that surrounded the encampment, he circled the troupe hoping to gain a better understanding. Without too much examining, Fyrisi could tell the men were soldiers of Nordic decent. Weighing out his options Fyrisi, concluded that he was unsure of their intent, but was certain that if he didn't find warmth soon, he would surely die. As he slowly made his way towards the campsite, Fyrisi took note that the amount of tents displayed outnumbered the number of men surrounding the fire. Before he could react, four well armed soldiers surrounded him. He immediately scolded himself for such a simple oversight. Though Fyrisi was nothing more than a lonely traveller, the men viewed him as a spy- a well known profession for his race. He gave no resistance as the men took him as their prisoner. No words were spoken to him and no explanation was asked of him. He was a spy, there was nothing more to say- Death awaited him now.

Skyrim was a land he never knew, though his blood knew it as his native home. His mother died during his birth. His father (a Ranger), broken by the loss of his love, bore his child south; to lands and tongues foreign to their own. They became nomads, travelling from land to land, from town to town. When it came time to gather up and travel to the next destination, his father would simply explain their direction with a single word, whether it be territory, town, or country. His father, finding work of all trades, some jobs less desirable than others and a few he could never speak of without hanging his head. But he loved his son and desired to give him only the best. With the money he made, he spent on an lessons for his son that few people, and fewer Nords, received. Though he educated by great scholars in every tongue spoken in Tamriel, trained by some of the most esteemed fighters and rogues in all the lands, Kalibor's most valued lessons came from his father's own words of wisdom. He was taught the ways of a good man, true to be true to his own heart. As Kalibor grew to be a man, he noticed that from time to time, his father would look at him with saddened eyes. He could tell that his father desired to tell him what pain laid buried beneath... But he never did and Kalibor never pushed the point.
One day, Kalibor awoke to find his father was missing. Stepping out of the room his father and he shared, he made his way up the stairs into the tavern above. Their he found his father wrapping up a conversation with a fellow Nord. He turned from the stranger and locked eyes with his son . The look on his father's pale face was wrought with stress and fear.
"I must talk with you this night," his father exhaled, "but for now, I must make a small trip North, to the border and you WILL stay here." The stern tone of his father's voice at the end of the sentence told Kalibor not to argue otherwise. It was late in the night and his father still had not returned. Kalibor grew concerned to the point where he cared not for his father's subtle threat and gathered some belongings. Just as he turned to leave their room, the door burst open, with his father pale as a ghost, clutching his chest. Kalibor caught him as he fell to the ground. His father's breathing came with labor. As he gazed upon the man he grew to know as 'larger than life,' he knew, with weeping eyes, that his father was dying. His father's eyes beckoned him to come closer. In a final breath, his father whispered a single word that gave Kalibor the direction of his next destination: "Skyrim."

Crossing into Skyrim, he is immediately seized and considered a traitor for reasons he knows not. He would see this through, knowing full-well that his father knew of greater plans for Kalibor, and trusted in the spirit of his father that he would make it out of this alive.

Born "little" Talmas of Black Marsh. His grandfather, Talmas, was a world weary Argonian, one of the "heroes" that secured Argonian control of Morrowind. He was a great warrior mage, and eventually returned home, to check on his youngest son, and found his small community suffering many hardships. As he rested wearily after his journey, his son and his son's mate murdered him in his sleep and sold his body, equipment, and their own son, named after him, into illegal slavery in exchange for enough wealth to move on. The child and heirlooms were sold to a Dunmer matron, who lost them in a bet with a Dunmer mage lord.

The lord did not have much use for him, and regarded the Argonian child the way one might regard an unwanted pet that had been inherited from a relative, having expected an older and more self-sufficient reward. The lord's servant, a bound Dremora Warlord however, saw potential in the child and took to raising him for non-altruistic purposes. He trained the child and infused him with controlled doses of otherwordly magic for years, the Argonian mastered every weapon, learned to intimidate his opponents, and most importantly, learned to kill without remorse. When his training was complete, it had forged him into something....other.

