Sivarilin is a name encountered more than once by the party along their journey. Shrouded in mystery, the name seems to refer to a person or people in folklore.

Mentioned in the story found by Coriver “Sivarilin and the Foxes”.

In the House of Illusory Truths, the party saw a vision of him interacting with Lithas.

From the Wanderer's Gospel:

Once upon moon long fallen, there lived a man who would be called many things, but the Dwellers of the Valley of Indigo called him Longtread, and the Faefolk called him Sivarilin, and the fell demons of the Abyss called him Remckx for the copper strings with which he had bound the effigy that did trick and ensnair Dorothea the Spindler.

And many are the tales of him you have heard from me and in the leaves and from others. And it came to be that Sivarilin grew weary of his many travels, and he called out to his Thalorin, and said in the tongue of the Fae–

“Seven realms with you have I now tread–

Constants of fate contained in ev’ry one,

Til’ now I see that chaos itself is the mechanation

Itself and not the rust upon it, and woe the only outcome.”

His Thaloran grew melancholy, for he had harbored hope that the Wanderer may find refuge and belonging  in the court of his Mother. But, as was Sung,  “the ventricles of mortal man pass through him not the elixir of contentment.” So the Fox said, in his own way of speaking,

“Let us then craft a new domain, and we shall make it then consecrated, and we shall make it our own. And by magics more ancient than those of our understanding make a paradise which might fully stand as a bastion against the grand rhythms of Chaos, Conflict, Triumph, Dissidence. And I shall leave then the court of my Mother. And you shall cast away the yellow parchment. And we shall dwell there together as equal princes.”

And together, the two did scour the earth, and the sea, and the sky for a Djinn who might craft a new nature that was truer than truth. And there near the coast they laid the cornestone of Naevrien, and bound its laws in Covenant. And from their conquered lands and planes (as these were the days after their can they brought mortal and immortal–the greatest of human craftiness and fae artistry, and bestowed keys there to the eight Nethelin who were entrusted gifted with the eight aspects of creation, and all was pleasurable, for a time, and the two ruled in harmony.

There came then a day when Sivarilin was walking with my forefather in the land of our people, and a storm fell upon him, much as it had years earlier in the Faewilds. And as he stumbled about, bustled by the winds, he heard from the distance, in a small house by a large oak, the twinging of a harp. And the music was good, and seemed to dance through the pattering of the rain and the calls of the nightcrows. And Sivarilin thus made his way to the refuge and beat upon the door.

There lived here, with her sisters, a harpist called Laralin, and she was of our fathers’ blood. She brought Sivarili, with her sisters into the chamber and tended to his wounds and wiped the mud and sweat from his brow and fed him hot salted grain. And while he rested, Laralin saw the scar on his neck from his encounter with the Never-There. And she started and said,

“You are he, the Wanderer, are you not? 

Who tread once the great valley until valley turned to mist?”

And Sivarilin denied it, and asked for her to play another song. And she did as such, even as sleep took her sisters. And as she played, she saw a shimmering pendant, hanging atop the man’s bare chest, and she said,

“And where, traveler, do you receive a trinket of such majesty, crafted in the visage of a vixen, and what elicits you to carry it on the road and through the wild rushes where bandits roam?” 

And Sivarilin denied it, and asked for her to play another song. And she did as such, even as her sisters roused quietly and retired silently past the fire to their darker chambers. And this time she played more intricately, as the great masters are said to have done, pulling from her very heartsoul the poetry that cannot be written upon the page, and Sivarilin was brought to tear, and began to sing the secret words in the tongue of the Faefollk, and said Laralin:

“Strange that one poor traveler might know words such as these, words the great scholars of the Moonreach Towers try and fail to find in their lifetimes.”

“And what words are these,” replied Sivarilin. And Laralin sang the words to him, softly and truly. And he sang along with her, and when the song was done and the last note of harmony escaped their lips, he slept beside her all through the night. 

And in the morning dawn, he guided her by her wrist toward Naevrien, carrying her harp upon his back.