The Elder Scrolls: Tamriel

A gaunt, elderly Nord man with weather-beaten features and hollow, sunken eyes. His face is deeply lined, with thin gray hair clinging to his scalp in wisps. A jagged scar runs down one cheek, and he wears cracked leather armor and weathered boots. An old, rust-patched iron sword hangs at his hip, and his posture is stiff but dutiful, standing unmoving except for the slow turn of his head as visitors approach.

The Watchman is quiet, stoic, and eerily detached. He speaks in low, measured tones, each word spoken slowly, as if recalling language from the bottom of a well. His manner is unfailingly polite, yet devoid of warmth—haunted by long years of servitude and the constant awareness that he is prey among predators. He neither questions his orders nor complains of the cold or solitude; he simply waits, watches, and obeys. To most who encounter him, he is just an old thrall with a thousand-yard stare and a broken sword—but behind his hollow gaze is the last flicker of a man who once stood tall, now reduced to a gatekeeper for the damned. In the shadowed world of Castle Volkihar, the Watchman is not a monster—he is a reminder of what happens when mortals serve monsters for too long.

Once a mercenary or perhaps a low-ranking guard from Haafingar, the Watchman was taken by the Volkihar Clan decades ago and enthralled into lifelong servitude. Though the details of his past have eroded with time and magical influence, some part of him remembers the world outside the castle—he just knows better than to speak of it. He now serves as the doorman to Volkihar Keep, stationed alone at the castle’s entrance to intercept, question, or redirect travelers. Unlike the vampires inside, the Watchman doesn't indulge in bloodlust or ambition; he exists only to obey, kept alive and enchanted just enough to endure his role. While not entirely mindless, he is bound to the will of his masters, with no hope of escape—and no illusion of freedom.