Sythril Valynor Everex, a pure-blood Altmer, or high elf, was born into a life of comfort and ease in a small village on Summerset Isle in the Fourth Era, Year 22. Growing up secluded from the political turmoil that was generated by the Thalmor, his childhood years were bearable and enjoyable, despite the untimely death of his father. His father and his namesake, Valyn Everex, had fought in the Oblivion Crisis, and he was part of the army that launched the final attack on the Great Gate that opened in the shadow of the city of Bruma. He was later honored as the 7th Champion of Cyrodiil and the Archmage of the Imperial City Mage’s Guild. Tragically, he was murdered shortly afterwards by Imperial extremists. The murderers were never brought to justice. His father being a strong and wise man, Sythril took after his example, and always honored his promises, even those that would inhibit him. He also exhibited a natural affinity for magic, as his father had, and even though most Altmer tended to, his mother took notice of his special ability. When he reached his adult years, the age of 110, he was conscripted into the Aldmeri Dominion to serve as a mage-servant, and he left his hometown for the first time in his life. Excited and wide-eyed, he pursued this chance with his entire mind.
He worked endless on his studies and the elder mages observed as he rose to the top of his class. Though he found little time for socializing, he was satisfied in the magical knowledge that he had obtained. Because of his rigorous attention to his studies, the mage council of the Thalmor gave him the honor of serving the head magi, Aeron Everstar, in the army. He would work alongside him in his studies and he would witness the coming war with the Imperial armies. Though he was hesitant to the idea of fighting in a war, he gladly accepted the offer.
Working with a head mage couldn’t have been more satisfactory. He received first-hand advice on spells and potion-making, and Aeron taught him the powerful magic of Conjuration. Sythril even managed to teach himself the fineries of archery in what free-time he cultivated. Having down time meant the world to Sythril, and he relished the time spent without worry.
On 4E 171, Sythril and his master received word that the Aldmeri Dominion planned to attack the Imperial armies of Cyrodiil. Sythril immediately became tense and worried about how the coming battles would go. Calm and reserved, his master helped to satiate Sythril’s nerves, and he managed to turn Sythril into a calm force of magical prowess. Master Aeron, he soon learned, was not necessarily a head mage. The head mages led the units that laid siege upon the cities with magical fire and fierce storms. His master, however, worked as a search and destroy unit. Aeron was highly skilled in illusion magic, and could render himself invisible with relative ease. Using his powerful magic, they were to silently proceed into the heart of Cyrodiil and after eliminating some key figures in the Imperial military, meet up with the army that would arrive soon after. However, their plans didn’t’ go off without a small hitch. Sythril and Aeron were moving through the thick Blackwood Jungle under the protection of their invisibility veil, making their way towards the highlands east of the Imperial city. However, they were ambushed by a group of Khajiit renegades, wielding fierce hand axes and swords. Despite the veil, they were able to pinpoint Sythril and his master through the unnerving sense of smell. Fortunately for Sythril and his master, they were oblivious to the destructive force of magic. They continued down their desired path ten minutes later, with the smoke from burning fur rising high into the darkening sky.
When they reached the city in the year 173, Sythril and Aeron managed to secure a safe haven, and while his master was away on his assassination missions, Sythril perused the town, curious to see why the Thalmor hated these people so much. The normal, high-and-mighty attitude of his brethren didn’t make sense to him. A part of him felt sorry about what would soon befall the city. Part of him wished he could stop the oncoming attacks. But he knew his attempts would quickly be rendered useless.
In the year 174, the battle for the Imperial city began, and Sythril understood why he had felt the way he did, and why he suspected that the Aldmeri Dominion had a hidden agenda with this war. He watched helplessly as vicious fire rained down across the city, burning down the mortar and stone houses. He heard screams for mercy erupt into the sky as many were burned alive in the cascading buildings. He even watched as the Thalmor relentless murdered other Altmer, who lived in seclusion in the Elven Gardens
Immediately, he was detained by the gate guards, and taken to see Countess Narina Carvain. In a “private” audience accompanied by eight Bruma guards, he explained his predicament and why he was seeking shelter in Bruma. The countess considered giving him back to the Thalmor, fearing for the safety of her own people. However, she saw reason in his pleas. Even without acknowledging the resemblance between Sythril and his father, the countess saw something within Sythril, and she consequently gifted him with a small house along the city wall. He couldn’t have been more grateful, and the act embedded itself forever in his mind, reminding him of the kindness of the Nords. He strived to do the same, to eliminate the austere stereotype of the Altmer. He became an initiate of the Bruma Mage’s Guild and practiced archery daily at the shooting range of the Fighter’s Guild.
During his twenty-seven short years in Bruma, he became the victim of numerous harassment efforts. Many times, he would return home after a day of study in the mage’s guild to find his home ransacked and torn apart. While he reported this to the countess, she said that there was nothing she could do, for he had no proof as to who had committed the acts. Understanding, but still saddened, he returned home, and picked up the mess, time and time again.
However, even Sythril couldn’t hide from his past for long. He awoke in the middle of the night to find Thalmor agents burning down his front door. Desperate, he clambered through the second-story window and lowered himself down to the ground with a feather fall spell. But the agents were not without intelligence. They quickly appeared around the corner of the alleyway. Panicked, he dashed through the city; narrowly dodging the fire spells the Thalmor agents were haphazardly launching at him. Did she give me away? What about the civilians? I have to get out of here! He managed to confuse the agents slightly by slipping in and out of the alleyways with unnatural speed, even for an elf. He briefly thanked his old master for teaching him the spell that increased his movement for a short while. Soon after, he made his way through the main gate of the city, and he scanned the horizon for options. Down the road to the south, he saw more Thalmor agents making their way towards the city. He immediately glanced towards the city. He felt a twinge of guilt tugging at his gut, but it wasn’t enough to dissuade him from escaping his pursuers. Using a minor message sending spell, he sent his last goodbyes to the countess, and he sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him towards the mountains to the north. His pursuers were equally fast, however, and he barely dodged every spell they sent flying his way. Soon, snow began to blind their vision, and their spells faltered in the blistering cold. But still they pursued, resorting to ice spells, which would be amplified in the cold environment.
In a stroke of luck, Sythril found a chance for escape. He saw a pack of white wolves descend from the left side of the mountain pass. Ready to give up, Sythril began muttering his last wishes. However, the wolves launched themselves headlong towards his pursuers, ignoring Sythril completely. At first, Sythril thought, why aren’t they going for me? But his question was answered for him. He looked at his own clothing, which had been covered from head to toe in heavy snow. The Thalmor agents, who had been using fire spells moments earlier, were still uncovered by snow, and their black robes were much easier to distinguish against the white background. Hampered and slowed, the agents cursed wildly at Sythril, vowing that the Thalmor would catch him, no matter what the cost.
Seizing the opportunity, Sythril pushed himself through the pass, and he descended into the Nordic land of Skyrim. Nevertheless, his luck wouldn’t last for long. Tired and cold, he didn’t notice the Imperial guards waiting patiently along the pass. In the blink of an eye, his hands were bound, and his clothes were stripped and replaced with worn rags. They loaded him into a carriage along with three other people, a Nord in blue and silver armor being an unknown insignia, a well-dressed Nordic man with his mouth gagged, and an anxious, fidgety Nord who kept repeatedly proclaiming that he wasn’t a criminal. And so, Sythril, at the age of 179, began his life in Skyrim…
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