Cyrel Vandroth

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Member Profile
Cyrel Vandroth
Career Information
Callsign 'Doc
Full RS Name Cyrel Vandroth
A.K.A. Cy, Cyrel
Rank Vice Admiral
Join ~1998
Current Status Active
Current Station Minos Cluster
Current Offices Honorary Command Council
Current Command Positions none
Other Current Positions none
Past Positions of note AW CO, RID CO, ABG SO, Jedi (ABG) CO
Recruited by MSN Gaming Zone JKII Matchups
Personal Information (fictional)
Era(s) Late Imperial
Homeworld Earth
Species Mixed human
Gender Male
Age Not Disclosed
Height 1.96 metres
Weight 95 kilograms
Hair color Not Disclosed
Eye color Blue (bioluminescent)
Distinguishing features Not Disclosed
Personal Information (Real Life)
Name Not Disclosed
Gender Male
Location United States
Age 25
Occupation Physicist

Fleet Admiral Cyrel Vandroth has served in the RS for a long time.

Fleet Admiral Cyrel Vandroth currently serves in the Allegiance Battle Group as a Senior Game Master. He can normally be found idling or actively in the #allegience chat room on the undernet as RS_Cyrel or Ciredik. In multiplayer events for the RS and for EaW he goes by RS_Cyrel.

Player History

Following the release of Dark Forces II: Jedi Knight in 1997, Cyrel met Troy Nexus on the MSN gaming zone stabbing people for giggles. Enticed by the idea of joining a 'guild' or 'clan', he took Troy's advice and joined the Rebel Squadrons, becoming a new cadet in the Rebel Squadrons Commando Division. While joining this early makes Cyrel one of the 'older' class of members to remain active with the Rebel Squadrons today, periods of inactivity related to parental scholastic prodding has often kept him from becoming particularly well known in the club.. that and frequent name changes.

Upon joining the RSCD, Cyrel realized he needed an alias for his online adventures within the RS. Having just been introduced to the concept of soldiering and various military movies of the era, he chose to utilize the infamous nickname 'Deadmeat' reserved for green troopers thrust into battle... However, barring an unfortunate issue regarding the reservation of said name on the MSN gaming zone and IRC at the time, Cyrel opted simply to go for a slightly altered spelling. Hence, Deadmeet was born.

((The following paragraph/sentence is subject to revision, given a lack of documentation to back up Cyrel 's faulty memory)) 'Deadmeet' proceeded to dominate all that was put before him in a fiery blaze of JK glory, or he was an indifferent student of the game and played a couple matches in the Minos Cluster Conflict (Which he didn't get the fancy tour ribbon for, grrr!)... either way, after briefly commanding Shadow Squad, Deadmeet turned his eye towards the Aurora Force and resigned his positions within the RSCD. Somewhere in there Cyrel also purchased X-wing and Tie Fighter, and flew several missions with Wraith Squadron.

Deadmeet's story within the Aurora Force was.. colored, at best. While the storylines within the group started off tame enough, adolescent quests to be 'cool' played off of one another within the group and resulted in some rather extravagant plot developments (Including, but not limited to: storming an Executor Class SSD and successfully subduing the crew, the discovery and utilization of a Maw-esc research and construction facility that was codenamed 'Stormlight', the creation of the Chu'unthor II which featured a large crystalline plasma based weapon similar to that found in the Wing Commander: Prophecy video game and, last but not least, becoming Grand Master of the 'Sedith' force order (A group of individuals who favored an 'enlightened' view of the force and felt it was their duty to maintain a balance between Light and Dark, both within themselves and the galaxy) )). When Cyrel chose to finally leave the AF after becoming aware of the extent of the... silliness... some of the plotlines had acquired, he chose to abandon the Deadmeet persona in order to start anew.

Thus, Cyrel adopted a new persona named Zak Ciredik and utilized him throughout much of his career with the ABG. Starting as a would be slicer with limited force potential, Zak rose through the ranks of the group's jedi order and the Wing itself. Eventually becoming the commanding officer of Allegiance Wing for a short period of time, Cyrel chose to resign in order to focus on academic work back in the real world.

