|Hair Color||A Deep, Sooty Black|
|Eye Color||Milky, Dull Brown|
|Skintone||Mottled, Uneven Sun-browned Tan|
|Authored By / Featured In|
Much of Gyliam's face is marred by warped flesh: burn scars. The rest of his visage is marked with faint scars that resemble those received by a blade's cutting edge. Premature wrinkling has touched his forehead, which makes it difficult to discern Gyliam's true age. Only the deep, sooty black of his hair might allude to his true age, with not a whisper of silver to his full head of hair.
Gyliam's eyes are often covered with a wrap of cloth wrapped around his head. His nose is tall, and crooked enough to suggest it had been broken a number of times in the past.
One might describe Gyliam as a bitter, snuffed-out candle. He's often slumped on a sidewalk, propped up against a wall with his tin cup set out and his walking stick clutched to his side. On a particularly good day, he might be feebly calling out for spare change, clinking his tin cup around. On one of his -better- days, he might just have the energy to snap and threaten passersby when not a single coin is spared his way, cursing their privilege and the good fortune granted them.
Such is his favorite topic: his envy of the fortunate circumstances of those richer and better off than himself. Any advice or suggestions given him, he immediately bats aside, often retorted with self-pity over his situation.
Gyliam Tulfa was born and raised in the streets of the Lower Boroughs. He was left by his parents to fend for himself when he was no older than six years. He grew to be embittered by his situation, and often envied those more privileged than himself. Despite such bitterness, he could never have seen a future for himself beyond the average Lower Boroughs citizen's.
On the day Gyliam came across the Iron Guard's recruitment drive, all of that changed. For a few years, he served as a common man-at-arms at the Iron Guard. As he trained, Gyliam proved to have a keen eye and a talent for the bow. Soon, he joined the ranks of the Iron Guard's archers. Then came the fleets of the Gyre, sailing for the Compact.
The battle at Setarco, victorious though it may have been, left its mark on Gyliam. Or took it, some might say. He lost his eyesight in a terrible turn of events, when near half his face was burned off. He survived, but he was deemed unfit for duty.