[hider=Cyrus, Ishgardian Fugitive]
[img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/486293571155132417/495112054001106954/unknown.png[/img]
[b]Birth Name:[/b] Cyrus Seagazer

[b]Nickname:[/b] None

[b]Title (may be earned later):[/b] None so far.

[b]Race:[/b] Hyur

[b]Clan: [/b]Midlander

[b]Age: [/b]Early to mid twenties

[b]Birthplace:[/b] The Brume of Ishgard

[b]Occupation:[/b] Low-Ranking Intelligence Operative of the Rogues' Guild.

[b]Class:[/b] Rogue

[b]Gender:[/b] Male

[b]Deity:[/b] Llymalen

[b]Sexual Orientation:[/b] He's somewhat fond of the ladies, but not enough to be a ladies' man.

[b]Personality:[/b] Quick-witted,  casual when it comes to danger so quite possibly a thrillseeker. Has some degree of sympathy to the less fortunate, so he might give a few gil every now and again to beggars. Possesses distaste for high-class noble types, and may struggle working with them. Would murder for the greater good, and maybe even sometimes for his own gain.

[b]Biography:[/b] Born in poverty to two parents in the Brume of Ishgard, Cyrus had grown up to learn that people get what they want through both. Instead of developing a cynical mindset, he instead opted for the first lesson he had in his first decade and a half of his life that sometimes, you gonna grab life by the horns and make it your wench. He prefers not to dwell much regarding his childhood, figuring that his time when he learned about Limsa Lominsan and met her militant force: The Maelstrom Navy, he considered them far better than the Temple Knights. To him, serving them felt like a far more better idea than trying to serve as some stableworth to a random guard knight due to being of poor worth established from birth. Although he was quite untrained to a degree.. After the weather turned cold following the Calamity, Cyrus had just about had enough of those living amongst the clouds pointing heavensward. He didn't murder any nobles, but he definitely pickpocketed what he couldn't beg, pawning off his belongings to less desirable sorts. Following having stolen an expensive looking amulet from the owner, Cyrus was suspect treason against the Holy See of Ishgard and branded a heretic, to which his associates of the Brume had given him prior warning. He didn't take the amulet with him and left it behind instead of playing towards the noble's hand.

Having to tread through the barren cold of Coerthas on the run, began to make long treks, using the constant attacks of the Dravanian Horde to his advantage in order to avoid the soldiers of House Hallienarte, Fortemps, and Dzemael, slipping out when he found it most convenient to make in confusion. He made his way into the Black Shroud, having finally made it to Eorzean grounds. He now had to avoid the Adders without getting deported back to Ishgard, which the latter sovereign thought him still within the nation, and their current reluctant foreign policy had made Cyrus easily able to ghost the Temple Knights and soldiers of the Four Houses. Frostbitten, Cyrus had collapsed a little past the Shroud's border, in severe condition - gained from starvation and cold.

He wasn't sure what had happened, as far as he could recall. He thought himself out for more than a few days at least.  He awoke, unfamiliar to his surroundings as he had found he had been tended to. Alarmed, he snuck his way out, but not before leaving a message to the soul. "Your debt will be repaid, this is my oath. --The stranger you so kindly helped". He never knew who it was, and he was desperate to find an area that would take him. Knowing of the Shroud, he knew his presence would not be tolerated for long. At this point, he's gotten some parts for discretely moving, from his days in the Brume, but now since he was found the Adders are at least aware of him. Were he to go missing, he'd be searched for. Which is why he left the note, to calm concerns.  He headed southward, taking the paths filled with somewhat more docile creatures, preferring path of antelope. He had to make it to the major city, but where? He just narrowly avoided a brush with death (in being spotted and unprepped) just north of a tavern. To the east, bandits waylaid travelers, so he felt staying at the tavern would be it. He peddled some of his "wares", sold a few to at least eat and conserve his strength. It was there he met people he was amazed by: Adventurers. Their tales of making a living and the like sounded so well ran. But where to start?

He wanted to get as far from Ishgard as possible. After paying for a meal, he asked to see a map. After asking for some parchment, he roughly traced it. He then saw a sigil of some sort on the map. That belonging to the Navigator, Llymalen. He scoffed, what good had Halone done for him? None. So he decided his new patron, and prayed for a safe trip.  The man, who he learned the name of: Buscarron was rather hospitable for what Cyrus later learned was the "Druthers". He advised going to the Shroud to go to Limsa by airship. With a good word and a manageable fund. Cyrus made his way to the heart of the Shroud, then towards Gridania to purchase the ticket.

To him, that's how he ended up in Limsa, "By the Navigator's guidance", he said. And now he uses his ill talents to serve a more meaningful cause (The Rogue's Guild) to become one with the adventurers that had helped him so, and to eventually paid them back.

Other Info: Has whetstones attached to the end of the hilt of his stabbers, exchanges them for new ones once every fortnight, usually. Always maintains his weapons well.
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