After a short stint with a psychologically unstable demolitions expert, Belasai Seuchuti, Cyrel officially retired his now Jedi Master Zak Ciredik and created the character which currently serves as his online moniker: Cyrel Vandroth. Cyrel represented an attempt to thoroughly test the newly revised rules system governing the force, as well as create a new level of interaction with the younger players as a 'fresh' character. Eventually, Zak was reinstated as a PC and, similarly, was utilized to thoroughly test the dark-side powers that normally were only utilized by GMs.

While Zak is currently his active persona within ABG sims, Cyrel has kept the good Dr. as his meta RS persona.

Previous Positions

- RSCD: Shadow Squad CO (?)

- Wraith Squadron (member)

- Aurora Force (member)

- Allegiance Wing CO


Character History

Cyrel Vandroth
Biographical information
Homeworld Coruscant
Date of birth 12:5:4BrS (55 years old at 44GrS, 59 years old at 48GrS)
Family Deceased
Physical description
Species Telemek
Gender Male
Height 1.96 metres (6'5")
Weight 95 kilograms (210lb)
Hair color ??
Eye colorBlue (bioluminescent)
Chronological and political information
Affiliation New Republic
Ranks Lieutenant (44GrS), Lieutenant General (48GrS)
Titles Doctor

((This was taken as an excerpt from my opening Zealot post))

-=Undercity, Coruscant, 44:4:7:17:53 =-

The constant drumming of one of Coruscant’s fierce thunderstorms pelted the surface with its usual vengeance upon the planet-wide city. Lashes of rain slammed against upper tier buildings that easily bore the brunt of the assault, causing droplets to flow into streams down the sides, plunging into Coruscant’s depths. Down below the gleam and polish of the upper city streets, sheets of water ran like Nabooian falls through the depths, flowing over walkways and back alleys alike. Splashes off of overhanging walkways, balconies, and buildings crisscrossing further and further down recreate a rain like effect for even the lowest granite slug during the worst storms. It was on one of these nights that two New Republic soldiers stumbled upon their quarry.

The piercing white light of a handheld glow rod swept over the tattered and decayed form of what could otherwise be considered your every day drunkard: an old, craggy faced man lay curled up on the ferrocrete pavement, clutching a bottle of arguably fine Corellian Whiskey, oblivious to the torrential rainfall going on around him as it further soaked his stained, faded clothing. The only thing that struck the two officers as out of the ordinary about him was the faint blue glow emanating from the man’s eyes in the darkness, peering up at the people who disrupted his slumber. As the brilliant light cut through the haze of rain, the man raised the half empty bottle in an attempt to diffuse the brilliance shining on his eyes.

The one of the soldiers lowered his light, shaking his head, “Is that him, the ‘general’ we were sent to find?” His tone belied a rather strong disbelief that anyone anointed with such a rank could sink so low.

Moments after consulting a datapad and peering around the whiskey bottle, his companion confirmed their suspicions, “Yeah, that’s him.... go get him up, I’ll call the speeder.”

“Me?! I saw the lout first, you go pick him up and I’ll call the speeder. The guy probably smells like crap..literally.”

“Hey, I already got the damned datapad out and besides, I have three days seniority on you so move it!”

Grumbling, the nondescript soldier went forward into the alley, directing his beam towards the man’s torso. The brilliant white light illuminated what seemed to be an old college vest, lined with what appeared to be insignias denoting the Coruscanti School of Medicine along with various honoraries and valedictorian pins. The upper left hand corner featured a rank patch denoting this poor creature as a Major General with the New Republic armed forces… the soldier resisted a reflexive urge to spit at the man disgracing that insignia, instead dragging him to his feet.

The drunk was in no state to resist, fumbling around haphazardly as he attempted to dislodge the soldiers firm grip, glaring at him through his intoxicated haze as his thick dialect tinted his slurred basic ((think a hodgepodge of Scottish and Irish ;D )), “Oih, what tha bloody ‘ell are yeh doin?! Took meh ten kriffin h..*hic* hou…minutes teh find tha spot, lemme go!”

