New Member - Syllabea *Edited*

Syllabea sighed and looked deep into the heart of the fire.

"You still never told us." One person said.

"We asked a week ago." Said another.

"And the week before that." Said the first.

Syllabea sighed once more. "I would rather not."

"We all told eachother where we came from. Now it's your turn."

"I don't remember when I came to Erinn. All i have are vague images of where i came from. I must have been young. My first real memories were of my parents, walking down the streets of Tir Chonaill. From a young age, i've been interested in combat of all types, and my parents embraced it. They even enrolled me in Ranald's combat class, which i quickly passed at the head of my class.

"At the age of eight, my father gave me my first weapon: A simple and dulled dagger." Syllabea chuckled softly. "I remember rushing into Alby Dungeon that night and having my first taste of real combat. From that moment on... I was hooked. The rush was exhilarating. Nothing could compare. But the dagger was so one dimensional, so... Boring. I needed more. So one night i went to a local blacksmith's shopafter he went home for the night and broke in. Rows upon rows of sharp, beautiful swords, maces, and arrows... But one in particular caught my eye. It was an exquisite longsword. The hilt was wrapped in silver cord and the pommel was a four pointed crown. The handguard was solid silver with fine engravings on either side. The wide blade was pure black, and glistened in the moonlight.

"I tried to pick it up, but it was too heavy for one arm and had to wield it with two hands. I walked out of the shop proudly, my new blade resting on my shoulder. With great confidence in my stride, i ran towards Ciar to let my blade taste blood. I entered..." Syllabea smiled widely, a sort of bloodlust in his eyes. "And laid waste. Nothing could stand in my way. Not even the golem of Ciar could stop me.
"But the last strike i made on the golem... The obsidian blade shattered, the pure silver handguard bent, and the pommel cracked. The sword was in ruins, but i didn't care. All i could do was sleep near the pieces.

"The next day, i left Ciar. To my surprise, there was a very angry man there to greet me. 'It was you!' He screamed. 'How dare you take what's not yours?! That sword was one of a kind! The embodiment of my life's work!' He took a few large steps towards me, and I remember him swing at my head... Then nothing.

"I don't remember waking up, but i do remember my parent's packing necessities in a hurried fashion.

"We left Tir Chonaill that day. I was still reeling from the blow, and must have fell back to sleep because i woke up on the ship to Iria. The journey was long and cold, and my parents wouldn't even speak to me. When we finally arrived, we hired an escort with the last of our money and walked to Karu Forest, where we settled down and lived. My father built a cabin and my mother made it feel like home. Life was... Relatively normal for a few years until..." Syllabea's face turned dark and sad. "Until the attack."

"The man who i stole the sword from turned out to be a highly ranked bandit leader, and I broke his prized posession. The attack was sudden. Magic, arrows, infantry. He wanted me dead, and he wanted it now. My parents tried to stop them, but were quickly struck down. They were out for my blood, and didn't care who else's they spilled to get it. The man i stole the sword from walked up to me as his lackeys burned and ransacked the house. He smiled and drew the two-handed sword from his back, kicked me into the floor onto my back... " Sylllabea clutched at the left side of his chest. "And thrust the sword through my chest and into the floor. He left me impaled on the ground and left my home to burn.

"I don't remember anything after that; only brief images of a beautiful girl in a black dress remain. I remember waking up on the ruins of my house, but i felt... Different. My hair changed, my eyes changed color, andi felt stronger. Memories of my family being slaughtered, my home burning, and of my own death raged in my mind. I vowed that day to avenge my mother and father; to kill the man who destroyed them. I trained in solitude every day, building strength and honing my skills to one day bring them justice." Syllabea cracked his knuckles and loving stroked the pommel of his greatsword. There was silence around the campfire. Syllabea stood up and quietly walked back to his tent.

The next day, the others found him laying down next to a tree, his knuckles bloody and dried tears staining his face. They looked up and say a two inch deep depression in the side of an oak tree next to him, the bark punched into the wood itself.