SYDNEY DIEM - BACKSTORY
THE ORPHAN (Age ~6-8)
Syd’s parents died when he was very young. The exact circumstances are unclear—plague, accident, something else—but he was left alone in a city, just another gnome street kid that people looked past. He remembers hunger, cold, and learning quickly that adults didn’t listen to children. Especially not gnome children with dirty faces and no family name.
He survived by being clever, watching, listening. He learned to read people, to notice things, to slip through crowds. The streets taught him that your station mattered more than your words.
THE PROPHET ARRIVES (Age ~8-10)
A wandering performer came through the city—someone calling themselves a prophet of Veridicor, the Wandering Word. They wore a patchwork cloak and spoke in strange, mangled sayings that somehow made people listen. Children gathered around for stories and music.
This was the 12th Prophet of the Wandering Word.
Something about young Syd caught the 12th Prophet’s attention. Maybe it was how observant he was. Maybe it was the hungry way he watched the crowd believe. Maybe it was just loneliness recognizing loneliness.
The 12th Prophet took Syd in. Fed him. Taught him to play music. Let him travel along. And Syd believed. He genuinely thought his mentor was touched by the divine. He felt saved—literally saved—by a real prophet of a real god.
For years, Syd traveled with the 12th Prophet, learning to perform, to read crowds, to comfort people with strange wisdom. He was an apprentice. A believer. A kid who’d finally found family.
THE CONSPIRACY (Age ~17-19)
They were in a city—a bigger one, where the 12th Prophet was well-known and respected. Syd was a young adult now, capable and confident, starting to perform on his own.
One day, Syd was in the wrong place. Maybe working in a tavern, or running an errand in the slums, or just being a small gnome that people talked over. He overheard something. A plot. A conspiracy. Something dangerous—poison in a well, an assassination, a theft that would destroy livelihoods. Something serious enough that people would die if he didn’t act.
Syd ran to the authorities. “I heard them! They’re planning to—”
But he was a gnome. A street performer. A nobody with no family name, no credentials, no reason to be believed.
“Where did you hear this?"
"I was… I overheard them in—"
"You were eavesdropping? Spying?"
"No, I just—"
"How do we know you’re not part of this? Street rat like you, probably in on it.”
They arrested him. Charged him as a conspirator. Threw him in a cell to await trial.
And in that cell, Syd learned what terror felt like. The trial was a formality. He had no proof. No witness. No family to vouch for him. Just his word—and his word meant nothing.
They sentenced him to hang.
THE GALLOWS (Age ~17-19)
Syd stood on the gallows. The rope around his neck. The crowd watching. This was how his story ended—trying to save people, and dying because no one would listen to a gnome street kid.
He was terrified. Not brave. Just… broken. This was it.
And then, through the crowd, a voice: “STOP!”
The 12th Prophet pushed through, patchwork cloak swirling, finger pressed to temple in that familiar dramatic gesture.
“I have received a VISION! Veridicor speaks! This boy—this young man—is INNOCENT! The gods themselves have shown me his pure heart! You would hang an innocent, and bring divine wrath upon this city?”
The crowd murmured. The magistrate hesitated. The 12th Prophet was known. Respected. A holy person.
They released Syd. Reluctantly. Suspiciously. But they couldn’t hang someone a prophet had vouched for. Not publicly.
Syd stumbled away from those gallows, shaking, crying, convinced his mentor had truly received divine intervention on his behalf.
THE TRUTH (Shortly After)
Later, when they were far from the city, the 12th Prophet sat Syd down.
“Kid, we need to talk. About the gods. And lying. And lying about the gods.”
And then the 12th Prophet told him everything.
There was no Veridicor. Well—there was, technically, a minor gnomish deity associated with Garl Glittergold, so obscure that almost no one knew enough to call bullshit. But the 12th Prophet wasn’t receiving visions. Never had been.
The patchwork cloak? Sentimental, not sacred.
The mangled proverbs? Deliberately confusing, passed down from the 1st Prophet 200 years ago.
