Name:
Cyrille the Conjuring, formerly Cyren
Age:
27
Gender:
Female
Race:
Human
Class:
Thief
Class Tier:
Standard
Renown:
★☆☆☆☆
Weapon Proficiencies:
Rapier (Intermediate)
Throwing Knives (Basic)
Equipment:
- Rose's Thorn: A sleek rapier initially gained through questionable means. Deadly yet beautiful, it's crafted for both ornamentation and duels.
- Throwing Knives
- Rations
- Lockpick
- Tea Set
Gift:
Trompe L'oeil: Cyrille has the ability to create illusions out of thin air. These mirages, though incorporeal, are near life-like so long as she knows what it looks like.
Curse:
Delusions of the Past: Cyrille is prone to heightened paranoia and frequent auditory/visual hallucinations. The more she uses her ability, the worse these hallucinations become.
Occupation:
Butler/Thief
Personality:
Cool and collected, Cyrille is a level-headed individual who prefers a more tactical approach to plans rather than charging head-on. She can be surprisingly stubborn, and sets upon tasks with undivided dedication. Her secretive, distant nature makes it difficult to determine what she's thinking, with any probing questions quickly deterred with a smile and passively forceful change of subject. Nevertheless, she's civil and polite. Or so it seems.
Beneath a facade of obedient smiles is a manipulative being willing to do whatever it takes to get what she wants. A rough life has trained Cyrille that trust is a flimsy device fit only to be broken. She's quick to change sides if she senses a greater reward, but is unopposed to making dicey gambles when it suits her fancy. Cyrille fears the feeling of powerlessness. Moments where she feels like she's lost control of her life genuinely paralyze her with fear, rendering her an emotional mess.
Biography:
Years ago, in the annuls of the rich marketplace of Pelerin, two children were born. One a child named Cyrille with sharp eyes and clever wit, and the other a timid flower called Cyren who blushed at the slightest inclination of attention. The children of a wealthy merchant, they lived happy, blissful lives with not the slightest care in the world.
And then they all died.
Simply stating it that way, however, would be too much of an oversimplification.
The merchant father, though rich, was a shrewd man who made enemies as easily as coins. Though some only went as far as hurling insults to his name, others preferred to take a more...deadly approach. No one knew exactly who hired the assassins. No one saw them slip into the house and slit the merchant's throat with a poisoned dagger. No one but the children.
The twins hid in their closet, terrified that this would be how their short lives ended. They could nothing but wait as they listened to their father's last gurgling breaths, silent tears running down their faces. Then, knowing there was no other way, the Cyrille turned to the other and said with a shaky smile, "I have an idea."
Much to Cyren's horror, their other half sprang from the closet and raced down the halls, screaming like a beast. It was suicide. It was stupid. It was the perfect diversion. The timid twin raced out of the room and down the halls, desperate to reach the door. Cyren had almost made it when they came face to face with an awful sight--Cyrille on the ground, blood pooling around the body with the killer looming over. The surviving twin escaped. When she returned in the morning, nothing but the charred remains of the manor was left. In a single night, everything was gone.
But it wasn't over. The killers were still out there, and with them the possibility of being discovered. Fearing the worst, Cyren took to desperate measures. She chopped her hair, bounded her chest, and pinched the clothing of a stableboy. Gone was the little girl Cyren. Now, in honor of her brother, she fled town under the new name Cyrille.
Life on the road was hard, but not impossible. There Cyrille learned how to lie, cheat, and steal just for a piece of bread. Daggers became her best friend, and the hunger of several days her worst enemy. Morality became a murky cesspool of gray. No one was purely innocent on her journeys. The world was just that cruel of a place. She learned that, no matter what, you could never trust those around. Most disturbingly, she learned that you could never really run from your past.
While staying at an inn on the road, Cyrille saw her brother. He was sitting at a table, blood pouring from his neck as he stared at her unphased. Yet, no matter how much Cyrille screamed and how many people gathered around her, no one else seemed to see his ghastly form or his tugging whispers at the back of her mind. She fled the inn, but no matter where she went, he followed. If not his apparition, then always his voice just in the back of her mind. The first few years of it was torture. But, as she learned to harness her own Gift, it became just another unsettling factor in life.
Eventually Cyrille made it to Tokoyo where she finally settled down. After saving a nobleman's daughter (albeit accidentally), Cyrille became acquainted with a high-class family that offered her a place to stay in exchange for her services. During the night, however, Cyrille had a different job. Driven by old habits, she took pleasure in breaking in the homes of wealthy people deemed problematic swiping valuables from right beneath their noses before disappearing into the night. But never once did she steal from the family employing her.
When her employers caught wind of the Emperess' army unit, they were quick to encourage Cyrille to join in hopes of furthering their own status.
Relationships:
Opinions on Dragons and Magic:
Cyrille has no issue with the domestic usage, but holds reservations in terms of battle function due to her lack of understanding. Nevertheless, she views the absence of dragons as a sad loss of potential.