The soldier took a little enjoyment in denying the man his respite as not even the constant rain pattering on his already soaked uniform could drown out the stench of drunkenness reeking off of the man in his grip. The one with the datapad seemed to offer a sympathetic smile as a moderate sized personal speeder lowered onto the ferrocrete pavement. “Do not worry sir, I’m sure you’ll get cleaned up in no time.”

The drunk blinked incomprehensibly at the smiling soldier as he was shoved unceremoniously into the back seat of the speeder by the other. As the door slammed with slightly more force then necessary, the vehicle lifted off and began to cruise down the under city streets. The one who was forced to handle the drunk grimaced as he inhaled the aroma now wafting off of his uniform, “Kriffing son of a… how in blazes did that guy sink so low… and what’s up with those eyes?”

The datapad wielding soldier sighed, glaring at her companion, “Quit being speciest, and do you ever bother to read our briefings?” She clicked her tongue in vexation and shook her head before continuing, “That man was a local surgeon at an Imperial instillation… strange the file didn’t say where… anyway, when we hit this place and wrested control away from the Imperials, he remained on the ground instead of fleeing with most of the rest of high society. When all hell was breaking lose, he managed to gather as many people capable of defending themselves as he could and started setting up defended triage stations to take care of the wounded… After awhile, he had a few hundred men under him following his lead just because he had his head on his shoulders and was saving lives.

Command found him a few days later, he had managed to gather up so many soldiers that he warranted a temporary commission just to keep them in line. He stuck around on Coruscant since then, helping with disaster relief and racking up more and more volunteers and promotions until his rank finally just… stuck. Now that things have settled down, he seemed to have slipped through the new bureaucracy until… well, we found him.”

The other soldier blinked a few times, “…how do you know all this crap?”

The other soldier smirked and promptly thwapped her companion on the helmet with her datapad, “I read, numbskull. Come on, we need to get back to our patrol.”

As they both turned to head down the street, with the one lightly rubbing his head from the blow, the first spoke up, “So, what is his name anyway?”

Before as the other answered, a resounding blast of thunder from over head reverberated through the undercity, even through the speeder that the doctor made general was trying not to vomit in.

Situated on a bench opposite to the one the man was currently trying to sit up on, a figure illuminated only by the periodic passing of exterior lights spoke with a serious, gravely voice, “Mind the upholstery General, our technicians would not enjoy cleaning this out. Do you know who I am?”

The drunk swept his bleary gaze over the shadowy form for a moment… his eyes widening in a flash of recognition as a change stream of light cascaded over the rank plate and the cut of the uniform. A small level of sobriety instantly hit the general with a burst of adrenaline as he sat up, dumbly pointing towards the other, “Yer directo---“

A dismissive hand gesture cut off the comment as the other figure shifted slightly in his seat, “Good… your memory hasn’t left you entirely, I may have had to feign disappointment if you had forgotten our last meeting. Suffice it to say, I am here representing the New Republic Intelligence’s interests, which so happen to involve you, General.”

“…Meh? Whadya.. whama..what would yeh want with meh? Yeh quit… bloody payin meh five months ago!”

“Calm down, General. Your pay was suspended due to your negligence to report for reassignment.. We were hoping that the lack of funds would drive you to return and seek further employment as your leadership abilities and medical knowledge would have been useful on other damaged sectors of the city… Your choice to drown yourself in alchohol and slowly whittle away your considerable bank account was…disappointing, to say the least.”

Leadership abilities… peh… his orders weren’t tactically sound, nor did they ever gain anyone any strategic advantage… in fact, usually quite the opposite… but they saved lives. He had done his best to save every man who came to work for him, he hoped it began to repay the debt he had wracked up to society, if anything could forgive what he had done. “Yeh can take yer disappointment and shove it, director, I got my own concerns, yeh can just let tha galaxy forget about me.”

As if reading his thoughts, the silhouette went on, “I think not. While we have granted you clemency for your participation in Derricote’s research, a task made easier due to the public’s general ignorance of the particulars of that potential disaster, it would be unfortunate if your role were made public…especially given your choice of rest areas.”

The man in tatters half glared, half sighed in resignation at the silhouette, “Yeh hadn’t got tha balls laddie… even if yeh did, it wouldn’t be half as much as I deserved.”

