Night had fallen on Meir Thorvale, the small hamlet was deathly quiet the people already inside their homes in front of their hearths. Counting blessings and having their meals, as Cyrendil cast a glance towards the dark sky. Snow fell gently upon his face past the rim of his worn travelers hood, before he brought a plated hand up and pulled it ever deeper over his features.

His gaze cast out towards the small wooden houses, eventually resting on one that lied towards the end of a row. The others were well lit, and one, if approached, could hear the residents inside. Two days he had watched the home after arriving, the comings and goings, who entered who exited. It was always the smaller towns that had the worst ones; Maybe times got too hard, or gold too thin that they’d turn from the divines to darkness.

With the threat of the Dominion, he was lucky. He would be left alone to watch, none wished to go near him for fear of him being. as a Nord in a neighboring town had lovingly put it, a “Thalmor Fuckstick.” Or if they did, then they would do it at as a mob. Crunching of soft snow and the ground beneath it came as he made his way to the darkened home.

Altmer ears heard the shuffling within, low droaning and chanting he could not make out with the home and the wind outside drowning it out in ambiance. His hand went to his blade clasping it and drawing it slowly as he made his way up the three stairs that led to the porch and stood full in front of the door. With a sound of metal hitting wood he raised his leg and kicked towards the weakened part of the door, the simple latch crackled and snapped and flew open.

The inside of the home was furnished if not more than a little worn, but a closer inspection would find a corner with a small pile of rings and jewelry, the other side of the room a small pile of assorted clothes, and the heavy incense covered the faint stench of rot that came from the darkness past where his vision could not longer see. A woman within clad in dark robes looked from up a makeshift altar that was set towards the rear of the home where the lit hearth would have been. 

The altar was caked in the dull maroon of dried blood, upon the stone slab fingers some more fresh than others were laid out in the Daedric ‘O’ for Oblivion. In the center was a heart that had already a bite taken from it, and had started to turn an ichor black with rot.

[Center][img]http://i.imgur.com/VZsiwIb.gif[/img][/center]

The woman reached for her belt grasping for the simple dagger that hung from it, but in her rush reeling from the shock  of the door crashing inward Cyrendil had already cleared the distance and gripped the Breton tightly by the throat, she was younger than he expected. The soft blue eyes went wide as she stared up at the golden face peering back down at her, and she began to beg.

Cyrendil cut her off by squeezing tighter on her throat. [i][b]“The Mercy of Stendarr does not extend to Daedra worshippers.”[/b][/i] And with that he plunged his blade into her chest, the silver sword passing through the robes easily. And he gave a slight twist to his blade as it ran through her small frame to exit out the other side. [i][b]"None escape the Vigil. All come into the light."[/b][/i] 
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The people had called me a murderer, had the insanity gotten so bad that pure hate of his race blinded them to the truth that I lay bare in front of them? Or was there a coven? Maybe even the local lord was part, thoughts dipped through his head. He should have done it in public, made a show. But he wanted it done quickly so he could move on. He shifted his body causing the chains that bound him to the wall rattle as he adjusted his neck cracking it as he rolled it from left to right. They had the nerve and gall to say I planted the bodies, the altar, the blood and rot. And that she was just an innocent girl I framed to murder her.

It made him so angry he could spit tacks, The Vigil would hear about this when he got out, and it would be as it was in Skingrad. A full investigation and search, then the purge of the ones who would hide their own black hearts from Auri-El’s light. His thoughts were interrupted by the maneuvering of the guard and the pushing of him of his cell.

Led like a criminal along a band of actual criminals, the townspeople gathered like savages to throw fruit and small stones, he heard plenty of insults not just thrown towards him. And as they were forced down in the snow he kept his gaze steely at the one these people would call Lord.

The vulture man spoke of his plan to sell them into forced servitude, the plan was as insane at best and blasphemous at worst does he think himself untouchable? Then the shouting started, the rush of men and blades against blades, and Cyrendil did not turn away but watched as the attacking men had started to run rampant through town.

When what could be called a silence fell, as the rider came to them. Offering freedom with a deal and politics. They would rescue his brother, and in return they’d be free of all charges, if they have failed. They’d be outlaws. Cyrendil cast a glance down at the rest of the group he was chained to, for some that title was already practically branded on their faces, and as the men went through unclasping each of the manacles and chains.

And as he was free’d he silently rubbed his wrists before making his way to his feet, he stretched his body the taut lean muscles stretched and the chill of the weather hit him in the filthy far to small rags they had managed to put him in. His hands went back to his now unkempt hair the long golden flowing wild and he did his best to put it back in the tied fashion he always wore. He looked towards the ginger Breton as he spoke, “Agreed.” Cyrendil replied,  and made his way towards the jail opening the door to find most rummaging for their things, but noticed the young Breton woman sighing and making way to put her belongings which had obviously been tampered with in order.

The small clinking of glass caught his ears, before he turned away making towards his armour that was left in a pile opposite his cell, the guards thought it was funny to make him watch his own belongings as they used it as a stool for their feet and one had joke that he was going to piss on it. A small smile came to Cyrendil’s features, that blasphemy led his head to be cut from crown to jaw. The thought kept him warm, as he slowly placed back on the underclothes he had worn prior checking his bags and his blade the glint of silver not fading though it would need a good clean, as a few specks of the Daedric worshiping girl’s blood still stained the blade’s elegant length.

After the task of replacing his armor to his body, he stepped outside breathing deep. Auri-El bless him, his enemies lie dead or dying in the snow. His blade as at his side, and the Vigil would continue. His jaw clenched as his thought went to the children, and he made his way slowly to the gates of the town. Stendarr would have the mercy in death they did not receive in life, especially for the little ones. 

As he walked silently through the town, the crackling of the fires the men had set he stopped at the town's center and looked towards the home he had broken into a few nights prior. It had not been set to the cleansing flame the home was ransacked and it seemed the men did not care for the many bones and smell of rot that still clung to the home. Moving towards a home that burned he found a plank that was alight at the top the heavy flame feasting greedily at the old wood. And with it he made his way towards home that was now tainted by sacrifice and blood, giving it one last glance before placing the flame against it’s straw floor near the door. He stepped back and watched it as it caught and started to burn.

Turning he went towards the gate, and the road leading out of the small town. Finding himself alone as the many cutthroats went about their looting he murmured  as he walked. [i][b]“As you souls slip into Aetherius, do not fear little ones… For guided your path will be, paved by Stendarr, lit by Auri-El's light, and at the end of your road awaits mother Mara to take you home."[/b][/i] He halted for a moment and pulled his traveling hood over his head and took a deep breath.