If you would like to introduce your character, or you have a cool slogan or even a catchphrase; it goes here.
Under the watchful eye of both Gwydiesin and Dextar Forestguard in the Grandwood.
Cyndr is no longer a member of the elven race. Or at least, he doesn’t look it. What was once a mane of silver, flowing hair is now a wash of white hanging limp over hunched shoulders. Wide, long-lashed eyes are now bloodshot and sunken, irises once a golden hue are now white and hollow; an arresting gaze for those even of an iron will. Cyndr appears to hunch over almost from the waist; as though a man exhausted. He is frail now, and it has been months since freed from the burden which caused his transformation. Wearing seldom anything more than simple cloth, Cyndr seems almost oblivious to his manner of dress. Other than items magical in nature, Cyndr cares little for his appearance. Cyndr‘s skin has become very pale, almost having a translucent shimmer to it. Scarred and weathered, he makes no attempt to hide the badges of his trade; he has certainly lost the stereotypical regal bearing of the elves.
Describe the character’s outlook, temperament, tendencies during interactions, etc.
Describe your character’s less-than-obvious features (something you might only notice after a time), habits they have, etc.
Prior to Cyndr‘s ‘calling’ as he now puts it, he was very much a sellsword, trying to find work in the pursuit of the same beings that ended his father’s life and destroyed his last home. Surviving on whatever he could scrounge together as payment for his efforts, Cyndr went where his quarry led him. After hearing Kralana‘s summons, Cyndr‘s pursuits changed little. His goal was clearer, his pride restored and his destiny assured, he often carried out his work for free; considering the ridding of undead from the land his divine purpose; and that would sustain him. Falling in with the heroes was a perfect convenience; serving his goddess and others at the same time.
Long ago, Cyndr was banished from his birth home. Decades after, his adopted home was reduced to ash; his father with it. Swearing never to call another place by that name, Cyndr is now a wanderer, staying anywhere but belonging nowhere. Even after his Calling, Cyndr wanders still. Recent events in the Grandwood and the confrontation with the Saint of Evil have demanded that Cyndr stay there for now, under a watchful guard, whether he likes it or not… The ceaseless vigilance from both Gwydiesin & Dextar has been borne of the horrors witnessed as they wrestled him from the grip of Hunger.
Who can you trust? Who must you protect?
Instinctively, Cyndr still regards all undead as his sworn enemy. Clouded by recent events, and one of the reasons for the vigilance of his current protectors, is the concern that the evil of the sword that more than one fear may consume him.
What does this Cyndr has no specific goals to speak of right now. So shattered is he from the burden he has carried that he is now a ghost, a shell of a man, so hollow. Slowly, Cyndr is remembering glimpses of the elf he once was, the hatred that fuelled him for those that stole his father from him is slowly rekindling.