Cyrendil let the Ginger Breton speak for awhile, then took a deep breath. All the constant talk, all the mired words. Sometimes he wished they could have seen what he saw, the fires, the Dremora stepping from burning portals nothing but endless hate in their eyes; the smell of rot and blood as it grew in mist that spewed from Oblivion so thick you could practically taste the suffering and death on the air. The way corpses piled the once beautiful streets, and the way the Daedra had started to hang people by their own entrails. Men could show violence, just as they had to the small hamlet moments prior. But [b]nothing[/b] compared to the cruelty and brutality the Daedra had for mortals, they thrived on it.

But that was years ago, that's why the Vigil was formed. So none would ever have to experience that for themselves, this group was as children are. Having no idea how bad the situation really was, they might understand the world is dark and there are evil men. They might just [b]be[/b] the evil men, but they lacked comprehension of something far darker that lay just outside of their view. The darkness that constantly tried to claw it's way into the world.

Cyrendil gave a deep sigh of resignation before speaking.

[i]"The Dunmer are a known quantity, predictable, and culturally bound... It's the ones that hide in small havens like the one on fire behind us. The pretty woman who lured people into a slow death by dismemberment, then started eating them in the abandoned house, built an altar of stone and bones. All the while bathing in blood and singing praises to her new Daedric God."[/i]

[i]"It could have easily been one of you brought into her trap, but you managed to keep it in your pants, good for you. This time you were lucky."[/i] Cyrendil brought a hand to his right wrist and curled his fingers into his palm and turned his hand before letting it again fall to his side his hand went and touched the faded sun on his belt buckle before moving back to the side.

Hearing Kiralla's argument, he shook his head. His voice steady and certain, he did not raise or accuse merely stated. [i]"Tell that to the three people she murdered, Witch... She was dead long before I sank the blade into her black heart."[/i]

[i]"You mistake my hate for Conjurers for that of Mages. I am an Altmer, magic runs through my blood. I use magic myself. But true magic comes not from dealings with Daedra, that is the fool's bargain. So you are no Mage. I do not care what race any of you are, or what alliances you hold. I do not give any concern to politics. Dominion or Empire. I don't care if you enjoy my company or if the sight of me offends any of you. If you try to summon the Daedra into our world, deal and converse with them. Then you are an enemy of all living things. Nirn and Divine. And I will have [b]no[/b] mercy" [/i]

His voice was full of conviction, but he kept his back on all of them looking outwards towards the road. She would not understand, they would not understand. Most he assumed, judged him because of his race. Fine, let them judge. They would never understand, but that is why there is the Vigilant. Why there were people like him, so they could live their lives thinking they had a grasp on what was going on.

[i]"You're naive if you truly think she was an unarmed and innocent girl. If she was, she would have never have caught the Vigil's attention. Whether me or another Vigilant makes little difference, in the end she was dead the second she decided to make a deal. And that is the end of it."[/i]

He heard Fionna and Gaela make their way down the path before Gaela spoke, They did need a plan. He considered for a moment simply leaving, he doubt any would accuse a Vigilant of wholesale slaughter. And further doubted it'd hold up under any scrutiny. But the damage it might do to the Vigil's reputation.

Cyrendil's jaw tightened as he grit his teeth, damned nobles and their petty games for power. Waylaying a Vigilant is akin to putting the trap away when there is a bear loose in the area. When he returned he would make this lord pay, constant inquiries and surprise visits to his hold and his keep. He'll be so caught up in his own rumor mill, that he'd rather fall on his own blade than face another hearing.

Taking a deep breath the cold air burning at his lungs. Patience Cyrendil. He kept his eyes looking down the long road. [i]"I agree for once, we get moving... If you wish to continue to call me a murderer, you can follow if you so wish it. I will not argue that I killed a young woman. Because I know I did, and I am proud that the Witch is burning to ash. So that she can never hurt anyone ever again."[/i] 

Cyrendil made his way down the trudged on path that lead to the main road towards Camlorn. Not glancing behind to see if any were following nor caring. He’d had enough of trading words with the ignorant.