His body became taut and sinewy, his chiseled muscles forged in the flames of intense training and magic induced perfection. His combat prowess and potential magnified, tenfold, far beyond what others of his kind could ever even dream of achieving. The biggest development of all though, was within. Deep inside, he was something far more monstrous than even the Dremora.

When it came time for him to secure his "foster father's" coup against the Dunmer lord, he did as he was told and slaughtered every single person, pet, animal, slave, child, and dinner guest at the household. His Dremora "father" included. Taking whatever heirlooms and weaponry they possessed.

As he left, he did not even spare so much as a sidelong glance back at his grandfather's possessions that he had been sold with. He either didn't know they were "his", or simply did not care. He was utterly detached from his Argonian heritage, the word, the distinction did not even matter to him. Devoid of their culture, their ideology, their habits and customs, not even speaking like they did. Indeed, he was an Argonian by appearance only, as he himself did not consider himself to be one, but rather something altogether different and superior. That day, he took upon himself the name Taer, as it sounded to him like the word terror, which he instilled in others.

Eventually he spent years tracking down his parents. The very same parents that had butchered his namesake and sold him into slavery, stealing away any opportunity he might have had to lead a normal life. When he found them, he thanked them, and then killed them, and butchered every bystander that watched and did nothing. There was no sign of anger or regret. No, this was not about vengeance, or justice, this was about putting his past to rest. And as he sat there drenched in blood, he appeared serene. Focused. He could feel the beginning of great power stirring from within, and it urged him onwards, to sate its hunger.

He traveled across the land, killing anyone and anything that would dare to face him. He went about taking any job available, as long as it landed him in the thick of battle, and sought out masters and trainers across the land to learn as much as he could from them, and then murder them. Eventually, he was "captured" and prepared for execution. It all worked out better than he would have expected, all records of his existence would soon be erased. He was being moved towards Skyrim, the land that called to him. When he makes his escape, he will be able to at last seek his destiny unfettered by the past.

Despite his brutal nature, he is startlingly intelligent and disciplined, he knows when to stay his wrath, when to don the mask of civility, and he knows how to lie in wait and bide his time, perhaps for years at a time....like a true predator. All the more frightening that he was not traumatized into what he is. He chose it of his own free will, taking and learning everything he could from his trainer before deciding that he no longer had any use for him, or the life he was currently living.

He views all other races as worthless and flawed in their own unique ways, other Argonians, he sees as being primitive, backwards, "less" than he is, and Dunmer as having had the right ideas, but in the end were proven to be pretenders and hypocrites...being just as weak and pathetic as the other races behind their mask of culture and undeserved superiority.

However, he has taken great pains to intrinsically "learn" of his people and their ways, if for no other reason than practicality: Passing bluffs, appearing to be the real deal, taking advantage of the usual kinship held between others of his race, and like with all combat techniques...integrating whatever worthwhile strategy, tactics, and maneuvers he can pry out and perfect as his own, while exploiting any inherent vulnerabilities and flaws in the unrefined techniques of his opponents. Indeed, he is blind to all knowledge that will not in some way give him leverage over others, either by making him a more efficient killer, or better manipulator. Even his connection with the Hist is strangled and twisted, and he is an invasive stranger to them.

No gods, no masters, he answers only to the burning fires of ambition within his heart.

Prefers to keep his violent and confusing past from others, so not much is known to even those closest to him. Seeking a new beginning, and a quest for redemption from a previous life of treachery and betrayal. Gyd has seen many of his comrades die, and has taken a vow to change his ways and become a defender of peace. Taking up the mantle of a simple adventurer and quest seeker, he desires to traverse Tamriel, and see the wonders of the world.

Before his dream can even begin to take form, he is caught up in a border war between factions and is mistaken for a high ranking general who happened to be a Bosmer. Trying to defuse the situation through his new found sense of honor and purpose, he is only dragged deeper into his predicament. Eventually an execution is planned and with no viable non-violent solution, he is forced to kill his captors and escape. Fleeing into the foreign land of Skyrim, he has been branded an outlaw, with a hefty bounty for capture. Being so out of his element and out of practice since his days of combat, Gyd is eventually captured and taken into custody, sentenced to die yet again. A prisoner with no hope left, until an unexpected path opens up before him...