Cyran Veylin
The youngest child of Hal and Mary Veylin, Cyran grew up in the small town of Beregost along the Sword Coast. His parents had inherited the duties of graveyard keepers and made a modest living tending to the day to day upkeep and maintenance of the town's cemetery. The priests in town oversaw the ceremonies and functions, while his parents oversaw the grounds. Cyran was only eight when the Longest Year began in 1358 DR. He and his older brother Edrin grew up in a world without magic and thought nothing of it, though their parents clearly missed the old days and would often tell stories of adventurers coming to the cemetery to perform all manner of strange things, from speaking with the dead to putting down the undead when an errant necromancer saw fit to cause trouble.
The news in 1363 DR that magic had returned seemed to excite his parents greatly. He and Edrin were equally amazed by the reports coming out of Candlekeep, a spell had been cast, the first in years. It mattered little to them in practice, however. The boys were already following in their parents' footsteps, and magic remained a mysterious and faraway idea rather than anything concrete. Time continued and while news of Faerûn's many troubles reached Beregost, the Veylin family went largely unbothered by it.
Around this time, two men arrived in town from the distant city of Iriaebor. They claimed to serve a new god, a judge, a guide of the dead, and paid a visit to the family who tended the cemetery. They had plans to travel to Candlekeep, they said, seeking to further spread the word of this new deity, Kelemvor, and to consult with the sages there. Hal and Mary were polite enough, but shared a good laugh afterward about the wandering faithful of a god nobody had heard of. Life went on, and all was well.Until the plague.Magic may have returned, but the power of clergy to deal with illness or any great calamity was still far beyond what the slowly recovering Weave could support. The sickness took Edrin. Cyran remembered the shroud he was wrapped in when they placed him into the casket. The disease had ravaged his body and his mother could not bring herself to look at her firstborn son. A week passed. Mary kept herself locked in the bedroom. Hal, not knowing what else to do, threw himself into his work. The cemetery had never looked so well kept.
Then came a cold night in Marpenoth. No one had seen the man slip into the cemetery. Cloaked in dark robes and clutching a tome, he began chanting over the graves. It took several hours, but the bodies eventually stirred and began clawing their way out of the ground. Their first victim was the necromancer himself, inexperienced, unable to control what he had raised, he was torn to pieces before he could flee. The alarm bell rang as the dead began pouring into the streets. Cyran and his father ran out to find the townspeople congregating near the cemetery gates. That was when they saw them. The dead, risen.
The two men from Iriaebor wasted no time. Empowered in some fashion the boy could not yet understand, they moved through the streets with efficiency and without malice, striking the dead down one by one as they spread through the town. There was no anger in them, Only duty. Cyran and his father returned home to find Mary gone. They ran, searching the streets, they found her at last, the town bells had roused her from the dark grief she had locked herself inside, and she had made her way through the chaos somehow untouched by the dead that wandered among the living. She had found him. Edrin. His body a ravaged wreck, the burial shroud trailing behind him.Cyran screamed for his mother. She did not hear him. In a daze, she moved toward her dead son. Edrin took little time in devouring her where she stood. She almost seemed to allow it to happen. Cyran stood frozen, unable to move, and would likely have been next had Sir Tharion and Lyon not come around the corner and put Edrin to rest. It took them little time to understand what had happened. Their eyes were filled with sympathy for the boy standing in the street.
Hal Veylin was destroyed, his wife killed by his firstborn son raised thru the dark art of necromancy. He bade the men take Cyran with them on their journey to Candlekeep. His grief was so consuming that he wanted nothing more than to lock himself away and tend to his duties alone. The reburial was brief. Many in the town did not attend the services they had little interest in a new god, and the rumblings about the dangers of magic's return were already beginning to take shape.
Cyran's next years were a mixture of martial training and study. What tomes existed at Candlekeep on the subjects of death, the body, and funerary rites were made available to the knights, but little was written of Kelemvor specifically. his faith was simply too new. Cyran absorbed what he could and learned the rest through the teachings of Sir Tharion and Lyon directly, limited as they were. Eventually Cyran grew into a young man, and the knights began making plans to return to Iriaebor. Having heard word of the faith taking root in Amn, specifically in the city of Murann, they charged him to travel south to the temple known as the Last Repose. Learn what you can of our faith, they told him, that you and we may serve the Judge better, and so Cyran began his journey.
Physical Description:Cyran Veylin is a tall, imposing human with a strikingly pale complexion, giving him a spectral, almost otherworldly presence. His head is clean-shaven, emphasizing the sharp angles of his face and the cold, stoic expression he carries at all times. His features are chiseled and austere: high cheekbones, a straight, narrow nose, and a strong jawline, all set in a calm, unreadable demeanor. His eyes are deep-set and dark, conveying a sense of quiet focus and solemnity rather than emotion.
He wears dark, battle-worn plate armor marked with subtle clerical symbols, functional and practical, with no ornamentation beyond what signifies his devotion to Kelemvor. Leather straps and belts secure various pouches and a sheathed longsword at his side. His hands are gloved, gripping the hilt of his sword with deliberate care, hinting at both discipline and readiness. Cyran’s overall appearance is one of controlled power and quiet vigilance, a figure shaped by duty and tempered by solemn reflection.
Height/Build: Approximately 6’2”, lean but muscular, more built for endurance and disciplined combat than brute strength.
Distinguishing Features: The combination of his pale skin, bald head, and grim, expressionless face gives him an almost statue-like presence. He carries an aura of quiet authority and solemnity, befitting a servant of Kelemvor.
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