Appearance:

Standing at a small 4’9” and 101 pounds. Syrdeth is rock-solid and built for speed. His black hair is tied into a ponytail by a small red ribbon and drapes down slightly below his shoulder. He saunters with a swagger that looks almost ridiculous on his diminutive figure. Beneath his green eyes is a crooked nose that has obviously been broken in several places. His hands are constantly moving as he checks his belt and pouches. On his right hand he wears a purple glove. A noticeable feature is his utter lack of weapons. He tends to dress in simple, bland clothes that are generally brown and ruffled. Those standing nearby hear the slight metallic sound of metal on metal beneath his loose fitting shirt.

Personality:

Syrdeth approaches life directly. He tends to give everyone around him the benefit of the doubt and trusts those until they prove false. He is slightly naïve to the ways of the world and has no problem expressing his ignorance on matters. Around his friends he will often joke or tease. Never hateful, he enjoys life and likes to have fun. There are seldom events that this elf takes seriously.

History:

My mother and father were two wonderful people. I say ‘were’ because it has been 10 years since I lost them. Their tale is short and painful. Faerneth and Maynar met in the forests of Culverwood. They spent much time together roaming the forest. After the two saw all of the sights in the forest, they decided to set out and see The Wold.

Traveling together, they made a good team. Faerneth’s divinations were the guiding force behind their wanderings while dad provided the strong arm. Eventually, they met up with an adventuring group dubbed the Silver Daggers and journeyed with them. After several years, the group came upon a floating eye. With the loss of much life, they were able to defeat the beholder and rout his horde of followers.

Rather than basking in the hard fought victory and going on to greater things, my parents decided they had seen enough of this dangerous life and decided to settle down. Having spent the last two decades in human lands, they decided to journey to the Big Float. They made their way to the legendary city and petitioned to join the guard of the city.

For a few years, life was good. They had a son, Syrdeth, then things changed.

One night, mother and father were apprehended for slaying their watchmates. Mother did not survive the night with her wounds. I knew that these lies could not be true.

A trial was held over the following week. Despite all methods of questioning (mundane and magical), Maynar would offer no defense for his traitorous actions. The following morning, the city paid for him to be incarcerated in Parnoth’s Mountain Prison. After nearly two years, the captain of the guard came to inform me that my father was dead. He left me no legacy other than a stream of unanswered questions.

As fate would have it, Flaust was just starting up her orphanage on the 6th level. The city’s leaders gave me into her care where I have been ever since.

Like any adolescent, I had my share of scrapes growing up. Some people tell me I’m a bit of a hothead. In my eyes, I won’t shy from any problems. In the early days, I would come back to Flaust with blood dripping from my nose and a snarl on my lips. She would soothe my aches and send me on my way with the constant admonishment, “Now this time you stay out of trouble.”

Come to think of it, most of my fights started when someone said something ill of my parents… Among the phrases I heard was, “Syrdeth Blackbow.” Black for a traitor’s color. All through my life, I’ve had to fight others and the memory of my mother and father. Without a doubt, it has made me stronger. Life at the orphanage was bearable; the only saving grace was Flaust’s desire to see all of us happy.

Then, a dwarf came to me. He introduced himself as Gamal. He claims to be a friend of my parents and I believe him. One of his visits involved bailing me out of a tussle when I was in over my head. At first, Flaust balked at the idea of leaving me in his company but over the years they have come to a mutual understanding.

That single event changed my life. He then introduced me to the axe and the ways of combat. My strength has always been well above average for my age but even I had trouble lifting this huge axe. With years of his tutelage (on and off), I was able to wield numerous weapons but the axe remains my weapon of choice. There is just something so simple yet brutal in it’s use. I’ve tried to approach life with the same attitude, “When in doubt, cause as much damage as possible and then weigh your options.”

Until lately, I have never formed any lasting bonds with any of the others knowing that they would grow old before my eyes. Now, I seem to spend most of my time with my new friends. It’s an unusual group of people and I feel the closest to a big half-orc. Despite his race, he seems a caring individual whom I truly respect. It doesn’t hurt that he wields an axe. While we do not visit Mother Flauset’s as often as before, she is always remembered in my thoughts and prayers.