A would-be prophet addicted to the street-drug hyacinth.
“You gots some more, um, stuff on ya? I could use some more o’ that.”
She’s a beggar, complete with sores, missing teeth, foul stench, and half-crazed rambling.
A stereotypical street bum, she shuffles, is semicoherent, loses her train of thought, and asks for money or “stuff”, or “the Gods.” The person she once was is lost to addiction.
She needs more hyacinth to feed her addiction. Sybil’s been a part of the street scene for as long as anyone can remember. The churches take pity on her on cold nights, and others will give her food to make her leave. Recently, however, she has been turned away after catching the beggar’s quarter plague.
Whenever she takes a dose of her drug, she becomes manic for about 15 minutes—flailing about, talking apparent nonsense, screaming. Then she settles down into a quiet mumbling trance for a few hours before passing out for most of a day. The key to Sybil is that her apparent nonsense is a prophecy for whoever gave her the drug. It’s not necessarily clear, but taken with a bit of interpretation, will give a frighteningly accurate picture of what is going on around that individual.
Over the years, Sybil has become so attuned to the presence of hyacinth that she can sense even when someone has been near the drug, or even unwittingly has access to someone who has it. Whether this is a effect of the drug, or her powers of foresight remains to be seen.
She was encountered by Ayla at the Elmer St. Fountain, where she led Ayla to her old home, now a den of hyacinth dealers.