Michael Reeves

Silvertone of the Silver-Tone Elves

Sired in the highlands of Scotland and born in the valleys of Eire, he never knew his father nor his mother for she died during the famine when he was still a newborn. All he knew was that he was found still alive swaddled in his mother's arms as she was one of the many that died along the roads of Ireland during one of its famines. He should have died with her but a couple took pity and took him in as one of their own. None knew whom the woman was, another nameless soul, and the only link to his past was the locket she wore. One that held not a picture within, but half a symbol. She was buried with the countless others.

He didn't go for want of love or attention, treated like he had been born of them, for both Tim and Ethel Reeves were God faring with loving hearts. They were poor as most were, and Mike remembered more nights than he cared to going to sleep with an empty stomach. Ethel knew the ways of the woods so when food was scarce she would get edible roots, grains and leaves to supplement. The one trait in Michael not found in the other two natural born of the Reeves, was his need to excel. Even if not a large lad in girth he took life on with the ferocity of a lion. He grew from a scrawny, even under weight and height lad to a well toned man of just over six foot.

At six years old he was out working to gain a coin or two a week to help out his family. His ambitious and incessant nature coupled with the boyish charm of his smile, seemed to gain him odd jobs to fulfill this goal of his own making. At the age of fifteen he left to make his own mark on the world. He learned to fight by fighting, he learned near everything by first hand experience, more often flying by the seat of his pants.