Problems are like my scabs. You keep picking at them, it's just gonna get worse.
Description: While pale like most of the Faenor, Syndie's otherwise milky white skin is peppered with scars and scabs. Some of those scabs pulled partially back. Her nails are also bitten down and cracked, a sure sign of one who picks at their wounds frequently without allowing them to heal. Syndie's fingers are no better, more often than not, wrapped in bandages.
Personality: Appearing rather aloof and uncaring at first glance, Syndie tends to take a while to open up to others. Yet, when she gets going, it is difficult to get her to stop. Her moods are like the swing of a pendelum
Background: Born in a dilapidated shack in the outskirts of Khelwen, Syndie has always been surrounded by odd knick knacks. Her father, a Reid, tended to collect a wide assortment of bizarre weapons. Many bought from any old charlatan out there who fancied themselves an inventor. These, her father modified to fit the purpose of hunting. Little did they ever venture out into civilization, his belief being that the mountain's forests had all that they needed. Whils Syndie did take after her father's hunting ways, her real passion was for the arts. She might have even said the wind had its own song.
Her eyes seemed to be drawn to the otherwise insignificant details in life, words swirling about her head with a tune in her heart. Syndie was reluctant to follow the rest of te Faenor to Khalgar after arriving in Aarandor, but pressured by her father, she went. Still, however, Syndie gravitates towards any eatery or tavern she may find, tempted by the minds of creativity that may dwell there, definately at odds with the life her father wanted for her. Hunting is a chore needed to be done, not enjoyed, for Syndie. Perhaps she might have picked up her peculiarties from her estranged, absent mother. Perhaps not, as Syndie's father becomes touchy at the mention of the woman. Given, this only serves to increase Syndie's curiousity, but she dares not pry.
Currently, the two have come to an icy cold truce. Syndie was to accompany him on his hunts at least twice a week, then the rest of the time was for her to do as she wished. Syndie gladly took this opportunity, travelling when and where the desire takes her. Frequently, this means performing her original songs and prose for meager earnings in order to get there.