Sylvar Daran Nailo
Wood Elf Arcane Trickster (3) Ranger (4) Outlander Spy, Level 7
Height: 5’ 9’’
Weight: 115 lbs.
A youthful, rather plain looking elf, his long pointed ears peek through his long pale blonde locks. He wears two braids, each carrying several light feathers. His almond shaped eyes are a hazel-green and wary. His rough skin is a pale olive color, and smells of the forest after rain. Long of limb and slim, he is as often wary as curious, his long neck always peering forward, as his gaze rarely rests for long. Lean and athletic, he moves with an easy grace. He seems at home in the outdoors as most of his kin do. His clothes all well worn and stained by nature.
His simple shirt and tunic are different shades of grey with a dark green hue. Hardened boiled leather pads rests across his shoulders and over his chest, the straps attaching them to his dark leather armor. He wears a thick leather belt around his waist over the dark leathers, a pouch hanging on each side, his pants are a deep brown color, the stitching a dark green thread. A fine leather scabbard hangs on his hip, a finely wrought steel rapier sitting within. A leather and wood quiver holds arrows, their fletching made of the same feathers that hang in his braids, peeking over his shoulder. The quiver and arrows are strapped across his back, a strung curved longbow sitting in a long leather sheath below. He wears a bandoleer across his chest in the opposite direction, a long pouch on it’s center, with loops for potions and vials along it. Two daggers are also visible, one opposite the rapier and made of steel, the second, made of bone, strapped to one of the leather bracers he wears, the sheath sitting on the inside of his right forearm.
Born among a small tribe of woodland elves, Sylvar has been among the wilderness for as long as he can remember, the elven community built directly into the trees. His mother and father were both skilled hunters, though not of equal standing, as his father was mostly disliked and known for being a hot-blooded drunk and would often jump to violence when insulted or threatened. Where as his mother was a leader among the tribe, the youngest among the elders, and a good deal wiser then most. Sylvar had learned to shoot a bow a few short months after he could walk on his own. His natural hunting skill was the one bright spot amongst a chaotic childhood, the vastly different relationship each of his parents had with their community causing tension at home. The three of them were never happier than when they were out hunting together, just them and the wilderness, it was the only time Sylvar ever saw his father smile. Despite his mother’s wishes, when she would leave to meet with the elders, Sylvar’s father would take the opportunity to teach his son to fight men. Sylvar quickly learned the differences and similarities between fighting a man, and hunting a beast.
Sylvar was in his early twenties, still an adolescent by elven standards, though physically as developed as a human adult. His father had disappeared for several tenday, having been meant to return from a hunt, half a month past. His mother was growing more and more worried and she refused to share with him the rumors he knew were circulating about his father. In frustration Sylvar ventured out in search of his father. With practiced ease, he stole what supplies he needed. Sylvar and his father had very similar faces and his father’s enemies had quickly become Sylvar’s enemies, as they invariably treated the young elf with the contempt they held for his father. This left Sylvar with few trusted friends and on more then one occasion, had forced him to resort to theft, though he would often leave payment behind when he did. This night he left no recompense, taking what he needed without thought for those he stole from.
When Sylvar could find no sign of his father after a tenday of searching, he began to return home, hoping the note he had left had eased his mother’s concerns and she wouldn’t be too upset over his absence. Unfortunately what he found made his concerns vanish. As he returned to the vale his home resided in, he found Orcs and Orogs had burned it to cinders, having brutally murdered the entire settlement and set up a forward camp under the trees that once held Sylvar’s home. Stalking around the camp, he found a sight even worse then his burning home. His father, strung up among the branches of a low tree, his entire body bloody from torture, yet still breathing. Though difficult and requiring a great deal of patience, Sylvar managed to free his father, pulling him from the Orcish camp before they could end him for good. Alone in the woods, his father explained what had happened, begging for mercy as he told the story of his capture and interrogation. Having turned hard to the drink, his father had first gotten himself lost and then was foolish enough to light an unconcealed fire on the open plains. The orc raiding party had found him passed out drunk and took him captive easily. They then tortured him for days before they got what they wanted from him, the concealed entrance into the vale, an old and magically hidden dwarvish mine that lead directly through the mountains gave the Orcs and Orogs easy access. Without knowledge of the mine, it is literally impossible to find. Leaving it poorly guarded by the elves. It had been centuries since it was used, as it has been abandoned for even longer then that. Sylvar had no time to process all this before the orcs could be heard nearby, clearly on their tail. In a last effort to redeem himself, Sylvar’s father drew their attention, knowing his son could never get them both to safety.
Sylvar left the vale after that, he had nothing left there. In his wanderings and work as a guide, he found his way to the Emerald Enclave. Sharing their wish to keep the natural world safe, he joined them, hoping to do what he can to make Faerun a better place. He uses his skills to hunt down information and foes, in an effort to stop the spread of destruction being wrought upon the wilderness of Faerun.