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Syd's one of those people who's done a little bit of everything. He served his time under the Horse Lord, fighting to defend his family name. He's bred the horses the Volkovs are known for. He can cook a little, he can paint a little, he knows a bit of carpentry, and on and on the list goes. He was married for some untold number of decades, but his wife awaits him in the next life now. Never one for many of the trappings of high society and noble politics, he is known as somewhat of a private person, and even moreso after his wife's passing. He comes to the city of Arx simply following the younger, more spritely members of his clan, offering his own wacky brand of sage advice, whether solicited or not.

This man is old. Quite old, by the looks of it. His pale eyes are framed by crow's feet and droopy bags, and in fact, all of him seems to droop in some way or another, from his bony shoulders to his bowed spine. He sports a great, fluffy, white beard, connected tenuously to a wispy horseshoe wrapping around the back of his liver-spotted scalp. He carries himself with care in every motion, as though his bones were as delicate as thin glass. In contrast to this overall slump, the lines flanking his thin lips suggest a smile is never far off.

As eccentric as he is ancient, one never quite knows what they're going to get from ol' Syd on a given encounter. Bound inextricably to fickle whims, flights of fancy, and a memory that's holding up about as well as his hairline, he is, at worst, unpredictable and unreliable. At best, however, he's a damn riot to be around.