The finger-to-temple gesture? Theater.
The “vision” that saved Syd’s life? A lie. A clever, well-timed, theatrical lie.
“But… you saved me."
"I did."
"With a lie."
"Yes."
"But… why did they believe you when they wouldn’t believe me?”
And that was the lesson that broke something in Syd and rebuilt it differently.
“Because I’m a prophet, kid. And you were a street rat. Same words. Different costumes.”
The 12th Prophet explained the lineage. Twelve Prophets before them, stretching back two centuries. Each one a charlatan. Each one using the lie to help people who wouldn’t otherwise be helped.
The 1st Prophet had made it up on the spot to escape a theft charge and accidentally saved a drowning child the same day using the same trick. Realized they could do good with a lie. Started a tradition.
Each Prophet found their successor among the overlooked—orphans, outcasts, people society had decided didn’t matter. Taught them the con. Gave them the power of a voice people would finally hear.
“You don’t have to do this,” the 12th Prophet said. “I’m getting old. I’m retiring soon. But I think… I think you’d be good at this. I think you need this. And I think there are a lot of kids out there like you, who need someone to listen to them.”
Syd was angry. Betrayed. His whole faith had been a lie.
But he was also alive. Alive because of that lie.
And he remembered standing on those gallows, knowing he’d tried to tell the truth and nobody cared.
“Teach me,” Syd said. “Teach me everything.”
THE 13TH PROPHET (Age ~19-21)
Syd traveled with the 12th Prophet for another year or two, learning the craft. The mangled proverbs. The theatrical gestures. How to read a room. How to make people believe.
The 12th Prophet gave him their journal—generations of wisdom, notes, techniques, proverbs to use. Gave him the patchwork cloak, with patches added from all the places they’d helped people. Gave him the legacy.
Then the 12th Prophet retired. Or died. (Syd tells the story different ways depending on his audience—maybe even he’s not entirely sure which version is true, or maybe he’s protecting his mentor’s privacy.)
And Syd became the 13th Prophet of the Wandering Word, Keeper of Truths Unspoken, Voice of Veridicor (Garl’s Scrivener).
THE PAST 2-4 YEARS (Age ~21-25, Currently)
Syd has been traveling as the 13th Prophet for 2-4 years now. He’s still figuring it out. Still checking his mentor’s journal when he’s alone. Still practicing dramatic gestures in reflections when he thinks no one’s watching.
He helps people. That’s what matters. He gives voice to those who won’t be heard—especially children. He uses the prophet act to make adults listen when they’d otherwise ignore someone.
Is he a con artist? Yes.
Does he help people? Also yes.
Does the lie eat at him sometimes? Absolutely.
Would he stop? Not while there are kids who need someone to speak for them.
He carries his fiddle, his patchwork cloak (adding new patches from places where he’s helped people), and his mentor’s journal. He performs in taverns, gathers information, delivers “divine visions” that are really just keen observations dressed up in religious authority.
And he wonders, sometimes, if maybe Garl Glittergold is watching. If maybe the Trickster God appreciates a good con used for good reasons. If maybe some of those “visions” work a little too well to be pure coincidence.
But he doesn’t know. Can’t know. And that uncertainty might be the only honest thing about the 13th Prophet of the Wandering Word.
WHAT DRIVES HIM NOW
- Never let another kid die for telling the truth - He will drop the act entirely to protect children
- Honor the legacy - 12 Prophets before him trusted this would help people; he won’t break that chain
- Prove fake help is real help - The comfort isn’t less real because it’s not actually divine
- Give voice to the voiceless - Use his borrowed authority to make people listen to those society ignores
WHAT HAUNTS HIM
- The rope around his neck (literal nightmares)
- The guilt of the lie (even though it helps)
- Fear of being exposed (and what happens to those he’s helped if people learn the truth)
- The conspirators who framed him (are they still out there? do they know he survived?)
- The question he can’t answer: If the lie helps people, is it still wrong?