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.