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Born a bit more than three decades ago to a smithing line that can claim generations of metal workers, Jayeth was named in honor of the god Jayus, another hand to wield the hammer of the Black family in a tradition unbroken in the memory of his ancestors. He took to the craft from a young age, fierce expectations set on shoulders that would one day be broad enough to support them. An active, boisterous youth, he often fought, played and got in trouble, though his general good nature and hard to repress smile held through even the strictest of punishments. By his twelfth year, he was already larger than most men and his physical growth would not stop any time soon, the rambunctious smith touched by his love of craft and life. He was a smith in his own right by his late teens, but hadn't opened a shop until he was in his twenties. He spent years mastering his craft, refining his abilities to their utmost even while maintaining an irrepressible nature. In the winter of 1004, after the Alaric had fallen ill, Jayeth's own luck turned, a commoner that would end up disappearing in the tumult after the Night Grove incident. Another, smaller, incident happened. Reyna happened. He discovered her injured just outside his smithy, two others corpses not far from her. He took her in and, when others came to see about her, knocked enough heads easily enough to change minds. It was a mistake, in many ways, as the person he'd rescued was pursued by a jumped up merchant with noble aspirations. Even worse, she was a bandit. Still, he forged his path as he did all things in life, a friendship growing between him and the bandit girl. Weeks of quiet lowered their defenses enough that, while out shopping, Jayeth's smithy was burned to the stone. Many men searched for them at this point and, with little help and his family at risk, they fled. It was months of skipping from town to town, laying low for awhile before they were forced out once more. It was only when they got to Arx that the pursuit stopped. There was no reason for it, no way to know why or how, but they found shelter in the Lower Boroughs and respite from their chase. With few options left, Jayeth has set about looking for work or patronage, he has the skills, he just needs the space and maybe then, they can breathe.

Standing well over six feet in height, this powerfully built man is broad across the shoulders and deep chested, heavy muscles layered over a large, sturdy frame. His most prominent feature is a nose that has seen one too many brawls, though even then, his face tends more toward rakish than truly handsome. There is, however, a boisterous and nearly irreverent light to his energetic brown eyes, his dark hair and beard kept short on his tanned face. Thick arms and scarred, calloused hands carry the burns of the forge, rather than battle, a testament to his many hours shaping metal.

A large bear of a man, he is given to passionate pursuit of life through his craft, drink and the chasing of pretty lasses. Boisterous and energetic, his smile is a near constant of his presence, his laughter its shadow. He lives life at the edges, a physical presence muted only when his concentration is turned to his craft.