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In the relatively recent past, Rand would occasionally talk of his prosaic upbringing as the son of a miller. While growing up, he showed unusual skill in the popular, rough and tumble boyhood games aping combat. He would dominate the mock fights with sticks, standing unchallenged right up to the point when he became aware that others were watching, whether with amusement or true interest. Then he would either wander away to more solitary pursuits, or participate in a greatly less effective and enthusiastic manner. His mother would tell him, "No one is watching you in particular. Don't worry about it." His father would tell him, "Of course they're watching. Be your best and revel in it." I suppose no one really knows which parent he believed more. In any case, neither were particularly thrilled when, as a young man, he chose to become a Godsworn Templar. He, himself, was heedless of the risks that paralyzed them and continued onto a path that soon saw him ensconced in Arx itself. Having survived the Siege of Arx, Rand traveled back to check on his parents with a comrade from nearby lands. The night they arrived was the night that Rand's parents and his comrade all died. Some have said that things might have turned out the same for his parents even if the two Templars had not arrived at that time, but Rand thinks differently. He believes that the people he fought and killed that night, the same night his parents were killed and all their possessions put to the torch, were mad cultists who would not have attacked in his absence. Perhaps it's even true. What is certain is that Rand's journey had to be changed to include burying three bodies. And he doesn't talk much about the past anymore.

Rand has large, dark eyes that appear gentler and more soulful than his general demeanor would seem to allow. His dark hair is thick and unkempt, his mouth hard-set in a cleanly shaven face. He moves with a precision bordering on gracefulness and possesses every callus of a habitual swordsman with very few of the commensurate scars. His build is lean and wiry, and he tends to give the impression to a casual glance of being smaller and more compact even than he actually is.

Rand serves. That is the first face that he presents to all comers. Whether it be from duty to the Faith, faith in the Gods, or some incipient martyr complex, Rand stands guard over the Shrines of the Gods even beyond what the stringent scheduling of a sworn Templar would require. Beyond his enduring presence lies his veneration of Gloria and the martial honor she celebrates. And beyond even that is a depth of sheer human sadness, the source of which lies undisclosed.