Sylfeya stands short and stout at 5’2″ and 146 pounds, with dark red hair tied back to keep it out of her blue-grey eyes. Were one to catch her outside of her armor, one might describe her as ‘curvy’ – but such a feat would be rare, given how she wears her armor almost as a second skin.
Sylfeya was born in another world. Not a fact she ever advertises, but one she is constantly reminded of as she stares at every alien plant and animal of her current home. Some things are simple enough – grass is grass wherever you go, apples are still apples, cats and dogs are still recognizable – but others are different. Here, goblins are spindly creatures, while orcs are almost human-like and can even breed with humans. Despite these unfamiliarities, enough remains the same in her new surroundings that she manages to get by, mostly.
In her homeworld, Sylfeya was an adventurer. Some might call her a mercenary, doing odd jobs for pay for any that would ask, but she is proud of the fact that she was actually certified as an adventurer. She has carried out several missions, both for her country and for their allies, but unfortunately the memory of many of those have had to be magically sealed away as a security precaution. It was during one such mission that she acquired a glowing white feather, which floats and dances on an ethereal breeze – she doesn’t remember the particulars of that mission, but she feels a wistful sadness for some reason when she holds the feather.
The last great adventure she had in her homeworld was not a mission on behalf of her country, but a personal quest. She heard of an information broker, a clever goblin that had somehow put together an extensive network of connections, who knew the whereabouts of a great swordswoman’s legendary weapon. After working diligently for several years, she had finally amassed enough money to meet the goblin’s exorbitant fees.
After climbing through orc-infested hills to an icy mountain peak, Sylfeya followed the goblin’s directions and found herself in a sheltered hot spring. There from the depths of the pool, she withdrew the blade, an elven greatsword glistening and sharp as the day it was forged. Yet, despite the awe she felt at holding this legendary relic, she also felt cheated – while well-balanced, there was no sense of awesome magical power like the goblin had claimed. Perhaps she truly was a fool, to have been bilked out of so much gold on the word of a goblin. Before she could doubt, however, a quiet voice spoke to her in the elven tongue – the swordswoman’s spirit, perhaps. Sylfeya has refused to tell any what she heard that day, but as she knelt there in the pool, she nodded, then sheathed the sword and strode down from the peak, carving her way through any orc foolish enough to stand in her path.
A day’s travel later, Sylfeya found herself standing before a stone maw, a cavernous opening that seemed to absorb the surrounding light. Without a word, she climbed in.
When she woke up, she was in a whole new world, with no idea when, or even if, she would ever return home.
A stranger in a not entirely strange world, Sylfeya is not accustomed to the standard social niceties her companions may be familiar with, but enough remains similar that she tries to blend in – but sometimes this false familiarity leads her to assumptions that prove grievously wrong. The many ‘memory wipe’ enchantments lain upon her have also taken their toll, causing her to forget certain facts, or to doubt her own recollections – she has even been known to forget her own name on occasion.
Sylfeya is much more certain in her swordsmanship. Having studied under several masters, she has trained not only with her sword but with other weapons as well, for only by understanding a weapon’s capabilities can one fully understand how to defend against it.
One of her greatest strengths is perhaps also her greatest flaw: her faith. Sylfeya is convinced her destiny is being guided by an unseen hand, and thus believes her adventures are a series of difficult but fair challenges to be overcome – while she could (with difficulty) believe that a mighty foe might be too powerful to face, the idea that a random skirmish could be complete happenstance with no bearing on her is almost too much for her to comprehend; in her mind, the mighty foe will inevitably become a nemesis to be fought after some Mighty Quest to even the odds, while a random encounter too weak to seriously challenge her must obviously be a forerunner or feint leading to a much more dangerous challenge, such as bait leading to a deadly trap. As a result, she may charge fearlessly into battle against overwhelming odds, convinced she and her comrades will somehow triumph, while other times she may take overly elaborate precautions to protect against some unseen threat that exists only in her own mind.
For all that she is quick to charge into combat with blade at the ready, Sylfeya is also just as eager to try to tackle problems with logic. Unfortunately, her grasp of such is less firm than her grasp on her sword, many times leading to multi-step plans which she’s still trying to describe while her companions just shake their heads and move on. This doesn’t keep her from trying, of course.