Sythril (prime)

Sythril Ravenwynd Created by Sythrils player using Chatgpt Race Half-elf Culture Faendryl Hometown River's Rest Class Scoundrel Profession Rogue Religion No Affiliation(s) None In-a-Word Indulgent Disposition Flirtatious Flaw Restlessness Greatest Strength Fearless Expression Greatest Weakness Fear of Abandonment Hobbies Picking Boxes, Gathering Treasure, Flirting Loyalties Friends, loved one Best Friend Olivianne, Arbeia, Arelder, Sireo, Saesyra, Hollybear, Anferis, Polveiss Spouse Olivianne

Appearance

He is tall in stature and has a hardened, work-hewn figure.  He appears to be young and untried.  He has rose-flecked ametrine purple eyes and sun-kissed, light brown skin.  He has mid back-length, loosely curled raven black hair slicked back into a tight, nape-hugging ponytail bound by a lustrous knitted glacial white flyrsilk hairtie.  He has a chiseled, angular face, a small nose and a thin, smooth scar running just underneath his left eye.

He has a filigreed ivory shard in his right eyebrow, and a sovyn clove tattoo on his neck.

He is wearing a charcoal suede coat affixed with silver hooks, a hip-length inky black vest caught by a trio of thin silver chains, a half-buttoned ivory linen shirt, a simple blued steel wristchain, an angular invar band set with lightning glass shards, a damascened black ora band ensnaring an inky black nightstone, an ebony grosgrain belt, a pair of double pleated ebony starsilk trousers with crisp cuffed hems, and a pair of sparkling knitted moon and star-patterned night black spidersilk socks, and a pair of laced ebon leather shoes with narrow toes.

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Early Life:

Born in the fortress-city of Ta'Vaalor, Sythril entered the world as another half-elf in a society that prized pure bloodlines and martial tradition. Orphaned and isolated, he grew up with little privilege, scraping by in the cracks of a proud city that would embrace him. His fortune changed when a certain pirate, plucked him from the fortress streets and carried him westward to Wehnimer's Landing. There, a set of tools was placed in his hands and he was given his first real path: the life of a locksmith.

For years, Sythril lived by way of locksmithing rather than adventure. Where others chased glory in the wilds, he stayed behind, earning coin with steady patience. Several betrayals hardened him, teaching him to trust only in tumblers and coin. He withdrew from the world, brawling with bare fists when pressed, but otherwise burying himself in locks and guild work, shutting people out. The Guild gave him structure, purpose, and recognition that was earned rather than given. Through sheer dedication, he rose to become a guildmaster. The title became a symbol of who he was: a man who endured, who mastered, and who asked for nothing but the chance to prove himself again.

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