Since that day with the demon there has been a new spring in Syvil's step. Anyone might be uplifted by defeating such a foe but it is unusual for him to take pride in his battles but he seems to make no secret about what happened with the fiery fiend. It is with an almost unbecoming air of confidence that he now walks down the streets of Haven, visiting ale rooms and speaking to strangers; often heard talking loudly of how he slayed the demon with naught but the shabby blade strapped to his side. Jagged, old and appearing as something a warrior has used and left to the tooth of time, he nevertheless claims that this is indeed the finest sword in Haven. What has gotten into this usual secretive half-elf is hard to say for certain; but he's not acting as Syvil usually would.