The figure sighed as well before flicking his wrist, launching a datapad into the other man’s chest with a dull thump. “Save it for later, general. If you feel you need further rehabilitation to be a soul worthy of living, you might as well accept this offer. There is a special operations unit out in the outer rim, a subdivision of the ongoing liberation of the Greeop sector. We have…surprising little intelligence coming out of that region of space and it has been decided additional sources need to be added to that sector. The skills you have acquired while surviving Coruscant’s liberation ironically make you an ideal candidate for the squadron… as well as other considerations.”

The ‘general’ grunted, looking up from the datapad, “Yeh mean tha fact yer blackmailing meh into this.”

A passing flash of light shone on a smile that was all teeth, “Precisely. In return for your cooperation, we’re willing to reinstate your pay grade… I’m even authorized to promote you to Lieutenant General for your participation. Granted, your commission really has no bearing due to the fact that you won’t officially be assigned to a fleet… not as you truly are, anyway. Your paper work is all on that pad, as is your graduation certificate from the academy. Congratulations, you passed with distinction, lieutenant.”

The general glared, well squinted really, at the other man, almost shutting out the faint light projected from his eyes as the speeder slowed to a stop again.

“Take it or leave it, I don’t really care, we can find someone else… but there are a lot of good people out there on the rim and, quite frankly, they could use every medically trained person they can get their hands on.”

The general stared down at the datapad again, thumbing over his resume as the driver stepped out of the front of the speeder. “…this claims tha I have some decent skills flyin shuttles an other transport craft… I haven’t ever touched a damned thing, whad’ya expect me to do, crash?”

The silhouette’s grin of triumph at the other man’s omission of participation was masked by the shadow of the driver walking around the speeder, “It was necessary to make your application all the more… palatable. You will be expected to perform in all possible theaters, so it was necessary to give you a purpose. I imagine you will find a low grade recreational simulator on your transport, I suggest you monopolize it.”

The door opened, causing the lieutenant to blink rapidly as beams of sunlight cascaded down into the speeder. He had not even noticed the slackening of the storm during their transit, let alone their change in elevation out of the under city. He looked down at the datapad in his hands one last time before slipping it inside his vest without so much as an ‘if you please?’ He managed a grin, if shaky, to the silhouette, “Guess this is meh stop… see yeh around… oh, the Admiral insignia was a nice touch, by the way.”

-=Resupply transport, Longstrider, 44:4:9:10:22 =-

Cyrel Vandroth… Cyrel Vandroth… Lieutenant Vandroth… your name is Cyrel Vandroth…

It was an exercise he had gone over only twice in his life before, convincing yourself that your name was something else entirely was a rather annoying and time consuming process… but it often prevented unnecessary slip ups later. Hopefully, he’d have it stuck soon enough. Clean shaven, bathed, and clad in a New Republic uniform he certainly looked like a different man then the one bossing around soldiers and fellow medics alike over a year ago. He would, however, still be an oddity… not many ‘recruits’ came down the pipeline after the age of fifty, let alone ones seeking active combat duty.

He was spry for his age and prided himself on keeping his body relatively in shape, well, enough to move when he needed to. He had always been quite dexterous, something he imagined that was passed down from the parents he never knew, just like his eyes. Both had saved him once or twice before, as no one tends to expect a graying, wrinkled man to tumble out of the way of a blaster bolt without so much as a bruised shoulder. Never the less, he had since taken on walking with a gimp in his left leg that it had become habitual, forever walking with a deceptive hobble that played up his age… he would get a lot of odd looks, but hopefully those odd looks would be change the first time he is forced to sew up a comrade in the middle of a pitched fight.

Cyrel shivered, his distracted thoughts causing him to slam his simulated shuttle into the hull of the ship he was docking with. He slammed the controls forward in disgust, rubbing his fingers into his eyes…. Thankfully, this was going to be a long trip.

((Insert story regarding Cyrel's retirement in Zealot, and subsequent re-assignment to the ABG, where he then spent his free time studying Cybernetics.))

Defected from the Allegiance Battle Group. Joined the 501st.


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