Name: Telleran
Age: 29-ish
Gender: Male
Race: Redguard, mainly, somewhat Nordic
Appearance: Just your standard Redguard, in a way. Relatively light-skinned, having been born in Skyrim, with skin that's more dirt-colored than full-out black. Thick, dirty cleaned-every-now-and-then hair falling ragged in a way down his head, without a care for its well-being (though someone may try to convince him otherwise). Bands of leather keep it in a thick tail that goes just below his shoulders. Sharp green eyes on a rough, weathered face, cleanshaven. Always wears a cloak, which hides the Nordic armor that he wears (if that's alright), and his Nordic shield covers his back; his sword rests at his hip. Should he ever take off his armor to clean (which he does), one may notice heavy, heavy scarring on his shoulders from claws- once when he was younger and still using lighter armor, a wolf had attacked him, and ravaged his shoulders as it tried to tear out his throat. A knife it the creature's belly had saved him, and left a permanent mark on his shoulders. He stands at an average height, just above six foot, and is average in general size- he's no larger than a Nord, though he might be a tad bit stronger than them. Four long scars reach from just below his ear to the middle of his cheek, straight and clean, likely from some creature's claws as they just barely missed, only enough to mark, not to kill.
Personality: Steadfast and strong, like his sword and shield. He offers wisdom, and dislikes any horsing about or lollygagging. Peculiar; he can be obsessed with cleanliness with some things (You'll not see a single whisker on his face, nor a single speck of rust or dried blood on his armor or sword, nor will any of his leather be stained), yet he'll not even bother with something else (his hair is dirty, unkempt, and overall, uncared for). He also really, really, REALLY hates elves. As a general rule- he hates elves. He doesn't mind or care if there's a wood or dark elf around, but he's more likely to get angry or annoyed at them. By default, however, he'll often try to murder a high elf. He is sort of a known hunter to the Thalmor... he has tokens from each Thalmor mage he's killed in a small pouch.
History: Grew up on a remote homestead near Rorikstead, when the Forsworn were still a problem. From a young age, he learned how to forage, hunt, and craft rudimentary objects, needed for such a living with a Nordic mother, and a Redguard father. When he was still not even a full decade old, the Forsworn, of course, attacked and murdered his father, took his mother as a prisoner (who later became one of the Forsworn), and dragged along Telleran for fun. However, after a year in captivity, he was set to be a new member's objective- his mother had to kill him to become one of them. This didn't sit well with Telleran, of course, and ever the survivor he turned out to be, he switched the knife his mother was bearing down on him to bury it in her stomach, and made a run for it. Weak and thin, Telleran had made it to a narrow crevice and escaped, being smaller than the Forsworn, and made it to Rorikstead. After being taken to Riften by a generous (but very much the busy) trader, he was brought up by the old hag that ran the orphanage. For whatever reason, shortly after he arrived, someone put an arrow in her throat while she was thrashing him and the rest of the orphans.
Shortly afterward, he fled from the orphanage (too many rules, too many people) and was taken under the wing of another trader, who sold various light armor pieces and many weapons. From her, he learned how to use armor and weaponry to get everything he could out of them, to craft lighter armor and to hone a blade. When he came of age, he may or may not have stolen leather armor and a sword to help him hold his own in the world; after just over a decade of adventuring, exploring, and mercenary work, he had paid his merchant master back twenty times over, and has made a name of himself, as well gotten himself some pretty decent equipment. He had managed to get into the Companions, being a warrior and all, and was currently just another member, no one special, really.
Skills: A swordsman, of course, trained as he was under a warrior-merchant's care. Adept at tracking, hunting, and living off the land, as he grew up doing so and continued to do so as often as he could. Trained to use sword, shield, and armor to its best advantage under the same warrior-merchant's, and a fair enough archer, based on his experience while hunting, and from some training that he paid for while in Whiterun. He could also cook, skin, and craft from his life on the outskirts of society, learned from mother, father, warrior-merchant, and old orphanage-owning hag.
Spells: He knows the basic flame throwing spell, which he uses to start campfires. He also knows how to use a basic restoration spell. Both of which he learned from books he read, taken from the robes of a dead Vigilant and the two vampires he killed before his own death.
Equipment: Full Nordic armor- helmet, chestplate and leggings, gauntlets, and boots. Nordic sword and dagger, as well as a Nordic shield. A shard of Stahlrim he found when he was chasing some crazy-ass cultist to what he labelled, "Ash Isle." He occasionally uses the shard as a sort-of dagger, using it as a backup. He also loves the shard to death, and is slowly chipping away at it so he can someday make a spear out of it. He has a leather pack- reinforced with Elven metal- filled with whetstones, various spices and alchemical ingredients, multiple potions on a belt around his waist (and more in the pack), a collection of Elven arrows with a matching Elven bow ("I hate the Oblivion out of those arrogant Thalmor, but I admit- they know their shit."), and several poisons. And, of course, clean cloth (more or less), leather strips, and a sewing kit.
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