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Born into a minor line of the Redrain family, Conall grew up just outside of Farhaven where the importance of preparing for war had been strongly impressed upon him. Eschewing drunken antics for strict discipline and drilling, he came to be known for his odd habits as much as the zeal with which he approached military life. When he was finally allowed to accompany patrols hunting for Shavs Conall was in his true element. The battle of Stormwall left him more detached and realistic towards the approaches one should take towards evil. Heavily injured in that conflict, he spent a long time in recovery before able to help aid in defending the North again. For reasons known only to himself, he recently left for Arx without a word to anyone in Farhaven beforehand.

Tall and lean, his muscular body is clearly that of a warrior's - pale skin marked with scars here and there as testament to past battles. Blond hair the color of winter wheat has been shaven down to the skin on both sides of his head while the top has been left to grow long and woven into an intricate braid, tied together with gold wire, and hangs down to just above the belt. Sharp eyes the color of a cloudless summer sky are set into an angular face, and this particular Northern warrior has opted for a scruffy blond goatee.

Reserved and not given to excesses, Conall tends to measure everything by its effectiveness and practicality. Pragmatism is the credo by which he lives his life, and while the gods and spirits are given their perfunctory due, he doesn't concern himself with religious matters much past that. Neither overly polite nor rude, Conall probably wouldn't stand out in a crowd much if it wasn't for his dry sense of humor, imposing form - and watchful eyes. Despite his lukewarm feelings towards matters spiritual, there's a strong sense of pride in the Northlands and an abiding faith in the Compact.